Anthony held out his hand. “Then good; let’s agree to keep each other company for a while. We can brave the stares of the ton together and laugh at them behind their backs.”
Marguerite took his hand and slowly shook it. “I will come out with you on Friday night.”
He kissed her fingers. “Good, I’m looking forward to it already.”
4
Anthony allowed his valet to help him into his tight navy blue coat and settle it on his shoulders. From Brody’s muttered comments, he knew he looked well tonight and hoped Marguerite would think so too. It was strange to be dressing to go out on the town with a woman. When he wasn’t at work or at Madame Helene’s, he tended to pursue his pleasures with a group of gentlemen he’d known since his school days—younger sons of wealthy families and a few upstart cits who were happy to pay their way to be included in high society.
“You’ll do, sir.”
Anthony winked at Brody who scowled back at him.
“Thank you, I’m glad I meet with your approval.”
Brody snorted. “Now don’t come back with those fine clothes all ruined, sir.”
“I promise I’ll take care of them. I’m going to a ball at the Sutcliffs’. I doubt I’ll get up to anything too dangerous there.”
“You’re going to a ball, sir? A real one?”
“Yes. Don’t look so shocked.”
Brody smiled and displayed several missing teeth. “Well I never. Are you sure it ain’t at one of those ungodly places where men dress up as women?”
Anthony picked up his gloves and black cloak. “No, it is a real ball with real women.”
“Well thank the lord for that. I thought the day would never come.”
“Obviously your prayers have been answered; may I suggest you keep praying?”
Brody’s amusement faded. “I will, sir, don’t you ever doubt it.”
Embarrassed by the gleam of devotion and real concern in Brody’s brown eyes, Anthony turned away. That was the problem with servants who had known you since you were a child— nothing was sacred or secret. It seemed Helene was right and everyone was worried about him. He smiled. Perhaps tonight he would make Brody proud.
He came down the main staircase, his attention fixed on buttoning his gloves, and almost walked straight into his mother.
“Good evening, Mama, you look very nice.” He bent to kiss her soft scented cheek. “Are you going out or coming in?”
She was dressed in pale green satin, with pearls at her throat and in the tiara in her hair. Her skin was so soft and unlined, it was hard to believe she was his mother. She had been only eighteen when Anthony was born, a bride of less than a year trying to deal with a household grieving for the loss of the first countess and kidnapping of the first-born son.
“I’m going to the Sutcliffs’ ball.” Her expression tightened. “I suppose you’re off to Madame’s.”
There it was again, that note of apprehension beneath her tight smile. Had his behavior become so predictable and extreme that even his mother had noticed? He’d tried hard to conceal the worst of his excesses from her. He hastened to pat her hand.
“I’m not going to Madame’s tonight; I have other plans. Perhaps I’ll see you later?”
He felt her surprised expression follow him out of the house and into his waiting carriage.
By the time he walked up to Marguerite’s narrow front door, it was already open. The butler who had admitted him and the twins on their previous visit bowed low.
“My lady is ready, my lord. She has been informed of your arrival.”
Anthony stepped into the hallway and looked up toward the landing. Marguerite was in the process of descending the stairs, one hand grasped the skirt of her dark lilac gown. Diamonds glinted at her wrists, around her throat and in her hair. Behind her trailed an elderly rotund woman dressed in canary yellow which matched the color of her exceedingly obvious wig.
Anthony bowed as Marguerite reached him and held out his hand.
“You look . . .” he paused until she locked gazes with him. “I’m not allowed to say you’re beautiful, am I? You look passable. Will that suffice?”
Her mouth twitched up at one corner. “Perfectly.” She turned toward the older woman who had finally made it to the bottom of the stairs. “May I present Mrs. Lily Jones? She is one of Justin’s great-aunts and my chaperone.”
Anthony took the small pudgy hand held out to him and bowed. “Ma’am, it is a pleasure.”
“I’m sure it isn’t. You’re probably wishing me to the devil.” She scowled at Anthony. “I know what young men are like.”
Anthony suppressed a grin and turned back to Marguerite. “Are you ready to go?”
She nodded and he took her hand and placed it on his sleeve. He bent closer. “Is she always so protective of you?”
“It’s not that she’s protective of me, she just hates men.”
“All men? What about her husband?”
“Apparently, he was the worst.”
He broke off the conversation to settle her into the carriage and return for Mrs. Jones. He took the seat opposite the ladies and smiled benignly even though Mrs. Jones continued to stare at him as if he were an insect that should be trodden underfoot. Luckily the journey to Grosvenor Square, where the Sutcliffs had their residence, was short, so he didn’t have to endure the close scrutiny for long.
Anthony waited in the vast hallway for the ladies to reappear, absorbing the chattering crowds of people and the sense of excitement. He slowly inhaled the smell of over-perfumed bodies and, even worse, those who obviously didn’t bathe at all. Why did people flock together like this? Was it really supposed to be fun?
He turned to find Marguerite at his elbow, her expression apprehensive, and smiled down at her. “Are you ready to brave the ballroom?”
She hesitated for so long that he almost repeated his question. “I suppose I am.”
“That’s the spirit, tallyho.”
Anthony patted her hand as Mrs. Jones took up a position on his other side.
Marguerite looked up at him. “You sound as if you are encouraging your horse over a difficult fence.”
He smiled. “I apologize; I was just trying to make you feel better. It seems I’ll have to work on my social skills.”
She squeezed his arm. “If I really hate it, we don’t have to stay, do we?”
He paused at the top of the stairs to look down at her and saw the anxiety in her fine eyes.
“Of course not. I’ll take you home whenever you wish as long as you allow me at least one dance with you first.”
She tilted her head back, and he inhaled the scent of some sweet flower and her skin. So different from a man, so fragile and dainty, so unthreatening . . . He realized she was speaking and forced his unruly thoughts back to the present.
“You expect me to dance?”
“You know how, don’t you?” He walked her straight into the ballroom, adroitly avoiding the receiving line and crush of guests waiting to be announced. No need to advertise their presence here; he was sure they’d be spotted soon enough. Mrs. Jones gave him another scathing look and rapped him on the arm with her closed fan.
“I’ll be in the card room. Behave yourselves.”
He bowed and watched her walk away, leaving him alone with Marguerite.
“It seems Mrs. Jones doesn’t let her dislike of men interfere with her gambling.”
Marguerite sighed. “She is already quite cross with me for making her come out at all. She was convinced her job as a chaperone was going to be easy because I liked to stay close to home. I can hardly insist she remain at my side. In truth, I’m glad to be free of her. I’m a widow, not a green girl.”
“A fact for which I’m extremely grateful. I hate chaperones.”
She sat in the gilded chair he pulled out for her and unfurled her fan. “Do you hate them because they stop you from misbehaving?”
He sat next to her, his knee touching hers, and leaned closer to be heard above the strains of the minuet being played.