Angelica was starting to perspire. The layers of silk and heavy, beaded net hung against her skin, which was still flushed from her bath. She and Bessie had rushed from the tub to insure she did not run into Mr. Lawton again. Now, she was nervous and overheated.
She had allowed the maid to kohl her eyelashes, and rub some rouge on her lips and cheeks to ‘give her some color’. Angelica did not understand why—sighted people were strange sometimes—but deferred to Bessie’s expertise. The girl had assured her she’d seen Miss Mary Rose apply cosmetics hundreds of times.
So, she’d allowed herself to be pinned, polished, and painted in the name of beauty, all because she wanted to look nice for Captain Neill. If he thought she’d look pretty with black eyes and red lips, then what was the harm?
She hadn’t even noticed she’d been flapping her hands again until Bessie forced them down to her side. “Sorry.”
“No reason to be nervous, Miss. You look lovely.”
Angelica smoothed her hands across the tangles of beads running wild all over her gown. They were black—jet, specifically. At Grocott’s, when Magda had selected evening frocks, that had been Angelica’s one criterion. She could picture herself wearing black. She felt like herself wearing black. Never mind that the silk beneath was of the brightest aquamarine.
There was a knock at the door, and then Captain Neill let himself in. They’d all three grown accustomed to him coming and going from her room. Bessie wasn’t shocked, and Angelica no longer felt shy when he planted a lingering kiss on her lips.
“My God, what a frock!” he said, laughing.
Bessie kept it stored in tissue paper, and Angelica doubted anyone had seen it since the moment it had been boxed up and delivered to their hotel room. She was excited to debut it tonight. Mary Rose would finally see how stylish she was, and want to be her friend. Perhaps even Mr. and Mrs. Neill would be impressed by the transformation.
Angelica willed her hands to stay down. Captain Neill couldn’t catch her flapping. “Is it very chic?”
“You put the lights of London to shame. I ought to go down in uniform, since I’ll be fighting chaps off you.”
She and Bessie laughed at his joke.
“But do you like it?” she asked, growing serious.
“I certainly didn’t think they made a shade of silk that could match your eyes…”
Angelica smiled. “You like my eyes.”
“I love them. And I love your frock.”
She could hear the first strains of music drifting up through the floorboards. Earlier, Captain Neill had promised to dance every waltz with her. Angelica looked forward to learning more steps, so that, eventually, they could share more dances. The sooner they went downstairs, the sooner their night together could begin.
“Well, Bessie,” he said. “Are you ready to turn her loose?”
The maid rushed a few last-minute adjustments before proclaiming her charge finished.
“Give us a moment alone, then.” His husky voice made Angelica’s heart flutter.
When they were finally alone, he swept her in his arms and kissed her passionately. Both their hearts were fluttering by the time he eased her back down to the land of jazz bands, evening gowns, and stiff, starched shirtfronts.
“I want you to know,” he said, still breathless, “that I’ve never been more proud to have a woman by my side. Thank you for letting me be your escort.”
She laughed. What an odd thing for him to say. Truly, she was the lucky one.
“People tell you all the time how beautiful you are, and I know you’ll hear it a hundred more times before this party is over, but I hope that tonight you feel beautiful, Angelica.”
“Thank you, Brody. I think I needed to hear that.”
He took her gloved hand in his. “Shall we go down?”
Together, they left her bedroom, crossed the corridor, and descended the marble steps that curved down to the busy ground floor. All the public rooms were thrown open—the library, drawing room, ballroom, and the dining room, where guests helped themselves to a buffet supper and an endless supply of champagne. Angelica smelled roast beef, salmon, potatoes, ham, cheeses, and more desserts than could possibly be eaten in one night. There would be leftovers for weeks.
As they walked from room to room, people stopped them to greet Captain Neill. He was always courteous and polite, and eager to introduce her to his acquaintances. Their reaction was mixed—some folk simply didn’t know what to make of her—but he seemed genuinely happy to show her off. It felt as if he wanted the entire party to know she was his girl.
The more she talked, the easier conversation became. When she was quiet and shy, people retreated from her. Yet, when she smiled brightly and laughed loudly, they seemed to open up, as well. Soon, Angelica had guests approaching her, desperate for an introduction. She hadn’t even found time to sample any of the darling little cakes everyone raved about.
Cynthia Cartwright bumped into them, already drunk. “What a crush!” she said, nearly burning a hole in Captain Neill’s dinner jacket with the hot end of her long cigarette. “So sorry about that. One can hardly move in here.”