Kate Pearce - Educating Elizabeth

For a fleeting second she considered defying him and changing into something more demure. Then the anger, which had begun to grow inside her since his withdrawal, coalesced into bravado. She would wear the gown the duke had chosen for her and watch him suffer the consequences.

Gervase waited for her in the hallway, his face set in uncompromising lines as he consulted his pocket watch. Elizabeth arranged her cloak to cover the flimsy gown and met him with a civil smile.

"Am I late, Your Grace? You seem anxious to be off."

He barely glanced at her and the small kernel of doubt that had settled in her stomach began to flower in earnest.

"I intend to pick Angelique up. That is where we are headed now."

He held the carriage door open for her and slammed it shut as the coach took off at some speed into the rain-drenched night. Elizabeth stared out of the window and tried to ignore her feelings of unease. The duke was looking at her as though she was the enemy and, for once in her life, she didn't have the gumption to ask him why. She had too much at stake.

As she stared at his averted profile, it occurred to her that the duke might have known about her stepfather's possible involvement with the French from the start. If he had, his whole relationship with her could be viewed in a different light. She closed her eyes to shut out the sight of him. Had he been using her all along?

Angelique seemed subdued when she entered the coach, less than half an hour later, her fragile mood mirroring the duke's. Elizabeth gave up trying to understand the subtle cross-currents of tension filling the silent carriage and concentrated on her own problems. But by the time they pulled up to the theater, she was no closer to finding an adequate solution to her dilemma.

As soon as Elizabeth set foot on the wet flagged paving stones, she was swallowed up by a cluster of street vendors and theatergoers. The noisy throng seemed louder and more animated than the usual tonnish audience she had encountered there before. She looked up at the regal torch-lit façade of the Convent Garden Theater with rising apprehension.

From the miscellaneous apparel of the crowd flocking toward the entrance, Elizabeth deduced that a public masquerade ball was in progress. Despite her concerns, she couldn't help but be slightly curious. She had heard that behavior at masked balls could verge on the improper.

Angelique drew her into the shadow of the entranceway and handed her an embroidered purple half-mask. "You should wear this, Elizabeth. It will help to disguise you."

She helped Elizabeth tie the strings of the mask and Elizabeth reciprocated with the pink-feathered mask Angelique had chosen to wear. The duke disappeared whilst they were busy preening. He hadn't made the slightest effort to disguise himself. His jet black clothing, beaded waistcoat, and thick dark hair made him instantly recognizable.

While the duke was away, Elizabeth took the opportunity to study the assembled crowd. Her first impressions appeared to be correct. This wasn't a venue for the well brought-up ladies of the ton . She recognized several affluent gentlemen whose female companions, from their scanty and provocative attire, couldn't possibly be their wives.

She had heard whispers from her brothers as to the lewdness and revelry that occurred at such public balls, and now she could well imagine it. Every courtesan, rake, gambler, and actress in London seemed to be present, eager to push the boundaries of acceptable behavior beyond their limits. Elizabeth shivered and licked her lips as the scent of warm over-perfumed bodies and excitement swirled around her. She could almost taste the pent-up desire for licentious mischief.

Even Angelique seemed different as she shed her cloak and revealed the clinging low-cut rose gown beneath it. Although her blue eyes were all but concealed by her mask, she had painted her lips a deep crimson and had heavily rouged her cheeks.

Elizabeth clutched her cloak more tightly to her body as the duke returned, bringing a slight, dark-haired man with him.

Angelique simpered behind her fan and gave the stranger a low curtsey, which almost propelled her bosom out of her dress. "Who is this, Gervase, my love?" Angelique cooed and clung to the duke's arm when he gallantly raised her from her curtsey.

"This is my cousin, Lord Vincent Delacroix." The duke's casual wave took in Elizabeth as well. "Vincent, the blonde is Angelique and the brunette is Elizabeth."

Elizabeth was about to step forward but the duke's words stopped her. She glared at him for a dangerous second and then smiled and held out her gloved fingers.

"Good evening, my lord. My name is Mrs. Waterstone. It is a pleasure to meet you."

With a quizzical glance at the duke, Lord Vincent took her gloved hand and bent to brush a kiss over her knuckles. "Enchanted, Madam."

Elizabeth allowed him to place her hand on his arm and lead her into the crowded theater. He was not much taller than she was and his frame was not as broad as the duke's, although she gauged their age to be similar. His clothing was subdued but immaculate, displaying his slight figure to its fullest advantage.

He bent his head to speak above the shrieking and clamoring of the demi-monde at play. "Have you attended a masked ball before, Mrs. Waterstone?"

Elizabeth shook her head as the duke motioned them up the shallow, ill-lit stairs and into a slightly less noisy private box, which looked down onto the riotous assembly below. "No, my lord, I've not, although I must admit that I intend to enjoy the experience."

Lord Vincent smiled and held out a chair for her with a practiced flourish. Before she could sit down, the duke placed his hands on her shoulders.

"Take off your cloak, Elizabeth. You can scarcely be cold."

"Actually I am quite cold, Your Grace."

He stared at her for a long, dangerous moment. "Take it off."

She stared up into his face. Something was badly wrong and she had no idea how to fix it. She reluctantly released her grip of the front folds of her cloak. Lord Vincent went still and took in a visible breath as her dress was revealed. Even Angelique's mouth dropped open as she slipped into a gilded chair beside Elizabeth's. The duke tightened his fingers on her shoulder and made her turn toward him.

"Ah..." he breathed. "I knew that color would suit you. You look like a succulent grape, just waiting to be...plucked."

She knew then, in a moment of hideous clarity that he meant to get rid of her in the most public setting possible. Had he dressed her like this to show her off to potential buyers, like a flashy mare at Tattersalls? Her chin came up and she refused to give way to the urge to cry. She shook off the duke's restraining hand and turned back to Lord Vincent.

"Are you planning a long visit, my lord?"

The duke swore softly under his breath as she continued to ignore him, her attention all on his cousin.

"No, Mrs. Waterstone. I usually live quietly in Switzerland. I only come to London to consult with my business partners and, of course, to see my cousin, Gervase." He poured her a glass of wine, which she took gratefully, glad to have something to do with her hands. "How do you know my cousin, Mrs. Waterstone? If you will pardon my bluntness, you don't seem to be in his usual style."

Elizabeth managed a smile, aware that the duke was making no effort to disguise his interest in their quiet conversation. He sat on the arm of her chair, his arm draped along the back of it in a possessive manner, giving him an excellent view of her cleavage.

"I work for the duke in two separate capacities, my lord." Elizabeth sipped at her wine. "Firstly, I help with administrative tasks for the government and secondly, the duke is teaching me how to become a courtesan."