Notorious Pleasures (Maiden Lane #2)(29)

But “dock” hardly did the landing area justice. A platform over the river was ablaze with lights, strung on poles. As they neared, Hero could see footmen in fantastic livery helping the rest of their party from their boat. Each footman wore a purple and yellow costume, but each was different: One man was in a striped coat with checkered stockings. Another wore a saffron-colored wig and a purple coat with yellow ribbons. And yet another had a bright yellow coat over a purple spotted waistcoat. They were all whimsical variations on a theme.

Their boat pulled into the dock, and a fellow in a lavender-powdered wig bent to help her from the boat. “Welcome to Harte’s Folly, my lady.”

“Thank you,” Hero said as the rest of her party disembarked.

Phoebe came to stand beside her. “Did you see the primrose in his wig?”

Hero turned and saw that indeed the footman wore a bright flower over his ear.

“I do hope that’s not a catching fashion,” Reading murmured. He caught Phoebe’s eyes. “I’d look rather foolish with tulips about my ears.”

Phoebe smothered a giggle with one hand.

“You’d look a right ass,” was Huff’s pronouncement.

“Thank you, Huff, for your opinion,” Reading said gravely.

Huff snorted.

Mandeville cleared his throat. “Shall we?”

He offered his arm to Hero, and she took it as they entered a wooded path. The trees about them were hung with fantastical fairy lights. Hero peered closer and saw that each was a blown glass globe, no bigger than her palm, encasing a light. Music drifted through the decoratively trimmed trees and hedges, growing louder as they advanced. The path suddenly opened, and they emerged from the trees into a wondrous theater.

A paved area spread out before them as if sprung from the forest floor. Behind that were artfully decaying ruins. If one looked closely, one could just see the orchestra playing between crumbling pillars. On either side, luxurious boxes rose, four levels high, some open, some curtained to give the occupants privacy.

A pretty maidservant, her hair intertwined with lavender and primrose ribbons, led them behind the boxes and up a carpeted stairs to a high box right on the stage.

“I say, this is cracking,” Lord Bollinger exclaimed. He was a quiet young man who seemed slightly overawed by Mandeville’s rank.

Lady Margaret squeezed her escort’s arm. “It’s simply wonderful, Thomas.”

Mandeville grinned, suddenly looking boyish. “Glad you’re pleased, Meg.”

Hero smiled up at him as he held a chair for her. “Thank you for arranging this evening.”

“It’s my pleasure.” He bowed, but as he rose, his eyes went over Hero’s shoulder and he seemed to stiffen.

The curtains parted at the back of their box, and a troop of servants entered with supper. Mandeville settled into the chair next to Hero as thinly sliced ham, wine, cheese, and prettily iced cakes were laid before them.

“A toast,” Huff mumbled, raising his glass. “To the beautiful ladies present tonight.”

“Oh, Huff,” Lady Caroline said, but she was blushing as she drank.

Hero smiled and sipped her own wine, but she couldn’t help glancing over her shoulder as the others bantered. In the box opposite sat a lady with striking deep-wine-red hair. Three young and handsome gentlemen surrounded her, but the woman’s eyes were fixed on their box.

Hero followed her gaze. Mrs. Tate was watching Mandeville.

GRIFFIN’S EYES NARROWED as he saw Lady Hero note the redheaded woman across the way. What the hell was Thomas up to? Had he arranged an assignation with a mistress with his fiancée present?

Lady Hero casually turned back to the table, her gaze sliding by his. She made no sign, but somehow he could tell: She was upset.

Damn Thomas!

Thankfully the entertainment began at that moment with a troop of brightly clad girls dancing onto the stage.

Griffin watched broodingly, fondling the diamond earring in his waistcoat pocket. What matter to him if Thomas wasn’t quite as perfect as Lady Hero thought him? Their arrangement was surely no business of his. Why, then, did he feel an urgent need to drag his brother into a private corner and with a few choice words—and perhaps a fist or two—show him the error of his ways?

“They’re so graceful,” Lady Phoebe said. She sat beside him, across the dinner table from Thomas and Lady Hero.

“They are indeed.” Griffin smiled at her.

Lady Phoebe was so different from her sister she might have been a changeling. Where Lady Hero was tall for a woman and elegantly slender, Lady Phoebe was of only average height with a buxom figure, softly rounded shoulders, and plump arms. Lady Hero carefully guarded her expression and movements like a miser with a handful of gold coins. Lady Phoebe, in contrast, let every emotion play across her face, her expressive lips parting in wonder or curving wide in surprised amusement at the antics of a clown on the stage.

“But where did he go?” she murmured to herself. “The little monkey?”

Griffin glanced at the stage. The clown had been playing with a monkey, but the animal sat now at his ankles, waiting with trained stillness.

He looked back to Lady Phoebe. She was leaning forward, squinting. Suddenly she laughed. “He’s back.”

Griffin looked at the stage. The clown was making the monkey perform backflips through a hoop. Griffin lifted his wine to his lips, frowning thoughtfully.