Chapter 18
Marie stood in the middle of her sitting room with textiles spread out on every available seat.
“I have laid out the possibilities I thought were best suited for your costumes,” she said, gesturing to coordinated Greek-apparel habits, modified for modesty. “My mother has collected one from every masquerade she and my father have attended.”
Camilla was drawn to a costume with color, but the sight of a quiver of arrows set on top of one of the gowns caught Sophia’s eye, and she walked toward it.
“That is Diana, of course,” Marie told Sophia with a smile. “My father wishes for me to wear it, but I am more interested in dressing as Juno.”
Sophia lifted the quiver and pulled out one of the arrows. Although the quiver was a prop and would be easy to carry, the arrow appeared to be real. The idea of going as Diana appealed to her. The goddess of the hunt was fearless, something Sophia could never be.
“I think I shall be Minerva,” Camilla said, lifting a loo mask decorated like an owl with real feathers.
“Will there be an unmasking at the end of the evening?” Sophia asked. “Might we remain anonymous if we wished to?”
Distracted, Marie dropped the habit she was holding and turned her eyes to a simple gown with wings sewn to it.
“Or I might play Psyche. I would enjoy confounding Cupid.” She turned to Sophia, the question apparently just registering. “There will be an unmasking, but there is no reason you have to remove yours. You may simply disappear when the fireworks begin.”
“If it encourages you to move and speak more boldly,” Camilla added over her shoulder, “then I advise you not to reveal your identity. The knowledge that you are truly hidden will give you freedom you don’t generally have.”
Her sister’s comment was astute, for that was precisely what Sophia longed for. Perhaps she might discover which costume Mr. Harwood wore, and she would allow herself to compliment him in a bold way. She would be free to do so if he did not know her.
At the picnic, he had given her signs that he was interested—at least she thought it was interest. He said he was glad she and his sister had met, suggesting the introduction held some significance. But perhaps he was just being polite. She wished she understood the male sex better.
“Or you may cast a gentleman into despair by remaining anonymous,” Marie countered.
“He may wish to know who the mysterious huntress is who has bewitched him and will expire from not knowing.” A servant entered the room carrying a tray.
“The tea is here. Let us have some, then sort out how to complete each of the characters.”
The tea was brewed and set out and each helped herself to cake. Sophia’s mind still revolved around the idea of remaining hidden, which would have the added incentive of ensuring that Robert, who was likely to attend the masquerade, would not find her.
“I suppose if I were to wear a domino as well, that would keep my hair hidden,” she said.
“Yes, but it would hide an elaborately made costume.” Marie glanced over at the huntress dress. “Do you intend to go as Diana, then?”
Sophia paused before answering. “You did say your father wished you might. Would you not consider wearing it?”
Marie shook her head. “If you wear it—and I think you should—I believe you should have your maid style your hair in the old way, the way our mothers did. She could give it height and add powder and curls, even leaves. You will look charming.”
“The matching loo mask extends low enough and will reveal only your lips,” Camilla added. “I hardly think anyone will recognize you. And then you can decide if you wish to reveal yourself at the end of the evening. I, however, am decided to stay for the unmasking.”
Sophia ruminated over this and glanced back at the costume.
It was the only one that caught her eye, and although the thought of wearing it seemed daring, the impulse was strong.
“I shall go as Diana, then, and although I do not know whether I will participate in the unmasking, I will do as you say and style my hair rather than covering it.”
The crested carriage deposited the earl’s family at Whitehall, where a crowd was gathered to take sculls across.
Dorothea and her husband soon joined them there, and Miles flagged down two watermen to carry them across.
As Sophia stepped into the boat, memories of her picnic with Mr. Harwood returned.
Her thoughts grew unsteady whenever she thought of him.
In one instant she was sure he was engaging in a subtle courtship and felt all the delicious heart flutterings that went with it.
In the next, she was sure he must be destined for Marie.
The more time she spent away from him, the more she became convinced that he could not seriously be considering pursuing her. Even if he was interested in her—and why would he be when she was deficient in so many ways—he would not take a step so injurious to his political future as to propose.
