Chapter 25
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Nine Days Later
“Mira…”
Beatrice stared at herself in the mirror, wide-eyed.
“I know,” Mira whispered, standing just behind and to the side of her, taking in the same reflection Beatrice was.
“It is…”
“I know,” Mira whispered again, the reflection showing the pitying look on her maid’s face.
It was far too much, the gown Henry had designed for her.
It was far, far too much. The last she’d seen its progress was two days ago when Henry and his designer had come for another fitting.
She had not minded it then, but at the time, it was much simpler.
The gown was a blush pink—not her favorite but a lovely color no less—and the low-scooping bodice was far more revealing than the dresses Algernon had made for her.
Little did she know that such a gown was simply a base for all of the other features Henry and his designer had added to it.
Silk flowers in bright, jewel colors had been sewn into the dress.
They covered every inch of the skirt—a skirt she had only found out a few hours ago was to be worn with a wide hoop, so it spread out wide from her hips.
There was also one sewed into her left hip, on the right side of her waist, and a particularly large one at the center of her bosom.
The short sleeves were also littered with the bright flowers, and atop her head, covering her updo, was a hat—or rather, one giant pink bloom that had white and gold feathers sprouting from the center to resemble a flower’s stigmas.
The grandiose of the… ensemble did not stop there, though.
The designer had also fashioned a custom choker.
A wide, watermelon red ribbon wrapped snuggly around Beatrice’s throat, and attached to it was another large bloom that matched the one she wore atop her head.
It was so large in fact that if Beatrice attempted to look down, the edges of its petals tickled her chin.
What was more, Henry had also brought another friend.
A cosmetic artist he’d made acquaintances with from the opera.
The woman had powdered Beatrice’s face and bosom until it was a pearlescent white.
A black beauty mark was drawn on the right side of her lip, and her lips were painted over with a most stunning pink.
At an opera or at the theater, Beatrice wagered that she would find the ensemble both striking and perhaps even pretty.
It was, after all, expertly made. On her, though, as she was about to go to a ball for a first time in her life, the reflection of herself heightened her anxiety and made her stomach clench in discomfort.
“I cannot do this,” Beatrice whispered, suddenly struggling to breath. “I cannot do this.”
She began to pace as she placed a hand on the one of few bare spots on the gown over her stomach.
“Oh, Lady Beatrice, please do not fret,” Mira urged. “It might be a little more than what you are used to, but you do look stunning!”
Beatrice shook her head, pacing faster as if that would somehow ease her stress, and she did not notice that her bedroom had opened.
“Beatrice,” Algernon’s deep voice vibrated through the room, “Henry is wondering if you are—”
Beatrice stopped pacing as Algernon’s words came to an abrupt halt, and she turned to look at him so fast, it caused a pain to travel up her neck.
He stood in the doorway, his wide, tall stature nearly taking up the entirety of the space, and he had a hand cupped to his mouth as his wide eyes stayed fixed on her.
“You are back,” she said, happiness at seeing him tunneling through her anxiety.
“An hour ago,” he acknowledged, his tone muffled and tight behind his hand. “I have been speaking with Henry downstairs. He insisted I come up and hurry you along.”
Then a moment later, his wide shoulders began to shake, and a sound erupted in his throat.
Beatrice narrowed her eyes at him, giving him a warning glare.
“Do not,” she warned, raising a pointed finger at him. It also boasted a flower though it was made of jewels and sat upon a ring. Another gift from Henry to further emphasize the apparent theme.
He shook his head quickly, but even so, another sound erupted from his throat. Then, as if he could not take it anymore, he dropped his hand from his mouth, threw his head back, and let out a roaring laugh.
“Do not laugh!” she exclaimed, throwing her hands up in the air.
In response Algernon only laughed harder, the expression taking over him so greatly that he leaned down and braced his hands on his knees. Suddenly, Beatrice’s anxiety was gone. It was replaced with rage at him, and she was half tempted to tear off one of the silk flowers and throw it at him.
“You look like a cake!” he said through his laughter, “Good heavens, I thought Henry’s ensemble was a bit much, but this is… you are…” He lost his words to laughter again, and Beatrice positively glowered at him.
She was no longer happy to see him, she decided. In fact in that moment, she wanted to shove him out the door and demand he go back to Morcaster. Why did he have to return right then at that very moment?
“I do not look like a cake,” she gritted out, her skirts making an annoying swishing sound as she marched toward him. “I look ridiculous!”
“No. No,” Algernon stammered out, looking as if he was trying to get his laughter under control as he rose up to a standing position. “You look… um… bright. Very…”
He ran his gaze up and down her again and let out high-pitched giggle that alarmed her. His voice was normally so very deep; she had no idea he could reach such a high pitch.
“Very bright,” he finally finished then let out another chuckle.
“This is not funny,” Beatrice insisted. She felt the flower on her head flop around as she shook her head and groaned as Algernon let out another burst of laughter.
“The ensemble was supposed to disguise who I am,” she insisted.
“Oh, with all those cosmetics it certainly does,” Algernon retorted. His laughter was finally starting to die down, but that annoyingly handsome grin of his was still spread wide across his face.
“This is too much,” she insisted. “It will draw too much attention. People will be watching my every move! And even if Henry does refuse to speak of who I am, this costume will certainly urge people to investigate in other ways.”
Algernon’s grin slowly faded as did the mirth in his eyes as he looked her over once again.
“You have a point,” he replied, his tone suddenly grim. “I apologize for laughing. I did not think of such things when I first saw you. Come, we will go downstairs and meet Henry. Hopefully we can convince him to tone this—”
He paused, gesturing toward her with his hand.
