Page 67 of Lady for a Season
“Can’t you just use the Duchess’ old clothes?”
“You know better than that. We must make haste to order your costume and the Duchess’, before everyone places their order and the modistes get overly busy.”
“And what will the men be wearing?”
Celine giggled. “You will think they have all become dandies overnight,” she said. “They will be very colourfully dressed. Oh, and wigs,” she added suddenly. “We must order wigs for you all.”
On the night of the ball, Maggie stared down at herself and back in the looking glass. “How did anyone ever wear such clothes?” she asked Celine.
Her dress was white and gold, with a waist drawn in so tightly she could barely breathe, gold high heels which made every step precarious, and a white powdered wig adorned with gold stars, which was so high she was certain it would topple at any moment. Her face was powder-white, with brightly painted red lips, over which she was to wear a white mask outlined in gold sequins which Celine was currently fastening. The mask would cover most of her face, leaving only her red lips uncovered. The skirts of her dress billowed out on both sides as far as her outstretched arms.
Celine giggled. “Have you not seen the portrait of Her Grace as a young woman?”
Maggie had, though she could hardly believe it was the Duchess. A beautiful girl, in a vast blue dress, face coquettishly turned away but her eyes still meeting the viewer’s, the hint of a smile. “She was very pretty.”
“She was the talk of theton. Everyone wanted to marry her. There was rumour she might even be suitable for the royal family. But the Duke secured her.”
“Did they love each other?”
Celine emerged from straightening Maggie’s petticoats, her face serious. “The Duke was not always… kind,” she said. “Her Grace did not have an easy marriage. His Grace was a difficult man to love.”
“Does that not make her more inclined to ensure Edward’s is a love match?”
Celine applied a little more powder here and there to Maggie’s face and wig, standing back to get the full effect. “Those who have not known such a thing may struggle to imagine it,” she said.
“His Grace will be ready by now,” said Maggie. “I should go down.”
In the corridor Joseph met her, holding out her cloak.
“Remember, it is a masquerade,” he said. “You do not disclose your identity. There will be no receiving line, no announcements of rank, you simply enter the ballroom with your invitation. Only the footmen will know who you are. Unless they are bribed to share the information, of course,” he added.
“Bribed?”
“You do not know what the mamas of thetonwill do to identify their prey,” said Joseph darkly. “I have seen them slip a footman money to point out which gentleman is the person they seek, so they can send their daughter to stand close to him and wait for an invitation to dance.”
“Truly?”
“Oh, truly.”
Walking with care so as not to turn her ankle, Maggie made her way down the staircase, one hand firmly on the bannisters.
“Your Highness.” Edward stood at the bottom of the staircase, gazing up at her, his blue eyes shining. Accustomed to seeing him in sober colours, Maggie could not help but be enchanted by his costume. He wore a suit made in golden velvet, withlavish ruffles on his white shirt and gold braiding and buttons. He had refused a wig. His natural hair curls were tied back with a ribbon, the colour matching the gold of the velvet. White silk stockings, black shoes fastened with gold buckles. There was something in his air that spoke of confidence, a certainty to his stance which made her smile.
“You look like a princess,” he said, as she reached him.
The Duchess nodded frostily. “Well done, Duval,” she said to Celine, who was hovering behind Maggie. “You have done a good job.”
“Is that supposed to be a compliment to Margaret, Mother?” asked Edward.
“She is dressed as she should be,” said the Duchess. She was laced into a similarly shaped gown, dark purple silk glittering all over with tiny gold sequined stars. She gestured to Celine, who hurried forward and fastened her mask, an elaborate half-face confection in the shape of a crescent moon. It made her easy to recognise, but Maggie suspected that the Duchess was not keen on being anonymous, but rather preferred to see and be seen. Perhaps she wanted to be known so that the various mamas of thetoncould seek her out and ask for assistance in identifying her son. Joseph helped Edward with his mask, a full-faced gold and black affair, behind which Edward disappeared entirely into an unknown person.
The carriage would not fit all three of them at once, due to the vast skirts of the two women, so the first carriage took the Duchess and Edward, while Maggie climbed into the second carriage.
“I hope you enjoy yourself tonight,” said Celine, leaning in for a moment to adjust her mask.
“Thank you,” said Maggie.
Arriving, she took a moment to rebalance herself in the golden heels, walked carefully up the stairs, to where a footman held outhis hand for her invitation. He glanced down at it, nodded and bowed her into the room, with none of the announcements of names and titles which Maggie had come to expect.
