Masquerading The Marquess

Chapter 3

"I didn’t realize you and James were acquainted," Stephen said when they were safely ensconced in the carriage.

"We aren’t," Calliope responded. The words came out more tightly than she had planned.

He gave her an assessing look. "I thought our plan was to remain for the second act."

"After the exciting intermission I thought the second act might seem interminable. All of those ideas racing around in my head with no outlet."

Stephen leaned forward. "What are some of your ideas?"

Calliope launched into a description of the various sketches she had planned, successfully distracting his attention from the subject of Angelford. She still hadn’t figured out how she was going to tell Stephen that she had slaughtered his best friend in the papers.

Stephen laughed at her opera descriptions and offered suggestions of his own. They tried to one up the other’s ideas all the way back to the Adelphi Theatre.

The ride was merry until Stephen said, "Like you, James has a keen eye for observation. Someday I think I’d like to hear the two of you plotting sketches together."

A pounding noise caused the carriage to shudder as lightning split the sky. Calliope tried to laugh at Stephen’s comment, but failed. A nervous sound rolled from her throat. Luckily the carriage stopped and she was saved from the conversation.

Stephen threw an old greatcoat over her shoulders and hurried her to the theater’s back entrance just as the rain began. "I will come by tomorrow afternoon so we can plan our strategy. Good night, Calliope. It was quite an interesting evening."

She turned and placed her hand on his sleeve as she handed him the coat. "I’m sorry for any rudeness in our abrupt departure from the opera, Mr. Chalmers. Tonight was a bit overwhelming. I truly appreciate your part in this mad scheme. You must let me know when it becomes tiring for you."

Stephen smiled. "You needn’t concern yourself with me, Calliope. And please, call me Stephen."

She returned his smile. "Good night, then, Stephen."

He sketched a dashing bow and kissed her hand.

Calliope entered the theater and headed to the dressing room, unnoticed by the busy stagehands. Deirdre breezed into the room a second later. "I want to hear everything! Absolutely everything. How was it? Tell me about the people, your grand entrance, the performance… "

Calliope collapsed into a chair. "I suppose it was a success."

Deirdre’s brows drew together in a frown. "Suppose?"

"I believe this new pursuit will serve extremely well if I can keep Stephen Chalmers on my side. Unfortunately, I will encounter many of the same arrogant people."

Deirdre’s eyes danced. "Might I remind you that you created the position for that very reason?"

Calliope shot her a dark look. "No, you may not."

She received a knowing glance from Deirdre. "You encountered your deliciously haughty lord, didn’t you?"

Calliope scowled. "He's not my lord."

Deirdre rubbed her hands together in glee. "I can’t wait to see your next drawing of Angelford. They are some of your best-I can practically taste your feelings."

Calliope stilled. "I will sketch no more of Angelford for a time. Robert warned me against doing so, and I find myself wanting to heed that particular piece of advice. Especially now that there is an added complication, which I’ll tell you about in a moment."

Calliope _rose and began removing her guise. "Besides, the first of The Travails trilogy should be published tomorrow. If Angelford deserves another comeuppance, I can think of the future ones with anticipation."

James glared at the paper.

"What has you so irritable?" Stephen said as he dropped into a wingback chair across from James at White’s, a snifter dangling in his hand as he surveyed the club.

James’s frown deepened as he glanced at Stephen, whose eyes were suspiciously cheerful. He thought about ignoring his friend, but instead pointed to the sketch and tossed him the paper.

Stephen sipped his brandy and picked up the paper. He scanned the illustration and started choking. The paper bunched in his hand.

James rose and pounded heavily on his back. Stephen gave him a devilish glare, putting James in somewhat better humor. Stephen’s color returned to normal and he opened the paper again. James looked over his shoulder at the caricature drawn of him, and then returned to his seat, signaling for another scotch. "It’s a ridiculous drawing. I’d like to wring that man’s neck."

Stephen continued to study the paper, saying nothing. When he finally looked up, he appeared to be laughing at some hidden joke.

"Stephen, you’re getting damn irritating."

