Chapter 18
Onora wanted to believe Jack was sincere, that his declaration was more than flattery, but did he understand what he was truly proposing, and what the consequences would be upon his career?
She couldn’t bear the thought of him coming to regret his rashness, of blaming her perhaps for the shrinking of his life, of opportunities contracting due to his association with her.
One thing she had absolutely decided: her betrothal to Seton must end. Her father had promised her, long ago, that the arrangement could be amicably set aside if she changed her mind. Except that, he probably hadn’t envisioned things progressing so far.
Entering the villa’s courtyard, she was relieved to find all quiet. This time of day, most would be resting, for it was truly too hot to be outside. Others might be in the temple with Seton. He’d mentioned something of the sort.
Then she saw the step ladder and Kareem upon it, securing a string of bright paper lanterns to the framework of the pergola walkway.
For the party, of course. I’d forgotten…
Onora was hardly in the mood for merriment, but the party did offer the opportunity for her to tackle what must be done. Amidst the hubbub, it would be easier to pull Seton aside. Then, if he were angry, they might avoid one another. She might even slip away early to bed, pretending a headache.
Kareem immediately descended, wishing blessings upon her and asking if all was well. An impulse came, to tell him that she was having second thoughts about her engagement, that she was desperately unhappy.
Don’t be ridiculous!
For him to have even an inkling of what was in her mind would be unfair. He worked for Lord Seton, and it was wrong to place him in a position of divided loyalty. Besides which, what could Kareem do to help?
She responded with the required words of thanks and offered similar wishes for his own good health and that of his family, before asking if he might do her the favor of finding one of the house staff.
She then requested refreshment be brought to her room—for she had entirely missed luncheon and eaten sparingly of breakfast.
Looking relieved, Kareem departed.
Immediately on entering her room, Onora could sense someone had been there. Not in the usual way, of her bed having been tidied and fresh water placed in the basin, but as if a person had been handling her personal things.
A cursory look told her nothing had been taken. Not that she had anything of real value. Her only true jewels were the pearls gifted by Aunt Clodagh. Her perfume was unstoppered, but she might easily have left it that way herself.
Someone had certainly been perusing the books on her bedside though: her compendium of Jane Austen, as well as a collection of the Romantic poets and an edition of Shakespeare’s works.
On the very top was The Lady’s Guide to All Things Useful—except Onora was sure it had been in the middle of the pile before. Picking it up, she slumped on the bed.
She hoped that whoever had been curious enough to look at it had gleaned something of worth. As it was, she doubted it had anything to say that would smooth her path.
On the off-chance, she flicked through to the letter E, searching for ‘Engagements’ and was surprised to see a section dedicated entirely to the subject, broken down into subsections: how to tell if a man was likely to propose; how to word an announcement in the newspaper; how to respond to well-wishing letters; suitable lengths of time for an engagement; not unreasonably, a reference to a forward chapter on ‘weddings’; and finally, ‘breaking off of’.
A woman wishing to end a formal contract of betrothal must make ‘diplomacy’ her watchword. A man’s sense of worth, while liable to be inflated, is of fragile construction. Wound him and beware.
Onora turned the page, expecting more, but there was nothing further on the subject.
Wound him and beware.
Seton could certainly make life difficult for her, if he chose, and for Jack.
How much time would need to pass for Seton to accept that his bride had jilted him in favor of his nephew?
She feared one lifetime would not be sufficient.
The sound of the door brought Onora back to the present, as it was cast open and Madame Auvray swept boldly inside.
“Ah! You are returned from your adventures with young Monsieur Balfour. How were the cave tombs? Fascinating, I have no doubt. I must ask him to show me, exactly as he has for you today.” There was mischief in her eyes.
“I’m sure, like yourself, I shall discover a great deal…
and, perhaps, I shall surprise him with a few things he has not yet learnt.
What do you think, chérie? Do you recommend the experience? ”
Onora snapped the book shut and rose to her feet.
Everyone would know that Jack had escorted her to the cliffs. While not entirely conventional, it could hardly come under censure. He was a family member, after all—albeit one rather out of favor.
