Page 10 of Unmask Me My Love

Chapter 4

Next morning, Gabriella, after assisting la comtesse with her toilette for the day, sat beside the window yawning and re-hemming the green gown from last night. Her mistress would most likely never wear it again, but she’d given strict instructions to remove and reattach the offending flounce. Gabriella shook her head but continued to sew. Madame had very peculiar notions about her maid’s duties, but as she had provided passage to England and promised to pay her wages on time, Gabriella would not complain.

She bit through the last thread, hung the gown up in madame’s dressing room, and was cleaning up her sewing things when Lady Chalgrove burst into the room.

“Gabriella, my best carriage dress. The blue with the embroidered silk flower medallions.” La comtesse pulled at her clothing, throwing the fichu on the floor and plucking at the shoulders of her muslin morning gown.

“Madame, un moment. Allow me.” Gabriella rushed to her mistress and began unbuttoning her before the woman could tear the clothes from her body. “What is wrong, madame?”

“Nothing is wrong. Everything is very, very right.” Lady Chalgrove stripped the gloves from her hands. “Or everything will be right, if only you hurry.”

Gabriella finished unfastening her mistress’s gown and drew it over her head before she tore this one as well. “What has happened, madame?”

Lady Chalgrove breathed deeply, pushing out what little bosom she possessed. “He is here. The Duke of Rother came to call not ten minutes ago.”

Stunned into silence, Gabriella stopped. The duke was here. Her hands trembled so hard she dropped the gown and had to bend to pick it up. He was in the same house as she, just downstairs. Could she run down now and seek an audience? She clutched the discarded dress to her chest and headed to the door.

“Where are you going?” Lady Chalgrove’s shrill voice pierced her ears, snapping her out of her trance.

Dear Lord, she actually had her hand on the latch. Turning back, she straightened her shoulders, hoping to play this off as she would a game of whist. “I am sorry, madame. I thought to go soak this small stain before it sets.” She pointed to a fortunate grease stain, about the size of a farthing, on the bodice. Thank God for providing such a wonderful excuse.

“Idiot. I tell you I need to change this instant, and you set off to wash a spot?” Lady Chalgrove’s face had turned an unbecoming shade of red. “Come back here and help me on with this dress.”

“Oui, madame.” Gabriella laid the one gown on the bed and caught up the blue sarcenet, fresh from being pressed this morning. “Raise your arms.” She carefully slid the gown over her mistress’s head.

Lady Chalgrove’s hair emerged unscathed, save for a few dark black wisps that had stubbornly broken free. She must remember to attend to them before the whole coiffure collapsed.

“Hurry. I must not keep His Grace waiting. How fortunate the weather is fine. I suggested he show me his horses, and he offered a curricle ride instead. Quick, bring the Pear’s. I must be in looks, today of all days.”

Gabriella finished buttoning the blue gown then hurried back to the dressing room, scrambling to find madame’s cosmetics case. How could she turn this encounter to her advantage? At last, she spied the tortoiseshell box under a large crate that held la comtesse’s shoes.

“Hurry up, Gabriella!” The strident voice would’ve shattered crystal had there been any about.

Gabriella winced, grabbed the case, and backed out of the crammed room.

“Stupid girl. Were you going to let me go downstairs with my hair looking like birds had roosted in it?” The countess dabbed on more perfume, dribbling it down her neck. The room reeked of the cloying musk she always used. Her eyes flashed jet black and her brows dipped so low they seemed to sit upon her nose. She had pursed her mouth, displeasure written over her white lips and scowling brows.

“Of course not, madame.” The woman reminded Gabriella of the hideous gorgon she’d seen in a picture in the Louvre when she was small. The sight had given her nightmares for a week. Now the nightmare had come to life. “I intended to apply the Pear’s then attend to your coiffure. However did it manage to come loose?” Gabriella soothed the wretched woman, sitting her down at the table, brushing and coaxing her hair to behave, speaking to her in the tone she reserved for petulant children and barking dogs.

“I’m sure I don’t know,” the countess snapped, jerking her head to and fro to get a better look in the mirror in her hand. “It didn’t look that way when I left this room. Your pins must have fallen out.” She turned an accusatory eye on Gabriella. “This hair had best not move no matter how fast the duke drives.”

“Fear not, madame. I will secure it so that even the briskest breeze will not ruffle a single hair,” Gabriella said, opening the pot of hair pomade. With practiced fingers, she dabbed here and there, ignoring the unpleasant greasy sensation, smoothing and fastening the hairs with the sticky pomatum that smelled of roses. Then, to make sure the strands wouldn’t move even if a whirlwind overtook the curricle, she stuck in a half-dozen hairpins as well. She would have the devil’s own time combing out the gummy mess tonight, but such was her lot. At least it was not yet time to wash the hair—an ordeal akin to preparations for a sea battle.

She worked quickly, sculpting the hair into waves and curls, then stepped back. “Voila, madame.”

Lady Chalgrove eyed the coiffure critically then nodded. “Very well. Where is the Pear’s?”

Gabriella dug through the pots of creams, lotions, and cosmetics searching for the rouge and lip salve. A generous application, and Lady Chalgrove looked like a blooming rose, at least on her cheeks and lips.

“Is madame pleased?” She held the mirror up for her mistress’s inspection. Once done, could she perhaps race below and steal a moment of the duke’s time?

“It will do.” The countess glanced into the mirror and nodded as she pulled on her gloves. “See that you clean up this mess,” she swept a hand over the pots and jars strewn over the toilette table, “then make sure my gold muslin is ready for tonight’s dinner. I’m not certain the duke will be there, but I need to look my best just in case.” She motioned for her gray silk Spencer, and Gabriella tugged the garment into place and fastened the four large buttons in front. “Don’t forget to add the rosettes to the overlay on the rose lutestring for tomorrow. Oh, and my pink and green slippers are in sad shape from last night. See to them as well.”

“Oui, all has been accomplished already, madame.” Gabriella at last pinned the countess’s best black velvet carriage hat in place, tied the wide ribbons under her left ear, and breathed a sigh of relief. “I believe you are complete, madame. Vous etes très ravissante.”

The countess grunted, grabbed her reticule, and flounced out the door.

Gabriella sank down on the bench before the toilette table, head in hand. So much for catching even a glimpse of the duke, much less speaking with him. Horses snorted from the driveway outside. She jumped up and flew to the window.