Page 83 of Miss Dashing
“No one but her, though to be honest…”
“Right. No sister at all might be an improvement over a sister like that. How is this compromising supposed to work?”
Hecate had a general idea—DeWitt had mentioned that Portia was plotting more mischief—and Flavia supplied details consistent with prior offenses.
“Thank you for telling me,” Hecate said. “You’d best go waken Sleeping Beauty, and I will have a word with Uncle Nunn.”
“What about?”
“A topic we aired in theory several days ago that now must be dealt with in earnest.” Hecate stopped Flavia at the door, pulled her into a hug, and then slapped the bracelet into her palm. “Keep it for luck.”
Flavia hugged her back and slipped into the corridor, where Mr. DeWitt waited, already attired in his evening finery.
“Porry, hold still, or your coiffeur will be lopsided.”
“This vanity stool is an instrument of torture, and lopsided is fashionable. A curl or two cascading over my milk-white shoulder. Can you try that, Flavie?” Mama claimed Lord Phillip would be returning for tonight’s ball—where had he got off to, and how did Mama know that?—and the usual ringlets would not do.
Schoolgirls wore ringlets. The future wife of a marquess’s heir was entitled to more sophisticated styles.
“I can try.” Flavia, still attired in chemise and dressing gown, began unbraiding the plait she’d just made. “We will be late for the buffet if you don’t soon make up your mind.”
“The buffet is only for family and guests. We don’t need to be punctual. Besides, you are going to be late anyway, remember?”
“Because I’m to discover Hecate and Johnny at five minutes past the hour… Where did you decide I’m to discover them?”
“Must you pull my hair?” Portia took a fortifying sip of punch, though if Hecate had allowed any wine into this batch, Cook had used a very subtle hand. “You, accompanied by Eggy, at least, and possibly Mr. DeGrange and Mr. DeWitt, will find Hecate and Johnny in the warming pantry beside the formal dining room.”
“Because I heard strange noises coming from there and don’t want to risk my hems in the vicinity of an angry tomcat?”
“If you can think of something better, feel free. Strange noises ought to arouse curiosity, and because the formal dining room isn’t in use tonight, the warming pantry is the perfect place for a pair of servants to canoodle. Private, small, dark…” Only one door.
Nobody expected Flavia to be very clever or worldly. She could make a convincing job of anxiety over strange noises.
“And I’m to pull this off when you’ve left me less than forty-five minutes to dress and do my hair?”
“You’re quick, and I will tarry a moment to help you.” Portia considered her reflection and assessed the progress Flavia was making. “That is rather good, Flavie. I look quite Grecian.”
“If you’re not to look completely undone, you need more pins. What exactly did your note to Hecate say?”
“That Johnny is willing to see reason, and they need to have a private discussion if they are to resolve matters to her satisfaction.Ouch.”
A light rap on the door interrupted the scold Portia would have delivered. “See who it is. Mama or Eggy wouldn’t knock, and Hecate had best not think to interrupt our preparations with one of her lectures about moderation and decorum and whatnot.” Though perhaps Hecate was already in possession of her note—the butler himself was to deliver both notes—and wanted Portia to oversee the buffet or something equally tedious.
Flavia went to the door and came back bearing a single folded, sealed page. “For you.”
Portia broke the seal and considered her reflection in the mirror. Quite sophisticated. Alluring even.
“He’s back,” Portia said, scanning the few words on the page. “Lord Phillip has returned. This invitation must be from him.”
Flavia sat on the hassock by the hearth to don her stockings and garters. “What does it say?”
To share or not to share? Poor Flavia would never receive notes from gentlemen begging the favor of her company…
“‘If a certain young lady would see fit to join a certain lonely fellow in the earl’s study at a quarter to the hour, much interesting conversation will ensue. Ever thine.’”
“No signature? How do you know it’s not from Shoes or Boots or Johnny or Mr. DeWitt?”
“They would not dare make improper advances toward me.” Johnny might. Delicious thought, to sample the charms of Hecate’s prospective husband before Hecate had the honor. But no. Johnny had already received his summons to the warming pantry. Not even Johnny could manage two assignations in twenty minutes.