Likewise, it was impossible that anyone should know what had happened while they were alone; and yet, the way Madame Auvray spoke…
Onora refused to be intimidated. The Frenchwoman’s questionable morals colored all her conversation.
Doubtless, she was entertaining herself by seeking a rise from her.
“Were you seeking my assistance, Madame?” She ignored her line of questioning.
“To borrow something, perhaps?” She was irritated that Madame Auvray had waltzed in so breezily.
It was likely she who’d been touching her belongings.
Madame Auvray looked amused. “It is I who come to offer assistance. At the soirée tonight, Seton wishes us to dress in some Egyptian-style costume. Maria is so handy with her needle. I asked her to make a tunic the same as my own for you to wear. She came earlier to ‘borrow’, as you say, your nightgown, to take the measurements.”
Onora fought hard to control her temper. She could hardly object to Maria entering, for she had done so many times before, overseeing the laundering of her small clothing, as well as helping her dress.
Rather, she disliked the assumption that she would wear a costume in which she’d had no say. The imposition was yet another example of the Frenchwoman overstepping boundaries.
As usual, Madame Auvray seemed immune to Onora’s animosity. “Those dusty tombs have left you in need of a bath, yes? I shall order the use of Seton’s bathing room, and we may make the small alterations to the gown afterward. Then we shall arrange your hair and make you look just so.”
Some hours later, as Onora sat at her dressing table, she hardly recognized the person looking back at her in the mirror.
The gown Maria had sewn was simple but flattering, made from swathes of silk in brilliant blue.
The skirt was unadorned, tied at the waist with golden braid, while the bodice—if one could call it that—comprised nothing more than a drapery of soft pleats from each shoulder.
This plunged in front and behind. With her arms bare, and not a single undergarment beneath, it was scandalously indecent.
Yet strangely empowering.
Onora took a sip from the delightful cocktail Madame Auvray had brought for them to enjoy.
For some reason, the costume did not make her feel vulnerable or exposed.
Rather, she felt very much in control. The effect was heightened by the facial paints Maria had applied— emerald upon her lids, and a framing of darker kohl.
Both came in metal compacts and had undoubtedly been purchased in Paris, but Onora believed the ancients wore something similar.
Back then, the green paste was derived from malachite, while the kohl came from mixing crushed galena ore with soot and oil, to create a thick black ointment.
Covering her hair was a shoulder-length, ebony-wig, blunt chopped and with a fringe, emulating the fashion of old.
Onora rather liked it, for she looked utterly unlike herself.
This aided the fantasy of her playing a role—that of an Egyptian queen, perhaps.
There was a golden diadem to be worn, a small rearing cobra mounted at the front, painted in bands of gold and cobalt, and with blue glass for its eyes.
“Magnifique,” murmured Madame Auvray. “Now, we have the scented oil for your skin. Authentique, yes? We’ll remove your beautiful ring, so the oil does not taint it.”
Onora slid off the ring and reached for the bottle, but Madame Auvray made a scolding sound and lifted her arm.
She dripped the oil onto the back of her hand, gliding firmly up her forearm, past her elbow, toward her shoulder.
The limb felt heavy, but the way the Frenchwoman was touching her, in such a relaxing way, made everything pleasant.
Onora took more of her drink, then Maria raised her other arm, and began stroking the oil upon it. As the women caressed her, the languid feeling grew stronger.
I ought to hate this, having her touching me, but it feels so very luxurious and…sensual.
Onora felt the muscles in her neck ease from their knotted state. Perhaps the Frenchwoman was not so awful as she had thought. It was mostly that her outlook was different. As for her previous jealousy over Madame Auvray’s behavior with Seton and with Jack, it seemed nonsensical now.
“That is it, ma petite. Our touch relaxes you. The body knows what it needs.” Madame’s soft murmur washed over her.
Her eyes were closing. It would be so easy to fall asleep.
“You are fortunate to be marrying Lord Seton.” Madame Auvray’s gentle lilt continued. “You’ve been dreaming of him, perhaps? Of how it will be when you are married?”
Onora stiffened.