Netta sucked away all the sugar until all that was left was the caraway seed. At least there were treats in the little crystal dish on the table. The visit wasn’t a complete waste.
A sharp elbow poked into her side. “Miss Courtney,” Lady Mary said pointedly, “what say you on this new trend of rouging one’s cheeks.”
Drat. She’d forgotten she was supposed to be Miss Courtney. It wasn’t her favorite pseudonymous name, but it was the best compromise she and John could arrive at. “Rouge? Is that what the Countess of Avignon is wearing now?” She hoped they were still speaking of the French émigré. Lord, how she wanted to shock these women. Tell them how she’d employed all types of face paint to great success. But that wouldn’t be in character with a little society miss. “I believe rouge to be the outward sign of inner moral decay. It’s frightful that any woman would use it.”
Their hostess, Caroline Brennan, nodded stoutly. “Very true.”
Lady Mary snorted. “When you get old enough to show signs of outward decay, perhaps you’ll be more understanding of those who wish to distract from it. A bit of rouge never hurt anyone.”
Mrs. Brennan gasped. “You’ve never worn anything so scandalous.” She shot a look at the empty doorway of the sitting room and leaned forwards. “Have you?”
“My cheeks don’t get this hint of pink from walking,” Lady Mary said.
“Well…” Mrs. Brennan sat back and lined her fingers together, circling her thumbs around each other. “Perhaps a tiny bit now and then never hurt anyone. A dab here and there to put one’s best face forward. Wouldn’t you agree just a dab is tolerable, Miss Courtney?”
Netta looked at the mantel clock. Would John be home when she returned? Would he have any new games for them tonight?
With memories of yesterday’s kiss swirling through her mind, she did the unforgiveable. She broke character. “When I want to impress it’s not my face I put forward. I find a tight French corset to be the most inspiring. When I wear it, I can assure you that no one is looking at my face.”
There was a moment of silence, a sharp inhale from their hostess, then Lady Mary burst out guffawing. She laughed so hard her face turned bright red, and Netta began to worry for her health.
Netta poured the woman another cup of tea and pressed it into her hands. “Are you all right?” She should have controlled her tongue. But she was finding it more difficult each day to maintain her act. She missed being just Netta. She felt like herself when she was with John, but she still had a pretense to uphold. Still had lies to tell.
She buried her face in her own cup. But they were small lies with John. Small, and false, details about her history. But her true self—her thoughts, her feelings, her desires—she readily revealed.
She tapped her finger against her cup. Theyweresmall lies. Microscopic really. So why didn’t she feel better about them?
Lady Mary held up a hand. “I’m fine,” she said and wiped her eyes.
Mrs. Brennan’s chin wobbled. “I don’t think such talk is appropriate in my parlor.”
“Don’t get your curls in a knot.” Lady Mary slurped her tea. “We have discussions such as this at the club all the time. I don’t see why your sitting room should be sacrosanct.”
Mrs. Brennan flushed. “It’s different at The Minerva. There we have a space to indulge in a little bad behavior. But this is the real world.”
Lady Mary sighed. “Which is why I don’t like making calls.” She stood. “The real world, as you call it, is dull beyond belief. I’ll see you at the club tomorrow night?”
Mrs. Brennan nodded. “It’s lawn darts night. I’ll be there.”
Netta put her cup down on the table and sketched a hasty curtsy. “Thank you for the tea.”
Mrs. Brennan nodded. “It was…” She pursed her lips as she struggled for the right word. “…interesting to meet you, my dear.” She walked Netta and Lady Mary to the front door. “You look so familiar to me, Miss Courtney. Are you certain you weren’t at Victorino’s ball last season?”
“I’m certain.” The tea in her stomach slid uneasily about. But her mother may have attended, and there was some similarity of appearance between the two. Perhaps a false name wasn’t enough to protect her.
Lady Mary prodded her forward with her walking stick. “Can’t be late for our next appointment. Have a good day,” she called over her shoulder.
Netta let the footman hand her into John’s landau and waited until Lady Mary was settled beside her and they had rolled several feet from Mrs. Brennan’s house. “Well, that didn’t go well. I hope I didn’t embarrass you with your friend.”
“Are you in earnest?” Lady Mary arranged the cushion behind her back. “That was just the rattle-about Caroline needed. I’d forgotten how insufferable she can be. At my club, she’s a different person. Open-minded and with a wicked sense of humor.”
“I still should have played my part better. I was supposed to be your demure companion.”
“You were supposed to practice your elocution and manners. And make an impression.” Lady Mary pushed up her spectacles and peered at Netta, her eyes owlish. “I’d say John’s real-world test was a success. Perhaps too much of one.”
Netta rolled the fabric of her gown between her fingers. “What do you mean?”
“You do look familiar, as Caroline said. Yet John says you come from the East End of London.”
