Chapter Seven #2
She did not risk such public exposure now.
Instead, she stood on a low footstool in her bedchamber as Andrews fussed around her with a needle and thread.
The dress she was wearing, a shimmering creation of green and gold, gathered under the bosom and decorated with intricate embroidery, belonged to her aunt.
As they were a similar height and build, Andrews did not need to make many alterations.
Marianne had found some emerald earrings that had once belonged to her mother.
She was unaccustomed to wearing jewels on her earlobes, but with the sparkling stones in place and her hair pinned atop her head, she felt a far cry from the timid creature who had crept around Medstead Hall, in thrall to her husband’s bursts of bad temper.
With the mask covering half her face, she felt all but invincible.
“Almost done, milady.” Andrews spoke through a mouthful of pins.
“There is no hurry. We still have at least an hour.” Marianne had been watching the clock since noon.
“Yes, but there is still much to do. I have a feather for your hair and rouge for your cheeks, and I must find a matching pelisse.”
It all sounded like a great deal of fuss to Marianne.
“It is warm. I have no need for a pelisse.”
“But the masquerade will go on for some time. You may feel a chill as the midnight hour approaches.”
Marianne swallowed her response: that she would not feel the cold if Benedict were nearby. Firstly, because such thoughts were improper, even for a widow. And secondly, because she was not certain what footing her relationship with Benedict was on.
But he had agreed to meet her. That was the important thing.
“Please don’t trouble yourself,” she said instead.
Andrews straightened up with one hand in the small of her back. “Hudson specifically told me of a dark-green pelisse to match this gown.”
“I still don’t understand why Hudson is being so helpful.” Marianne frowned.
“You have not spoken with your aunt?”
“No.” Marianne grimaced. She’d had half a mind to approach Aunt Clementine about a gown for the masquerade ball at Vauxhall Pleasure Gardens.
The thought had even crossed her mind that her aunt might be happy to learn she had met a good man that she wanted—and planned—to marry.
But Clementine had left the house that morning before Marianne came down for breakfast. A fact that Marianne could not help but view with suspicion.
Where was she going at such an early hour?
The problem of the dress had resolved itself when Andrews approached Hudson directly, and Hudson, to everyone’s surprise, agreed to help.
“Lady Sedgewick would not approve of you going to Vauxhall unchaperoned,” Andrews commented.
“I am certain she would not.” Marianne twisted from side to side to get a better view of her reflection in the gilded mirror. “But that is the joy of the masquerade. The usual rules of Society are suspended.”
And good riddance to them, she added silently.
“It is both a joy and a worry, if you’ll forgive me, milady. Men of all classes attend the masked balls. And everyone knows what scandalous behavior occurs in secret corners of the gardens.”
Andrews ground to a halt and her cheeks flushed scarlet. Marianne cast around for a way to reassure her.
“It doesn’t matter, Andrews. Please don’t fret. I know you weren’t referring to me,” she said eventually, resolving to confront the matter head-on.
“I didn’t mean anything by it. I know the rumors about you and the gardener at Medstead Hall were all untrue.” Andrews flapped her hands and a dozen pins dropped onto the Oriental carpet.
“I know that.” Marianne stepped from the stool and began to help her pick them all up.
“And I didn’t mean to imply that you and Lord Benedict would get up to anything improper.” Andrews’s eyes were wide with dismay.
“I know that too.” Marianne helped her maid to her feet. “Heavens, Andrews, you must not doubt that I notice and value both your loyalty and integrity.”
“Thank you, milady.” Andrews bobbed her head.
“And as for tonight, you have no cause to fret. Lord Benedict Fairfield is a man of considerable height and strength.” Marianne felt the corners of her lips tugging upwards. “He’s a trained soldier. I doubt any masked chancer would risk evoking his ire.”
Andrews gave a small but genuine smile in return. “I am relieved to hear it.”
“That’s settled then.” Marianne turned her attention back to the looking glass, relieved that the awkwardness had passed.
Less than an hour later, Marianne was suitably equipped with feathers, rouge, and a green silk pelisse to drape over her bare shoulders. Her hair, expertly curled and styled by Andrews, was swept up at the back with just a few ringlets falling at either side of her elaborate eye mask.
She felt excited, giddy even. And full of resolve to tell Benedict the truth.
“I am the niece of Lady Clementine Sedgewick,” she practiced saying, as the carriage rolled towards Vauxhall. “It was her carriage that we saw in the park. And it was her friends that I wished to avoid bumping into at Almack’s.”
She would not allow her small and silly lie to be the undoing of what could be a beautiful relationship.
With the cobbled streets bathed in a dusky light, she was glad of the liveried footmen and driver. The carriage interior felt large and empty, with no one to join her on the red velvet seats.
Maybe she should have brought a chaperone after all.
Marianne put a hand on her heart as they went over a bump in the road and her stomach jolted.
Back at Fencham House, her solitary expedition had felt like an adventure, but now she looked askance at the encroaching shadows outside.
A cold thrill of fear chased down her spine as they passed a lone male figure walking along the road to the pleasure gardens.
Did his dark eyes look menacingly through the carriage window, or was that just fancy on her part?
Do not let your imagination run away with you.
She shook her head to dislodge the memory of her late husband’s voice. In another moment, they had passed between the wrought iron gates, and the carriage was slowing. Marianne fought an urge to knock on the roof and urge the driver on, but that was just her nerves getting the better of her.
She had allowed her anxiety to overpower her intellect that last time she saw Benedict. It must not happen again.
But still, she had no wish to linger here alone.
With mounting trepidation, she leaned toward the window and gazed about.
Immediately her fears melted away. Tall and handsome in black and scarlet tails with a matching mask, Benedict was already walking up toward the carriage.
He lowered his mask for a moment so she could be sure it was him, before swinging open the door and bowing low.
“Lady Brewood. May I escort you from here?”
She extended her gloved hand, her smile stretching from ear to ear.
“It would be my pleasure, Lord Benedict.”