Raven McAllan - The Rake's Unveiling Of Lady Belle

Belinda giggled, sniffed and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, before she poured Madeira into crystal goblets. ‘As if I would, or could for that matter. All your staff are incredibly loyal, which is how it should be. Ah, Lady L, I do love you so. But are you sure?’

‘That you mustn’t steal Mrs Perris away? Very sure. As for the rest. Of course I am. Just you be the best of the best.’

‘Oh I intend to.’

‘Then that is my reward. Now, Clarissa has decided to return to town early from her father’s house and be your first customer.’

Clarissa nodded enthusiastically. ‘I’m going to be the one who is in the know and prepared reluctantly to share my knowledge with a select few.’

‘As you know, there’s a lot want to see you and use your work, and few who deserve to,’ Lady L said. ‘Clarissa will sort out those who she deems worthy. It is up to you to accept them or not. Don’t forget exclusivity will bring you more cachet, and you must decide who you wish to have the honour of wearing your garments.’

‘True, and it damned well will be an honour. There’s just one thing…’ Belinda hesitated. How could she phrase it without sounding ungrateful? ‘Are you certain that I’m not about to be unmasked? I do not want any scandal or difficulties attached to you. And…well…’ She stopped talking as Lady L fixed her with a gimlet-eyed stare. ‘Oh, Lady L, I’m scared.’ There she’d been honest.

‘You’d be a fool not to be. However, once we’ve got you settled and sorted I declare no one will recognise you, not even your fool of a father. Look at you. Do you see any resemblance to the girl you were six months ago?’

Put like that, Belinda could only agree with all Lady Lakenby had said. Helped by lemon juice and careful cutting and styling, her hair was now a soft blonde instead of a dirty straw colour, and it framed her face in tiny elegant curls instead of hanging long and lank down her back. Her skin was clear, bright and blemish free, and she’d lost almost two stones in weight due to eating sensibly and not on leftovers or food that filled her grumbling tummy but did not nourish her. Her clothes suited her, fit her, and there was not a darn in sight.

In short she was nothing like the girl who had defied her father, except in temperament. That was no different.

‘I’m no longer that person.’

‘Exactly. So take this new you off to your new home and let Jessop or Mrs Perris know if anything needs changing. I’m going to rest before dinner.’ Lady L walked to the door, and then turned around with a swish of travelling gown. ‘Should I ask your maid to start to pack?’

Belinda laughed. The butterflies in her tummy were ones of excitement not worry, and she was happy that the next phase of her life was about to begin. ‘If she needs to. Just tell me when to be ready to leave.’

Chapter Two

London 1815

‘Madame Belle, I’ve a request for a consultation here.’ Tippen, her assistant, seemed somewhat perturbed. ‘I’m not sure as you’ll want to say yes, but, well…’ She glanced at Belle and coloured delicately. ‘It’s not someone who you’ve associated with before, well not here anyway. Not exactly someone…’ Tippen wrinkled her nose. ‘Well, it’s a man who has requested the appointment. And it’s not as if you need any more clients—not really.’

‘You know I’ve had men request appointments on more than one occasion.’ Belle was now intrigued and wondered why Tippen seemed so agitated. They’d worked together from even before the business had launched. Lady L had suggested the daughter of her dresser, a skilled seamstress, would be an ideal companion and help to Belinda, now no longer Lady Belinda Howells, but Belle the modiste to the chosen few. As Lady Lakenby and Clarissa had predicted, the Dressed by Belle label was much sought after, especially as it had been made known to the ton by those two ladies just how particular Belle was and how exclusive her clothes.

Now several years of hard work later, there was an air of mystery about Madame Belle, which those whom she chose to dress did nothing to dispel. No one wanted to incur Belle’s displeasure for fear of being told they were no longer welcome at her salon. That would be tantamount to disaster and lost credibility, which would probably never be recovered. If anyone did recognise her as the former Lady Belinda Howells they were careful not to mention it.

As Tippen generally knew who would be acceptable and who not, this cryptic conversation puzzled Belinda.

‘Why do you think I might not want to dress the lady concerned? I assume it is a lady and not the gentleman himself?’ Usually, she’d go with Tippen’s ideas, as they generally mirrored her own. Plus it was true they had no need of more clients. Nevertheless, Belinda’s interest was piqued. Tippen must have mentioned it all for a reason.

‘Well, this wardrobe is not for the gentleman’s wife.’ Tippen said it in a worried tone, as if the identity of just who wanted to be ‘Dressed by Belle’ would upset Belinda.

Belle put down the lace she was using to create an intricate rose, and gave her full attention to Tippen. ‘Right, you have my full, intrigued attention. I assume he is a gentleman of the ton?’

Tippen nodded.

‘Who wishes me to dress his mistress, or is she not quite so well esteemed? Or am I now supposed to be amenable to making pantaloons and shirts?’

Tippen sniggered. ‘That I would like to see. You measuring a gentlemen to make sure his, ahem, attributes fit in.’

Belinda gaped and then the picture Tippen’s words created filled her mind and she laughed. ‘Left- or right-sided my lord? Now how much extra knit do you think we’ll need? Are you one who grows or one who shows? Let me measure you. Oh Lord, Tippen, could you imagine it?’

I can. Oh my I can.

Tippen nodded enthusiastically, and continued to snigger until she had to wipe her cheeks with her hands. ‘Oh yes.’

‘And me.’ Belinda sobered. ‘Ah well, it’s a nice dream for us. It’s not something that is likely to happen in our lifetime, not even if we live to be one hundred. So it is one of this gentleman’s women? Whom he will not mention, unless I agree to dress her. Therefore I must assume she is not convenable. Oh, and you still haven’t mentioned who he is.’

Was it that the woman was an opera dancer or some such like? Whom Belle had made a point of not accepting as clients, mainly because their protectors were usually the husbands of those ladies she did dress. The ramifications of an accidental meeting were enough to make Belinda’s blood run cold.

Tippen drew herself up straight, and took a deep breath. ‘Nothing like opera dancers, or I don’t think so. It’s just that, it’s well, oh my, the gentleman concerned is none other than Lord Macpherson.’

It was as well Belinda had put down her needle or it was a certainty she would have pricked herself. She absently rubbed the crescent-shaped scar on the fleshy part of her hand.

‘Ah. As in Phillip, Clarissa’s brother?’

Tippen nodded. ‘The very same.’

‘Interesting.’ Belle took a deep breath and counted to five, very slowly, in order to decrease the pace of her heart. Even after all these years, she still held on to a certain amount of tenderness for him. ‘Did he recognise you?’

Tippen shook her head. ‘He never messed with the servants and I was naught but a child when he visited Lady Lakenby regularly.’

‘Did he say who the woman is?’ Belinda was curious. Clarissa had confided only a few days earlier that she thought Phillip had a new mistress but couldn’t work out who it was. She had also said it was the third woman in as many months whom he was thought to be bedding. Clarissa’s exact but crude expression was ‘one week plucking, three weeks fucking and they’re out’. Belinda accepted she would never reach the heady heights of knowing him as he did those women, and indeed was happy with the life she had made—with the help of other strong women like Clarissa and Lady L. However, she couldn’t help but wonder… What is it like to be desired in such a way? In any way? Is it enough?