“Yes,” he was saying, mirth in his deep tone, “I thought the violinists were playing too fast. I nearly swung Lady Emily into a very large fern.”
Their last ball had been at Clyethen House, in a large conservatory turned into a ballroom. It was some fanciful idea of their hostess that the participants could all pretend to be outside in some tropical climate while the last of the cool spring evenings gave way to summer.
Beatrice thought it had been a little warm inside the massive glass and iron structure, and as Greer just mentioned, the musicians had played every song too quickly. She’d found it amusing at the time, although Lord Melton had fussed and fumed. Eventually, he’d spoken to the hostess, but the musicians had not slowed down. Perhaps they, too, had been warm and eager to get out of the pungent, moist, enclosed glasshouse.
Greer turned to her, his gray-blue eyes taking her measure, his expression so familiar it made her long for a month earlier when they’d laughed together and chatted about anything.
“Hello, Miss Rare-Foure,” he greeted.
“Hello, Mr. Carson. Are you here for confectionery?”What a priggish thing to ask!
“Yes, and no. I mean, I will buy something while I’m here because the enticing aroma has my mouth watering already, but I came to speak to you two about the costume ball.”
Charlotte clapped her hands. “I cannot wait. It will be so much fun, don’t you think? Beatrice and I have already planned our costumes.”
“Good, then you can tell me where to purchase mine and what’s appropriate. Also, are we to be in disguise?”
Beatrice had been distracted, watching his mouth. But his question was directed at her.
“No,” she told him. “It’s not a masked ball.”
Charlotte sighed. “I think that would have been very exciting, as well.”
“Too exciting,” Beatrice said. “Mother told me they stopped holding masked balls to which any debutantes were invited, as it was considered an invitation for mischief.”
“Mischief?” her sister asked, looking perplexed.
Beatrice exchanged a look with Greer, who seemed to understand precisely what type of mischief anonymous young people could get up to.
“Don’t worry about it,” Beatrice told her. “A fancy-dress ball will be thrilling anyway.”
“True,” Charlotte agreed, turning again to Greer. “I am going to be a Turkish lady. I have silken trousers to wear under a mid-length skirt. It’s so colorful, and I shall wear my hair down.”
Beatrice hid her smile at the way her sister said that, as if it were the most scandalous things she’d ever done. Then she realized, it probably was.
“And you, Miss Rare-Foure?” Greer asked.
For a moment, she thought he was asking about the most scandalous thing she’d ever done. Absolutely, that had been kissing him! But she realized a second later he was asking about her costume.
“I am planning on being Dresden china.”
He shook his head. “You are going as a tea cup?”
She and Charlotte both started laughing, and Beatrice thought it felt very good to do so, especially when Greer joined in.
“Will you have to hold your arm like this all night for a handle?” And he rested his hand on his hip.
“I suppose if I stuck my other arm out, I could be a teapot,” she said. “Dresden chinameans a pastoral character, like one of those figures you see in a bric-a-brac or curiosity shop. Such as a girl who tends sheep.”
A confounded expression crossed his face. “You’re dressing up like a shepherdess? No offense, Miss Rare-Foure, but don’t the farm boys and gals wear something closer to rags than ballroom attire?”
“True, but my costume will be nobility’s idealized image of a pastoral young woman, or at least the modiste’s fanciful vision.”
“Oh, yes, Mr. Carson,” Charlotte chimed in. “She’ll have a curly blonde wig and lots of white lace petticoats and a blue skirt that only reaches her ankles.”
He raised his eyebrows and looked at her. “Will you have to carry a crook, too, and have a lamb by your side?”
“No, although you will see costumes for which people hold and carry all manner of things. Just wait. Personally, I hope to be comfortable and unencumbered,” Beatrice insisted.
