Masquerading the Marquess (20 page)

Calliope put her feet up on the settee and pulled her day dress over the top. Betsy would be in soon to help her prepare for the evening.
Funny how one became used to the assistance.
Calliope grimaced.

Betsy tapped on the door and entered. "What a lovely house, miss. The country is so different from the city."

Betsy’s eyes glowed. Was poor Herbert, the footman, already being replaced?

"Anything interesting belowstairs, Betsy?"

"Indeed, miss," she said as she entered the closet and withdrew a red evening gown. "I have heard the most unusual things about the Pettigrews and their parties. Supposedly this is not one of their more wild weekends. Tame entertainments are planned."

Calliope hid her grin at Betsy’s disappointment. "Why do you suppose that is?"

"Servants don’t know, miss. They say Lord Pettigrew’s been awfully preoccupied with some government hubbub lately and has been curtailing boisterous types of entertainment. They say Lady Pettigrew is bored." Betsy shook her head and helped her into the gown.
"Never a good thing, a bored noble."

"This is Lady Pettigrew’s birthday weekend and they haven’t planned anything above mild?"

Betsy nodded sadly and her disappointment reflected Calliope’s own. She had been expecting at least some caricature material from this trip. Lord Pettigrew had been promising especially lurid activities for weeks. Not that she would participate, but she had planned to actively observe and document.

What had made the Pettigrews change their plans?

Betsy went to work on her hair. "Don’t worry too much, miss. The maids are hoping for some extra activity, in any case. Seeing as there are still quite a few of the notorious in attendance, we should be able to have an exciting weekend."

Calliope looked at Betsy’s eyes in the mirror.
Poor Herbert.

Betsy chartered while she worked and finally stuck the last pin in her hair. "Too bad you don’t go with your own hair, miss. It’s much nicer. "

"This is my hair, Betsy
. "

Betsy sighed. "Yes, miss."

Betsy, as gossip-hungry as she was, wouldn’t say anything. She wanted the position more than anything. It was too big a step up for her. Moreover, Calliope genuinely liked Betsy and she thought the feeling was mutual.

However, Calliope wished she could dispense with the wig as well. It itched. She surveyed herself critically. The brown wig had been styled artfully so ringlets fell around her face and the ample expanse of skin that her Turkey red gown afforded. The gown’s gold satin trim and accompanying long lace scarf accented the beautiful color and style.

This was one of her more daring gowns. Although the gown she was saving for tomorrow was definitely Madame Giselle’s masterpiece. But this one would do?-nicely, since the purpose of wearing the dress was to keep all eyes away from her face as she took measure of the house.

There was a knock and James entered her room. Betsy hiked her skirts and ducked through the open doorway.

Calliope cocked an eyebrow at his impertinence but swished forward to greet him. His eyes swept her and his expression left her satisfied the gown would do its trick.

"Forget what I said earlier in the coach about your taste in clothes."

Her stomach did a little flip. She placed her hand on his outstretched arm, and they exited the room. The gold picture frames winked in the candlelight as they walked down the hall and descended the stairs. `

"Just be your charming self and remember not to venture away from me. We will only observe tonight, agreed?"

She nodded and they reached the dining room, where other guests were milling about waiting for dinner.

"My dear Esmerelda."

Calliope turned to see Lord Pettigrew ambling forward, hindered by his large girth.

She pasted a smile on her face and extended her hand to the earl. "My lord, you are looking very dapper this evening."

He beamed. "Saw this style at the races last week, and with all our success that day I took it as an omen and thought I might try it."

"Well, it suits you," she flattered. "Will you keep your horse running?"

"
Thunder
Peak
is an excellent piece, but I believe I will put him to stud this year. He should make me a nice profit." He gave her a meaningful glance.
"Suitable enough even for extravagant purchases."

She gave him an inviting smile but bristled at the implication. She offered a noncommittal, "Mmm, yes."

James escorted her to the table as dinner was announced. She found herself seated between James and Mr. Ronald Ternberry. Lord Roth was seated across the table.

Ternberry’s expression was pinched as he surveyed the table. "There are to be charades later.
How trite."

Although Ternberry was on their list, Calliope couldn’t picture him doing anything as remotely exciting as committing a crime.

Roth seemed to delight in Ternberry’s boorishness. "Ronnie, there is to be a musicale too. I hope you regale us with your spring larklike voice."

Calliope smothered a smile. Roth was a rogue. "Oh, yes, Mr. Ternberry, I look forward to hearing you sing."

Roth smiled at her approvingly and turned back to monitor "Ronnie’s" reaction.

Ternberry sniffed delicately as if he were appeasing mere mortals with his magnificence.

"Well, I do have a passing voice, my dear, although I don’t often perform for others. I may do you the honor after dinner."

