Page 7 of The Duke Decides

“Too much depends on you, Gabriel. You can’t let him succeed.”

“I don’t intend to.” Gabe straightened his shoulders and, carrying himself as if he hadn’t been beaten within an inch of his life the night before, went downstairs to face whatever evil turn of fate lay in store for him next.

Chapter Three

“Just who am I supposed to be?” Louisa asked, regarding herself in the tall cheval glass in Lady Emmeline’s bedchamber.

“Oh, whomever you like. You don’t need to be anyone.” Emmeline gave an airy wave of her hand. “You’re a lady of the Georgian court. The King’s mistress, if you wish. Or a courtesan to a French king, if you’d rather a bit of intrigue.”

“I can’t wish to powder my hair,” Louisa said. “It will make me sneeze abominably.”

“Oh, I agree. You mustn’t cover your splendid hair. It would ruin the effect,” Lady Katherine said. She circled Louisa, studying the fall of the sleeves and hem of the antique gown, hooped over a set of panniers.

“But it might help someone recognize me.” Louisa’s hair color, with its reddish tones, tended to make her distinct.

“Forgive me, Miss Louisa, but I don’t think Grandmama’s guests will be among your customary acquaintance,” Emmeline noted.

“Of course,” Louisa said, feeling foolish. The Duchess’s masquerade would include her friends and hangers-on, men and women who circled in social realms far above Louisa’s scale. This lot might write bank drafts in support of the Sisters of Benevolence Hospital as a charitable endeavor, or they might leave their indiscretions at the back door wrapped in swaddling clothes pinned with a small remembrance, but they would not know Louisa’s face.

“A few patches,” Katherine suggested, holding a small cutout of black silk on her fingertip. “To add to the effect.”

“I feel quite unlike myself.” Louisa smoothed her hands over the yards of scarlet silk, touching the intricate embroidery on the stomacher of the open robe and the full sleeves that fell away at her elbow. She would have to be careful how she moved within all this fabric so she didn’t come near a lamp and accidentally set herself on fire.

“I believe that is the purpose of a masquerade, my dear.” Katherine pressed a small patch in the shape of a butterfly in the soft skin before Louisa’s ear. Louisa expected to find the effect ridiculous, but instead, it was strangely enchanting.

“You have such flawless skin,” Emmeline noted. “I refuse to cover that complexion with powder. The mask will be sufficient to create a sense of allure.”

“But I do not intend to allure anyone,” Louisa answered. “I only hope to meet the ally your grandmother has found for me and negotiate an agreement.”

She was glad that the Duchess had coaxed her into bringing her granddaughters into the scheme, as Louisa had no idea how to navigate through this alone. She hadn’t been to a costume ball since before she was married.

“Miss Bickford,” Katherine said sternly, “if you are going to wear that gown and that mask, and look so very fetching, you must decide to be seductive. It would be a crime to waste such an opportunity.”

“You, young lady, are not yet married,” Louisa retorted. “Neither of you should know the least bit about seduction.”

Emmeline giggled. “Were the choice left to our dear departed Mama, we would still think babies were found in a parsley bed. But one cannot be raised by Grandmama and not learn about the seductive arts. Do you suppose she won Grandpapa simply because she was a duke’s daughter?”

“It could not have hurt,” Louisa murmured. Her own marriage had been arranged entirely on the grounds of her family connections; her bridegroom had not even seen her until Louisa was delivered to his door.

“Thank you, Mason, that is well done of you,” Emmeline said to the lady’s maid who was inserting the last pin into Louisa’s coiffure. Pads, false hair, and vigorous brushing had created an elaborate upswept effect, leaving the back of her neck exposed and vulnerable. Bare to the axe that could fall any moment if she did not succeed in locating the man the Duchess said could help her.

Louisa had no identifying information save that her would-be protector was tall and it was very likely his breath would smell of drink. Louisa had gathered, from the slight shake of the Duchess’s head as she gave this description, that the man was something of a rogue. Well, what could she expect from someone the Duchess implied owed the family a favor? Heroic men were thin on the ground these days.

“Mason, you have quite a gift for this,” Louisa commented as the girl handed her a set of long silk gloves. “I remember when you would curl my hair before meetings with patrons of the Hospital. You would like the girl, Alice, who has that office now.”

“And ye never scolded me when I burned ye,” Mason replied. Her eyes were bright, her expression focused as she surveyed her handiwork. “I’m ever so grateful ye recommended me ’ere, mum.”

“We’re ever so grateful to have you,” Katherine said, arranging her shawl. “Are we ready to go down, my dears?”

Emmeline had chosen to costume herself as Olympias, mother of Alexander the Great, and Katherine was St. Helena. “Finder of the True Cross, mother of Constantine the Great, and patron saint of abandoned women,” she said as Louisa helped her arrange the drape of her stole.

“You don’t anticipate being an abandoned woman, I hope,” Emmeline said, adjusting the enormous necklace of rubies that her sister wore. Emmeline was the elder sister by three years, but Katherine had achieved the higher marriage. Emmeline’s Charles was only the second son of a baron, while Katherine’s Frederick was heir to a marquess.

Still, Louisa sensed the matches suited them. Katherine wanted to be an influential political hostess, as her grandmother had been, and so would wed an ambitious man. Emmeline was a dreamer who wanted to travel and write poems, so she had chosen a man who was but an indifferent politician—his constituency in Cornwall was known to be a rotten borough—and who preferred the leisure to write and tour.

Louisa wondered briefly what her life would have been if her parents had taken her wishes, tastes, or personality into account when selecting her husband. Would she still live in the Moselle? Would she oversee a grand chateau with vineyards and spend her holidays floating down the river on a pleasure cruise?

Would she have a loving family? Children of her own?