by Amelia Grey
“I know you won’t let me down. Oh, and Lily, I’ll need a nice gentleman’s wig. Check the attic. One of Papa’s old ones should be up there.”
“Oh, my saints,” Lily exclaimed. She cupped her hand over her now-gaping mouth. “You’re going to dress up like a gentleman and go back to the tavern.”
“Yes, Lily, I am going to dress as a gentleman but this time I’m going to Papa’s club.”
Fourteen
It was well past midnight as Mirabella stood in front of the mirror in her bedroom. She didn’t recognize herself. Instead, in the looking glass before her, she saw a boy on the brink of manhood. The transformation was miraculous.
She ran her hand down the shiny brass buttons of the double-breasted waistcoat that hid her breasts. The metal was cold to her touch, but strangely made her think of Camden’s cool, damp skin on Sunday afternoon. She was certain she would never feel that wonderful again. She closed her eyes for a moment and remembered the taste of him on her lips, the feel of his mouth on her skin.
A noise sounded behind her, and her eyes popped open. She realized it was Lily humming, again. Mirabella took a deep breath and put away her womanly notions of steamy passion. In the mirror, she noticed that her hands looked very feminine. She would remember to keep them by her sides at all times. They were a telling sign that she was a lady.
It had taken Lily more than an hour to make over Mirabella. She had bound her breasts to her chest before she donned the shirt. Lily had wrapped her hair tightly so none of it would fall from under the powdered wig she’d fit snugly around her head. With care they had dusted her cheeks with cosmetic powder, trying to cover the natural pink tint of her skin. With a small paintbrush and smut from the fireplace, Lily had cautiously darkened Mirabella’s eyebrows and made them look larger and thicker. Using the white powder, her full lips had disappeared into a thin line.
They had taken great pains to make sure the cravat was stylishly tied in a shape most dandies would envy. Lily had turned out to be an expert with a needle. She left the hips and thighs of the trousers wide so her legs would look more muscular. After she attached a wide brass buckle to plain black boots the metamorphosis was complete.
Mirabella had watched enough men at parties to know that most of them stood with one leg cocked to the side at a stance. She had made countless trips from one side of her bedroom to the other practicing walking with more of a stride than a glide. She had even shut herself in her wardrobe and rehearsed in a low raspy voice what she planned to say to the doorman to gain entrance to the club.
Apprehension ran rampant inside her, but she calmed her fears by thinking that if luck were with her, most of the gentlemen at the club would be too busy playing at the gaming tables, or talking with their friends, to notice her. Her worst fear was that she would see none of the men who were still on her list. London was home to many private gentlemen’s clubs and she had to have faith that at least one on her list belonged to her father’s club.
“I never would have believed we could make you look like a man,” Lily said, walking up behind Mirabella. “You look just like a young Mr. Whittingham.”
Feeling confident, Mirabella turned away from the mirror. “Well, now I know how I would have looked if my father had had a son. Thank you, Lily. I never could have done this without your help.”
Lily’s dark eyes narrowed and her lips pursed before she said, “Just don’t get caught, Miss Bella. Mark my word, if you do, we’re both going to be in more trouble than we can get out of.”
“I won’t. I know what I’m doing.” And why. Mirabella picked up the great coat, felt top hat, and said, “Let’s go.”
Lily led the way down the back stairs to the kitchen without lighting a lamp. She motioned to Mirabella that the room was clear. Mirabella hurried across the floor to the door, opened it and quickly stepped outside. The sky was dark with only a small slice of moon and very few stars to light her way. A damp chill hung in the air, but with all the clothing she had on she didn’t feel the cold.
Once Mirabella was free of the house, she didn’t look back. With the long strides she had practiced in her room, she walked down the street toward the main thoroughfare, which led to the business district of Town. Within a couple of minutes, she had flagged a hired rig to drive her to the club.
A few minutes later, she arrived and paid the driver from the coins Lily had given her. Mirabella had promised to see that Lily was repaid every shilling.
She was pleased to hear the man say, “Thank you, sir,” when she gave him the fare. She knew she looked like a man to herself and to Lily, but to fool another man meant she’d passed the first crucial test of the evening.
It seemed as if she stood in front of the men’s club for hours, but it couldn’t have been more than a minute or two. If things went well for her at this smaller, private club maybe she would get brave enough to go to White’s. She had thought that a smaller one would be less intimidating, but now she wasn’t so sure. This gentlemen’s club might be more discriminating, too. Her father had been a member at this one for years, although it had been well over a year since he had ventured out to spend an evening at the gaming tables.
A carriage pulled up in front of the building and three men got out. Not a one of them gave her more than a cursory glance and slight nod. That should have bolstered her courage, and it did, but not enough to make her take the step that would put her inside the club. She ran her hands down the sides of her coat and took a deep breath.
She gave herself a mental shake. With what had come out in the scandal sheets yesterday morning, she had nothing to lose by going inside. There was already the breath of scandal about her among the ton. The only thing left to lose was her father’s pride in her, so she had to make sure she didn’t get caught.
Taking a deep steadying breath, she opened the door and stepped inside. A well-dressed older gentleman immediately walked up to her and asked, “May I ’elp ye, sir?”
