The Secret Duke (14 page)

Kitty sobered. “Oh, I’m ever so sorry, miss, but . . .” Her lips quivered again. “It’d be a lot simpler to hire a housekeeper, wouldn’t it? It’s us they want, miss, which is why the lads broached the matter again.”

“Again?”

“Fred asked me over a year ago, miss, but with Father as he was, I couldn’t, and I didn’t know when I could, so I sent him off as if I didn’t want him at all. So when times were hard, I couldn’t ask for help, could I? Ever so cross about that, he is. But now we’ve sorted everything out.”

Bella sighed. “I don’t approve, Kitty, for I’ve seen many examples of the sufferings women endure in marriage, but I cannot prevent it if you’re set on it. Please don’t rush, however.”

“Oh, we’d never leave you in the lurch, miss! Don’t you worry.”

Bella decided Lady Fowler’s might be a haven after all, and hurried off there. It wasn’t, however, and she made an excuse to leave at two o’clock. As she walked the two streets home, she accepted that part of her impulse to meet Orion Hunt grew out of Kitty’s startling news.

If her maids could dally with young men, so could she!

As soon as she was home, she asked, “Kitty, do you know how I could quickly acquire a new gown?”

“Quickly, ma’am? I’d think you’d have to go to a rag shop. I mean, where used clothes are sold. They’re not all rags. It’s just what people call them.”

“Really? Where do the clothes come from?”

“Servants, mostly, miss. Ladies often give their maids their castoffs, and the gowns aren’t always something the maid could or would use, so they sell them to a rag shop.”

“Am I being unkind by not having castoffs for you?” Bella asked.

Kitty smiled. “You could never be unkind to me, miss. Not after what you did for me and Annie.”

“I found two treasures, that is all. Do you know a rag shop? A good one.”

“Good, miss? What sort of gown do you want?”

Bella considered. “One suitable for Kelano by day. I’ll wear that wig too. Can you style it to go under a hat?”

“Yes, miss, I think so.” But Kitty looked worried. “Oh, miss, whatever are you up to now?”

Bella swiveled to smile at her. “Just another little adventure.” She hurried on before Kitty could ask more. “I won’t be able to wear a mask, but I don’t want to be recognized as either Bellona Flint or Bella Barstowe.” She turned back to consider herself in the mirror. “I’ll darken my brows again to match the hair, and redden my lips and cheeks. I think that will do. My features aren’t distinctive. So, can you discover a suitable rag shop? And without telling Mistress Gussage. She’d worry.”

“She’d give you a piece of her mind, and perhaps she should. You’re not doing anything dangerous, are you, miss?”

“No, truly. I mislaid something at the Olympian Revels and want to retrieve it.”

“Oh, miss! Are you sure that’s wise, miss? What if you’re recognized?”

“Hence the disguise,” Bella said, facing her maid and speaking firmly. “So please let me know when you discover the right place to purchase my new gown.”

Kitty ran off, which gave Bella time to rethink, but she blocked caution. For months now she’d been content to be hidden and safe, but the masquerade had cracked something, had opened a door. She could not resist walking through.

Kitty soon returned with the name of a place from a maid in a nearby house, and they went off together to explore.

 

They found Lowell Lane, a narrow side street, and walked along seeking Mistress Moray’s, Dressmakers, a better label than “rag shop,” and apparently the lady paid top price for fine goods and was clever at making over and refurbishing her stock. They arrived at the place, which was identified by a painted sign between the green-painted door and a narrow, rectangular window. A mobcapped woman could be seen sewing by what little light she had there.

When Bella went in, a bell tinkled on the door and the woman rose, putting aside her work and removing spectacles. She was middle-aged and solid, with shrewd eyes that noted Bella’s dull garments and speculated. She bobbed a curtsy and asked how she could help them.

Looking down the long, narrow room, which was lined with shelves of clothing and smelled of old sweat and perfumes, Bella sensed a ghostly presence of fomer owners.

Perhaps that was why she felt ill at ease. She’d not purchased anything fashionable in five years, and before then she’d gone to a mantua maker, chosen a design and fabric, returned for fittings and all such bother. She had no idea how to go on here.