"Afterwards we can do charades. I really hope I get to choose my own." Roth dropped the statement innocently and took a drink of his wine.

Ternberry’s brows drew together. It was obvious he was unsure what Roth’s statement implied. Calliope sipped from her wine goblet, hoping to conceal her mirth.

"Won’t it be fun?" Roth shot her a wicked glance and Calliope gave in and laughed. James was conversing with a lady on his left, but turned at the sound. The first course was served and the servants moved between them. Light chatter flowed around the table during the next courses. Dessert was served and the conversation at their end of the table shifted to politics.

"Making a tidy profit these days.
Yes, I do say," Ternberry said.

Roth eyed him sharply. "Feels good to keep those Corn Laws intact, doesn’t it?"

"Yes, yes, it does. A good landowner must make an ample income."

"Of course, Mr. Ternberry.
A good coat must be purchased no matter the price of grain."
Calliope sugar-coated the words, trying to keep her voice neutral.

"Yes, right. Good sense you have, Esmerelda."

"So Ternberry, you don’t mind that your workers are unable to afford the cost of the grain they themselves reap?"

Calliope glanced at James in surprise. She hadn’t known he was listening.

"Part of being a landowner, Angelford.
You know that. We have rights."

"We have votes, you mean," James said.

"Since only large landowners can vote." Roth casually threw in the statement.

James fiddled idly with his knife. "There are rumors of reform bills in the works. Something about having a minimum yearly income, something
under
fifty pounds, to gain voting privileges."

Ternberry recoiled. "Rubbish!
Common riffraff deciding the fate of our nation?"

"Isn’t it their nation also?" James said.

Ternberry sniffed.
"Second-class citizens.
What to propose next, women being allowed to vote?"

James put his hand over Calliope’s, loosening her grip on the cutlery.

"I do think there are many ladies in
England
who might be more sympathetic and a good deal better equipped at decision making than the members of the current House," Roth said.

Ternberry turned an ugly shade of purple.
"Criticizing the government borders on treason, Roth."

Roth popped an apple slice into his mouth and surveyed the guests. "Let’s see them come and arrest me."

Calliope was concerned Ternberry might explode on the spot, but after his insulting remarks she wasn’t feeling congenial toward him and made no attempt to smooth things over.

"Speaking of which, I was wondering, how did you find your last inspection of Newgate?" James asked Roth.

James and Roth began an animated discussion of prison conditions, none of which was proper for dining room conversation. But the entire table was talking and no one was paying them much attention. Ternberry stewed in his seat.

Calliope reined in her surprise. She had expected Ternberry to be a staunch Tory. But Roth and James had turned her thoughts upside down. They were talking as if they were Whigs or Reformers.

She hadn’t been aware of either of them dabbling in the political sphere, so she couldn’t be sure where their hats lay. She had just assumed they were conformists. Weren’t all nobles conformists? Even those who professed otherwise?

Lord and Lady Pettigrew rose. "We are going to hold an informal musicale. It is Lady Pettigrew’s wish that everyone participate."

Some good-natured grumbling followed the statement, and a few of the gentlemen griped about cigars, but men and women allowed themselves to be pressed into service as the group adjourned to the conservatory.

A couple of women with passable voices sang. A lord with a deep bass was delightful. And then Ternberry rose for his turn. He had a decent tenor but he liked to hit a higher note than was particularly suited to his voice. It caused a wince from Calliope every time and she shared a grin with Roth. He had obviously known what to expect.

"Esmerelda, please favor us with a .selection," Pettigrew boomed.

She could decline, but listening to the others had brought forth the familiar itch.

"I’d be delighted to accompany you, Esmerelda," Roth announced, stunning more than `

one
person in attendance.

Roth sat at the pianoforte. "What’s it to be?"

"Do you know, 'A Bluebird’s Love’?"

Roth looked at her strangely for a moment and then nodded. Calliope was actually surprised he knew the piece. It was an obscure song, but it had been her mother’s favorite.

He plunked the opening bars and she began. Calliope had a strong mezzo-soprano voice, and she immersed herself in the song and forgot about the audience. She was transported back in time and place to when she was a very young girl singing in the little music room with her mother. She remembered her mother twirling and smiling and her father playing the pianoforte.

It had been a long time since she had inserted her father into a happy memory.

Roth played the last bar, drawing Calliope back to reality.

There was a brief silence and Calliope wondered if she had committed a faux pas. Monstrous applause drowned her imaginings. Roth winked at her and they returned to their seats.

"I say, that was well done!"

"Wonderful
! "

Everyone was smiling except Lady Flanders, who was scowling; and Angelford, who wore an unreadable expression. Numerous selections followed until the last volunteer’s spindly voice hit the final note.