Harriet smiled faintly. “Saving you from the high moral tone of that book?”
“At least tell me how it goes with the young lady who desires your further acquaintance. I am like to die of boredom here without—” He stopped.
“Without chess,” Harriet filled in. “It’s all right. I’m used to men who can’t stop thinking about the white queen. At least you haven’t acquired a wife, only to slight her for every chess match within three counties.”
“I have tried,” Villiers said.
“You were briefly engaged to Jemma’s ward, weren’t you?”
“She threw me over for Jemma’s brother. Then I thought I was making inroads on a certain Miss Tatlock, but she threw me over for my heir.” The mockery in his heavy-lidded eyes almost made her laugh, despite herself. “Do you suppose that there’s something intrinsically wrong with me?”
“A chess malady. The irrevocable inability to make a woman believe that he will love her more than the chess game. No woman wants to be ranked below a set of toys, Villiers.”
“I suppose you’re right. Well, Mr. Cope, go forth and be wooed.”
Chapter Fifteen
The Tahitian Feast of Venus
“I don’t know if I can make it downstairs,” Harriet moaned. “Everything hurts! I can’t lift my arm. My bottom is in excruciating pain.”
“I couldn’t possibly go to the Feast of Venus by myself,” Isidore said, looking a little panicked.
“Why, Isidore,” Harriet said, laughing. “You look a bit nervous.”
“If only Villiers would get up from his sickbed! I think he’s malingering.”
“I doubt it. He looked played out, and he’s not the sort to lie down if he didn’t have to. What are you worried about?”
“Lucille said that there is to be a dance performed by six virgins this evening. Apparently there were supposed to be twelve, but they couldn’t locate another six girls who would agree to the label.”
Harriet snorted. “It sounds dissolute enough that Strange will enjoy it.”
“Why do you say that? Don’t you like him?”
“He’s a typical male: arrogant, irrational, and rather snappish. He likes to make me feel like a fool. You should have seen how chagrined he was when I managed to prick him with the sword, though it was entirely his fault for insisting we didn’t need rapier caps. At any rate, what’s frightened you about the six virgins?”
“The obvious,” Isidore said. “A French demi-rep put on some sort of impromptu performance here last month that involved a visiting sugar baron from the Americas. I am not ready to witness that.”
“Neither am I,” Harriet said, pulling out a cravat so that Villiers’s man could tie it for her. “If it looks as if the six virgins have found close friends, we’ll leave.”
“Perhaps we should just eat in our room tonight.”
“Is this the brave Isidore, who wanted to create a scandal large enough to bring the Duke of Cosway back from deepest Africa?”
“It’s one thing to create a scandal and another to see six virgins losing their status.”
Harriet couldn’t help laughing. “I thought you were so sophisticated. Frighteningly so.”
“I put on a good show,” Isidore said, with her lightning quick smile. “But in fact, I’m a good daughter to my Catholic mother. She was very protective. I love to flirt but that’s all.”
“I promise I’ll drag you out of the room if it looks as if the entertainment is turning salacious. I’ll probably need you to rescue me, anyway.”
“Why? Is there a man after you?” Isidore said. “You know, I wouldn’t have mentioned this, Harriet, but I have a funny feeling about Lord Strange.” She lowered his voice. “He looks at you in such a way…”
“No, he doesn’t,” Harriet said. “He finds me incredibly irritating, but Villiers told him to look after me, so he has to do it.”
“I don’t know,” Isidore said dubiously. “Are you following what I’m saying, Harriet? He—”
“My problem is Kitty,” Harriet interrupted.
“Kitty?”
“One of the Graces. Have you met them?”
Isidore wrinkled her nose. “I met Caliope. She has the biggest breasts I have ever seen, and she wears such a rigid corset that they swell up around her chin.”
Harriet laughed.
“Truly! She must have a very short neck. What’s Kitty like?”
“Very pretty, rather sweet, and—and interested.”
Isidore started hooting with laughter. “You have a suitor!”
Harriet stood up, wincing from all her sore muscles, and looked at herself in the glass. Tonight she was wearing black silk breeches with a scarlet waistcoat marked with a border of embroidered silver chains. “Do you think I look too gaudy? Finchley says that I can’t possibly dress all in one color, though I think that the Duke of Fletcher looks wonderful when he does it.”
“No one wears a plain suit, except for Fletcher,” Isidore said. “I like the embroidery on your waistcoat. It marks you as a protégé of Villiers, which is important. No one could think that Villiers would sneak a woman into Strange’s house in disguise. What coat will you wear?”
“Velvet,” Harriet said, turning to the table where it was laid out. “Scarlet. I’m a scarlet woman, in every sense of the word.”
“Lovely embroidery around the buttonholes,” Isidore said. “I do wonder how I’d look as a man. You look utterly delicious, Harriet. I’m not at all surprised that Kitty is chasing you.”
Harriet pulled on the scarlet coat and then glanced at herself. Even sore in every muscle, she looked—well—good.
Isidore appeared at her shoulder. “Please don’t be insulted, but I think you make a lovely boy.”
“I’m not insulted,” Harriet said. “Just sad that I can’t dress like this at all times. I’ve always disliked my hair, but I love it pulled back in a simple queue.”
“You could dress like this. It’s merely a matter of eschewing ruffled and ribboned gowns for a more masculine style. You could set a new fashion!”
Harriet shook her head but she couldn’t stop herself from smiling. “It’s just so ironic. I feel beautiful, for the first time in my life. But no one of the right sex is interested in me!”
“Do you want me to scare off Kitty by telling her you are mine and only mine? We should probably go downstairs now, Harriet. That gong went off at least an hour ago.”
“I can manage Kitty,” Harriet said, loving the fact that she didn’t have to pick up a knotting bag or a shawl, but could just stroll from the room.
Povy was outside the ballroom doors when they arrived. “The entertainment is about to begin,” he whispered. “If you would be so kind as to stand in the back, I’ll seat you shortly.”
“Thank you,” Harriet said, remembering at the last minute to allow Isidore to walk through the door before her. As Duchess of Berrow, she was used to taking precedence over almost every woman below the level of nobility: it was hard to remember that a male always followed a female, with no regard for rank.
