Page 63 of Three Weeks with a Princess
Chapter Fourteen
“Isn’t everything just lovely?” Amy Baxter enthused. “I don’t know when I’ve ever been to such a bang-up party or a more elegant house.”
Lia was wedged against a huge marble column ostentatiously painted with a great deal of gilt. It matched the rest of the Great Russell Street mansion, which was dripping with gold molding, painted friezes, gigantic chandeliers, and what seemed like endless gilt-covered columns. To her mind, the décor was more overpowering than elegant or lovely.
She’d never thought purple a particularly felicitous color, but Mr. Welby, a wealthy merchant and the host of the party, clearly liked it a lot. All the draperies and furniture fabrics were in various shades of that unfortunate color, as were many of the floral arrangements that graced the various tabletops. Even the marble under her feet had veins of purple running through it. She guessed Welby’s aim was to impart a sense of royal elegance. Instead, it seemed rather like a gigantic vat of grape juice had exploded all over the ballroom.
Barbara Carson, a pretty young actress from the Pan troupe, snorted in response to Amy’s comment. “This is the first mansion you’ve ever been in, so I guess it would be the most elegant one you’ve seen.”
“How do you know where I’ve been and haven’t?” Amy said. “I’ll have you know that my lord takes me out and about to many a fine party. And it’s not as if your beau ever takes you any place special.”
“You needn’t get in a twist over it,” Barbara said defensively. “Anyway, you’re wrong. Why, just last week my Anthony took me to a ball at Vauxhall that was just as splendid as this. And a great deal cooler, mind you, because it was outside. I’m about to expire from the bloody heat in here.”
“If you don’t like it, you can just leave,” Amy said tartly. “We only took both of you along tonight as a favor.”
“It was very kind of you and Sir Nathan,” Lia said hastily. “Barbara and I are very grateful, are we not?”
Barbara dug a friendly elbow into Amy’s side. “Lord, of course I am. I was just teasing you a bit. But you have to admit it’s roasting in here.”
Lia peered around the ballroom. “I don’t know how anyone can move, much less dance.” Apparently, balls held by the demi-monde were just as uncomfortable as those of the Ton. She began to wonder if it was possible to have fun at a London party.
Barbara vigorously flapped a large fan at her face, causing the curls around her temples to blow straight back. “At least you’re not dressed as the bloody Virgin Queen. This blasted Elizabethan choker is all but chokingme.”
The enormous ruffled collar appeared both heavy and scratchy, but it did little to cover Barbara’s breasts, which were almost popping out of the low-cut, square bodice of the period. All one had to do was lean in a bit to see the tops of the girl’s nipples.
“Perhaps if you fan your, er, chest you’ll feel a bit cooler,” Lia suggested.
“God knows there’s enough of it on display,” Amy said with a grin. “Maybe you could find a nice gent to put some ice down there and cool you off. Then you could ask him to go looking for it—if it doesn’t melt first.”
When the girls burst into laughter, Lia could only manage a weak smile. By the evening’s ribald standards, it was certainly a mild jest. Still, it was enough to embarrass her, which was not an encouraging sign given her mission tonight.
“Are you all right, Lia?” Amy asked, peering at her. “You’ve gone red as a radish. Hang on, because Sir Nathan will be back soon with our drinks.”
“I’m just hot,” she said. “But you made a very good choice, Amy. You look very fetching and quite cool.”
Ventilatedwould be a better description. Amy preened, smoothing down the wispy and revealing skirts of her nymph’s costume. It was the perfect selection for this masked ball. There were no sedate black dominoes or respectable ball gowns at this gathering. No, this was a riotously scandalous affair, frequented by demireps, light-skirts, and, it seemed, every young buck and rake in London. It was the sort of masquerade that no decent woman would ever set foot in, even if escorted by her husband.
And it also was the perfect opportunity for Lia to make her first tentative foray into the world of the demi-monde, beginning a discreet search for a potential protector.
Discretion was essential; her family would go into collective fits if they found out what she was doing. As far as they knew, she was home in bed with a headache, excused from a night at the opera with the Hunters and the Levertons. A worried Chloe had tucked her into bed with a cold cloth and a tepid cup of chamomile tea. Lia had waited in the dark for half an hour before making her escape. She’d had to steal out through the French doors in Chloe’s sitting room, then climb over the terrace railing and down into the back garden. She’d then hailed a hackney to take her to the Pan, where she met up with Amy and Barbara. The theater was dark that night, so they were able to raid the costume closet. After they dressed, Sir Nathan Prudhoe, Amy’s lover, had picked them up in his carriage.
“And you look very pretty, too, love,” Amy said with an encouraging smile. “Although I wish you’d let me dress you as something more exotic than a simple old milkmaid. I swear I’ve seen at least ten other milkmaids already.”
Lia absently tugged up her bodice. Amy had laced her in very tightly, causing her breasts to all but pop up over the top. A sartorial disaster was only one deep breath away, although with all the breasts on display tonight, hers would hardly stand out.
Still, she breathed a silent prayer that her elaborate lace mask would serve as an effective disguise. Her bosom might be exposed for the world to see, but none of the guests would know her identity.
She had no intention of removing her mask or making an effort to speak to anyone but her friends. She was here to shop the goods, so to speak, not make a purchase. That would come at some time still vaguely in the future, when she’d had a chance to review appropriate candidates for the role of protector—and, more importantly, to figure out how to make a final selection. She had yet to come up with a list of qualifications for the position except for the obvious two—he must be rich and he must not entirely disgust her.
As for the logistics of putting her plan into action . . . that mostly eluded her right now, too.
If only Granny were here to advise her. Lia had tried broaching the subject with her mother a few days earlier, but it hadn’t gone well. Mama now seemed convinced that Lia’s new and wealthy relations could take care of her, and that trying to find a protector risked offending both the Hunters and the Levertons.
Her mother’s newfound squeamishness would be laughable if it weren’t so annoying and unhelpful.
Mentally glowering at all the obstacles in the way of her plan, Lia tugged again on her bodice. Amy reached over and slapped her hands away.
“Now, stop that, Miss Lia,” she said. “You’re covering up your best assets.”
