Chapter 5 #3
The wretched thoughts pounded her mind until she whimpered and pulled the lap rug higher.
It was either that, or unfasten the small, canvas-covered frame that acted as a window in good weather and beg to be taken home.
It was strange beyond measure to want something so very badly, yet be so stomach-churningly anxious at the same time.
Stop being a twit. Only bold women get what they want.
When the carriage noticeably slowed, Frances once again peered out into the pitch-black night and her breath caught. Just ahead stood a grand stone entrance with large wooden gates and flaming torches staked into the ground, lighting the entire driveway up to an impressive country seat.
A polite tap sounded at the carriage door, before it opened to reveal a very burly ginger-haired man in Warenne livery, holding a notebook.
“Evenin’ ma’am. Your invitation?”
“Oh!” said Frances, clumsily snatching up her reticule and rummaging for the precious cream parchment. Then she handed it over. “Here you go.”
The man bowed. “Welcome to Warenne Hall, Mrs. Jones. Outside the manor you’ll be met by your personal maid who will assist you for the coming days. I hope you enjoy your stay.”
“Thank you,” said Frances breathlessly. “And Merry Christmas.”
“Same to you, ma’am.”
Moments later they sped down the well-kept driveway, and far too soon for her sanity, the carriage pulled up in front of the sprawling three-storied, red brick dwelling.
Several other carriages were unloading people and trunks, and countless servants bustled about carrying belongings, ushering guests, handing steaming tankards to drivers, and feeding oats to weary horses.
Oh God. Was Dashford here? Would he see her? Had he been so impatient for pleasure he’d already found a lover to bed?
On the verge of losing her mind, Frances nearly shrieked when the carriage door abruptly opened and a plump uniformed maid poked her head in.
“Evening, Mrs. Jones! Lady W told me to watch out for this carriage. I’m Glory, your maid for the party.
You need anything, your hair done, dressing, extra toys, supper for two, just ask me.
Don’t worry about your trunk neither, we’ll take that inside, but you must wear this veil until we reach the parlor. ”
Frances swallowed hard, then retrieved two shillings from her reticule and pressed them into Glory’s hand. “You are very kind.”
The ebony-haired maid grinned as she slipped the coins into her apron pocket. “I can see we are going to get on famously. Anything you need, day or night, ma’am. Now, put on this veil so I can walk you to the parlor. Lady W wants a word.”
The black veil reached her waist, the embroidered tulle as heavy as a shroud, but with Glory’s steady hand guiding her, Frances walked without incident into the house.
Until the sight of Dashford in the warm yet rather cavernous entrance hall, leaning against a pillar and drinking brandy with Lord Warenne, made her stumble.
Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.
Had he seen her? Would he recognize her, even covered with the veil?
Glory laughed. “Excellent taste, ma’am. Yes, that is the legendary Dash; he is close friends with Lord and Lady W.
The rumors are absolutely true, he fucks like a beast, but only one woman each party.
If he is matched with you…ohhhhhh…you’ll be waddling like a duck with the brightest eyes and smuggest smile this side of the Thames.
Dash doesn’t bed servants but is very generous to his and his lover’s maids, so it would be a treat for us both.
Come along now, let’s get you to Lady W. ”
They continued down a hallway and into a spacious parlor, decorated in shades of peach and more of the exquisite gilt-framed Parisian paintings.
Lady Warenne was alone sipping wine on an embroidered chaise, but rose to her feet with a warm smile when they approached. “Welcome, Madame Jones! You may remove your veil while in here.”
Frances lifted the front of the heavy tulle and settled it atop her head. “Good evening, my lady. Thank you, once again. And for Glory as well.”
The countess winked. “She will be equally delighted with your match, I think.”
“Is it Dash?” Glory squealed. “Huzzah!”
“Hush, hush, you’ll cause a stampede. Now, Madame Jones.
Listen carefully. This is the last time you’ll wear your own dress.
Green gowns, demi masks and a stylish red wig await you in your chamber.
For now, you shall rest and refresh after your travel, but at eight o’clock you must be in the grand ballroom to meet Dash, your match.
I believe he’ll align very well with the preferences you confided to me, however be assured that like every master present, he respects the concerns and uncertainties of a novice.
There will be no surprises. No force…unless asked for.
And if you wish to stop, play stops immediately. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” Frances whispered. “I understand, my lady.”
“Bon. Glory will escort you to your room and bring a supper tray to sustain you. Feel free to nap or read. But remember, eight o’clock in the ballroom, I do not tolerate tardiness.”
Frances curtsied a trifle unsteadily. This was it. The greatest risk she’d taken since agreeing to marry Dashford, and equally important to her future.
No turning back, it was time to begin.