Page 57 of Rogue’s Holiday

Fancy Balls to Robbie were timeless events as the costumes could be from nearly any era. While most of those attending had chosen to wear a costume, there were always those who wore their usual attire or, as in the case of military men, their dress uniforms.

A short way into the room, Robbie caught sight of the Duke of Wellington who had chosen to wear a nobleman’s clothing and a black cape lined in gold silk. Now that he was Governor of Plymouth, he would not be wearing his red field marshal’s uniform that had been made so famous with Waterloo. The duke was said to be a frequent guest of the Prince Regent and so Robbie was not surprised to see him here tonight at the invitation of the king.

A parade of scantily clad wood nymphs, satyrs and assorted fauns and fairies frolicked about the room, joined by a Sultan’s genie in a turban and loose flowing silk pajamas, a Russian serf with a full beard and a Highlander in a kilt and sporran. An odd mixture to be sure.

“Is that Mr. Cairo dressed as a Spanish matador?” asked Miss Reynolds, who had taken Robbie’s arm. She was remarkably docile this evening. Perhaps it was his disguise as a musketeer. Did she envision him as a valiant hero whose only goal in life was to defend the king? All things considered, she would not have been far from the truth if she did.

“Indeed, it is. I only recognized him because he is standing next to Sir John who is in his usual riding clothes. And Letty, who, even garbed as an Amazon—which is her nickname, by the way—with leather jerkin, gauntlets and wicked looking long knife, is still discernable as herself. Few women are that tall.”

“Shall we greet them?” she asked.

Robbie nodded and let Lady Sanborn and Jack know of their destination.

It took some effort but Robbie and Miss Reynolds finally made their way through the crowd that ebbed and flowed like the sea, to arrive in front of the threesome.

“Good evening,” he said.

Letty looked him over, amused. “Don’t you look dashing, Sir Robert. I like the long hair on you and the trim mustache. Very gallant.”

“You are lovely as always, Miss Reynolds,” said Sir John, “that costume becomes you.”

Henry Cairo had eyes only for Chastity Reynolds, causing Robbie to curl his fingers possessively over her hand. He had begun to think of her as his and didn’t much like other men acting as if she were available to be courted.

The matador bowed ceremoniously before her, sweeping his hat from his head. “Miss Reynolds, you come dressed as I have always pictured you, a goddess.” Straightening, he said, “Might you be Aphrodite, the goddess of love?”

“Hardly that, Mr. Cairo,” she replied, “but I do thank you. You must see my friend, Miss Crockett. She is dazzling in her costume from the French court.”

“I will certainly make a point of finding her before the evening ends.”

Robbie turned to Sir John’s wife. “Letty, I see you make up for your husband’s lack of costume. How fierce you look!”

“If they are to call me ‘Amazon’ for my height, by Jove, why not dress the part?”

Sir John blithely shook his head. “Long ago, I gave up trying to restrain her. Letty must be Letty.”

“Which is exactly as you like it,” said Letty, planting a kiss on her husband’s cheek.

Robbie felt a presence behind him and turned to see Dorothea, Countess Lieven, smiling at him. She was garbed as one of the nymphs in a pink and green sheer fabric that left little doubt as to her charms. A wreath of leaves circled her dark red hair left free to flow to her shoulders. “Good evening, Countess.” He would be polite but would give her no encouragement.

“What a romantic figure you make as a musketeer, Sir Robert.”

Miss Reynolds tightened her hand on his arm, which told him much. He thanked Countess Lieven for the compliment and wished her a good eve before turning back to his friends.

“She still seeks your company,” observed Miss Reynolds in a soft whisper.

“’Twill do her no good,” he replied.

A short distance away, two Celestials greeted the king, inclining their heads in grave courtesy. The king exclaimed his delight at their costumes that blended well with the Pavilion’s Chinese décor.

Both the king and his mistress wore costumes. Robbie was suddenly thankful that he had decided against a pasha costume, for that is what the king had chosen. The elaborate flowing green robe and inner tunic, both embroidered in gold thread, circled the king’s girth. Affixed to his side was a long bejeweled sword sheathed in gold. On his head was a white turban with a large emerald shining from the front with a plume rising above. The king had donned facial hair, which, like Robbie’s, was not his own. Robbie suspected the full beard, though fitting for a pasha, would be dreadfully hot.

Not surprisingly, the marchioness was dressed as one of the pasha’s harem, in filmy silk scarves of many colors, her neck adorned with diamonds and rubies. She wore no mask but a thin veil over the tip of her nose that covered the bottom half of her face.

“Come,” Robbie said to Miss Reynolds, “we must greet our host.” Anxious to take her from the watchmaker’s bold stares, he bid the Lades and Cairo a good eve and crossed the short distance to the king.

“How very appropriate, Sir Robert!” said the king in open admiration. “My very own musketeer. And you, Miss Reynolds, are a vision.”

Robbie greeted the marchioness, reminding her she had met Miss Reynolds on the king’s yacht. The older woman appeared to be enjoying herself, unthreatened by the beautiful younger woman before her. She knew well the king’s tastes did not run in that direction.