The Wedding Night Affair--An Historical Mystery by L.C. Sharp (i have read the book .TXT) 📗

starched, it would flop. There are worn parts, as if it’s made over from something else. I had gowns that were thick with embroidery, stiff and formal, always the best quality. I used those wide, oblong hoops that a woman can hardly move in. This has a rounder shape. I like it.” At least she would have the chance to wear this lovely confection. Her mother would have had it burned.

A note accompanied the gown. Be ready at eight.

Since Juliana still did not have a maid, Amelia helped her to put it on. They started at six, but neither could achieve what a skilled lady’s maid could do in an hour. They put her hair in a new style, looser, the curls drawn up in a soft style, rather than dragged tightly back. And no powder. Juliana practiced holding her head differently, her chin up, and her face tilted to one side. She applied a light but artful touch of rouge, pulling emphasis down to make her face seem longer, but she used no more than that, apart from reddening her lips and making them slightly smaller.

After hesitating, she added patches. She’d never worn patches. Her mother thought they were vulgar. She didn’t particularly like them herself, but the tiny black patch at the corner of her eye and the one lower down by her mouth gave her a different look.

“You should try to flirt,” Amelia suggested.

The very idea made Juliana’s blood run cold. She had never flirted in her life. But she was attending a most improper masquerade, and she would have to try to fit in.

Her heart in her mouth, Juliana went through the familiar ritual of petticoats, hoops, more petticoats, a pair of fine white silk stockings, the petticoat, then the gown, which glittered in the golden light of the sun sinking toward the horizon. The flounce at the hem kicked up beautifully.

“I should wear this for my trial,” she said, with a smile. “That would stun the court.”

Amelia gasped. “Oh no, you must not. It would cause a dreadful fuss. And give the wrong impression.”

Juliana gave Amelia a slanted, droll look and burst into laughter. Her friend joined in. “I thought you were serious.”

Juliana flicked out the fan Ash had sent, a pretty creation of the same silver lace. “It would suit my new reputation. This is how they see me, a dangerous woman. I’ve never been dangerous in my life. I’d enjoy that.”

The gown was remarkably comfortable to wear, compared to what she was used to. Apart from the neckline, which dipped too low for her liking, barely skimming the bruises and bites her husband had set about her nipples. She could not wear a fichu with it, and she had no jewelry she could use to mask the shocking amount of cleavage, but she blushed to expose herself in such a way. She’d had to use some powder and cream to cover the worst of the marks, but since whores notoriously used face paints with a lavish hand, that would not make her stand out.

Everything was included, down to the delicate blue satin shoes and the glittering paste buckles to fasten them on her feet. Even her garters matched. She had triple ruffles at her elbows, fine as cobwebs, threaded through with silver. And finally Juliana was satisfied that she looked nothing like either the country cousin living in Sir Edmund Ashendon’s house, or the aristocratic doll of Mayfair.

When Amelia tied the midnight blue and silver lace mask over Juliana’s eyes, the illusion was complete.

“The perfect courtesan,” Amelia said.

“Perhaps I mistook my profession,” Juliana said.

She was only half joking.

Ash had deep misgivings about taking Juliana to the masquerade, and that was putting it mildly. The single reason he had weakened was her determination. He understood her desire to experience everything she could in the time she had left. One way or another, her time with them would end, and she would either become a controlled heiress once more, or, Heaven forbid, meet her end on the gallows. He could not discount that. Not yet.

So he would take her to the ball and risk far more than he was comfortable with.

He had found a dull satin coat the color of summer midnight, and an extravagantly embroidered waistcoat that he hardly ever used. But flamboyance was the order of the day. The fluffed out, extravagant wig widened his face.

He tugged at the folds of snowy linen at his throat before the rustle of taffeta attracted his attention.

A lady descended the stairs. A lovely, winsome lady, proudly wearing a flamboyant gown designed to attract. His misgivings melted away in the sheer impact of her entrance. She glided down the stairs to him, her hoop swaying slightly enough to give a hint that a real woman lay beneath those clothes. Juliana could have been born to the role of seductive courtesan.

He watched until she had negotiated the stairs and stood next to him. She appeared a breath shorter—no, that was her hairstyle. Her winsome smile invited him to discover more.

“You will,” she said, pulling on a pair of white gloves, “ensure my father pays for my costume tonight—and yours,” she added after a brief glance at him. “He paid enough for all the things I never wanted, so he can pay for this.”

“You like it?” he asked, amused.

“I know you chose it as something deeply unlike my usual attire, but yes, I like it very much. It gives me permission to play a part. It’s most unlike the part I usually play, so that is all to the good.”

“You’ve done very well so far.”

She shot him a doubtful look, but said nothing.

When he’d found the gown in a secondhand shop by the Royal Exchange, he had not thought initially of the style. He had matched her eyes to the color. But the piece was perfect, almost. Since he’d been forced to buy it as seen, the bodice did not fit her as closely as it should, and