Page 56 of Rogue’s Holiday

Chapter 12

The fading rays of the sun drifted in through the window, casting a warm light around Chastity’s bedchamber. The rain had stopped some time ago, but she was glad they would have a carriage to convey them to the Pavilion, as the Steyne would be muddy.

She paused before the long mirror, certain she was looking at a stranger. The white silk gown draped from one shoulder to a high waist that was banded by golden cords. From there, it flowed in soft folds to the floor.

The face that looked back at her could have belonged to Helen of Troy.

Her large blue eyes, adorned for the first time with a tasteful application of cosmetics, were framed by blonde curls piled on top of her head, some left to dangle by her cheeks. Golden cords circled the curls like a crown. Her only jewelry was a pair of small gold earrings. Golden slippers, her own design she had been saving for just such an occasion, graced her feet. The final touch had been the diaphanous golden shawl with Greek fret trim draped loosely across her bodice.

In the mirror, she saw Crispin lounging on the bed behind her. “I don’t believe it’s me,” she said to him.

“Of course, it’s you, Silly. It’s always been you, only now you are more strikingly beautiful than ever.”

Chastity peeked around the mirror to see Rose standing in the doorway, adorned in a gown of luminescent pale green brocade silk, the sleeves billowing to her elbows and falling beyond in long, lace-trimmed folds. The tight-fitting bodice above the skirt featured five rows of claret silk frogs descending to the narrow waist. “Oh, Rose, you look like you stepped out of Versailles a century ago.”

“Lady Sanborn said the same thing.” Rose entered Chastity’s chamber, her skirts swishing about her ankles as she did. “Do you like my hair this way?”

Rose’s raven curls had been swept off her face and woven with strands of pearls, one long curl left free to fall to her back. “I think it’s lovely, truly.”

“I’m so glad you like my costume. Your great-aunt has found us both masks we can hold before our eyes. She said they wouldn’t be as hot as the ones that are tied against the face. Isn’t that sweet of her?”

Just then, Aunt Agatha appeared with three masks mounted on sticks. “My, but you two are stunning! The suitors will be hovering around you like bees.”

“And what about you?” Chastity asked her great-aunt, a picture of elegance in a shimmering royal blue caftan embroidered with silver flowers. Tiny silver-covered buttons descended in a long line from the bodice to the floor. “I have never seen such a costume as yours. It’s magnificent!”

“It’s in the Moroccan style,” said Aunt Agatha. “Exotic yet large enough to give my aging body ample room.”

The cuffs of the long loose sleeves were adorned with the same silver embroidery. Around her shoulders rested a hooded silk burnouse, the same blue as her gown. Diamond pendants hung from her ears, glistening in the candlelight like tiny chandeliers.

“I do love dressing in costume,” said Aunt Agatha. “I feel like a girl again! And, seeing you, it’s a good thing Sir Robert intends to come for us in a carriage. I cannot imagine walking the streets of Brighton like this.” Chastity’s great-aunt handed them each a mask. “Take these and I will see you both below. Do hurry.”

Sir Robert and his uncle were standing in the entry hall with Aunt Agatha as Chastity and Rose descended the stairs. The jaws of the two men dropped in a most satisfactory manner, telling Chastity her instincts for the Greek goddess costume had not been amiss, nor Rose’s for her choice of the French gown that only enhanced her beauty.

“It seems we are to have at our side a pirate and a musketeer,” she said to Rose in an amused tone.

Her eyes had been drawn at once to Sir Robert’s beguiling costume. His dark hair was now long to his shoulders, a wig but very convincing, and he sported a thin mustache and chin whiskers in the French fashion. His piercing hazel eyes shone from beneath his black cocked hat that sported a panache of feathers. His white shirt, left open at the collar, was garnished with lace and across his chest was a wide leather belt to which was secured a very convincing sword. Over his left shoulder, he wore a dark blue cloak lined in red. Black breeches were tucked into bucket boots with leather cuffs folded down. She had to wonder where he had found them.

M’sieur Donet was more simply dressed, all in black as a pirate. He wore a dueling shirt with full sleeves, a fringed red silk sash knotted low around his hips and a tricorne hat that shadowed his features. He removed his hat and swept it to the side as he bowed before them in grand gesture. “Mesdemoiselles, I stand in awe of your beauty. You will cast all other women into the shade.” He glanced at his companion and added, “Observe my nephew, unable to speak.”

The vicomte pulled back one side of his coat to reveal a pistol stuffed into his waist. On his other side, Chastity glimpsed a sword with a gilded hilt. “You see I am well armed to defend you.”

“Are we going to war?” asked Chastity, impressed with the weapons she could see and thinking there were likely more she could not see.

“Not at all, Miss Reynolds,” said Sir Robert, finding his tongue. “But with such beauty to protect, we dare not take our job as escorts lightly. Surely Lady Sanborn,” he said, glancing at her great-aunt, “expects no less.”

“Indeed, you are correct,” said Aunt Agatha.

“And may I add, Lady Sanborn,” said Sir Robert, “you are clothed most elegantly this evening, a lovely chaperone. We’ll be pressed into guarding you, too, before the evening is done.”

“You’ll be doing nothing of the sort,” Aunt Agatha fired back with a grin. “Now, let’s be off.”

Chastity, Rose and Aunt Agatha were handed into the carriage to sit on one side. The two men climbed in behind them and sat with their backs to the horses. “We’ve retained a driver for the evening who will take care of the carriage,” Sir Robert informed them. “Our only task is to enjoy ourselves.”

Her eyes were luminous as their gazes met across the carriage. Robbie could not have looked away even if he’d wanted to. He recalled her slow descent from the top of the stairs, a goddess leaving Mount Olympus. Deprived of speech, he had stared up at her in shocked admiration.

Sitting across from him, she appeared a serene goddess in a gossamer white gown that left one ivory shoulder bare. He longed to reach out and touch her glowing skin, to kiss again her lips he knew to be soft. To explore her honeyed mouth. He had wanted her when she was the hoyden spitting fire. Even more so now that he saw her as a picture of divine femininity.

Once they arrived at the Pavilion, he and Jack handed the ladies out of the carriage and the five of them strolled into the Music Room where they drew many curious gazes. Already, the large room was filled with hundreds of people, their conversations blending with the lively music.