Stephen chuckled, causing several heads to turn their way. "This is too good. This artist has been featuring you?"

James did not know what his friend found so amusing about the situation and gritted his teeth. "Yes."

Stephen glanced back at the drawing, and although he vainly tried to hide it, another smile crossed his face. "How do you define irony? This is certainly an interesting turn of events."

An attendant appeared. James grabbed his drink from the frightened man. "And how is that?"

"The artist who composed the drawing put a great deal of effort and feeling into it, don’t you agree?"

James shrugged. When the first illustration appeared, he had known the aspersions were personal. "I suppose."

"Personal grudge, I’d say. What did you do?" Stephen sent him a considering look and took a tentative sip of his brandy. Satisfied, he took a larger swallow.

"Absolutely nothing of which I’m aware. You know I play a discreet role. I’m the epitome of the boring nobleman. I suppose I may want to employ runners to investigate this fellow. He seems a bit too interested in my business and may pose a threat."

Stephen began choking again but recovered quickly and wheezed, "Do you really think that’s necessary? No harm has been done, no secrets uncovered."

James smirked. "Can’t hold down the drink, old boy? It reminds me of our days at Eton."

Stephen glowered and muttered an expletive.

James grinned, his mood lightening.

Stephen looked at him and sighed. "It appears the individual who created this cartoon sought retribution through the pen. Perhaps you inadvertently insulted the caricaturist. What’s his name? Thomas Landes? I doubt you’d find anything physically harmful from the man."

He seemed awfully sure of himself. Suspicion took root. "Is this your work, Stephen?" He pointed at the paper. "Or do you have knowledge of the artist?"

Stephen looked at him in surprised amusement. "You know I have no talent for drawing. " He smiled as he gazed at the picture again. "However, I can’t say it isn’t a grand thought."

James could have cheerfully strangled his friend. "I believe I’ll head over to Jackson ’s. You look like if you could use the exercise. Care to join me?"

Stephen continued to grin. "I certainly know better than to box with you when you’re in such a foul mood."

"Tell me about your new ladybird."

A shuttered look fell over Stephen’s face, and he put the paper on the table. “She is a lady of unusual talents and has an engaging sense of humor. I enjoy her company."

"Did you two really meet in Vauxhall? She reminds me of a lady’s companion who circled the ton several weeks ago. You wouldn’t happen to be chasing the ton wenches, now, would you?"

Stephen gave him a horrified glance. "I would as soon chase a lady of the ton as you would marry."

James smiled in satisfaction. "Then I think you’d better save your hide and give up this particular lightskirt. There’s something shifty about her."

"I am quite content with the way things are at the moment, but I appreciate your concern." Stephen absently rolled a cigar through his fingers, pausing to smell its aroma. " However, I am curious to know why you’re so interested in my lady friend."

The conversation was heading into territory best avoided. "You have recently returned from a serious situation on the continent. Is it wise to give your trust to a new acquaintance?"

Stephen visibly relaxed. "Times are changing, James. Perhaps it’s time you let down your walls a bit."

James stiffened and changed the subject.

They fell into a comfortable discussion and the tension diminished. This was Stephen. It was inconceivable that something as trivial as a woman should ever come between them.

"Stephen, I really don’t think new clothes are necessary. I have many to choose from in the wardrobe department, and I’m not above making modifications if a garment doesn’t suit."

Stephen had been nattering her for the past week about purchasing new clothes. He swung the curricle wide of a large rut in the road and frowned.

"Calliope, it’s not just evening gowns you require. There are day dresses, morning dresses, bonnets, turbans, gloves, fans-"

"Yes, yes, I’m well aware of what constitutes fashion." She tried to keep the disgruntlement from her voice.

"In your previous post with Lady Simpson weren’t you required to dress for the occasion?"

Calliope shrugged. "Yes, but I could service the same unexceptional frocks and accessories for many occasions. Black, gray and brown are rather easy to use over and over. "

He grimaced. "Those obviously won’t suffice."

"Where are we headed?"

"Madame Giselle’s."

Calliope went rigid. "She is the most exclusive modiste in London."

