by Shana Galen
“Are you attending? And do not look at me with that frown on your face. You must compose your expression into a pleasing and serene half smile.”
Marlowe cocked a brow, and Lady Dane sighed dramatically. Marlowe clenched her fist again.
“Susanna, show her, please.”
Susanna immediately pushed her mouth into the most ridiculous grin Marlowe had ever seen. She burst out laughing, and Susanna could not help but follow. The two girls laughed for several minutes before Lady Dane threw her hands in the air. “I surrender! Make a fool of yourself, if you must. Do not say I did not try to help you.” And she swept out of the room, her skirts swishing.
Susanna stopped laughing, and her eyes grew wide. “Oh, dear. I had better go after her.”
“Go ahead,” Marlowe said, “and tell her not to worry about me.” Though Marlowe didn’t care if the countess worried or not. The words were for Susanna. “I have been imitating my betters for most of my life. No one at the ball will think me out of place.”
“Of course not,” Susanna said, squeezing her arm. Marlowe looked down at it. The girl was always hugging her or putting a hand on her shoulder. It was jarring. “And try not to be so hard on my mother. The more frightened she is, the more dictatorial she becomes.” Susanna ran to the door, opened it, and chased after her mother. But a moment later, she stuck her head back in again. “I’ll send Jane to you in a little while. She can help you dress.” And then the girl was gone again.
Marlowe slumped into a chair and stared at the fire. Lady Dane was frightened? Ha! Perhaps that was why Satin was such a bully. He was probably frightened too. She wanted to laugh. Some people were just born to be cruel, and though Lady Dane’s cruelty wasn’t punctuated with kicks and slaps, her words cut more than Marlowe wanted them to.
She felt like the ugliest, clumsiest, most ignorant person ever to have walked the earth. Lady Dane found something wrong in every single thing she did, which only made Marlowe more determined than ever to succeed. She would go to the bloody ball, and she would—how did the countess put it?—conduct herself with aplomb. And, God willing, she would meet Lord and Lady Lyndon soon and put an end to this whole farce. She would know, once and for all, who she was and where she belonged.
Marlowe stood, too restless to sit for long, and paced her room again. Her room. She could hardly believe it. Part of her did not believe it. Part of her waited for the whole charade to come crashing down. She had thought it might topple last night. She’d been pacing like this and stopped to open the curtains and peer out. She’d never lived anywhere with curtains or a window, and she found she liked looking out. The view of the small garden was endlessly fascinating to her. Marlowe went to the windows now, and looked out. She would have preferred a view of the street, so she might see who was coming and going.
Her gaze was drawn to a small clump of rose bushes at the back of the garden. In the daylight, it looked smaller than it had last night. She’d imagined shadows in that clump of bushes, imagined she saw something move. But Satin couldn’t have found her. Not yet. Unless the cub…
She bit the pad of her thumb and pushed the thought away. Even if the arch rogue found her, how would he reach her? The house was guarded. She was safe inside. Except she knew Satin, and she knew when he wanted something, or someone, he got it.
Marlowe wondered if she should tell Lord Dane about her suspicions. He would probably say she had been imagining things. Although, in truth, she did not know what he might say. She did not know him very well at all, and he’d seemed to have forgotten about her completely. She hadn’t seen him at all after their walk the day before. The slaveys had informed her he was dining at his club, and the ladies were taking dinner in their rooms. A mopsqueezer had brought Marlowe a dinner tray, and Marlowe had eaten by herself. When she’d gone down for breakfast the next morning, Dane hadn’t been there either. Strange that she should have been disappointed. She must have eaten too much of the rich food to imagine that she wanted to see him. He annoyed her more than anything else.
He was a bang-up cove. That much was true, but she’d known other handsome men. She could not think of any at the moment…oh! Of course, Gideon was a rum duke, though he was more of a brother to her than anything else. She thought she might understand now what Gideon meant about sparks when kissing. Marlowe imagined she would feel all sorts of sparks if Dane ever kissed her.
