“Ya lookin’ fer yerself or yer man?” The redhead stepped closer, squeezing her arms together to display the pink of her areolas.
“Myself.”
The prostitutes behind her snickered.
“I ain’t usually one fer the laddies,” she said. “Cost ya extra.”
“What’s your name?” Lucia studied the woman’s brown eyes. It was the eyes that reflected a person’s soul.
“Whatcha want it ta be?”
“Come, come, I haven’t time to waste with nonsense,” Lucia said. “Tell me your name.”
She gave Lucia the best sultry look she could manage. “What the boys calls me, or what ya can call me?”
Lucia ignored the continued laughter. “What your mother called you, dove. Come now.” She reached out and took the whore’s hand between her gloved ones, meeting her gaze.
The redhead stared for a moment, and then spoke, the bravado sudden gone from her voice. “Avena,” she whispered, sounding forlorn. “Avena Croft.”
“Avena, what a lovely name.”
“Been a long time since someone call me that,” she said, looking down at the grimy walk.
Lucia smiled. “Would you like a job?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “A real job, as a lady’s maid to me and two young ladies.”
Avena stared. “I…I ain’t no laddie’s maid, mum. I’m a ho’.”
Lucia smiled, not the least bit offended. “But you can learn, can’t you, Avena?” She brushed a lock of dirty hair from the girl’s face. Now Lucia could see that she was young, midtwenties, probably. “And I bet you clean up nice. A decent gown and bodice, a hot bath, some food to put a little meat on these bones.” Lucia reached out and eased a strap of the chemise back up on Avena’s shoulder.
“Ya ain’t serious, mum?”
“Completely.” Lucia took a step back and looked up and down the street. Avena’s companions had moved down a few steps to talk to some sailors in sailcloth shirts, oilcloth bags thrown over their shoulders. “I’ve need of a lady’s maid, but our household is a bit unconventional.”
“I…I could learn, mum.”
“I bet you can.” She turned and indicated the waiting hackney. “So, shall we go?”
“Aye, mum.” Avena hurried after her.
“Don’t you want to say goodbye to your friends,” Lucia asked over her shoulder.
“Nah. They ain’t my friends no how, mum.”
“I’m certain she’ll be back directly, Mr. Stowe.” Sapphire smiled, settling on the settee across from the balding, middle-aged barrister. “I really can’t say what’s taking her so long.”
“Oh, that’s quite all right. I still have a bit of time.” “And you say she was expecting you?” “Well, yes…and no.” He glanced up anxiously. “I…She was expecting me on Sunday afternoon, but when I went by Lord and Lady Carlisle’s as she requested—”
“Oh heavens,” she sighed, clasping her hands, finishing his sentence for him. “We were already gone.”
“Lady Carlisle indicated she didn’t know where Mademoiselle Toulouse had gone,” he explained.
Sapphire rose with indignation. “What a witch, that Lady Carlisle!”
“I’m sorry.” He glanced up, startled by Sapphire’s outburst.
“No, no, I’m the one who should be sorry.” She sat down again. “Aunt Lucia didn’t tell me she was expecting a gentleman. It all happened so fast and I’m responsible for—”
“I won’t hear another word of that,” Mr. Stowe interrupted, his voice surprisingly stout. “I would never speak ill of a lady, but suffice it to say fewer believe Lady’s Carlisle’s words than she thinks.”
“That’s kind of you to say, Mr. Stowe.” She studied his sincere-looking face.
“Things are said at these parties, my dear. No one believes a word of it. By next week another person will generate even more gossip and no one will remember the Dowager Wessex’s party at all.”
Mention of the dowager suddenly made her uneasy. “Lady Carlisle told you about the party?”
“Actually, I was there.”
She rose from the settee again, mortified. “You were there?”
“Yes, that’s where I met Mademoiselle Toulouse, your godmother. She’s a lovely woman,” he went on, his cheeks reddening as he grew more excited. “You know, I don’t usually invite women for rides in the park. I’m…I’m a widower, you understand.”
Sapphire nodded.
“In fact, I can say I’ve never done this before, and I don’t mind admitting, Miss Fabergine, that I’m more than a little nervous.” He began to fiddle with his hat. “I truly do…admire your godmother and I hope…heavens, listen to me, I don’t know what I’m hoping for.”