"And she will make you gowns damn well better than serviceable."

She mentally tallied her savings. She could not afford more than a few gowns from the renowned French émigré. Calliope looked down at the only gown she possessed that passed for a fashionable day dress. Stephen was right, her wardrobe needed updating.

She sighed. Two gowns. She would purchase two outrageously priced gowns and consider it a necessary expense.

They reached Madame Giselle’s shop in time to see Lady Simpson and Lady Flanders exit.

"I can’t believe the nerve of that woman. I will have Flanders speak to her right away. Refusing us both, the gall!"

Calliope ducked her head as the two angry ladies entered the waiting carriage in front of the shop. It was more of a reflex, because she knew they would never connect Esmerelda to Margaret Stafford.

Calliope grabbed Stephen’s arm as the ladies’ carriage navigated into the street. "Stephen, Madame Giselle will never outfit me with so much as a bolt."

Stephen grinned. "I’m confident if Giselle knew you were the recent companion of Lady Simpson and ready to take the ton by storm she would instantly lend a hand. Notoriety is good for business."

He assisted her from the curricle and handed the reins to his tiger. They entered the hallowed dressmaker’s shop.

Whatever Calliope had expected, this was not it. The shop looked like a storm had been unleashed inside. Bolts of cloth, sketches and measuring implements were strewn about, and several half-finished dresses lay discarded on the floor near a back room. Three harried girls scurried around trying to tidy the endless mess.

"Ah, Monsieur Chalmers, so nice to see you."

Stephen took the hand of a tall, severely dressed woman with upswept hair. "Madame Giselle, your beauty is a light in these dark times."

"Bah, I am not one of those half-wit females you like to chase. Hurry and tell me what you want. The Duchess of Kent was here today, and she thinks she runs the country already. It was a trying enough day ministering to her whims with-

out you and your empty flattery."

Calliope noticed Madame Giselle smoothed her hair and skirt during her caustic reply.

"Madame, I have brought you one of the half-wits." Stephen winked at Calliope. "I wonder if you might have one or two suitable outfits."

Ah, so it was his charm that would win the day. For a moment she had entertained the notion that he had some secret hanging over the seamstress’s head. Stephen did some sort of intelligence work for the government, although she hadn’t been able to piece together exactly what that entailed.

Madame Giselle’s attention shifted to Calliope. She stared at her for a long moment and then circled her, making Calliope feel rather like a rack of beef being inspected. She filed the visual for future use. One caricature idea already. Maybe this trip would pay for itself.

"Yes, I do believe I might have a gown or two for her."

Madame Giselle stared intently. Calliope was sure something had gone unsaid, but she had no idea what it was.

The shop door opened. Madame Giselle’s eyes moved past Calliope and lit up. Her hand rose to smooth her hair again, repeating the movement twice this time. Calliope turned to see who had caused the reaction.

Angelford stood in the door looking directly at her, a rakish top hat perched on his head. He maintained eye contact as he removed it.

"Lord Angelford, please come in."

Calliope managed to keep her mouth from gaping at the sweetness in Madame Giselle’s voice.

This was the woman half of London feared and the other half groveled at any chance to curry her favor?

"Giselle, I couldn’t stay away. You have the best pastries in all of England."

The woman blushed. She actually blushed. The amused irritation caused by Stephen’s flattery escalated into a simmer over Angelford’s.

"Two of my favorite men. Give me Roth and I’d have the trio complete. Come with me."

She hustled them to the back room and issued sharp commands to the girls to serve tea and cakes.

"I must do a fitting, but please enjoy the refreshments in the interim. What do you require, my lord?"

"A lemon day dress, hold the ornamentals."

Madame Giselle nodded briskly. "It will be delivered tomorrow."

Angelford nodded and helped the gawking assistant with the tea tray before her excited hands could pour it all over him.

Calliope grimaced. Angelford ordering dresses for his mistress was obviously a common occurrence. Madame Giselle hadn’t needed a dress size or even a particularly good description of the gown.

" Corinne, come with me. We shall fit Esmerelda."

Calliope blinked. How had the woman known her name?