Of course, that was a foolish girl’s fantasy, and Marlowe was no fool girl. Dane was never going to kiss her. She’d probably give him a black eye if he did. But perhaps she might let him kiss her first, just to see what it felt like…
Marlowe pressed a fist to her belly. It felt fluttery and tingly. She must have eaten too many tea cakes.
There was a knock on the door, and the mopsqueezer Jane entered, bobbing a slight curtsy, which though not nearly as deep as those she gave Lady Susanna or the countess, still surprised Marlowe. “You don’t have to do all that bowing and bobbing with me,” she said. “I’m the last person to deserve it. Or want it.”
“His lordship asked us to treat you as we would one of the family,” the girl said.
Marlowe blinked in surprise. Why would he have said that? Because there was a small chance she might be Lady Elizabeth? “I don’t want to cause you any trouble, but please, no more bows.”
“Of course, miss.”
“Marlowe. I’m no miss.” Marlowe sighed. “Come on, then. Let’s get this over with.”
Several hours later, Marlowe was half-asleep in her chair as Jane shoved yet another pin in her hair. Marlowe was beyond impatience and had drifted into pure boredom. She had new respect for these rum morts of society. They must have nerves of steel to sit through this sort of thing day in and day out. A knock at the door made her blink, and Jane said, “Do you want me to answer it?”
“No. I must have fallen asleep. Come in!”
Susanna peered around the door, and her face broke into a huge grin. Marlowe couldn’t help but smile back.
“Look at you!” Susanna said. “You look like a princess!”
Marlowe glanced in the mirror and blinked at the girl staring back at her. It was her, only her face looked…different.
“Stand up. Let me see!” Susanna said. Marlowe rose obediently, feeling the satin dress pool around her. The material was so light, she felt as though she wasn’t wearing a thing. It whispered across her flesh in a way that made her shiver. The neckline was low, and her arms bare, so she felt almost naked as it was. The foolish part was that Jane had insisted she wear gloves past her elbows. Her hands were covered, but her bubbies were hanging out!
Susanna let out a satisfied sigh and clasped her hands together. “You look beautiful. That gown suits you so much better than it ever did me. It’s almost as if it was made for you!”
Marlowe looked down at the gown. “Jane had to shorten it.”
“Just a bit,” Jane admitted, “but it was nothing.”
“And your hair!” Susanna exclaimed. “It’s so lovely. Jane, I had no idea you were so talented. You must dress my hair sometime.”
“Not likely,” Jane said. “Maggie would have my head.”
The two women laughed as Marlowe turned to look in the nearby mirror to catch a glimpse of herself. For a long moment, she simply stared. She was used to seeing herself in a fancy gown now. She’d seen herself all day in Susanna’s, but this gown was far more—what was the word Susanna had used?—elegant than the one she’d worn earlier. This gown seemed to shimmer. And the rich violet color was far lusher than she was used to. She’d spent her life in grays and blacks and browns. Never had she imagined wearing purple. It made her eyes look so much more blue, a deep blue. They were almost too large for her face, and her face looked quite large with all of her hair pulled back and up. She didn’t realize she had quite so much hair. Jane had coiled it in a thick rope and wound it around the back of her head in a style
Marlowe thought was almost artistic.
“Do you like it?” Susanna asked, and Marlowe realized they had ceased speaking and were watching her.
“Your hair is all the same length, but I could cut it if you’d like fringe,” Jane said.
“No!” Susanna said quickly. “She looks perfect as she is. Well, almost perfect. I brought you this to wear.” She held out her hand.
Marlowe turned away from the mirror and watched as Susanna opened her fist to reveal a small gold necklace. Marlowe could feel her jaw drop. She could not stop herself from stepping forward. The necklace was so small and delicate—so beautiful. She shook her head. “I can’t wear that.”
“Why not?” Susanna asked. “With the neckline, you need something, although you look lovely with no adornment. Still, I would be honored if you’d wear it.”
“But what if I lose it?”
Susanna shook her head. “You won’t.”
