My Lady's Pleasure (33 page)

After they had admired each other’s costumes, they surveyed the room and admired some of the others they saw. Miss Niven was particularly taken with the cat, and the way the tail integrated with the skirt of the dress to create a lithe, feline look. “She even moves like a cat,” she said in wonderment. “How very clever.”

Georgiana was taken with one of the many Queen Victorias. It was a favorite costume among the older women, but there was one who stood out as the very picture of the queen herself. Georgiana pointed her out to Miss Niven. “Does she not look precisely like our queen?”

Miss Niven looked and nodded. “Perhaps it
is
the queen.” She raised her eyebrows in mock surprise.

Georgiana laughed, but then thought about it. “If I were the queen, and I wanted to go to a masked ball that was just a little too risqué for me to attend openly, I would certainly disguise myself as myself. It’s a brilliant idea, and you’ve uncovered it!”

“Shall we go discuss women’s suffrage with her?” Miss Niven said.

“Oh, I think not.” Georgiana frowned. “That’s not the right sort of talk for this sort of affair. We must ask her whether she likes champagne, or if she is enjoying the music, or whether she comes from this part of the country.”

“How very dull,” said Alexandra. “Perhaps we should talk to someone else.”

At that point, someone else presented himself. It was a man, slight of build, dressed in animal-skin trousers with boots gotten up to look like hooves. The horns on his head completed the outfit.

“It’s a satyr, I daresay,” said Georgiana. “How nice to see you this evening, sir.” She bowed her head slightly.

The satyr didn’t reply, but quickly moved his mask so the girls could see his eyes and recognize him.

“Freddy!” Georgiana whispered, looking around to see if anyone else had seen him do it. “You know that violates all the rules!” But she couldn’t help smiling. “I thought you were joking about being a satyr. And how ever did you know it was us?”

“Miss Mumford, I’m glad to say, is more susceptible to my charms than either of you two young ladies.”

“She told you?” Miss Niven would have been irritated had Miss Mumford still been in the house, but now that she was gone her former charge could not but think of her with benevolence.

“She said you would be the finest Cleopatra in the room,” Freddy said. “As far as I can see, you are the only Cleopatra, but I am sure you would still be the finest had there been a score more.”

Alexandra curtsied in response.

Freddy held out his hand to her with all the gallantry a satyr could muster. “May I have this dance?”

Alexandra marveled at his cheerful manner. It was as though the events of the previous day had never occurred. “You may,” she said with a smile, laying her hand on top of his. “Will you excuse me?” she said to Georgiana.

The two went off to the next room to dance, leaving Georgiana to continue her survey of her fellow partygoers. Most she could not identify, but she knew Zeus to be Barnes. It wasn’t just his size; it was the way he moved. She was too familiar with his body, his air, his gait, to be fooled by any costume.

And he, apparently, could say the same of her. She didn’t think she had thus far been recognized by anyone, but Zeus was approaching with a purpose, two glasses of champagne in his hands and his thunderbolt tucked under his arm.

Her heart sank. She knew she must talk with him, at least one more time, but she so wanted to enjoy the party. She thought that, with the mask, it would not have been clear that she had seen him and, even if it had been, perhaps he would assume she wouldn’t recognize him and know that he was coming toward her.

She turned around and walked out of the room. She chastised herself for doing the cowardly thing even as she did it, but she felt a burden lift as she entered the room where the dancing had begun, the floor already crowded.

She had barely taken two steps when a stout fisherman in an oilcloth sou’wester stepped up to her, bowed, and extended his hand. She smiled and took it, grateful for the rescue, although she had no idea who the gentleman was or, come to think of it, whether he was even a gentleman.

Part of what made the Penfield masquerade exciting was that the strict conventions of dances were ignored. Although the requirement that a man be properly introduced to a lady before asking her to dance was already falling by the wayside, it was necessarily disregarded entirely at a function where anonymity was all. For all she knew, Georgiana was dancing a tarantella with an actual fisherman, who just happened to be passing by.

