One Night With You (The Derrings #3)(2)

"Do try and enjoy yourself. Forget about those little monsters down the hall." Anna settled Jane's cloak about her, giving her shoulder an encouraging squeeze. "You deserve some happiness." Happiness. Jane let the word roll around in her head, testing it. She had ceased hoping for something as elusive as happiness long ago. For now, for tonight, freedom would satisfy her. The house was silent as she followed Anna down the servants' stairs. Her feet moved swiftly on the creaking steps.

"I'll see that the door remains unlocked. Here, don't forget this." Anna thrust a black domino into her hand as they reached the back door.

On impulse, Jane embraced her old nurse in the shadows. "Thank you," she murmured, wondering what she would have done without at least one friend within these walls. Anna had kept her sane during those miserable days when her marriage first crumbled. Nineteen, new to Town, new to her role as Lady Guthrie, she had been unprepared for the life her husband introduced her to—a world of glittering hypocrisy that slapped down anyone failing to sparkle. Marcus had been the first to deliver that lesson.

Anna tapped her gently on the chin. "No frowns. I expect to hear you danced and flirted with every gentleman in the room."

Before Jane could respond that flirting was the last thing on her mind—especially since she had no clue how to flirt—and that tonight was purely an exercise in freedom, Anna pushed her out into the night.

Like a bird thrust from its nest, she blinked against the thick mist and hovered on the back stoop for a moment, staring down the worn stone steps and wondering if she should perhaps return to the safety of her room.

Where you will remain for all the rest of your days.

The bitter thought barely had time to root before she hurried next door to the massive stone edifice. Having no wish to be seen about at such a late hour, she pulled her hood low and burrowed deep into her cloak, hiding from the soft glow emitted from the street's gaslights until she mounted the steps of her friend's mansion.

The front doors flung wide before Jane even lifted her hand to knock. The Duchess of Shillington stood there, limned in the great foyer's chandelier light, the pale strands in her strawberry blond hair glinting like gold ingots. "I was beginning to fear you changed your mind," Lucy announced.

Just beyond the duchess, her butler shifted from foot to foot, looking chagrined at her commandeering of his duties.

And beyond him stood the Duchess of Derring, a vague smile that could mean anything at all fixed to her face as she leaned against the marble balustrade.

Squaring her shoulders, Jane lied, "I never considered it." Lucy ushered her inside, sweeping Jane's cloak back from her shoulders even as the butler melted from the foyer, no doubt sensing activities were afoot that need not bear his witness. Tapping her lip, Lucy assessed her gown with a martial light in her blue-gray eyes. Turning to the Duchess of Derring, she asked with heavy seriousness, "Astrid? What do you think?" Astrid shrugged. "She looks like any other matron out for the evening."

"My thoughts precisely." Lucy met Jane's gaze squarely. "You cannot wear this."

"You only said that I should not wear black," Jane reminded, feeling the stirrings of annoyance.

"For the purpose of tonight, you must attire yourself in something more"—Lucy's nose wrinkled—"suitable."

Suitable. Jane strongly suspected that Lucy wanted to use a different word. Gathering a fistful of her pale blue skirts, she asked, "How is this unsuitable?"

"It is not—" Lucy stopped, sighed, then tossed a beseeching look to Astrid. Astrid flicked her dark gaze over Jane, her face mild and unlined with expression. "You're not sufficiently risque."

"What would you have me wear?" Jane demanded, then gave her head a small shake. "It's of no account. I cannot risk returning home to change. Bryony is a light sleeper. It's a wonder I did not wake the girl when passing her bedroom."

"A swift bludgeon to the head would take care of that," Astrid suggested, eyes unblinking, expression unflappable as ever.

Lucy shot Astrid a quelling glare and propped her hands on her hips. The act opened her erminetrimmed cloak wide and Jane gasped at her low-cut scarlet gown. The dress hugged her curves indecently.

She pointed speechlessly to Lucy's gown, then looked at Astrid who, with a shrug, parted her own cloak to reveal a diaphanous apricot-colored gown as equally shocking.

"I understand the hostess's chef makes the most delicious lobster pasties," was all Astrid explained.

Food. As usual, everything came down to food with Astrid. It was the one thing her friend openly enjoyed.

"Fear not," Lucy assured. "I have the perfect dress for you." Jane looked back and forth between their scandalous attire, wariness creeping over her. "What kind of masquerade ball is this?"

Lucy and Astrid exchanged looks and her uneasiness deepened.

"Who is the hostess?" She stared hard at her two friends, compelling one of them to answer. Not surprisingly, it was Astrid. She lacked the ability or inclination to prevaricate. "Madame Fleur," she stated.

"Madame Fleur?" Jane was well acquainted with the lady's name. All of Britain knew of the famed courtesan. "Why would we wish to attend such an affair? It's bound to be—" she stopped, groping for the correct words. Scandalous. Outrageous. Sinful. A strange little thrill coursed through her at the very idea. Functional-proper-widow-Jane would never dare attend such an affair, an insidious little voice whispered in her head.