At that point Sapphire realized he was far more concerned with seeing Lucia again than with whatever nasty gossip Lady Carlisle or anyone else had offered. She relaxed a little, easing back onto the settee. “Are you certain I couldn’t get you some tea, Mr. Stowe, or perhaps some coffee? My godmother is quite fond of her coffee.”
“Is she now?” He looked up. “Why, I am, as well. I adore coffee, though it isn’t very English, is it, my dear?”
Sapphire couldn’t help but smile. Mr. Stowe truly was a pleasant fellow and she could see why Lucia would fancy such a man. “We grew coffee on Martinique.”
“Martinique!” Mr. Stowe exclaimed. “A world traveler. I just knew Mademoiselle Toulouse was a world traveler!”
“Mademoiselle Toulouse is a what?” Lucia exclaimed as she burst through the door.
The barrister shot out of his chair. Sapphire rose, pleased by the thought that the gentleman could be so enamored with Lucia. She liked him more with each minute that passed. “Auntie, Mr. Stowe came to call on you.”
“Mr. Stowe, I was beginning to wonder what had become of you,” she said, sweeping off her bonnet and ushering in a thin, dirty woman dressed in underclothing.
Mr. Stowe had eyes for no one but Lucia, but Sapphire couldn’t help but stare at the other woman, who now appeared frightened.
“This is Avena, Sapphire, our new lady’s maid,” Lucia explained. “Didn’t I tell you I’d find us a lady’s maid, and that old bat Carlisle claimed there wasn’t a decent one left in the city? I want you to take her up to the servants’ quarters and see that she has everything she needs for a bath, and then, if you don’t mind—” she plucked off a white glove, taking her time in doing it “—could you run down to the dressmaker’s and see what she has for Avena.”
“’Fank ya, mum,” Avena declared tearfully.
“While you do that, Sapphire, dear, Mr. Stowe and I will take a cup of coffee—won’t we, Mr. Stowe?” She offered her hand and he took it, kissing the freckled, wrinkled skin as if she were the queen.
“I hope I’m not intruding,” he gushed, red-faced again.
“Certainly not.” Lucia led him back toward the chairs and settee, her French accent very light. “I told myself, if you could find me after our unanticipated change of lodging, Mr. Stowe, you’d be worthy of a second look. I’m so pleased you found me.”
Sapphire walked over to the young woman huddled in the doorway appearing both frightened and overwhelmed. She was afraid to ask Lucia where she’d found this “lady’s maid.” “Avena,” she said kindly, “do come in and let me show you upstairs. Would you like some tea and bread and cheese? We’ve more than enough.”
“’Fank you, miss.” Avena nodded. “This is like…like a dream come true. I got to keep pinchin’ mysef to see it’s real.”
“If you’ll excuse us,” Sapphire said as she ushered Avena to the rear of the apartments. But Lucia and Mr. Stowe never heard her, since they were already too engrossed in their private conversation.
9
“Could you tighten the stays on my corset?” Sapphire asked, turning her back to Angelique.
In less than an hour, several gentlemen would be arriving to escort them to the theater, and Sapphire was as nervous as she had been the first day of schoo
l with the nuns in Martinique. Sapphire still remembered the smell of her mother’s hair as Mama leaned over to kiss her goodbye, and she recalled her own excitement…and fear that she would not succeed. And it was fearing that she would not be able to pull off this ruse that made her palms damp and her stomach flutter. Would Aunt Lucia’s far-fetched plan work?
“Your stays are tight enough.” Angelique gave them a tug and then spun Sapphire around to face her. “If your waist was any smaller I’d find it difficult to ever speak to you again. Now, calm down. This is going to fun, you’ll see.”
“I don’t know that it’s going to work. I don’t know if I can do it.” Shaking her head, Sapphire took a seat on a velvet-covered stool in front of the charming dressing table and gazed into the oval mirror, studying the serious young auburn-haired woman with one green eye and one blue who was looking back at her. “What if the men don’t believe I need a protector? Or that I’m willing to take one?”