She danced two dances with the fisherman, and then two more with a Roman senator who seemed familiar to Georgiana, although she could not place him. Then came a quadrille with a satyr who wasn’t Freddy, which finally tired her. As she headed off the floor, in need of food and drink, the satyr who was Freddy appeared at her side.

“Lady G,” he said. “You must dance with me.”

She smiled. “Well, you certainly have a charming way of asking, but I must have some wine and a bite to eat. I’ve been dancing this hour and more.”

He put his hand on her elbow and gently steered her back in the direction of the dance floor. “Just one, just one, and then I’ll personally escort you to sustenance.”

She rolled her eyes, but gave Freddy his gavotte. As they danced, she caught sight of Alexandra, who was standing up with an admiral. Was that allowed? she wondered. If there were any real admirals here, as there undoubtedly were, they might be put out by having to dance next to a false one. She shrugged, if one could be said to think a shrug. All the ordinary rules of society seemed to be suspended for the evening.

Freddy was as good as his word, and led her out of the room and off to the buffet when the dance was over. The room with the food was almost as crowded as the room with the orchestra, and they had to thread their way through the revelers to get to the sliced ham.

They both managed to fill their plates, and then looked around for a place to sit. There were none to be had, so they settled for a spot against the wall with a little table where they could put their wineglasses.

Alexandra, carrying a plate of her own, found them there. She was still flushed from the dancing, and her pleasure and excitement were palpable.

“Did you dance with a fisherman?” she asked Lady Georgiana.

“I did. Twice.”

“And did you know who it was?”

“I did not. But you do?” Georgiana was curious.

“I do. It was Gerry!”

“Did you figure it out, or did he reveal himself to you?” asked Freddy. Had he known that Gerry was his rival for the affections of Miss Niven, he might have been more interested, but it never crossed his mind that the older man would be interested in any girl, let alone the girl he was interested in.

“Oh, I figured it out,” she said. “But he wanted me to figure it out, although I’m sure I don’t know how he knew it was me. At first he didn’t say a word, but then he started in with pleasantries about the dance because he wanted me to hear his voice. And of course, when I heard him I knew.”

The three talked, ate, and drank for the better part of an hour, and speculated endlessly about who was what and what was who. There was a Florence Nightingale that Freddy swore up and down must be Mrs. Sheffield, and Alexandra thought the admiral must be Lord Grantsbury. Georgiana was quite sure that the earl would never lampoon the admiralty in that way, but she kept her thoughts to herself.

To Georgiana’s relief, Zeus did not reappear.

As they were drinking the last of their wine, their hostess joined them. As was the custom of the party, they all identified themselves to her.

“May I waylay someone to get more wine for you?” she asked, looking at their empty glasses.

“Thank you, Lady Loughlin, but not for me. I’m already feeling the effects of what I’ve had,” said Alexandra. “If I’m going to dance at all, I must try to keep my head. If I topple over during a mazurka, the floor is so crowded that I’m likely to bring everyone else down with me, like dominoes.”

Paulette laughed. “I can’t imagine a girl as graceful as you doing any such thing,” she said.

“But we can put it to the test,” said Freddy, again holding his hand out to Miss Niven, who took it and excused herself.

Lady Georgiana and her friend were left alone, and together they surveyed the room. The buzz was getting louder as the effects of the food and the drink and the company were being felt.

“It seems to me that you have more people this year than last,” said Georgiana.

“We do. Every year, the list of people we absolutely must invite—or face the consequences—grows longer. If it continues, we’ll have to hold it at Buckingham Palace before long.”

“The outlandishness of the costumes seems to increase with the length of the guest list.” Georgiana pointed to a sultan with an elaborately wound headdress, ballooning trousers, and a sword that looked like it could take down a tree. “I’m surprised he didn’t come with his own elephant.”

Paulette laughed. She enjoyed seeing her guests’ enjoyment, and she took it as a compliment that so many of them had spent time, money, and ingenuity on their dress.

