Page 41 of Mentor to the Marquess
A chime sounded, and the actors shuffled off the stage, taking with them the throne and pillows.
She tugged him up, and they approached a door beneath the stage. They stepped into a dark room filled with trunks.
“Perfect,” she whispered.
“What exactly do you expect to happen?” Thel asked, closing the door behind them. “They are hardly likely to allow guests to trot onto the stage.”
She pried open the lid of a trunk and found exactly what she was looking for, as if fate had placed it in her path. “They will if they don’t know who we are.”
“You cannot be serious.”
She was already removing her mask and the many layers of her costume. When she was down to her undergarments, she pulled a plain gown of spun wool out of the trunk and slipped it over her head. She had seen some actors wearing similar outfits in the crowd when they were not performing on stage. With luck, they would fit right in.
She turned to Thel with a flourish.
“A remarkable transformation,” Thel said dryly. “I can hardly tell you spent several hours with a maid this evening.”
She brought her hands to her hair. “Oh. I had forgotten.”
Thel chuckled. “Allow me.”
He walked behind her and dug his fingers into her hair, removing the sharp pins until her locks tumbled free.
He pressed a kiss to the back of her spine. “The jewelry as well?”
“Y-Yes, of course.”
He traced the curve of her ear with his finger. “At this rate, we will not make it to the stage.”
As tempting as that offer was, a part of her wanted to experience the attention of the crowd upon her, appreciating her body without knowing they were salivating over a woman they had scorned.
She stepped out of Thel’s embrace and purloined a pair of trousers and a shirt for him. When he had changed, she balled up her clothing and held it in her arms. Where could they store their garments such that no one would stumble upon them?
“Let me.” Thel peeked out the door and summoned a footman with a crook of his finger. One whispered conversation and exchange of coins later, and the footman took off with the evidence of their identities.
She took his hand and pulled him up the stairs, where another door waited.
Any fears that they would not fit in were swept aside as the other actors took one look at them, chastised them for being late, and hustled them into separate dressing areas.
Olivia allowed a young woman to pull her purloined gown off and tried not to giggle as a new one was thrust over her head. Her hair was tucked beneath a wig, and a mask was lowered over her face.
She was shoved next to a mirror and looked at herself in wonder. The gown was something her grandmother might have worn, sleek and with a square neckline and no more substantial than a night rail. The mask covered her from forehead to chin and was feathered and dusted with silver jewels and tendrils of blonde hair that curled around her cheeks.
She swallowed past a lump in her throat. She could not believe what she was about to do. Strangers would see her in such a revealing outfit. She should walk away, find some other way of distracting Thel while Constance was speaking to Mr. Dawson.
A short, curvy woman wearing a sprig of laurels atop her curly, brown head crouched at Olivia’s feet and plucked strands of grass from her gown. When she’d finished, she stood and put her hands on her hips. “Does it suffice, my lady?”
The formal manner of address made her stiffen.
The woman winked. “Don’t worry. We’ve no concern about you and your… friend taking a turn. Gives us more time to prepare for the next one.”
“Ah, then, yes.” Olivia nodded. “It is lovely. Thank you. Ah… what role will I be playing?”
“The Loves of Acis and Galatea.”
Olivia knew it. Alexandre Charles Guillemot’s work told of the love between the mortal Acis and the sea-nymph Galatea. She plucked the sheer fabric of her costume. “Aren’t I wearing too much?” In the painting, Galatea wore nothing but a sheet around her waist.
The woman did not answer, but bustled her out of the dressing area and then Olivia was on the stage. For several seconds, she froze. Then a murmur rippled through the crowd, and Olivia remembered what she was supposed to be doing. She strolled across the stage, head high, and reached a bundle of silver fabric pooled in front of a box covered in a red sheet. She splayed down on the ground, assuming her role. The moment she froze in place, another actor stepped onto the stage from the other side. She could not see his face beneath the elaborate mask covered in blue and green flowers, but he was clothed in brown sandals and a matching Roman toga that barely covered his thick carpet of chest hair.