Marlowe didn’t know what else to say. She turned and allowed Susanna to fasten the chain around her neck. When she looked in the mirror again, the gold shimmered and sparkled. She touched it reverently. She had never worn anything so beautiful. She had never worn anything worth such a fortune. No one had ever thought her worthy of it before.
“Thank you,” she said simply, feeling as though the simple sentiment couldn’t possibly be enough to express how moved she was.
“You’re welcome. We’d better go down. I don’t want to keep Mama waiting. Crawford has a wrap for you.”
Of course he did. Susanna had thought of everything. Marlowe followed Susanna out of the room, her insides beginning to tremble. She hadn’t been apprehensive about the ball before, but now that she was on her way, she could not help but worry. What if she said the wrong thing? Did the wrong thing? What if she forgot her accent and sounded like she ought to be out on the streets?
She’d never cared about such matters before, and now that she was dressed up and adorned, she felt more like a doll than a person. Susanna had been so kind, and her brother too, in his way. She did not want to embarrass them.
“Lady Susanna,” she said, trying to ignore the flutters of nerves, “I haven’t forgotten I owe you an adventure.”
The girl looked back at her with an expression of pure mischief on her face. “I was wondering when we’d come to that. Honestly, readying you for this ball was adventure enough for me.”
Marlowe shook her head. “No. I’ll find a real adventure for you.”
“That will be difficult, since we’re leaving directly for the country, but thank you, Marlowe.” Her expression had turned sad, and Marlowe cursed Lady Dane under her breath. The woman was such a tyrant.
As they started down the stairs, Marlowe realized not only the tyrant countess but her son would be waiting at the bottom. Her belly began to flutter again, making her feel as though she might cast up her dinner. Would he approve of the dress? Would she even make it through the ball without becoming sick on some important person or other? She must truly dislike Dane to feel ill every time she thought about him.
But when they reached the vestibule, only the butler was waiting for them. He helped Lady Susanna and then Marlowe don wraps, and informed them the countess and the earl were on their way.
A few moments later, both appeared. Marlowe almost forgot to breathe when she saw Dane. His wavy hair had been carefully arranged to fall over his forehead, and one lock of it curled against his cheek. His dark eyebrows rose when he saw her, and his lips curved in a sort of half smile. She did not know the name for the expression, but again, her belly lurched.
He was dressed in a black coat and a white shirt with a neckcloth that seemed to flow down his chest in ripples. Everything, including his waistcoat, was starched and white and perfect. His breeches were also black and quite snug, and his calves were shown off to advantage without his riding boots. She’d always preferred trousers on men, but now she could see the advantage of breeches.
“You look lovely,” he said. He took Susanna’s hand and bowed over it, kissing her gloved knuckles, and then repeated the gesture with Marlowe. She almost laughed. It was the sort of thing she and Gideon would have done in jest, but when Dane did it, it was quite charming. She wondered if he had been speaking to Susanna or both of them when he’d given the compliment. Did he think she looked lovely? And why the bloody hell did she even care what he thought? She was turning into some sort of silly ninny.
“Yes, you will do,” the countess said with a quick nod. Marlowe refrained from rolling her eyes. She imagined it was the first of many times she would have to exercise such willpower this night.
The four of them departed and clambered into the earl’s coach. Marlowe climbed in after the countess and her daughter, and Susanna indicated a spot beside her. “Sit here, Marlowe. You will feel more comfortable facing forward.”
“I…no, thank you.” Anything to avoid the countess. She sat across from Susanna and her mother and was surprised when Dane sat beside her.
“You do not want to sit facing forward?” he asked.
“Is that what I am supposed to do?”
“Good heavens!” the countess said. “Dane, do tell Johnny Coachman to drive on.”
And so she sat facing backward, staring out of the curtained windows and ignoring the little conversation occurring around her. Finally, Dane interrupted her thoughts. “What do you think?”
“The world seems to stream by very quickly,” she said.
“Does it?” He peered out as if to verify this fact. “Have you never been in a coach before?”
“Not when I could see anything,” she said, referring to the night he’d abducted her and covered her head with a sack.
