“I wouldn’t put it past you.”
She turned her head aside and refused to speak for several minutes, while they both cooled down. At length he said, “Well, here we are with another scandal to be lived down, and your ball fast approaching. We’ll be lucky if there are half a dozen people at it.”
“Advertise I am to attend
au naturel
. That would draw a good crowd, don’t you think?”
“It would draw the Greek, in any case. Thank God Agnes hasn’t sent out the cards yet. That’s one she can tear up.”
“You were very hard on Romeo. You hurt his feelings.”
“He has no feelings. He’s a walking wad of outdated clichés. I haven’t heard so much misquoted Greek since before I went to Oxford. How you cannot be bored by that egregious ass is beyond me. No idea of proper conduct—you couldn’t possibly marry him. I realize now it is completely out of the question.”
He looked at her, trying to read if she were distressed at this news, but she was wearing a face that might have been set in cement. “We can hardly avoid seeing him if we continue going out nights,” he went on. “He goes everywhere, never mind whether he is invited. You’ll be going out very little till our ball. We’ll say you have caught a cold after your dunking.”
“That will leave you free to attend the Cyprians’ Ball tonight,” she said, with a knowing look. “I expect that is what not wanting Romeo dangling after me is all about. It happens, however, that he plans to attend it himself, so your concern need not begin till tomorrow.”
“My concern began an hour ago. You will not leave the house tonight. And Romeo should not have been discussing such an affair with you.”
“
You
will attend this infamous affair too low to speak of before such innocents as myself?”
“I usually drop in. It is one of the more interesting social do’s of the Season.”
“What
divertissement
am I to be regaled with while you attend the more interesting amusement?”
“I suggest bed, and a book.”
“Kind of you. Do you know, I have always had a great curiosity to know what goes on at the Cyprians’ Ball?”
“I don’t want to see your white head at it.”
“If I decide to go, I will be sure to wear a wig. What color would you like to see?”
“I’m not fooling, Babe. I forbid you to leave the house without my permission.”
She looked at him closely. His anger seemed to have dissipated. Yes, he was enjoying issuing his decrees. There seemed almost to be a challenge in the prohibition. “What will you do if I choose to disobey?”
A sardonic smile flashed out. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll never find out. I don’t recommend you get into any alternative mischief either.”
“I haven’t bothered with mere mischief since I let down my skirts and pinned up my hair.”
“One trembles to think some unfortunate man will have the task of steering you through life’s shoals.”
“I am not a ship, to be steered into a safe harbor. I am the captain of this vessel.”
Chapter Fifteen
Clivedon delivered his charge to Cavendish Square, sent her to her room, and explained to his sister what had happened. She threw up her hands in exasperation. “Shabby! What a sight she must have looked, dripping with brown pond water. And the sprigged muslin ruined of course. One would think Mrs. Swanson would have taken a look-in on the sketching party to see. . . But she never was quite the thing. I’m sorry I let Barbara go.”
“We’ll keep her in a few days to let the talk die down.”
“We were to go to Stauntons’ ball tonight. A great extravagant do. I particularly wanted to see how she had the place decorated, to be sure to do something different for Barbara’s party. I shall be sorry to miss it. I’ve offered Mrs. Waring a lift too.”
“You won’t miss it. Why should you? Go, by all means. You are not to be punished because that heller can’t be trusted for two hours.”
“She has behaved fairly well till today. With her ball to look forward to, I can’t believe she’ll do anything foolish. She’ll be safe. Still, I can’t help remembering her sneaking off on Lady Graham, and traipsing into the play on Gentz’s arm.”
“We’ve seen the last of the colonel. Ellingwood certainly will not oblige her by taking her.”
“Which leaves Romeo.”
“I put a pretty good scare into him.”
“He is a very odd fellow, certainly, but he occupies a rather special place in Society, Larry. He can get away with things others could not. His artistic genius, his having been reared abroad, and of course his fortune and his noble family . . . I’m not at all sure he should be turned off only for this. I shall speak to him, explain the situation.”
“I’ve already explained the situation to Romeo,” her brother said, “and I wish you will explain to your servants he is not to be allowed here.”
