Page 55 of The Rogue's Last Scandal
Now, Francisca’s face was a mask of determination, not a bit servile, though out of politeness, the few words she spoke were in her even more indecipherable English. Graciela would have laughed if her head were on right, or even still attached to her neck.
It had been quite the morning.
“Oh, I do like your hair done more loosely,” Lady Sirena exclaimed.
The maid had left her curls to their wildness, framing her face, coiling low on her neck, unlike the tight, pomaded style Lady Kingsley had enforced.
“And the dress—’tis a dream. The color makes your skin look like cream. I’m glad, I am, that Madame delivered the start of your wardrobe. She was so disappointed you’d gone out.” Perched on the side of the high bed, Lady Sirena swung her feet just as Reina would have done.
With her back to her ladyship, Francisca adjusted a pleat and rolled her eyes.
The modiste she’d visited with Lady Kingsley had been decidedly English, dressing her in whites that made her look swarthy and foreign. Who was this Madame?
She fluffed the skirt of the dress. The blue wafted like soft bay water, the tiny flocked flowers floating upon it. “It is a lovely dress, but let this be the end of them. I fear I cannot pay you right away, and I would not be in your debt.”
A rap on the door brought Lady Perry, who clapped her hands together and smiled. “She is sleeping finally, even without Charley’s help, and the dress is perfect, as Madame said it would be.”
Lady Sirena waved her hand. “She’s fretting though, Perry. Miss Kingsley, you’re not to worry. ’Tis only one dress, and such a pleasure it is for us to see you in it.” She smiled wickedly. “Forallof us.”
Her cheeks warmed. Lady Sirena had caught her sprawled over Charley, and the both of them kissing. And then there was the matter of the engagement, which the ladies could not possibly know about because she barely knew of it herself.
“Madame will be along early tomorrow with another morning dress. She is wishing to measure you in person.”
The modiste would come to her in person. Lord Shaldon was indeed powerful.
Lady Sirena laughed. “She’s very clever, Madame is, taking a lady’s measure from her clothing. But it is better to measure the person, especially when one is addressing needs such as a corset.”
“There is no need—”
“I beg you to allow it.” Lady Sirena had hopped from the bed and now her small cool hand clasped Graciela’s. “It was but a year or so ago that I ran from a monster with naught but the clothes on my back.”
“It’s true,” Lady Perry said. “And a lady must have clothes.”
She found it hard to breathe. “I am not a lady.” Not here. Not in England.
She had been a lady, or almost so, years before, when she had danced at her older friends’Quinceañerasand wondered which of the handsome young men who flocked to the parties would be hers. And then her father had decided they must leave, this time taking them on the long voyage back to the West Indies, dropping them with friends in Tampico and leaving, because what he must do was too dangerous.
And then Mama had decided they must leave there and go to Veracruz. Papa had no notion of that journey, nor the dangers they’d faced. She had never lived so close to the land, so close to the edge of survival. It had cost her all claims to gentility.
Lady Sirena might have fled a monster, but it was to go from one cultured drawing room to another. In this country, Graciela might as well have been an opera dancer, or a flower seller, or one of the Rom threading their wagons down bumpy lanes and sleeping under the stars. She could never meet the standards of these people, especially the ladies.
Well, except for these two, who seemed determined to keep talking. “You’re not only a lady, you’re a wealthy one, to boot, I hear. Your father had the forethought to put money aside for you and not leave you to running through the woods and knocking on the neighbor’s kitchen door to take you in.” She patted Graciela’s hand. “There now. If anyone can get you set to rights, ’tis Lord Shaldon and his sons.”
Lady Perry eyed her thoughtfully. “Especially his son, Charley.”
A bottle crashed on the dressing table, scent filling the air. The little maid rushed to help Francisca mop up spilled liquid.
“It will be all right, Francisca,” Lady Perry said in her careful Spanish, and then turned back. “Shall we go below and find out all the news?”
Francisca nodded, her mouth pressed firmly closed.
“Let me join you in just a few moments,” Graciela said. “I would have a quiet word with my maid.”In private, so I may stay her hand from throwing more bottles.
When the door closed on the ladies and the other maid, Francisca turned a shaking finger on her. “That man—”
“Do not worry yourself. I have a plan.”And you are not going to like it. Graciela swallowed. “And we must prepare ourselves for the opportunity to leave.”
Charley pacedfrom one window to the other, another brandy in his hand. Gracie should be down soon, and he was waiting on one more report.