Daylight held as they entered Vauxhall Gardens, but inside, paper lanterns dotted the path leading to the center, where a large area held tables and chairs for public dining.
It was still early enough that one might easily admire the decorations, including the elaborate Greek scene painted at the rotunda reserved for dancing.
An unspoken thrill of nighttime masquerade and anonymity seemed to permeate the air.
Miles walked ahead confidently in a simple domino and half mask, and Dorothea sported a loo mask and crown of braided wheat as Ceres, but otherwise wore a simple gown.
“It was rather halfheartedly put together,” she had said laughingly.
It was Sophia who had dressed with the most extravagance, shocking everyone. It was all due to Marie’s influence, but she was glad she had done so. It felt like she had taken on the character of strength and aloofness when she donned the costume.
Having told her maid she did not wish to be recognizable, Margery teased and powdered her hair into an elaborate style with curls and leaves.
Her mask was silver, and she allowed her lips to be painted a dark red.
When she looked into the mirror at the final result, she gasped.
No one would know her for Lady Sophia Rowlandson.
Now, as they walked toward their supper booth, men and women turned to stare at her, and only the knowledge that she was in disguise allowed her to face the scrutiny without fear.
“The box I reserved is here, waiting for us.” Miles led them around to the back, where a sign appeared on the door, proclaiming, “Mr. Miles Shaw.”
“Famous!” Evo declared. “Joanna and Tilly, you should sit on the sides, since you are the least in character.” Joanna scowled at him, but Tilly followed his orders without demur.
It was not until they had stepped inside that Sophia realized how visible they were in the lighted booth.
It was like being on display. One of the chairs in the front was tucked behind the pillar, and she slipped into it.
It did not matter that she was determined to be courageous; it would serve no purpose if everyone attending saw her with her family and recognized her.
Lady Poole had fully recovered from the ailment that had kept her abed for several weeks and appeared to be cheerful and ready to enjoy the evening.
“You must remain in the central alleys that are well lit.” She then pointed to one of the more shadowy, narrow alleyways. “Avoid those at all costs, for you are in mixed company, and not everyone has good intentions.”
“We have no inclination to stray from the areas that are well lit,” Sophia assured her mother.
Evo had come as a Roman senator, his eyes keen as he looked around.
Miles placed a hand on his shoulder and said a few words to him, which reassured Sophia.
Dorothea’s husband would keep him in line this evening.
More guests streamed into the gardens, as the lanterns that floated gently in the breeze shone more visibly with gradual nightfall.
Robert, easily recognizable in a simple mask, walked by their box, and Sophia shrank back out of sight.
The rotunda meant for dancing was visible from their booth.
The orchestra had started early, its lively notes filling the air.
Although the dancing had not officially begun, some of the guests broke into spontaneous country dances.
The smell of roast meat and punch promised that dinner would not be long in coming, and with the sounds of laughter and talking from all quarters, Sophia was blanketed in the festive atmosphere.
However, she could see why one would be cautious in coming to Vauxhall. Some guests had already had too much to drink, and it was equally evident that not everyone in attendance was Quality.
Marie came along the path in front of her with a shorter woman in a plain domino whom she recognized as Miss Edwards, and she guessed the older couple with them to be the admiral and his wife.
Immediately, she perceived a gentleman of Mr. Harwood’s height following behind in a bright red cloak and plumed helmet over his domino.
She was sure it must be him. He turned when passing their booth, then looked away just as quickly, proving that her disguise was good.
Either that, or it was he who did not wish to be recognized—or was not interested in knowing her tonight with Marie there. Not in the way he had at the picnic. The thought depressed her.
Marie turned and spotted their party. She said something to her father and let the others continue on before running over to Miles’s box and tiptoeing up to where Sophia stayed hidden. “You look stunning, Diana.” She winked at her. “This habit seems to be made for you.”
Her friend’s praise warmed her. “As do you. I must thank your parents for the loan of such elaborate outfits.”
“Let us meet at the rotunda when the dancing begins. Mr. Edwards has come, but I have not yet seen Mr. Harwood.”