Lady Withers was not quite so severe as her brother in this respect. She dropped the hint to her housekeeper that if Lord Romeo happened to come when she was out, she would appreciate the good woman’s bearing the two of them company, and perhaps would just tell her when she returned what exactly had transpired.
While this was going forth belowstairs, Babe was racking her brains above to figure a way to attend the Cyprians’ Ball. She hardly even wanted to go, yet to be forbidden to leave the house was a challenge she could not ignore. She must go unrecognized, of course. A young lady’s attending such an affair would be scandalous, and she did not mean to be a cause of scandal again. She would conform to the outward show of Clivedon’s polite circle of friends, but she fully intended throwing in his face what she had done, after it was all over and she had escaped unnoticed.
It was the matter of a disguise that occupied her once the positive decision to attend had been taken. She came to think a man’s outfit was the best choice, but Lady Withers’ husband was very tall, and his were the only gentleman’s clothing in the house. Lady Withers and her husband were attending dinner before the ball, so Barbara had a tray in her room. Her hostess came to take a leave of her and see if she could read by her expression what was in her mind. She could read exactly nothing, and went to Staunton’s with a little sense of uneasiness that dissipated as soon as she got there.
At eight-thirty, Barbara sat alone, wondering if there were any wigs in the attic and wishing she had thought to look before it got dark. They would be antiquated affairs from another era—that would look odd at a modern ball. She found a mask from a masquerade party in her drawers, and a domino, but disliked to go without some concealment for her hair.
It was not yet nine o’clock when a servant came tapping at the door to inform her that Lord Romeo awaited her below. With a joyful heart, she dashed downstairs, for her most intense efforts had not produced a really good plan to overcome the host of difficulties involved in getting to the ball. She needed this ally. It was difficult, indeed impossible, to seek his help with the housekeeper sitting not a yard away, with her ears on the stretch. The talk was of the dullest. How did she feel after her fall in the pond? Not at all ill. He had not seen her at Staunton’s ball and, as he knew she had been bade to dinner first, assumed she was not to attend. He must have gone—and left—very early. There was no reason for him to remain if she were not there. All this was for the third listener’s benefit, for of course she knew Romeo was going to the Cyprians’ Ball, but she was flattered he had looked for her first. He supposed he ought not to stay long. It might be better if he not. He arose on the spot, to her infinite disappointment. She had about three seconds in which to impart to him some intimation he was to return to some more private door than the front door. Her eyes, she knew, were full of intrigue, and she hoped he would see it. She saw, to her relief, that his were similarly alight. As he bent over to kiss her inner wrist, he slipped a note into her other hand, which went out of its own volition, so closely were their thoughts linked.
“You are my other self,” he told her in a low voice, then took his leave of the housekeeper and departed. Before half a minute was up, Barbara was in her room, reading the note:
My dear heart: I will not be parted from you. I write this on the chance of being allowed to see you for a moment. I will be waiting in our garden. Come to me if you love me. Your own, Romeo.
The only fact of much interest to her was that he was waiting. Here was a cohort in her plan to attend the infamous ball. She picked up a pelisse, a bonnet, and slipped down the staircase, looking carefully to await her chance to dart into the study unseen and out the French doors to the garden where he had sketched her.
He was invisible in the shadows in his black outfit, but caused no more than a stifled yelp when he came forward.
He drew her at once into his arms. “We will never be separated,” he said in amorous accents. The secrecy, the romance of the venture, and the moonlight acted strongly on his very sensitive nature. “We are two halves, you and I, indivisible. I have my carriage waiting for you. We shall leave tonight to be married.”
“Romeo, don’t be foolish. I'm not eloping with you.”
“You love me, or you would not be here. Clivedale will not let us meet. I refuse to leave you. This is the only way—there will be no shame attaching to it. We shall go at once to my father’s place in Hampshire and be married from there.”
“I don’t want to be married! I want to go to the ball.”
“Will your chaperone not be there, and see you?”
“No, I want to go to the Cyprians’ Ball.”
“I didn’t know ladies of quality attended, but if you want to go, I shall take you.”
