Chapter Seventeen
Early on Friday evening, Lady Ashby came to Lissy’s room to ensure she passed muster before going to the ball.
“You look splendid, my dear. Such a shame your beautiful eyes will be hidden by your mask, though.”
Lissy raised an eyebrow. It was unlike her mother to offer compliments.
“I thought the idea of the mask was rather to enhance the eyes, Mama. It is the eyes and lips which entrance, and the rest of the face that is hidden.”
Her mother, elegantly dressed as one of Henry VIII’s queens—or possibly an amalgam of all six—stared at her intently.
“You do know something about the world, then.”
Lissy bristled. “I may have done something of which Society does not approve, Mama, but I’m inclined to think that is Society’s problem, not mine. I’m not stupid, and object to being insulted.”
“I apologize—I was attempting to tease you. I’m not very good at it.”
Lissy bit back the observation that her mother wasn’t merely “not very good” at teasing—she was entirely incapable of it.
“I had thought I might be forgiven,” Lissy said quietly, “but I can’t help wondering if I’m going to have to live with the perceived crime of my elopement hanging over my head for the rest of my life.”
“I can’t imagine you remaining here for the rest of your life, my dear. You have far too much to offer. Some gentleman will steal you away from me long before I’m ready.” Her Mama paused. “By ‘steal away,’ I mean only as a figure of speech. I’m not encouraging you to elope again.”
“I didn’t think you wanted me to leave home. I thought I had become the indispensable maiden daughter, who carries her mother’s smelling salts in her reticule, always knows where her mother’s shawl has been left, and is prepared to fetch it.”
Mama pressed her hand against the square neckline of her costume.
“I never intended that for you—it wounds me that you should think so. I’ve always wanted what was best for my children, and I still do.
I didn’t mean to clip your wings—I only hoped you would remain long enough to mature and be able to make your own informed decisions.
Running away with Oscar Treadwell was not an informed decision.
It merely proved to me that you were not yet ready to enter the world without your mother’s guidance. ”
“I admit that I made a mistake. I completely misread Oscar’s character. But it was my mistake to make, and I have learned from it. I’m nineteen now, Mama, and I left the schoolroom a long time ago. I think I am ready to come out from underneath my mother’s wing.”
Mama gave her a considering look before answering.
“I think perhaps you are. And I promise to stop teasing you about Oscar Treadwell. You will meet many gentlemen this evening who are far superior to him. In fact, there’s one worthy gentleman already within these walls, an employee in whom—this time—I have a great deal of faith. ”
Lissy reached for the fan tucked into the pocket of the shepherdess dress she was wearing and fanned herself lightly, hoping Mama wouldn’t see the pink in her cheeks.
“By that, I presume you mean Mr. Cowley,” she said as steadily as she could manage. “Surely you can’t be recommending a mere secretary to me? I would have thought you would look much higher than that for a husband for your youngest daughter.”
“He is not Mr. Cowley, and he’s no secretary, as we both know.
He’s the emissary of a friend from my youth—Bessie Dove-Lyon, as she is now—and she appointed him your chaperone when I brought you back home from London.
He is Roland Chetwynd, the younger brother of the Earl of Aylsham.
But I shall not tell you that he is fine husband material, for that is the surest way of turning you against him. ”
For several moments, Lissy couldn’t breathe. She and Roland had already worked out that Mrs. Dove-Lyon and her mother were in league regarding bringing them together. But she had not known that her mother was in possession of Roland’s true identity.
All this time, both he and she had been performing a charade to protect his anonymity—while Mama had known everything. Whatever could she mean by it?
“So, you know who he is? Then why, may I ask, are you permitting him to live here as your secretary under an assumed name? And what has happened to poor Mr. Dashwood? You were happy enough with him before, and since he successfully tracked Treadwell and me to our lodgings in London, I would have thought you’d be delighted with him. ”
“Dashwood is taking a leave of absence—he will return to Mundlingham Castle in due course. Roland Chetwynd is here on a mission for Bessie Dove-Lyon. It’s all very mysterious, and apparently, I’m not to be told about it until the time is right.
Since she upheld her part of our bargain—delivering you safely home under Chetwynd’s care—I am returning the favor by allowing him to remain, for the time being, and to keep his anonymity.
If I were inclined toward frivolity, I would consider it amusing to have such a pink of the ton under our roof.
I assume you have no objection to his continued presence.
He doesn’t . . . disturb you at all, does he? ”
The genuine answer to that question was not the sort of thing a young lady shared with her mother, so Lissy ignored it.
“What about Hugo and Latymer? Why are they being kept in the dark?”
“Mrs. Dove-Lyon likes to be discreet in her dealings—the fewer people who know what she is about, the better. Sometimes even the people working for her aren’t fully aware of what they are doing or why.
I don’t think I’ve ever met a cleverer woman.
A great pity she cooled toward me all those years ago. So much wasted time—”
Lady Ashby moved across to the window. The room was silent but for the ticking of the clock. Then a sudden gust of wind blew the ivy against the glass of Lissy’s chamber, making it rattle.
“It’s time to go down and greet my guests. I must say—that shepherdess costume is most becoming to your figure. I do hope the skirts will not get in your way when you try to dance.”
Lissy was acutely aware of a quiver in her body—not from cold, for her shepherdess costume had full sleeves and a fichu to cover her shoulders—but from nerves.
She knew this was intended to be her ball, where she must shine and entrance all the neighbors, particularly the young, fashionable gentlemen.
Such a responsibility, even if one was going to be masked!
This was supposed to be her triumphant entry into Society—a chance to dazzle, to be admired.
Instead, it felt like walking onto a battleground.
She seized her shepherdess’s crook for support.
At least she had a weapon with which to fend off unwanted suitors.
“Don’t be nervous, my dear—I expect you to enjoy yourself.
I know I have not been the kindest of parents, but I always had the best of intentions.
I wanted my children to grow up strong—and I have every hope that you will turn out to be the strongest of all.
Despite your foolish escapade, I’m proud of you, Lissy. Now—do you have your mask?”
Lissy was so surprised by this conciliatory speech that she merely nodded and felt in her other pocket for the mask.
“We will go down in a moment—but first, let me set your hat in place. Now—here is something to complete the ensemble.”
She stepped behind Lissy and fastened something around her neck—cool, heavy, unmistakably a necklace of gemstones. Lissy had not thought to wear any jewelry, believing shepherdesses could not generally afford such things.
As if reading her thoughts, her mother said, “Don’t worry about authenticity.
No one will be judging you on the accuracy of your costume.
But this most certainly brings out the color of your eyes—what can be seen of them—and it will make your beauty shine forth, despite the mask. Now, then—are we ready to go down?”
Lissy’s fingers grazed the stones. Expertly cut, cold and heavy, with a setting of smaller gems. When she glanced in the mirror, she gasped.
Deep-blue gems glittered at her throat, each one framed in rainbow sparks of light.
Mama’s precious sapphire-and-diamond necklace; what an honor to be allowed to wear it!
It was the most valuable item in the family collection; she must guard it with her life.