Mirabella cleared her throat and lowered her voice just as she had rehearsed. “Yes. I’m Adam Moore from Kent, nephew to Bertram Whittingham, here as his guest for the evening.”
Keeping her head bowed, Mirabella held out her hand palm up. The man knew exactly what to do and took the money she offered along with her hat and coat.
“Oh, cert’nly, I know ’im. ’Ow is yer uncle these days? I ’aven’t seen the ol’ chap in months.”
She lifted her head slightly. The man never blinked. He took the coin and dropped it into the pocket of his coat. Mirabella took a much needed, relaxing breath. Listening to her father’s conversations over the years had paid off. The money worked like a charm.
“Feeling better than he has in weeks,” Mirabella said, hoping her happiness at her father’s improved health didn’t sound any alarms for this man.
“Splendid to ’ear. Tell ’im ol’ Charles asked about ’im, will ye?”
“You can be sure I will.”
The conversation with Charles went so well that Mirabella’s courage soared. She had passed another big test and was inside the club.
The older gentleman ushered her inside a dimly lit room filled with muffled sounds and lingering smells of burned wood and ale.
“’Ave ye been with us before, sir?”
“No, first time.”
“Well, this ’ere is probably the first room ye want to go. Get yer spirits over there.” He pointed to a long oak bar, crowded with men. “Billiards will be through there, an’ the card games that way. Ye’ll find the rest of ’em as ye walk around. If ye ’ave any bit o’ trouble, come find me.”
“Thank you. I will.”
Mirabella hadn’t taken her eyes off the bar area since she’d walked inside the taproom. Hanging on the wall was a life-size portrait of a dark-haired lady lying nude on a red sofa. A black cloth draped across her body, but it was only covering her waist, not her private parts!
As soon as Charles walked off, Mirabella turned away. She feared she glowed crimson beneath th
e white powder she wore. That must be the reason ladies were not allowed in gentlemen’s clubs.
Mirabella knew she couldn’t continue to stand just inside the doorway and act like a ninny who had never been in a place like this before. She heard the sound of billiard balls smacking together. So she took a deep breath and headed in that direction with her newly learned, swinging stride. She hoped that would be a more respectable place for a young lady than hanging around a painting of a well-endowed nude.
She stepped into the room and lingered near the doorway at the back while her eyes adjusted to the dim lighting. The chamber was small, but elaborately decorated with a thick carpet, marble fireplace and costly upholstery on the comfortable-looking chairs. There were two tables with three and four men surrounding each table. Only two of them had taken off their collars and neckcloths.
All the gentlemen appeared casual with good-natured talking and genuine laughter mixing among them, filling the room. After a minute or two, she decided to walk closer and to pretend to be watching their game. It pleased her that no one seemed to pay her any attention. She was too cautious for any sign of a problem to listen to their conversations. She kept her eyes trained on the necks of those which were bare, even though none of the men she saw were on her list of possible suspects.
It was surprising how little attention they paid her, and she soon relaxed and became comfortable enough to move into the reading rooms to see if there were anyone she recognized in there. Those areas were occupied mostly by older gentlemen who were far less relaxed with all their necks wrapped with varying styles of cravats.
The younger men seemed to gather where the liquor was served and in the billiard and card rooms, so she took her time and slowly made her way from one room to the other, constantly watching for one of her suspects. Only one or two of the gentlemen at the gaming tables had removed their neckcloths.
After more than an hour, her heartbeat jumped rapidly in her chest when she spotted a young man on her list in one of the card rooms. She took her time and casually walked by the table where he sat and stopped to look him over carefully.
She saw no signs of a scar, but noticed one of the other men staring at her. She tensed. He moved his cards closer to his chest and Mirabella realized his problem. She didn’t want to be accused of trying to read anyone’s cards, so she made her way back to the billiard room.
As she slowly sauntered into another room, she was congratulating herself on how easy this was compared to the kissing and servant’s work. Why hadn’t she thought about this before?
The only problem with this plan was whether the right young men would come in and bare their necks. There were less than five gentlemen left on her list of suspects. Would it be her luck that the very last man she saw would be the man she sought?
The night wore on, and Mirabella became quite comfortable. Occasionally someone would speak to her, but for the most part, she was left alone. She often heard language that was seldom used in front of a woman, but other than that and the nude painting, she didn’t understand why women were not allowed beyond the front doors.
There was a concern though. She couldn’t very well plead a headache every night to get away from Camden early enough to visit the clubs. But she wouldn’t worry about that right now. The evening was going so well she would figure out how to do that tomorrow.
***
Camden left White’s and had the driver take him to the smaller private club a few streets over. He was tired of the noisy club but wasn’t yet ready to go home and sleep. He couldn’t get Mirabella off his mind. She had pleaded a headache early in the evening and had left for home with her uncle.
Camden couldn’t help but be worried about her. He was sure she wasn’t the kind to use the headache or vapors as an excuse. She had seemed preoccupied when they were together during the evening. He wondered if she was upset about something.