“They’ll believe it because they want to, and it doesn’t take much to bait men this age.” Angelique sat on the edge of the bed and began to roll on a silk stocking she’d just removed from a sheet of tissue. “They’re already randy. One look at you, that hair, those eyes, that mouth of yours, and they’ll be lining up on the street.”
Sapphire’s fingertips went to her mouth and she stared at the mirror, frowning. “What’s wrong with my lips?”
“Not a thing except that they haven’t been kissed enough.”
Blake Thixton’s face flashed in Sapphire’s mind and she remembered the feel of his lips against hers, the heat that raced between them. “I can’t do this,” she cried, drawing her fingers away from her mouth as if she could somehow erase the memory of him.
“Don’t be such a goose!” Angelique ran her hands over the smooth stocking that covered her shapely leg and reached for a ribbon garter. “It’s easy. Smile. Laugh deep in your throat, like this.” She demonstrated a husky laugh that exuded sexuality. “Men like a husky laugh.” She gave a wave of her hand. “Simply say things they’ll find flattering.”
Sapphire dusted her nose with a little rice powder, still wondering what was wrong with her lips. Was it the fact that her lower lip seemed larger than her upper? She grabbed a brush to pull through her long hair, which she’d washed and perfumed earlier with Avena’s help. “I don’t know what flatters men. How many men have I actually known besides Maurice and a few other boys on Martinique?”
“Just say anything complimentary to them, true or not.” Angelique picked up the other new stocking from its wrapping. “You’re thinking too much about this, Sapphire. This is supposed to be fun. No one is going to make you do anything you don’t want to do. Even Aunt Lucia is having fun with it.”
Sapphire exhaled, meeting Angelique’s gaze in the mirror. “We’re relying on the power of gossip to get word back to the countess and Mr. Thixton, and in the meantime, look at all the money we’re spending.” She picked up the glass container of rice powder and set it down, then indicated her own new silk stockings on the dressing table. “If this doesn’t work, if it doesn’t force Mr. Thixton—”
“Ah, we’re back to Mr. Thixton again, are we?”
“Whatever is that supposed to mean?” Sapphire rose and walked to the open bedchamber door, poking her head through the doorway. “Where has Avena gotten to? She said she’d pick up the dresses at the dressmaker’s and be right back. I hope the gowns are completed. I really love the blue fichu-pelèrine.” She stepped back into the room, glancing at the porcelain German clock on the fireplace mantel. “Our escorts will be here soon and we’re not even dressed.”
“We’re nearly dressed and they won’t be here for another half an hour.” Her stockings secured just below her knees, Angelique stood, letting the stiff fabric of her petticoats fall until they almost brushed the floor. “And I have an idea it’s not the dressmaker that is keeping Avena, but rather her son the tailor.”
“Avena has eyes for the dressmaker’s son?” Sapphire smiled. Once fed, deloused, bathed and dressed, Avena had thrown herself wholeheartedly into her new occupation of lady’s maid, immediately earning the respect of them all. And although she was certainly different from the lady’s maids found in Lady Carlisle’s home, Sapphire thought Avena was wonderful. She was helpful and efficient and always willing to throw a sage tidbit of advice into any conversation—advice that sometimes sent Sapphire into peals of laughter, and other times made her turn red with embarrassment.
“Haven’t you noticed how many times this week she’s gone down to check on the gowns since our fittings?” Angelique stepped into a pair of new gold kid-skin slippers. “Sometimes twice in one afternoon.”
“I suppose I haven’t noticed. I’ve been selfishly too busy with my own thoughts,” she admonished herself. “It just makes me so angry to think that I am forced to do all this, to fight some…some American for the right to my father’s name.” Sapphire walked back toward the dressing table, clenching her hands. “And every time I think about that Mr. Thixton, I just…I just—”
“Do you spend a great deal of time thinking about Mr. Thixton?” Angelique raised an eyebrow suggestively.
“Certainly not in that way!” Sapphire turned hastily to check herself in the mirror, again sweeping up her hair, which was still slightly damp. “Up high, or lower?” she asked, first bringing the locks high on her head, then lowering them to a more ordinary chignon.
“Oh, high, definitely.” Angelique came up behind her, wrapped her fingers around Sapphire’s knot of curls and began to twist them artfully one way and then another. “Pins. I need pins.”
