Page 27 of Lord Carlisle's Enticing Lure
Ramsey showed his own pleasure with a wry half-smile. “Meanwhile, our agent in Boulogne says Boney harasses his admirals to stop whining about the winds and tides—and make a plan to invade.”
Amber frowned. “We need to get them off the coast. People hereare beside themselves with worry. Their shouts as they drill scare everyone.”
Ramsey looked at his wife with misery in his dark gaze. “They have benefited from their stay.”
Ashley winced. “Two years now.”
Ramsey stared at his friend. “Boney has organized each corps into its own small army. They have in their corps structure not just infantry, cavalry, and artillery, but intelligence, medical, engineering, and transport.”
Amber sniffed. “Their army is better than their navy. They could build fast ships better than we, but now if they attempt to land here, they will strike with this defective flotilla. Better to stay home in Normandy, don’t you think?”
“Parade around and yell at us from the coast, yes!” said Ashley.
“Still,” Giselle said, her mind on her own responsibility, “this works best if the drawings in the Hastings book shop are picked up. Brighton, too.”
Ramsey shook his head. “Nothing we can do about Hastings or here. We can only expect that their agent will show up in both places because Bonaparte demands his armada sail, and sail soon.”
Amber took Giselle’s hand. “Don’t you worry about that.”
“I want this to work, Amber. I want them all defeated.”
“With what you have done, Giselle,” Ashley assured her, “we will succeed.”
Chapter Eleven
Giselle hired amaid to help her dress for the Ashleys’ and Ramseys’ ball. Servants were not people she had dealt with regularly in years. In many ways, she preferred living simply and on her own. But formal attire required attention to the front, the back, the darn corset and strings, and the drape of the décolleté and the hem.Mon Dieu.What a fuss! But the new royal-purple silk from the modiste in the Lanes was a glorious choice of fabric, color, and—she could say—drama, too.
“Just this, madam.” The young maid was good, belying her few years at her work. “Your corsage is…um…”
“The modiste,” Giselle replied to the maid eyeing the daring cut of the bodice a fraction of an inch above the line of her nipples, “wishes me to catch a man.”
The girl blinked at her with dark eyes filled with concern.
“I make a joke, Mary. I asked the woman to improve the line of the bodice, but she took me to mean lower it.” Giselle sighed, smiling at the girl in their reflection in the mirror. “We have both done our best.”
“The purple is like heaven, madam.” The maid stepped back to admire the full ensemble. “I understand there are many gentlemen invited tonight. Dukes and such. Maybe even the regent. You will attract them all.”
If Carlisle—Clive—were in attendance, Giselle would want only him. Tonight, she felt safe, protected. She was not going out, only down the main stairs to the ballroom. She could enjoy the wine, the music, and a bit of freedom from worry.
“You are kind, Mary.” She picked up her fan of delicate ivory sticks and slid the ribbon of it on her wrist. “I know my hostesses and their husbands, so I will be in good company.”
The maid virtually danced toward the door, while her eyes widened in humor. “I will tidy your rooms, madam. Please do ring for me to help you undress. I will be happy to help you.”
“I will, Mary. Merci beaucoup.” Giselle stepped through the door into the hall.
As the girl closed the door behind her, Giselle told her blood to stop singing in her ears. This was to be a prestigious ball, so had said theBrighton Gazettethis morning. It was a formal event where only the best people—the titled, the rich and famous—came to socialize. She had nothing to fear from any of them. If her beak-nosed shadow were among them, she had poorly misjudged his class, income, and purpose. But then, she had not seen him today, and she could conclude he had returned to his lair. Perhaps he was deterred by the appearance of her new bodyguard, or simply dropped his interest in her. Which was a good thing, since she itched to be done with her drawings of Brighton. She’d worked on what estimates she had collected and remained indoors working. She’d not even gone up to the Downs to view Brighton’s topography from that advantage.
She flicked open her fan like a coquette. Tonight, she would have fun.
*
The music ofthe orchestra floated out to her as she rounded the grand staircase and headed for the Old Ship’s ballroom. The Ashleysand the Ramseys stood at the entrance greeting guests. Most ladies came with an escort. Giselle had none, but then, she was comfortable with her lack of protocol, given she was with old, dear friends.
“Ah, here is our Giselle.” Kane, the Earl of Ashley, heralded her arrival as Gus kissed both her cheeks. “I am thrilled to see you again, mon cherie.”
“As am I to see you looking so well,” she told him. They would make it sound as if the five of them were not yet friends. The walls could have ears. She had learned that so well in Blois, when Vaillancourt had put his people into her household staff to report on her to him. “I think our Augustine has smoothed your brows. You appear to have fewer worries.”
“Flattery gets you in the door, Giselle,” Amber welcomed her.
