A Masquerade in the Moonlight(98)
Forgive him? She’d consider searching out a trumpet to send him on his way, if only he’d go now and not confront Donovan, who was looking particularly handsome this evening—and particularly angry. “Of course, William. Perhaps I will see you again at Lady Brill’s masquerade on Friday? Grandfather has given me permission—reluctantly —and it should be great fun. I have never before attended a masquerade.”
The earl halted in front of Mrs. Billings and bowed over Marguerite’s hand after she was seated in the uncomfortable, straight-back chair. “Masquerades are fast becoming frowned on, but if you are going to be there, Miss Balfour, I would not miss it for the world. I will not even ask you to disclose your costume to me, for I feel sure I would know you anywhere,” he said, then withdrew before he could see her wipe the back of her hand against her silk skirts, attempting to banish the memory of his touch.
“I fear, Miss Balfour,” Mrs. Billings announced a moment later with great formality, “that I have no choice but to tender my resignation as of the conclusion of this evening. I have failed you, as his lordship so rightly pointed out, and failed myself. I should have shown more backbone, but I have always been a timid sort. A woman with no jointure, no income, needs must be as her employer wishes her to be. You have wished me to be a mere shadow, with no voice, no opinion, and no weight. I have done so, much to my chagrin, and now I am ruined. I have no choice but to take myself off to Scotland or Wales or some other such godless place and begin again. But before I leave, Miss Balfour—Marguerite—I wish to tell you something.”
She shifted on her chair and declared heatedly, “Marguerite Balfour, you are by far the most outrageous, impertinent, most perfectly horrible creature it has ever been my misfortune to bear-lead, and I would like nothing more than to dunk you head and ears in the ocean, just to see you splutter!” She bobbed her head a single time, nearly dislodging her purple turban. “There! I’ve said it, and I’m not sorry!”
Marguerite looked at Mrs. Billings for a long moment, watching a tide of hot color rise in the older woman’s cheeks. And then she smiled in real enjoyment. “Why, Billie—you do possess some backbone after all. Good for you! I think I’ll ask Grandfather to increase your wages. That, and a letter of recommendation once the Season is over—a letter that is so glowing it will bring tears to your eyes to read it.”
“Increase—increase my wages?” Mrs. Billings looked to either side of her, as if expecting a rocket to explode in the midst of Lady Southby’s musical evening, then peered intently at Marguerite. “And a recommendation? Why?”
“Why?” Marguerite repeated, smiling. “That’s simple enough, Billie. You already are convinced I’m beyond redemption, so that I no longer have to listen to your endless homilies on the correct behavior expected of a young girl just Out. You have a gratifying respect for the damage I can do a person if I’m opposed in any wish to get my own way. And lastly, but still important, it would fatigue me greatly to have to find another such informed, conformable lady willing to turn her head the other way while I go about the business of ruining myself. In short, I cannot lose you Billie. You are the epitome of incompetence, and I despair of seeing your like again.”
“You’re a horrid, horrid creature, Marguerite Balfour,” Mrs. Billings said feelingly. “I shall pray for your immortal soul.”
“Do that, Billie,” Marguerite answered, seeing Donovan moving toward the same window she and Laleham had passed through not that many minutes ago. “But you will remain in my grandfather’s employ?”
“For my sins, yes.”
“Good. I see Miss Clemmons is approaching the harp for our first selection. Now why don’t you sit here like a good little chaperone while I escape what is bound to be a most unfortunate interlude? Feel free to pray quietly while I am gone—your prayers joining with those of dearest Maisie, who is doubtless even at this moment determinedly beating down the good Lord’s door with her entreaties for mercy. Or perhaps you’d rather busy yourself adding up how much more money you will be making to turn a blind eye to my affairs?”
Mrs. Billings tugged on Marguerite’s skirts, detaining her as Donovan disappeared onto the balcony. “You will be back for me yourself this time, won’t you?” she inquired plaintively. “Not that I didn’t enjoy Mr. Donovan’s company—for he is a quite entertaining gentleman.”
“So it has been rumored, Billie. And yes, this time I will return for you—eventually. Now smile, and pretend to enjoy Miss Clemmons’s performance. I’m off to toss the remainder of my reputation to the four winds.”