“They don’t attend, which is why I must go in disguise, and you must help me.”
“If I cannot bend Heaven, I shall move Hell to oblige you,” was his reply.
“There is no need to exert yourself so far. An outfit is all I need.”
“Put on your
peplos
and sandals.”
“I am not going as Aphrodite or Amphitrite. I wish to go as a man.”
“Narcissus, of course!”
“It is not a costume ball,” she explained with decreasing patience. “I want a coat and trousers. Yours would not be much too large for me, I think.”
“It is the wrong shape. My shoulders are much larger, and your waist smaller. Then too, it would be criminal to hide your heavenly bosoms and—”
“Never mind, Romeo. You’re not going to paint me, only help me find a disguise. Do you have a wig?”
“No, I wear my own hair.”
“You are enough to make me tear mine out at the roots! Don’t you understand? I want to go without being recognized, for Clivedon will be there.”
“I would much rather marry you. We could be halfway to the Hall by morning.”
“We would be together at some inn tonight, I expect, and I have no idea of behaving so stupidly. Will you help me or not?”
“I am at your disposal. What can I do?”
“Let us get out of here for a start, before we are discovered. I think we must go to Fannie’s house, and I’ll change there. But what shall I wear?”
“Even if you wear my coat and trousers, your hair must always tell the world who you are. There is no other such spun gold in this country.”
She ignored the compliment, but agreed with him that her hair must be covered, and felt the charming Titian wig resting in Fannie’s room was the thing to do it. Fannie had worn it to a masquerade party last year. They drove to Portland Place and, with a memory of Clivedon’s anger at her meeting Gentz there, she had Romeo wait in the carriage for her, and let herself in. There were servants at home, not so surprised to see her again after her former visit to meet Gentz. The butler handed her a few letters, which she put in her reticule without reading. She made a hasty toilette, the greatest bother being to pin her own hair tightly to her head and slide on the red wig. It changed her appearance a good deal. A darkening of her brows and lashes, a spot of rouge on her cheeks, and she felt the disguise was better than she had hoped. She would hardly recognize herself. Fannie’s gowns were a close enough fit to make wearing them possible, though they did not fit so well as her own. A tightening of the drawstring below the bodice on an Empress-style gown helped. Still, she feared a close observer might know her, and took up a large fan to conceal her face. On an impulse, she took up also a black feather mask, elaborate as most of Fannie’s things were, including the low-cut gown of mauve lutestring she wore. It showed a good deal of her bosoms. Romeo, she feared, would be hard to control, but she threw a white shawl over the outfit and picked up her reticule to leave.
She knew her disguise to be good when her escort, lounging at the front door, said, “Good evening, ma’am. You are very beautiful. Would you be kind enough to ask within if Lady Barbara is ready to join me now? I am very tired with waiting.”
“Romeo, you idiot! It’s me.”
“Barbara? I didn’t recognize you. I don’t like you so well with red hair. I hope you haven’t dyed it.”
“Not in half an hour. I am not so efficient, and you said I was beautiful.”
“Aphrodite is always beautiful, but less beautiful without her golden hair. And I don’t think I like the paint on your face. You look like a harlot. I want to take you home and make love to you. I become very excited in the company of harlots. All gentlemen do. I expect I shall enjoy the ball. I wish you weren’t coming with me.”
“Don’t feel you have to tell me every thought that passes through your head,” she said, unsettled by his plain talking, though she was becoming fairly used to it.
“I do you the honor to say what I think and feel. Hypocrisy is anathema to me. Please take off your shawl so I can see your figure.”
She pulled it more tightly about her and got into the carriage. After trying several times to remove it, to kiss her, to take off her wig, and generally to talk her into eloping with him, Romeo was given to understand that he was doing no more than going to a ball, where he would behave himself if he knew what was good for him.
“I wanted to make an alliance with one of the harlots tonight,” he told her. “I do not speak of a prolonged arrangement, you understand. Only till we are married. I haven’t had an affair since I left Taunton several weeks ago. I am becoming very nervous and irritable. You must forgive me. I mean to be as faithful as I can after we are married, only I am not much good at fidelity.”