“I need a fashionable day gown, ma’am. What do you have that will fit?”

The woman eyed her again, then said, “Come with me,” and led the way briskly to some shelves to the right. “This is a very nice gown, and likely in your size.”

She took down something brown and spread it on the central table. It was a gown much like the one Bella was wearing, though of finer cloth and lower in the neckline.

“My apologies, Mistress Moray. I didn’t make myself clear. I want a pretty, fashionable gown.”

Mistress Moray looked surprised, but then her eyes twinkled. “And so you should, ma’am, young as you are.”

She surveyed the shelves, then went to a different one and took down a cream dress sprigged with pink flowers to spread on the table. “Pale, I know, for London wear, ma’am, but it is made of the best cotton and can be laundered. It came to me quite soiled, but I’ve had it washed.”

Bella raised it against herself to check the length, but also to sniff at it. A very pleasant smell, thank heavens. She fingered the gown as if testing the quality of the cloth, but really because it was so pretty.

Perhaps dangerously so. What would become of her if she dressed like this again?

“That’ll look lovely on you, miss,” Kitty encouraged.

The shop owner had gone to another shelf and she returned with a deep pink cloak. “Wear this capuchin with it, ma’am, and you’ll be as pretty as could be.”

“Ooh, that’s just the right color for your skin, miss,” Kitty exclaimed. “Can my mistress try on the gown?” she demanded.

Bella hid amusement at this grand air.

“Yes, of course. Come with me.”

The dressing room was at the back of the house and lit only by a small, high window. Bella took off her gown and put on the new one. It was a little loose in the waist and a little tight in the bodice, but it would do. Except for one thing—the exposed vee from shoulder to waist in the front that exposed her jumps and shift.

Kitty immediately left to demand stays and a stomacher.

Secondhand stays?

Once she’d owned three pairs of stays, each custom-made and covered with pretty cloth. Two had been covered with fine embroidered linen, but her evening stays had been covered in silk.

During her four years of incarceration, they’d begun to wear out and she’d had to mend them, trapping whale-bone that tried to escape and putting new edging where it frayed. All part of surviving her father’s attempts to break her spirit. How it had infuriated him, as had her refusal to cover her shame with marriage.

His fury had been sweet reward on its own, but the result had been a battle of wills between two people who would never bend—and, she now realized, the forging of a new person she still didn’t fully understand.

Kitty returned, triumphant. “Here we go, miss. Now we’ll have you decent!”

“Now you’ll have me uncomfortable, you mean,” Bella grumbled, but she shed the gown and went through the tedious business of putting on stays, having to straighten her shoulders and stand taller. Had she perhaps begun to slouch?

Kitty pinned a cream stomacher on the front, and Bella put the gown on.

Bella Barstowe
, she thought to her flyspecked reflection.
It’s been a long time since we met.

Kitty added the pretty, hooded cloak, and a straw hat trimmed with pink apple blossoms. It suited so well, Bella wondered if clever Mistress Moray had done the trimming while they’d struggled with the stays.

“Yes,” Bella said. “It will do. It will do very well.”

She put on her own clothes again and went to pay. The sum was so modest, she almost protested, but she didn’t want to draw too much attention to herself. Instead she purchased the brown and another blue-and-white-striped gown without even trying them on. She added two more stomachers, another hat, a fur muff and a pair of silk shoes that were pure indulgence. Whatever her life was to become, she doubted she’d be dancing in fine company.

Mistress Moray was obviously thrilled by the purchases, and Bella realized that she hadn’t used her money for charitable purposes. She’d thought Lady Fowler’s work was benevolent enough, but now that felt tainted by her doubts about the woman and her mission.

As they walked home, Bella said, “Kitty, you and Annie must visit Mistress Moray and choose an outfit each.”

“Oh, Miss Barstowe. Thank you. Such pretty things as were there.”

Bella smiled at the girl. “Consider it in lieu of the castoffs you don’t get from me.”

Kitty smiled back, but then asked, “What does ‘loo’ mean?”

