Page 51 of Beneath the Devil's Mask
Hours later as the mantel clock ticked onward to the hour of ten, Anne took one last look at her uninspiring reflection in the mirror. She had woven her hair in the familiar tight crown of braids and selected one of the most demure gowns she owned, a plain muslin whose pale pink shade seemed to wash out what color remained in her fair skin.
Over it she donned a cottage vest of green sarcenet, lacing it so tightly across her bosom that she flattened her breasts, making it difficult to breathe. The ensemble was not likely to please Mandell, but then he knew that he was getting no sultry beauty in Anne Fairhaven. He could hardly expect any miraculous transformation tonight.
Perhaps Mandell would take one look at her and decide to send her right back home again. She touched one hand to her bare neck. Her little gold locket would have gone perfectly with the outfit, but it was still gracing the pawnbroker’s dusty shelf. Anne pored over the few pieces of her jewelry that remained, butin the end opted to wear none. It would only be one more thing that she would have to remove when?—
She swallowed hard, suppressing the thought. She was already nervous enough. Her gaze flicked to the mantel clock, the hands moving inexorably toward ten.
She had never known a day to go by so swiftly and she wondered if this was how condemned prisoners felt during their last hours. She had bitten her nails down to the nubs and her hands looked hideous. Was it considered acceptable to engage in intimate relations with a man while wearing gloves?
The thought almost caused her to break into hysterical giggles. She took a deep breath to steady herself. Tugging on her kid gloves, she reached for her brown velvet mantle, the one with the hood.
She had never looked more proper in her life. She appeared as though she was going to do exactly what she had told Lily earlier that day—have a quiet supper with her elderly godmother, Lady Bennington. She had even had the forethought to announce that her ladyship would send her own coach to fetch her.
How adept she was becoming at telling these lies Anne thought sadly.
Lily had been annoyed with her, of course. Out of all the invitations Anne had had to choose from, she did not see why Anne had to elect to spend her evening with an elderly recluse. But Lily had remarked sourly, she supposed it was better than Anne wasting another night at home.
Lily had already gone out herself to attend a lively musical soiree to be given at the home of some countess Anne could not remember. Her sister’s absence made things easier. As easy as this night was going to get, Anne thought as she prepared to descend to the front parlor. She could pace better there untilher hour of doom. The room was much more spacious than the confines of her bedchamber.
But as Anne opened her door, she was startled by the small figure that appeared on the other side—a golden-haired sprite, with bare toes peeking out from beneath a white nightgown, a doll clutched beneath her arm.
“Norrie, Anne gasped.
Her daughter skittered across the threshold. Norrie held up the china doll, whose tangled tresses had seen better days. She announced solemnly, “Lady Persifee couldn’t sleep again, Mama.”
Anne cast an anxious glance at the clock. Any other time, she would have welcomed the prospect of cuddling Norrie and rocking her back to sleep. But for once Anne did not feel equal to dealing with her small daughter.
She attempted to summon up her sternest expression, but Norrie skipped about Anne, eyeing her gown. “You look beautiful, Mama. Just like a fairy princess.”
“More like the wicked stepmama.” Anne scooped her daughter up in her arms. “Eleanor Rose Fairhaven, you and Lady Persephone belong back in bed.”
Norrie laid her head upon Anne’s shoulder, regarding her with wide pleading eyes, giving her most enchanting, dimpled smile. But her smile faded as her small frame shook with the cough she tried to repress.
“Oh, child,” Anne murmured. “Come, we must get you tucked back up all warm again. This is no good for you, being up so late.”
As Anne carried her daughter out into the hall, Norrie protested, “But, Mama, I’m accustomed to being waked up at night. It was awful noisy at Uncle Lucien’s.”
“That is because your bedroom must have been too near the street. But you have no such excuse here at Aunt Lily’s, younglady.” Anne took the firmness from her words by giving Norrie’s smooth pink cheek a kiss.
“But I like the sound of horses and wheels and people laughing. And it wasn’t the street noises that waked me, it was Uncle Lucien. He got angry at night and broke things.”
“Oh, Norrie, darling. I am sure Uncle Lucien was seldom at home after you went to bed. You must have been dreaming.”
Norrie stubbornly shook her head. “I peeked out my door and saw him. But I was careful. Uncle Lucien didn’t like anybody but him to be awake at night. And one time he hurt himself, Mama. He had blood on his sleeve and he kept falling. And he smelled bad.”
Anne strained her daughter close lest Norrie see her horrified expression. Anne had always known Lucien to be something of a rake, a heavy drinker, but alas, so were many gentlemen of the ton. Only recently had Anne begun to suspect how far gone in debauchery Lucien might be, how close to the edge of sanity. She could only thank the heavens she had Norrie safely away from him.
No, not the heavens, she reminded herself.
Mandell.
It took her some little while to bundle Norrie back to the nursery and coax the child to sleep again. By the time she saw her daughter resting peacefully, Anne was horrified to hear the clock strike half past the hour of ten.
Snatching up her cloak, Anne tore down the stairs to the first floor. But Lily’s stern butler attempted to bar her way. If a coach had been sent for Lady Anne, then it behooved one of Lady Bennington’s footmen to come to the door and announce the fact.
With great difficulty Anne persuaded Firken to step aside, the dignified old man scowling with disapproval as Anne dashedout into the night. She half hoped, half feared that Mandell would have given up on her by now.
But the outline of a coach and horses appeared drawn up next to the curb. Giving herself no more time to think, Anne flung up her hood, concealing her features. She raced toward the carriage, her heart pounding in tempo with her footsteps.