“Really?” Susanna asked. “Not even a hackney cab?”
Marlowe shook her head. “If I had somewhere to go, I walked. There’s nothing wrong with my legs.”
“True, but what if you had to travel a great distance?”
Marlowe shrugged. “No—”
“Do not move your shoulders in that fashion,” the countess scolded. “It is not ladylike.”
Marlowe wondered if anyone could see her roll her eyes in the darkness of the carriage.
“Haven’t you ever been out of the city?” Dane asked.
“Course I have. I’ve been to Field Lane.”
The countess inhaled sharply, and Marlowe nodded. The lady should inhale sharply. Field Lane was no place for the likes of her. She would have been eaten alive.
“It’s true that Field Lane is slightly beyond the city’s parameters,” Dane said, “but I meant haven’t you ever been to the country?”
“No. Why would I go there?”
“Why indeed?” his mother murmured.
“I’ve never been out of London, never ridden in a coach, never worn a fancy dress like this one,” Marlowe said. “I’ve never been to a ball. Maybe you’d better leave me in the carriage.” Her hopes almost began to rise at the suggestion. Perhaps she could find a way out of this predicament.
“Certainly not,” the countess said. Marlowe sighed. She’d hoped Xanthippe at least would be on her side. “The duchess invited you, and you will attend. But you will not speak unless it is absolutely necessary. No talk of Field Lane!”
Marlowe sincerely hoped the woman did not begin her long lecture of rules again. As though she didn’t know enough not to bring up the dolly shops of Shoe Lane and Saffron Hill.
“I am certain Miss Marlowe has had many experiences we have not,” Susanna remarked. Marlowe narrowed her eyes at the girl. She’d sounded far too interested in the sorts of experiences Marlowe had had.
“That’s true,” Marlowe said, “but they’re not the sort of things you want to try. Although there’s something to be said for walking the city at night. Parts of it are so quiet, so dark, that I can almost imagine I’m the only one who lives here. And on a c
lear night, when you can see the stars, I like to go to the Thames and watch their reflection in the water. They glitter like I imagine diamonds might.”
“That sounds exquisite,” Susanna said.
“Humph,” said the countess. “The river stinks.”
“That’s true,” Marlowe admitted. “But I didn’t mind so much. The only thing I ever minded was the hunger. I don’t like being hungry.”
“We’ve noticed,” Dane said.
“But even that can be forgotten. Many a cold night I’ve stood with a group of people around a fire and listened to story after story. I could lose myself in those stories. That’s why I wanted to read Shakespeare,” she said, looking at Susanna. “I’ve heard some of his stories.”
“Well, then, you shall learn,” Susanna said.
Dane did not speak, but she could feel his eyes on her for a long moment. And then he turned away and looked out the window on the other side. Marlowe went back to her window as well, watching the faces of the people they passed, people who stared in awe at such a fine conveyance and wondered what gods might be inside. She remembered watching a time or two as a fancy carriage passed her on the streets. She might catch a glimpse of a lady’s face in the window, but usually the curtains were closed, and the occupants were a mystery. They passed a family walking on the street, and Marlowe waved to a little girl looking up at them. The little girl’s eyes went wide.
Marlowe almost chuckled. Now the child would have a story to tell. Of course, no one would be very impressed had they known who she was. No one special, just someone pretending.
Finally, they arrived at the ball. At some point they had encountered other carriages also en route, and the line of vehicles made very slow progress. Marlowe thought she could have walked more quickly, but the countess forbade her from climbing out.
The progression of carriages finally moved forward, and Dane’s carriage crawled to the front of the duchess’s house. A slavey opened a door, and Marlowe waited for the family to exit. When Dane handed her down, she stood completely still and stared. The house was so bright it must have looked like daylight inside. She could not imagine how many candles must be burning. The cost of the candles alone was a fortune she could not imagine. Music floated out from the house’s open doors. It was a beautiful noise, what she imagined an angel’s song might sound like. Of course, she’d heard music before, but a fiddler in a public house could not compare to the vibrant sounds she heard coming from within.