“In lieu. It’s French for ‘instead.’ ”

“Oh.” Bella saw her mouth it. No doubt soon Kitty would find an excuse to use her new word. She felt a pang for her futile ambitions for the girl, for she was very clever. But what was the use of being a clever woman in this world? She’d be a clever wife and mother, which would be good, but she wouldn’t have any need of French.

Back at the house they experimented with the disguise. Kitty dressed the wig up while Bella painted her face. Then Bella put on the whole outfit and considered herself in the mirror.

No one who knew Bella Barstowe five years ago would recognize her, but…

“Could anyone recognize me as Bellona Flint?” she asked.

“I can’t see how, miss, not with the wig and paint. Truly. I think you could walk by any of them at Lady Fowler’s house and they’d not know you.”

“Excellent.” Bella took it all off, then went to her desk. Now to send a message to the goatherd.

But goats are lecherous
, she remembered. She must be careful, especially with someone who called himself Orion Hunt. That meant she couldn’t allow for a reply.

She wrote:
Kelano will meet Orion to retrieve her stars at noon tomorrow.

If he had any notion of a nighttime tryst, he’d be disappointed. Bella had no intention of plunging so deeply into danger, even if she couldn’t resist dipping her toe into the pool. She was deathly tired of being serious and sober, and she wanted to meet the goatherd again very, very much. To banter with him, flirt with him, and perhaps, yes, kiss him again.

To be a pretty young woman again.

To be Bella.

 

 

 

 

B
ella approached the Goat the next day with butterflies inside. Some were excitement, but others fluttered a warning. Peg might have guessed the real nature of the meeting, but if so, she’d not protested. Peg approved of anything that took Bella away from Flint and Fowler. She also completely supported Annie’s and Kitty’s marriages, and was busy planning their wedding breakfast.

Bella stopped to frown at the narrow, three-story inn, losing her nerve. Her whole life was spinning out of control again, and coming here could only make it worse. The goatherd was bound to see it as encouragement, perhaps even as her agreeing to a wicked liaison.

She couldn’t turn back now, however, without being eaten up by curiosity.

She gathered herself and walked confidently toward the Goat.

It wasn’t as large or as busy as the nearby Star and Garter, but it showed no sign of being a sink of depravity, and the people going in and out looked respectable. Bella touched her face, pointlessly trying to assure herself that her dark brows and reddened cheeks and lips were in place, and then walked through the door.

“I am here to visit Mr. Hunt,” she told a manservant, with as much sangfroid as she could muster. She saw the look he gave her, and realized that he took her for a whore. She almost protested, but that would only draw attention to herself. Instead she was grateful to hurry after him down a corridor to a door.

He knocked. A voice said, “Enter.”

The servant opened the door. Heart thundering, Bella went in. She heard the door close behind her, but was staring at the man who awaited her.

A footman. In livery and powder. A masked footman to boot. The mask was in the Venetian style and made to resemble an animal—in this case, a goat. It covered only the top half of his face, but the nose jutted out to shadow the mouth and jaw.

A footman, though?

She’d liked the idea that the goatherd wasn’t one of the elite, that he might even have been an interloper like herself, but a gentleman. To tryst with such a one was adventurous. To tryst with an upstart footman was merely tawdry.

“My stars?” she demanded coolly.

He silently gestured to a cardboard box on the table close to him.

“A mute goat?” she queried, going forward cautiously.

“Perhaps simply frugal with words.”

She paused, assessing the voice. The mask muffled it, but as at the revels, she detected no trace of a lower accent. Not a footman.

“Why the disguise?” she asked.

“I could ask the same of you.”

“I’m not in disguise,” she lied, satisfied to have scored her point. He hadn’t denied the disguise.

“You usually paint so heavily?” he asked.

“It’s fashionable. For men as well as women.”

“Most especially for those who seek to hide the ravages of time. Are you really so old, Kelano?” When she didn’t answer, he shrugged. “I grant you, court makes its demands, and both men and women wear painted masks for that performance.”

And you go to court
, Bella thought. It rang through the way he spoke about it, but also, now that she thought of it, in his stance. A good footman stood tall, but this man had the easy elegance of high birth, of being trained in deportment from his first steps.