A Good Debutante's Guide to Ruin_The Debutante Files

“Oh, that looks splendid.” Aurelia hopped where she stood for a moment, jiggling her breasts so much that they looked dangerously close to spilling free of her scandalously tight bodice. “And let us not forget these.” She waved two wigs in the air.

“Wha—”

“Mrs. Bancroft said it will help protect your identity. And with your very recognizable hair, it’s really a must. I’ll take this lovely golden wig. You wear the black one. It’s very Cleopatra, no? With your white gown . . . perfect!”

Rosalie fingered the sleek black strands, excitement humming low in her belly. She was really doing this.

Aurelia clapped her hands. “Let’s get you in the dress first, shall we? No corset, mind you. It won’t look right.”

Rosalie’s gaze snapped up to her face. “No corset?”

Aurelia stretched out the scrap of bodice between her hands as though that served as explanation enough. “Come. Let’s simply see, shall we?”

She permitted Aurelia to help her undress and slip into the gown. Turning, she could scarcely breathe as her friend buttoned the tiny rows of buttons at her back. It had nothing to do with the fit of the dress, either. It was all nerves. The riot of butterflies in her belly.

What am I doing?

“Oh, and these stockings! We mustn’t forget these.”

Rosalie put them on, blanching at the decadent pair of sheer stockings—nothing like the serviceable, modest ones she always wore. These were thin as cobwebs with a thin strip of lace running up the outside of her thighs. She shifted, stunned at the decadent sensation of the material on her bare legs. Aurelia helped her tie them off with lacy garters.

“There. Now . . . the wig.” She struggled for some moments, knotting Rosalie’s hair close to the base of her scalp before securing the wig in place. The dark strands swished sleekly just past Rosalie’s shoulders.

Aurelia stood back and waved her arms with a flourish. “Oh! You look like some princess from an ancient era, ready for seduction. See for yourself.”

On shaking legs, Rosalie moved to stand before the mirror. Her mouth parted on a gasp.

A stranger stared back at her. The white material clung indecently, appearing soft, beckoning the hand. The bodice dipped so low it revealed not only the top swells of her breasts but the pale, smooth expanse of skin between the small mounds. She even imagined she could make out the dusky outline of her nipples beading against the white fabric. The black mask was startling—a stark contrast against the creamy canvas of skin and gown.

The dark wig framing her face altered what was visible of her features, creating the illusion of bigger eyes, coal-dark and faintly exotic within the domino.

Denial surged on her lips. She couldn’t go out like this. But then the realization sank in that she enjoyed it . . . the way she looked excited her. Filled her with courage and emboldened her.

And no one had to know it was her.

Smiling, she faced Aurelia. “Now let’s finish you off and be gone from here.”





Chapter 10


The town house loomed three stories high. It was located in a good neighborhood. Modest. Nothing lavish. A middle-class home of whitewashed brick, well-maintained.

It certainly did not appear to be a place where illicit activities took place night after night.

They stepped down from the hack to a quiet street. Lights blazed from windows and outside front door sconces, but there was no line of people beating a path to the door.

She glanced at Aurelia. “Are you certain this is the place?”

“Yes. I paid a call to Mrs. Bancroft here this very afternoon. Come along.” With an encouraging smile, she clasped Rosalie’s hand and led her up the steps to the front door.

It was promptly answered at their knock.

“Ladies?” A butler greeted them with a very correct nod of his head.

Aurelia offered the card Mrs. Bancroft had given her to present at the door.

He accepted the card and stepped aside, waving them in. A footman stepped forward to take their cloaks. She resisted the impulse to cover herself with her hands. Her skin had never felt so much air before. “This way.”

They followed him down a narrow corridor that opened up onto a larger room. A crowded room. At their arrival, heads turned to assess them. Avid, hungry eyes. She shifted her weight. As uneasy as she felt to find herself under such scrutiny, she was not the only female dressed so scandalously.

In fact, heat crawled up her throat as her gaze arrested on one female sitting on a sofa, squashed between two gentlemen. One kissed her whilst the other suckled at her bare breasts.

She and Aurelia stood frozen, eyeing the decadent scene.

“Ladies.” A well-dressed woman in an elaborate peacock-feathered mask approached. She took Aurelia’s hands warmly in her own. “So glad you could attend this evening. You both look lovely. So glad to see the dresses fit you so charmingly. And the wigs . . . very becoming. And this must be your friend.” She turned a smile on Rosalie. “Hello, I’m Mrs. Bancroft.”

“Delighted to meet you.” Rosalie tried to smile, but her gaze continued to dart about the room at so many couples caught in amorous embraces.

“This is our sitting room, where everyone meets and greets each other,” the proprietress explained. “There are several more specialized rooms throughout the house.” She hesitated, surveying what must have been their astonished expressions. A female from some corner of the room let out a screech.

“What’s that?” Aurelia asked. “Is she unwell?”

Mrs. Bancroft laughed. “Oh, she is quite well.” Still grinning, she turned. “Come, my two wide-eyed little birds. Let us begin with baby steps, shall we? There is a room that might suit you on your first time here.”

Rosalie released a grateful breath and followed Mrs. Bancroft and Aurelia from the room, sidestepping a man’s hand that reached for her as she bypassed him.

In the quiet corridor, Mrs. Bancroft led them up another set of stairs. “We have private rooms upstairs for, as I mentioned, specialized activities as well as private assignations. Whatever penchant, we aim to satisfy here.”

As they cleared the landing, Mrs. Bancroft motioned to the right. “These rooms are for those private assignations I mentioned.” She motioned to the left and bid them to follow. She opened the door to a dim room suffused with deep red light from two red-screened lanterns. A large window opened to another bedroom where two people copulated.

“Oh, my!” Rosalie whirled around, presenting her back.

Mrs. Bancroft chuckled lightly. “This room is for people who like to watch. Don’t worry, this couple enjoys being observed . . . they crave an audience.”

“I—I don’t think I want to see this,” Rosalie hastily murmured.

“Good heavens,” Aurelia breathed, facing the couple, her eyes enormous in her face. “I—I . . . I had no idea . . .”

“I think one of you appreciates the view,” Mrs. Bancroft murmured with a wry twist of her lips beneath her vibrant mask. The mask was elaborate and riveting and almost the sole point of focus in her face. For some reason, in that moment Rosalie suspected that Mrs. Bancroft valued anonymity as much as they did. Very curious indeed for an owner of a house such as Sodom.

The proprietress fully faced Rosalie then as Aurelia continued to watch the scene through the window with her mouth agape. “What is it you hoped to experience tonight? Everyone’s desires vary . . . they come to Sodom for different reasons. What is your desire, my dear?” Her voice was throaty and low, an intoxicating purr that simultaneously enticed and put one at ease. Rosalie could only imagine that served her well in her particular brand of business.