She could have been upset about their passionate affair in the rain on Sunday afternoon. He’d never meant to get so carried away, and he certainly never dreamed she would be so warm, receptive and eager for his kisses—as he had been for hers. But their time alone together had been such sweet ravishment. She’d had time to think about the afternoon and it could be she regretted it.
Shaking off thoughts of the siren, Camden walked into the club and nodded to the doorman. The first member he saw was Albert Farebrother on his way out. What damnable luck. The man seemed to be everywhere.
Albert was the last person Camden wanted to see. No doubt he would gloat that what he had mentioned to Camden about Mirabella last week had finally hit the gossip columns. Camden had hoped to avoid the man, but there was no doing that now.
He walked right up to him and said, “Albert, so glad to run into you. Let me buy you a drink.”
“Good heavens, no, my cup is full, but I should buy you a round after the day you must have had.”
Camden pleaded innocent. “I had a pleasant enough day. What are you referring to?”
“Ah—well.” Albert stumbled over his words and looked around the room as if someone would know he was in trouble and come to his rescue. “Surely you saw the papers, man?”
“I read the Times. The Lord Mayor’s money troubles have nothing to do with me. Didn’t give it a passing thought, why did you?”
“I—I was talking about the Society paper.”
Camden wondered if Albert had always been so easy to read and so easy to dupe. “Oh, you mean the scandal sheets all the ladies of the ton live and die by? I had no idea you read them.”
“Er… yes.” Albert’s cheeks flushed pink. “Surely you saw or, at least, heard about what was written. Simply dreadful what they had to say about you and Miss Whittingham.”
“You know, Albert, I seldom read them, and you must know why,” Camden said tightly, wondering if he had ever been as close to Albert as he remembered.
“I’m sure there wasn’t a shred of truth in what was reported about a scuffle between you and some unnamed gentlemen,” he added as more of an afterthought.
“Glad you realize that, Albert. I’m sure all my old friends will.”
“Yes. It was nothing like what happened six years ago. Back then the gossips were appalling to you and the poor, wretched girl, Hortense. And, well, that young man she was caught with, who proved himself such a coward, could never show his face in England again. I hear he lives the life of a recluse in Paris. With all that was written about the three of you, it’s no wonder you stayed in America so long.”
“I see you haven’t forgotten a morsel about that time, Albert.”
“How could I? There hasn’t been a bigger scandal in Town since.”
“No doubt because good friends like you keep that one alive.”
Albert’s chin dropped. The pink in his cheeks flamed red.
“But don’t give it another thought, Albert. That’s all over now,” Camden said when what he really wanted to do was ram his fist in Albert’s face. “I have a perfect lady now who is simply the toast of the ton, and I refuse to let this breath of scandal sully her spotless character. What are you drinking these days, old chap? Port, ale or brandy? I’m buying.”
“Port, but I can’t stay. Truly. I was on my way out the door.” He laughed. “The wife, you know, gets worried if I stay out too late. She swears she can’t sleep until she hears me come into my rooms.”
Albert clapped Camden on the shoulder and it took all his willpower not to throw off the offending hand.
“Yes, the wife. Something I have to look forward to, no doubt.”
“To be sure. They do like for their husbands to keep certain hours. It’s such a bore. I’m not sure you’ll look forward to it, if you know what I mean.” He winked at Camden. “Enjoy yourself while you can, old man.”
“I shall.”
“I find it’s quite difficult to divide my time between a wife, a mistress, and the clubs. But I do try hard to be fair to all.”
“I’m sure they appreciate your efforts.�
�
Albert smiled broadly. “They seem to.”
“My regards to the countess.”
Camden watched his old friend walk away and wondered if he was the one who had changed or if the new earl had changed. What had happened? He and Albert used to stay out until sunup and share a pint of ale and a loaf of bread before going home. Camden heard a clock strike three. He supposed a man with a wife and family should be home by three in the morning.
Refusing to let Albert sour him completely, he picked up a glass of brandy at the bar and decided to watch a game of billiards. Surely there would be enough noise in there to drown out Albert’s words from his mind. If he was lucky, no one would approach him, and he could sit and enjoy his drink before he went home.
He found a dark corner and sat down. Now he knew why Mirabella went home early. She probably did have a headache. No doubt she was harassed by someone the way Albert had just troubled him. Why was he so worried about her? She had brought all this on herself. She had to know that though everyone broke the rules, Society was only unforgiving when you were unfortunate enough to get caught and have your indiscretion talked about among the ton or in the scandal sheets.
Camden took a swallow of his drink. Over the rim of his glass, he saw a young man walk through the doorway and immediately thought he was too young to be in the club. He couldn’t stop watching the youth. There was something vaguely familiar about him, but Camden couldn’t bring a name to mind.
The lad made his way slowly around the first table, looking each man over carefully. That was odd. Most spectators looked at the table, not the players. The youth was so unobtrusively clever, not one of the gamesters noticed him. It was odd to say the least. Was he a young man whose tastes leaned toward older, wealthy men? The hair on the back of Camden’s neck spiked. This club was no place for the likes of him and his feminine ways.
Camden started to tell Charles to question the lad, but decided to handle the interloper himself. He’d put a scare into the youth, and he wouldn’t be back to prey on anyone in this club.