“Tone this all down a bit,” he finished.
Relief poured through Beatrice’s chest, and she sighed as she closed her eyes and nodded.
“Yes. Please,” she pled.
“Come,” he encouraged, offering her his arm.
Though still annoyed with him, she looped her arm around his and let him escort her down the hall.
“I am sorry for laughing,” he said as they headed for the stairs.
Beatrice rolled her eyes before they landed on him with a wry look. Of course, he was smirking again.
“You are not,” she countered bitterly. “I have never heard you make such sounds before.”
“Well, I have never such an ensemble as this before,” he said with a chuckle then a sincerity bloomed in his eyes as his smirk settled into a soft smile. “It is a bit much,” he confessed. “However, that does not take away from the fact that you still look quite lovely.”
Beatrice narrowed her eyes at him.
“Thank you,” she said begrudgingly.
As they reached the stairs, she heard a gasp, and as she looked down them—even though it could not be seen through the layers of powder on her face—Beatrice paled.
Henry’s ensemble was as elaborate as hers. A racket of colorful flowers seemed to have exploded all over his jacket. Even his shoes had blooms sewn onto them. Unlike her, he stood tall and straight in his clothes, as if very proud to wear them.
“Beatrice,” Henry breathed as Algernon escorted her down the stairs, “You look far more gorgeous than even I imagined! The dress is a vision on you!”
Beatrice paused at the compliment, nearly losing her footing as Algernon continued on, and she felt some of her urgency wane. The genuineness in his tone and the obvious excitement in his sage green eyes were too much. Too eager, too joyful to trample on despite her own insecurities.
“Actually, brother,” Algernon began to say as they reached the bottom of the stairs then he let out a stifled oomph as Beatrice sent her elbow into his ribs before letting go of his arm.
Henry had his hands outstretched to her, and she went to him, drawing on the sincerest smile she could.
“Gorgeous, absolutely gorgeous, my darling Beatrice,” Henry praised, shaking his head as if in disbelief. “You look positively transformed.”
“Into a cake,” Algernon muttered behind her, and it took every ounce of Beatrice’s will not to drop her smile and turn to him with a glare.
Henry had heard his brother though, and the wide smile on his lips faded a little.
“What is the matter?” he asked, giving her hands a gentle squeeze. “You do not like it?”
“I did not say that,” she answered quickly. This time she did glare over her shoulder at Algernon. He did not laugh again, thankfully, but he did raise a curious brow as he pressed his lips together in a tight line.
“By, by myself, umm… I thought it was a bit too much,” she stammered out, turning to face Henry again with a renewed smile. “However, now that I am by your side, it seems very appropriate.”
Henry’s smile was one of relief.
“I am so happy you like it, Beatrice. It suits you so very well. The colors you wear usually are lovely, but they are muted. You deserve a gown that makes you stand out.”
“But I wonder if it might make her stand out too much, brother,” Algernon interjected, stepping up beside them. “I understand that you enjoy attention, but perhaps this…,ensemble might draw a little more than you might think? Do remember that this is Beatrice’s very first…”
She shot Algernon a panicked look, and he paused, as if catching himself.
“… very first English ball,” he finished slowly.
“Worry not, brother. I may not be as overly protective as you, but I will guard our Beatrice with my life,” Henry answered. “Nothing ill will befall her, I assure you.”
“Excellent idea. I accept,” Algernon replied, his tone matter of fact as he straightened his gold embroidered black cravat and adjusted the cuffs of his jacket.
Both Beatrice and Henry gave him an odd look.
“Accept what?” Henry asked.
“Your invitation to come along,” Algernon said with a shrug.
Beatrice’s brows flew up as Henry gaped.
“I… I do not believe I extended you an invitation,” Henry said slowly as Algernon once more looped his arm around Beatrice’s. She was in such shock at how strangely the night was unfolding already that she was silent as Algernon began to escort her to the door.
“Of course, you did,” Algernon countered, nodding at Henry as if encouraging him to catch up with them. “You just said that you cannot be as protective as I am, so my presence is obviously required.”
“I said overprotective,” Henry pointed out, taking Beatrice’s other arm. “And I thought you despised such socializing?”
He gave her a slight tug, and to her relief, Algernon let go from his side. Even though it was Algernon’s touch that made her tingle, she did not like the idea of being pulled at by both men. In addition to that, she was to be escorted by Henry to the ball… was she not?
“Overprotective is still protective,” Algernon retorted. “And yes, while I usually detest such gatherings, your costumes have made me most curious to see what this particular social engagement is going to be like.”
“It is an ensemble, not a costume,” Henry muttered as the three of them plus Mrs. Sheer, who had agreed to act as Beatrice’s chaperone, made it to the carriage.
“As you say, brother,” Algernon sighed then offered his hand to Beatrice.
A second later, Henry offered his hand as well, both of them extended out to her to help her into the carriage.
She cast a pleading look toward Mrs. Sheer, who looked just as confused as Beatrice felt.
She suddenly wished that the housekeeper was going to ride inside with them, but she knew she’d be seated with the driver.
“I… I believe I can manage getting into the carriage on my own,” Beatrice tensely stated, ignoring both men’s offers of help. She brushed past both of their hands and sat next to the window.
Worry and anxiety rose up in her stomach once again as both brothers then tried to enter the carriage at the same time, their wide shoulders colliding together and causing them both to stumble back.
Beatrice winced as she saw them glare at one another before Henry all but shot himself into the carriage, almost tumbling into her in his hurry to take the vacant seat beside her.
This was going to be a terribly long evening, she realized, as Algernon slid into the seat opposite of them, and what was worse was that she had not even gotten to the hard part of it yet.