The two were so busy looking at the costumes that they didn’t notice Zeus come into the room. Georgiana didn’t spot him until it was too late to make an escape, and she steeled herself for the encounter.

The god joined them and bowed to Paulette. “Lady Loughlin,” he said.

“Zeus,” she said, bowing in return. She knew it was Barnes, but she thought he made an excellent god.

Then he turned to Georgiana. “Lady Georgiana, I presume,” he said a little more stiffly, and bowed again.

“Mr. Barnes, I presume in turn,” she replied, and gave a shallow curtsy.

Lady Loughlin sensed the tension between them, and thought it would be a good time to take her leave. She excused herself and left the two alone.

Georgiana took a deep breath as the details of their last conversation came back to her. Since they had last spoken, she had come to the conclusion, which she had only suspected at the time, that she had indeed behaved imprudently by becoming entangled with him.

She remembered that he had asked for an explanation, and she knew she owed him one. But she did not think this the time or the place, and she hoped they could exchange pleasantries about the party and leave it at that. Those hopes, however, he dashed immediately.

“I believe we ended our last conversation on a somewhat unsatisfactory note,” he said. He was keeping his voice low so none but she would see his displeasure.

“We did,” she replied. “But perhaps this is not the time for us to discuss that. It is, you know, a party.” She gestured at the room and gave him a wan smile, knowing it was unlikely that she could distract him from his purpose.

“And is that why you ran for the door when you saw me approach earlier in the evening?”

She flushed. “It was,” she said. “I believe that what we have to say to each other may be difficult, and I could not quite muster the courage to face it.”

“And can you muster it now?” His tone was even.

“I think I need to.” She sighed and dived in. “I told you that I owed you an explanation for turning you from my door, and so I do.” She had been thinking about what she would tell him, and so had her explanation ready to hand.

“When I met you, I felt an attraction that was immediate and strong, and it seemed to me that you felt an attraction as well.” She looked him in the eye as she said this. He nodded his agreement, but did not reply.

“We acted on that attraction in a way that was, I think, to our mutual satisfaction.” He nodded again. None of this was news to him.

“Had our liaison remained private, I daresay we could have simply enjoyed it, but once it became public, I had to choose whether to continue, with the eyes of the world upon me, or desist.”

Here he interrupted her. “And I did not also have a choice to make?” he asked brusquely.

She considered. “Yes, you did,” she finally said. “But your choice was different.”

“And why was my choice different? Because I am a gardener and you are an heiress?” he asked, his tone growing almost belligerent.

“No,” she said softly, “because you are a man and I am a woman.”

She owed him the truth, and she told it. “As much as I wish we lived in a time and a place where people had more freedom to do as they please . . . as much as I believe conventions about relationships between men and women are both archaic and unjust, I have been made to see that it could be harmful to flout them.”

As an explanation for ending an affair, it was stilted and impersonal, and Barnes wasn’t having it.

“Harmful? ” he said with a sneer. “And who is harmed? You are harmed, and you would prefer not to be. That is what you are telling me. Being with me cost you more than you wanted to bear, and so you simply cut me loose, as though I were ballast weighing you down.”

“That is unkind,” she said, looking at the floor.

“But is it untrue?” he asked angrily.

She could not say that it was untrue. In a sense, it was certainly true. But it missed what was, to her, the heart of the matter.

“What we had,” she said, choosing her words carefully now, “was a dalliance. It was a light, delicious coming together of two people who felt a pull toward each other. I don’t think either of us ever gave a thought to anything serious or long-term. And a dalliance is not worth either of us making a sacrifice for.”

“And how do you know that neither of us ever gave a thought to anything serious or long-term?” He looked her steadily in the eye with a penetrating gaze.

She faltered. When Lord Grantsbury had suggested that Barnes’s heart might be broken, she had pooh-poohed the idea, but she did not have direct access to his emotions, and she acknowledged to herself that she might be mistaken.