Sapphire grabbed a handful of tortoiseshell pins from a silver dish on the dressing table and began to hand them one by one to Angelique. In a matter of moments, she watched her hair transformed from a wave of unruly curls to a fashionable, sleek coiffure.
“Like it?” Angelique asked, taking a step back to admire her creation.
“It’s beautiful. Thank you.”
“You are beautiful, and I believe Mr. Thixton is quite aware of that fact.”
Sapphire frowned. “I was finally calm and now you have to mention him again? He thinks nothing of the sort. He only kissed me to…to humiliate me.”
“Perhaps, but all in love play,” Angelique cooed. “This is a complicated man, your Mr. Blake Thixton, the American.”
“He is not my Mr. Thixton!” Sapphire strode to the open door again. “If Avena doesn’t get here soon, I’m afraid I’m going to have to parade down the street in my underclothes to get the gowns myself!”
“Leave the strumpin’ work to the likes a me,” Avena announced, hurrying down the hall toward Sapphire, her arms filled with the gowns wrapped in bleached muslin to prevent them from being soiled in transport up the dirty street.
“Was Master Dawson there?” Angelique asked, taking her gold gown from the maid’s arms as she entered the bedchamber.
“That ’e was.” Feet planted in the used shoes Lucia had bought her, the prostitute-turned-lady’s-maid sashayed her hips, blushing like a schoolgirl.
“He is handsome.” Sapphire smiled.
“Ya seen ’im?” Avena carried Sapphire’s gown to the bed and began to uncover it carefully.
In the center of the room, Angelique clasped the shoulders of her gown and shook it eagerly, sending the muslin cover floating across the floor.
“I can ’elp ya in a minu’,” Avena said.
“I can do it myself. You help Sapphire, Avena. She’s got her drawers all in a twist between worrying she can’t play this game with these fops, and thinking of Mr. You-Know-Who.”
“I am not thinking about him and I don’t know why you keep bringing him up.”
“Stan’ still, puddin’, else yer gown’ll never go on right.” Avena wrestled the yards of exquisite blue fabric over her charge’s head.
Sapphire groaned and forced herself to stand stock-still, arms in the air, as the maid slid the gown on. “I’m just not as good at
this as you are, Angelique.” She pouted, the room suddenly dark as her eyes were covered by the bulk of the gown. “But you’re right. I know I can do it. I know I can make these men want me.”
“’Course ya can.” Avena gave the gown a tug and Sapphire’s head popped out. “Every woman go’ the talens if she dig down deep.”
Angelique chuckled. “Avena, I really think you should take Sapphire up on her offer to help you speak properly. I haven’t the patience for it, but I’m certain she does. She did much better with schooling than I did.”
Sapphire turned so Avena could button the back of her gown. “Because you were too busy sneaking away from the nuns to play hide-and-seek with all the village boys.”
Angelique grinned as she squirmed, tugging at her gown until it lay just right over her breasts. “We all have our talens.”
“We’ll begin tomorrow, Avena.” Sapphire smiled.
“Really? ’Cause then maybe ol’ Avena get up the narve to speak to ’im.”
“You haven’t even spoke to him?” Angelique exclaimed.
“No, too scart.”
“Too scared?” Sapphire asked, enunciating carefully.
“Aye, too scared.” Avena mimicked Sapphire almost painfully in her attempt to pronounce the words correctly. “’E’s gonna be a ’ailor, out on his own soon. Why, ’e’s likely to have ’is own shop one day!”
“Wouldn’t that be something?” Sapphire smiled at Avena. “You, Avena Croft, the tailor’s wife.”
Avena blushed and drew her bleached white apron up over her face. “No man good as Dawson would want no ol’ ’ho like me.”
“Well, I heard from the baker’s daughter yesterday, the little one with the red pigtails, that he was asking about you,” Sapphire sang, walking to the floor-length mirror to get the first glimpse of herself in her new gown.
“No!” Avena slid the apron down from her face and then comically pulled it up again. “Yer lyin’ sure as yer speakin’,” she giggled from beneath the apron.
“I’m not.” She glanced at Avena over her shoulder. “Tomorrow we start our lessons in earnest, and I will not take no for an answer.”
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