Page 44 of When We Touch

She touched her cheek. Was she beautiful, as well? Could she win the heart of a man so completely that nothing else mattered except for her—not the world around him, money, society, position?

She pushed away from the dressing table, suddenly determining that she wouldn’t actually attend her father’s wedding.

Rather, it would be a far more intriguing time to note the guests, and perhaps venture out from Moorhaven when those concerned with her welfare might be occupied elsewhere.

* * *

Maggie had nearly decided to tell Cecilia that she was sorry, she simply wasn’t going out, when Clayton came into the parlor to tell her that Lady de Burgh had arrived.

It wasn’t much of a surprise to discover that the coachman approaching her was a strapping young fellow, very tall, and with massive shoulders. He informed her with the greatest courtesy that Lady de Burgh awaited her in the coach.

When she reached the coach, she found herself helped in and embraced by Cecilia. But once sitting at Cecilia’s side, she informed her friend, “Cecilia, I’m sorry, I’m afraid I’m rather exhausted, all the preparations, you know.” She hadn’t actually done anything; Charles had seen to it all.

“Oh, dear! Please, you mustn’t disappoint me now!” Cecilia begged.

“Perhaps a quiet supper,” Maggie said, giving in.

“Oh, yes, a quiet supper!” Cecilia agreed. The coach was already moving. Cecilia produced a small valise. “Now . . . for the fun of this supper, let’s dress up, shall we?”

“Cecilia, I was thinking of a lovely restaurant not far from here—”

“Oh, but we’ve reservations at a very exclusive place. Trust me, knowing you, you’ll never have this opportunity again. Now, here.”

Cecilia dug into the bag. She handed Maggie a deep red wig and a cocky little hat with a tremendous amount of rich plumage.

“Where on earth are we going?”

“There’s a great cape, and a mask for you, too.”

“A mask?”

“It’s a Venetian supper club,” Cecilia said with a laugh. “Lovely, exotic food.”

“Cecilia, we dress up in masks for supper? I’m not sure—”

“Oh, come on. Live on the wild side for just one night! My dear friend, you are about to marry a man old enough to be your grandfather. You’ve not the least problem getting out and about on your causes. Have one night for yourself.”

Before she could protest again, Cecilia had grabbed Maggie’s small bonnet and was replacing it with the wig and mask. Maggie had forgotten the extent of her friend’s acquired wealth. The mask was jeweled and gorgeous.

“Sit still, will you?” Cecilia begged. “Let me get this on straight!”

Cecilia was determined. Finishing her task, she sat back, surveying her handiwork. “Beautiful. You make a stunning redhead. So exotic.” She leaned toward the window. “Here! Here we are!”

They hadn’t come terribly far from Mayfair, but Maggie hadn’t been watching their direction. The coach came to a stop. Cecilia dug into the bag again, coming out with a dark wig for herself, and a mask with dangling gems.

“Capes!” she muttered, and reached across the coach. “Now, you must wear this! Trust me, no one will recognize you. No one will ever know that you were here!”

They stepped from the coach. Maggie looked around quickly, but knew that she had never been on this street. The building they were approaching was Georgian in style, and only slightly seedy, she noted, as they hurried up the steps.

She could hear music. As they entered the doorway, they were met by a woman in gray satin and lace. Her dress was quite proper; her hair was almost orange, and her cheeks were highly rouged. From the entry, a door led to a theater. A woman was singing, and Maggie could hear the laughter of men and women alike.

“It’s a dance hall?” Maggie whispered to Cecilia.

“Yes, and no!” Cecilia told her.

“Ah, Mrs. Peabody?” the woman with the orange hair said to Cecilia.

“Yes, indeed, and I’ve a companion with me. Mrs. Bird.”