‘You look beautiful,’ Frederica said.
The dark-eyed siren ran her gaze over Frederica. Her finely plucked brows shot up. ‘Oh, my dear. You are simply divine.’ She floated across the room to finger the fabric. ‘Look how cleverly she dags the hem and so much fabric. If I had only thought of it.’ She shook her head. ‘But no. My curves were never meant to play a wood sprite. I would look like a gnome. My dear, you will be the belle of the ball.’
‘Fine feathers make fine birds,’ Frederica said with a laugh, quoting one of Mortimer’s favourite sayings.
Maisie began brushing again.
‘And modest too. So refreshing. My dear, you must come to London. They will adore you.’
Until they discovered who she was, then she would be ostracised. Uncle Mortimer had made that very plain. And that was why she did not understand why Simon’s parents were going along with his uncle’s betrothal plans. But apparently they were. There was only one way out, she’d realised in the dark of her room late last night. She’d have to tell Simon she was a fallen woman. He’d be so disgusted, he’d have to cry off.
She’d offer to save him a whole lot of embarrassment by disappearing.
She could do it without getting Robert into trouble. No one would need to know who had debauched her, any more than they knew who had debauched her mother.
All she needed was a few private words with Simon and she would be free to live her own life.
Unfortunately, Simon spent all his time glued to the viscount’s side while Lord Lullington looked bored nigh unto death.
Tomorrow, after the ball, she’d find a way to get Simon alone.
While Maisie finished brushing Frederica’s hair, Maggie wandered around the room, touching the bed, pulling open the curtains to stare out of the window, strolling back to the dressing table. Restless energy rolled off her in waves.
She spun about. ‘How will you wear your hair?’
‘Miss always has it in a knot,’ Maisie said.
Maggie tilted her head to one side. ‘Wear it down.’
‘Too fine,’ Frederica said. ‘It doesn’t have a scrap of curl.’ Unlike the older woman’s luxuriant waves.
Maggie picked up the headdress, a simple wreath of silk flowers in yellow, pink and white, wound around with ivy leaves. ‘You are wrong. Pin it up at the sides so it falls down your back and leaves your neck and shoulders bare.’ With a hairpin, she caught one side up, then added another. She popped the circlet on Frederica’s head so it settled high on her brow. ‘Like so. What do you think?’
It made her look young and vulnerable, and…well almost pretty. ‘I like it.’ She smiled at Maggie’s reflection. ‘I really do. But it will not stay.’
‘More pins,’ Maggie cried. ‘Fasten those pieces we pulled back to the circlet. That will hold them in place.’ Once more she looked at Frederica like a bird eyeing a worm. ‘Earbobs.’
Frederica blinked. ‘I don’t have any.’
Maggie looked surprised. ‘No? I know. I will lend you some of mine. Sapphires?’ She shook her head. ‘Diamonds. Nothing but diamonds will do. You will provide the colour and they the light.’
‘Oh, no, I couldn’t.’
‘But you shall.’ The lady had a determined gleam in her eye and a stubborn set to her jaw.
And Frederica could not think of a reason to refuse. She smiled. ‘Then thank you.’
‘Oooh. This is so exciting. Wait a moment while I fetch them.’
‘What a nice lady,’ Maisie said as Maggie scurried out of the door. ‘And pretty too.’
How nice to have a friend for the first time in her life. There had been a lot of firsts just lately. ‘Very pretty. Thank you, Maisie, for your help. I am sure there are lots of things you are needed for downstairs. You can go now.’
‘Aye. Mrs Doncaster is fair fit to burst she’s that busy.’ Maisie packed up the pins and tidied the dressing table.
‘I suppose Cook did not want to lose you to me this afternoon.’
Maisie grinned. ‘Mums the word on that, miss. Oh, and by the way, I was to tell you that your uncle wants to see you in the library before the other guests arrive.’ She bobbed a curtsy and headed for the door, standing back for a moment to allow Maggie to enter carrying a leatherbound case, before she hurried away.
‘Here you are, my dear Frederica.’ She set the case down on the dressing table, and pulled forth a string of the most gorgeous diamonds, a delicate strand of little teardrops with earbobs to match. She fastened the necklace around Frederica’s throat and stood back to admire. ‘Perfect. Now the earrings.’ Frederica turned back to the mirror and gasped. ‘It is lovely, but I can’t wear something so valuable.’
‘Nonsense. It is not half as lovely as you, my dear. You will outshine everyone.’
Frederica swung around to face her. ‘Oh, no! How can you say such a thing?’
The other woman sighed and patted her hand. ‘I’m not much prone to think of others, but for some odd reason I like you.’ She laughed. It sounded a little brittle. ‘And Lull will be so proud of me when I tell him, he will no doubt buy me the pearls I have been after.’
Frederica couldn’t help laughing at her naughty grin.
‘And now I must be off,’ Maggie said. ‘My poor Forester is quite in a fit about my headdress. Apparently, it needs work.’ She stood in the doorway and blew a kiss. ‘I will see you downstairs.’
Frederica felt rather as if a whirlwind had blown in and out of the room. She took a deep breath. Time to visit Uncle Mortimer. Hopefully he would not be too shocked at this gown.
Simon and Uncle Mortimer rose on her entry into the study. They looked quite splendid. For once, Uncle Mortimer was not wearing his old-fashioned frock coat. Although not in costume, he looked magnificent in a black coat with silver buttons and satin knee breeches. He’d even powdered his best wig. She made her curtsy. ‘You wanted to speak with me, Uncle?’
As Mortimer looked her up and down, his pink nose quivered. Oh, dear. Perhaps she would not be attending the ball after all.
‘I say, coz,’ Simon said, his eyes bulging worse than usual above his mountain of neckerchief. ‘You look splendid. Where did you get the jewels?’
‘Lady Caldwell l-l—’
‘Lent them to you,’ Simon said. ‘Most obliging. Is she not the most delightful of creatures?’
Uncle Mortimer grunted, but gestured her to sit. ‘We need to talk about this evening.’
She perched on the chair. ‘Yes, Uncle.’
‘Mind your manners and behave as you ought. Do not mention your mother and things should come off well enough.’
She stiffened. ‘I don’t know why Simon wishes to marry me, when you are all so ashamed of my connections.’
Simon’s mouth opened and closed. He gulped. Small beads of perspiration lined his loose top lip. ‘Really, coz. A pleasure.’
If that was the truth, why did he sound so anxious?
Uncle Mortimer glowered at him before turning his attention back to Frederica. ‘You should be grateful he is willing to make the sacrifice.’
‘Good for the family name,’ Simon added, looking as grave as an undertaker.
‘Gratitude is in the eye of the beholder,’ Frederica said, her anger making the words come out in one go.
Mortimer’s