Chapter Ten
“I hope you’re finding my soiree diverting, Miss Kent?”
Thea turned from watching Emma and Strathaven waltzing together and smiled at her approaching hostess. A supremely attractive and poised lady in her thirties, the Marchioness of Blackwood’s inky tresses had been styledà l’Égytienne, her violet-blue eyes vivid within an exotic frame of kohl that extended to her temples. Wearing a sleeveless white tunic accentuated by a dazzling ruby necklace, she appeared every inch the sensual Queen of the Nile.
The realm she commanded was no less magnificent. Costumed guests filled the vast mirrored ballroom, conversing under large potted palms and twirling over the dance floor. The lush notes of the orchestra blended with the sounds of gaiety, the tinkling of glasses overflowing with champagne.
“Your party is surely the crush of the Season, my lady. And may I compliment you on your looks?” Thea said sincerely. “The necklace is lovely on you.”
“A gift from my husband. He claims my price is far above any jewel.” Lips curving, Lady Blackwood touched her fingertips to the web of blood-red rubies and icy diamonds. “But enough about me. The truth is I came over to tell you how exquisiteyoulook in your costume. You’ve attracted quite a few admirers this evening.”
“You’re too kind, my lady.” Thea’s cheeks warmed. “In this instance, the feathers do make the bird, I’m afraid. The credit must go to Madame Rousseau.”
True to her word, the modiste had created a masterpiece. The gown was everything Thea could have wanted and didn’t know how to put into words. The bodice, constructed of crimson satin, was low cut and left her shoulders bare. The gown fitted tightly to her torso and then cascaded into full skirts covered in shimmering feathers of red and orange. When she moved, the skirts gave the illusion of a dancing flame. Matching gloves of scarlet satin and a gold brocade demi-mask completed her transformation.
“What a modest creature you are. Yet not every lady can make a convincing phoenix. Reinvention requires talent, my dear, and my intuition tells me,” Lady Blackwood said with a wink, “that you are discovering your own gifts.”
“I am trying. But it is difficult to change one’s nature,” Thea said in earnest tones.
She was putting forth an effort nonetheless. She’d danced more in this one evening than she had all Season. Instead of merely observing or listening in on conversations, she’d made chitchat until her jaw ached. She was determined to do Madame’s costume and herself justice.
If this is what it takes to find love, then so be it.
“From what I’ve observed, your nature has beenverypopular with the gentlemen tonight.”
“Oh, that’s not truly me,” she admitted. “I’m more of a reserved and quiet sort. And my skills in flirtation are altogether abysmal.”
“Act with confidence,” the marchioness said with a wave of her fan, “and soon it shall become second nature. After all, we are what we repeatedly do.”
“Aristotle.” Thea recognized the words of her papa’s favorite philosopher. “You are well read, my lady.”
“Clever and gorgeous. I got myself quite a bargain, didn’t I?” a masculine voice said.
The Marquess of Blackwood materialized behind his wife. He was outfitted like a Roman gladiator, complete with metal breastplate and leather sandals, and it suited his military bearing. Steel blue eyes twinkled in his pleasantly weathered face. Sliding an arm around his marchioness’ waist, he said, “Although I oughtn’t flatter you quite so much, my dear. What if you became vain?”
“Alas, a woman’s vanity erodes with time. And children.” Lady Blackwood sighed. “Take it from me, Miss Kent: there is nothing to age a woman like three young boys.”
“You don’t look a day older than when I married you,” her husband said.
“Clearly, your eyesight is failing in your dotage, my lord. But I shan’t complain.” Her lips curved, the marchioness leaned toward Thea and said in a confiding whisper, “As you can see, husbands do have their uses. Are you in the market for one this eve?”
Thea renewed her resolve. “Yes, if I can find the right match.”
“No time like the present.” Her hostess surveyed the ballroom the way a queen might a map of her kingdom. “Now title or money—which is more important to you?”
Lord Blackwood grimaced. “That’s my cue to make myself scarce so you females can get to your mercenary talk.”
“Never fear, my lord. I married you for your looks,” his lady said in dulcet tones, “and your fortune came a distant second.”
“A comforting thought.” Smiling, Blackwood kissed his wife, made a precise bow to Thea, and left to circulate amongst his guests.
“Now back to the task at hand.” Lady Blackwood’s vivid eyes swept over the glittering ballroom. “How about Sir Rathburn? He’s in the gold robes, by the champagne fountain. His Midas costume is quite apropos: he is worth twenty thousand a year.”
Thea studied the gentleman in question. Although he was handsome and well-built, his smirk reminded her of the rooster they’d had back in the country. The puffed-up bird had paraded around the coop, pecking at the chickens and crowing at ungodly hours… until an exasperated Emma had put him in the soup pot.
“I don’t think Sir Rathburn and I are a match,” Thea said.
“You’re absolutely right. He is a mere baron.”
