Chapter 17

JUSTICE DENIED. I cannot express my disappointment with Scotland Yard in strong enough terms. Despite being presented with ample evidence, they have allowed the murderous Lady Allen to remain a free woman. We must consider the possibility that she has lined the pockets of our local law enforcement officers. Perhaps it is time to take justice into our own hands.

No one could deny Lord and Lady Wintermoor’s masquerade was an absolute crush. Guests spilled out of the first-floor doors of the ballroom into the garden, and the sound of tittering laughter and even moans could be heard if one listened closely.

Olivia surveyed the mass of costumed revelers. Mr. Dawson was out there somewhere, if Constance was to be believed, and could spirit the girl away at any moment. She had only Constance’s assurances that she would stay on the grounds and do nothing that might jeopardize her reputation.

She bumped into a man wearing a Roman toga and muttered her apologies. In other circumstances, the packed crowd would have made her anxious, but her costume was like a suit of armor, allowing her to take on a different role.

She touched the lacy edge of the bonnet atop her head. She had finally convinced Madame Julian to create the shepherdess costume gown from the dress plate she had seen in her shop. It had cost her several times more than what she would have paid for such a garment only a year prior, and she’d vexingly forgotten her shepherd’s staff in her bedchamber, but she hoped Thel would approve.

Thel, who had asked her to be his wife. She’d spent the day avoiding him, using the excuse that she needed to prepare for the masquerade. She’d been trying to understand her own reservations. Thel was, on the surface, as far from the earl as it was possible to be. Yet some suspicious part of her refused to acknowledge he was genuine. She would not be his wife until she faced those fears. He deserved that much.

However, there was someone else she had to find before seeking Thel. The masquerade was the event of the season, which meant Mrs. Zephyr was sure to be lurking among the guests. Olivia did not know what costume the woman was wearing, but she felt confident she would recognize the woman’s nasal voice even if she wore a sheet over her head.

She analyzed the colorful masks and costumes as she slipped through the crowd, making her own guesses as to the identity of each. The woman dressed as Cleopatra with a ruby-studded mask ordered the servants about and moved with a confidence reserved for the upper echelon of society. It could be none other than their hostess, the Duchess of Wintermoor, which meant the Mark Antony at her elbow was her husband.

Olivia veered away from the brightly dressed couple. Mrs. Zephyr was the kind of woman who preferred to gather her own crowd, rather than linger at the fringes of another. She also loved to hear herself speak, which meant she would not be near the orchestra.

The refreshment room, or the solarium. Which was more likely?

She chose the former, as it was closer, and picked her way through the crowd until she reached a long table covered in sweets. She picked up a chocolate-covered strawberry that had melted into goo from the heat. It was still delicious, tart, and sweet in her mouth. She had been unable to eat that morning, as her stomach had twisted in knots at the thought of seeing Thel again.

She squared her shoulders. There was no point in delaying the inevitable. If she couldn’t find her target, it was time to confront Thel and do her best to pretend nothing had happened. At least, until she’d made up her mind.

Suddenly, a heavy weight smashed into her and sent her sprawling.

“Oh, dear,” a slurred voice said. “Who’s that?”

Fate, it seemed, was on her side. Mrs. Zephyr’s nasal voice was recognizable even in the woman’s obviously drunk state.

She pushed upright, waving away the gloved hand that appeared in front of her, and faced Mrs. Zephyr. The woman was dressed in a green-and-blue peacock gown complete with long feathers that bobbed as she wavered on her feet. A mask lavishly appointed with sparkling, green stones obscured the top half of her face.

“I apologize for my rudeness,” Mrs. Zephyr said. “I have consumed far too much champagne.”

Olivia ensured her mask was still in place, then dropped into a deep curtsey usually reserved for women of much higher rank. The longer she could keep Mrs. Zephyr from recognizing her, the more likely she would be able to get the information she sought. “All is forgiven,” Olivia said as she straightened. “I was hoping to speak to you, Mrs. Zephyr.”

The woman flicked her head back, sending the peacock feathers fluttering. “You recognized me. Very clever. Well, wait no longer. How might I grace you with wisdom?”

“Were you familiar with the former Earl of Allen before he passed?”

Mrs. Zephyr clucked her tongue. “An impertinent question.”

Olivia bowed her head, frantically forming a believable lie in her head. “I apologize, madam. It is only that my younger sister is considering becoming a companion to a lady who claims the previous earl left her a substantial fortune. I thought someone as important as you might know if there is any possibility the woman is telling the truth.”

“Hmmm,” Mrs. Zephyr said. She leaned in so close that her breath wreathed around Olivia’s face. “I will impart a secret to you in exchange for bowling you over. I might have filled the role of the earl’s mistress myself, except he had an understanding with a woman who was”—she put a shaking finger to her lips—“terribly jealous.”

Shivers went up Olivia’s arms. She put her hands on Mrs. Zephyr’s shoulders to keep her from falling over. “Are you certain?”

“Do you call me a liar?” Mrs. Zephyr drew herself up. “She threatened me, you know. She said… What did she say? Ah, yes, she said the earl told her everything, including that I was a wet fish in bed.” She huffed. “Envy is not a good look on a woman of her class.”

Olivia leaned forward. “What was her name?”

She realized she had erred when Mrs. Zephyr scowled. “You’re as jealous as that little, blonde whore.” She staggered, nearly taking both of them off their feet. Olivia handed her off to a footman with instructions to take Mrs. Zephyr to a retiring room.

As the footman maneuvered his charge through the crowd, Olivia’s mind buzzed with possibilities. Jealousy was a powerful motive, but it didn’t explain why the articles had started years after her husband’s death, or why Mr. Dawson had pursued Constance before Olivia had ever met the girl. Neither Mr. Dawson nor his unknown source could have possibly known that Thel would engage her as a matchmaker.

Or perhaps they could.

Every other matchmaker in London had rejected Thel, a wealthy marquess. Who had the power to make them do that?

As if summoned by her thoughts, Thel appeared by her side. He wore a black domino cloak, black trousers, and a black mask with two triangular ears.

“You look lovely,” he said, kissing her white-gloved fingers.

The anxiety she’d expected to feel didn’t come to her immense relief. She was also grateful he’d not called out her reluctance to see him. It made it easier to pretend things were normal between them.

“How did you know it was me?” she asked before his grin gave her the answer. “You bribed Mrs. Quill.”

The maid had been remarkably helpful in procuring a length of light blue ribbon that Olivia had tied into bows and used to decorate her slippers.

He put a hand over his heart. “I would never.”

She put her hand on his arm and let him draw her through the masses toward Constance, who wore a bright-yellow gown that sparkled in the gaslights. Her mask had wavy lines meant to represent the sun and was covered in gold leaf. Lily had balked at the expense, but Olivia had insisted. The bright costume acted as insurance. If the worst were to happen, Constance would be easy to recognize in the crowd.

“How are you enjoying the event?” she asked when they reached Constance.

The girl beamed. “It’s wonderful!” She spun in a circle, spreading her skirt around her. “It is so freeing, being able to dress however I want without worrying about who will discuss it tomorrow.”

“Stay in the ballroom,” Thel said sharply. “The side rooms lead to…” He trailed off, then cleared his throat. “Activities not suitable for young ladies.”

A young man appeared at Constance’s side and linked his arm with hers. “Don’t worry. I won’t let her exclude me from her revels.”

“Mr. Ringwell,” Thel said, in a voice that conveyed no small amount of relief.

This was also Olivia’s doing. With Constance’s childhood friend present, it would be easier to convince Thel to let Constance out of his sight. She was glad he had received her missive in time to prepare for the masquerade, and even more glad of his genuine interest in Constance. He was not a suitor she would have selected as a matchmaker, given his lack of title, but as long as Thel didn’t disapprove, neither would she.

Constance twirled away from Mr. Ringwell. “Only if you can keep up with me.” Then she darted into the crowd, a golden blur. Mr. Ringwell spared Olivia a nod before chasing after.

Thel tensed. Olivia saw it, attuned as she was to his movements.

“Are you certain it was wise to bring Constance here?” Thel asked. “Lord and Lady Wintermoor are not known for their discretion.”

He was catching on. It would not be long before he realized the odds were good Mr. Dawson was present.

“I am perishing,” she said. “Might we take a stroll outside?”

Thel looked between her and the quickly departing shape of Constance. “But…”

Constance had to have enough time to lose Mr. Ringwell, find Mr. Dawson, ask a question, and receive an answer that would make her seriously consider her future.

The crowd decided for them, jostling her and forcing the air from her lungs. She was nearly swept away from Thel, but with his height and size, he muscled through, grasping her hand and reeling her back like a fish on a line.

She pressed herself to his side until they were through the worst of the chaos. The tightness around her chest released, and she took a deep breath that wasn’t scented with perfume. It was good that Saffron was not in attendance. She would surely have fled at the first sign of the crush.

Olivia tugged Thel’s arm toward an outdoor stage. A group of actors was frozen in place in a tableau vivant depicting the daughter of Agamemnon being rescued from sacrifice by the goddess Diana. Each actor wore an elaborate mask that covered the entirety of their face.

She leaned closer and whispered into his ear, “I have a wicked idea.”

He slid his hand down her back. “Oh?”

She nodded toward the stage. “We should join them.”

Thel raised his eyebrows. “You want to try that?” He gestured to Iphigenia, splayed on a throne before them, wearing a gown so sheer, they could see the outlines of her nipples.

A thrill raced through Olivia. No one would know who they were. It was a perfect opportunity to distract Thel and experience something she’d always dreamed of but had never had the courage to pursue. The pursuit of pleasure in a public setting.

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.

It was Thel, wearing less than she was.

He sat on the rock behind her. Taking his cue, she placed her arm across his lap and tilted her head to the sky. Their garb did not exactly match the painting they were emulating, but it was enough for the audience to erupt in applause.

Her insides twisted and her cheeks felt warm. Seconds passed like minutes as she held herself as still as possible. She dared not move or touch him, as she feared her confidence would shatter and she would flee the stage.

“Look at me,” he whispered.

She met his gaze, and the intensity in his eyes made her want to reach up and kiss him. His expression was hidden beneath his mask, but the muscles in his shoulders and neck were taut, as if he were holding himself back.

The music changed, indicating it was time to adjust positions. A wicked impulse had her throwing away her prior concerns and crawling on Thel’s lap, straddling him with her arms around his neck. He clasped his hands about her waist and squeezed, making her gasp. Rather than ruin the illusion, she leaned back until her head was tilted to the sky. They froze in that position, although at least one part of him continued to move, or more accurately, grow .

“I don’t know how much more I can take of this,” he whispered in a pained voice.

She chewed the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. In a sense, his costume was even more revealing than hers. “Carry me off when the song ends.”

He grumbled but remained in position until the music faded. Then she wrapped her legs around his hips and twisted her torso to wave at the cheering crowd as Thel carried her offstage.