Stephen waved in dismissal and grabbed a cake. Angelford lifted a cup of tea and watched her.

Giselle ushered her into the fitting area, where Corinne helped Calliope out of her gown. Stripped to her shift, Calliope stood waiting.

Madame Giselle studied her, lips pursed and one finger tapping her lips. "Corinne, the peacock satin. Quickly."

Corinne ran from the room.

"I think we will try darker colors first, yes?" Madame Giselle didn’t wait for a response. She turned to the doorway. "Corinne, hurry. "

A shadow filled the doorway and Calliope tried to will Corinne to move faster. It was chilly standing nearly naked.

It was not Corinne in the doorway. Calliope’s first instinct was to throw her hands in front of her, but obstinacy prevailed and she maintained her stance, jutting her chin forward.

"My lord, you are not allowed in here." Madame Giselle was frowning.

Angelford didn’t seem to notice. His gaze lazily scanned Calliope from head to toe, lighting each spot on fire as his eyes dropped. "Try not to spend Stephen’s money all in one spot, love."

She placed her hands on her hips. "It’s not Stephens money that you have to worry about being spent. Good day, my lord."

He doffed his hat, smiled and turned. Madame Giselle followed him out. Calliope ran her fingers down the shift as if to lengthen it. She tried to cool her body and mind. He was turning her into a bawdy actress.

Madame Giselle returned, pushing Corinne in front of her. "Please excuse the intrusion, mademoiselle. I don’t know what his lordship was thinking."

The next few hours were a whirlwind of pins, fabric, designs and fittings. Calliope was forced to select eveningwear, undergarments and riding-habits as well as the requested day dresses. Madame Giselle was adamant she could only gain a sense of a woman’s style by looking at every facet of her dress. Calliope finally relaxed and allowed some of her own taste to show through by making suggestions and recommendations.

Calliope decided on a morning dress in vibrant blue and a day dress in deep green. They would suit her courtesan’s persona. A bolt of pale violet blue caught her eye.

"I would like the two in the forms we discussed. In addition I would like the violet blue in the classic style, something simple." She couldn’t resist the one indulgence for herself, not Esmerelda.

Madame Giselle gave her a measuring look. "Of course, mademoiselle."

"If you could send them to my address, I would be most appreciative. And the bill as well."

"As mademoiselle wishes."

"Thank you, Madame Giselle. Your taste is exquisite and I appreciate the time you have taken with me."

A startled look crossed Madame Giselle’s face, quickly replaced with the measuring look. "It has been a pleasure, mademoiselle. I look forward to finishing more garments for you."

There would be no chance of that, but Calliope nodded.

To her relief Stephen was waiting alone.

"Once more you have made wonderful cakes, Giselle. If you could send ten of each type, words would fail to express my gratitude, " he said.

"For you, anything. But I would have made the cakes without your sponsorship. The ingredients were enough."

Stephen nodded and kissed her hand. Calliope knew she had missed something again, but all of the poking and prodding, standing up and sifting through designs she would never be able to afford, had left her physically and mentally exhausted.

Stephen escorted Calliope from the shop and handed her into his curricle as the tiger jumped on the back. "Would you like to attend the races this weekend?"

She looked at him in surprise. "I would love to. "

"Wonderful. We will meet James and Stella there."

It was too late to back out, but she could feel her lips twist. "Wonderful," she repeated sourly.

He ignored her sarcasm and pulled into traffic. "Madame Giselle should have at least one of the gowns ready for you tomorrow. "

Calliope bounced up the steps to the plain brick townhouse. Sketching in the park was revitalizing. The door was immediately opened and she stepped into the warm, inviting interior. It was like stepping into a forest. Stephen and his plants. Who would have guessed he had a green thumb? An emerald thumb, really. Flora inhabited every section of the house. She had heard more than one maid grumble about living in a jungle.

She placed her sketchpad on the hall table and handed her pelisse to Stephen’s butler, Grimmond, currently on loan to her for a few weeks.

Stephen had inherited the small brick townhouse from an uncle. Since his primary residence was more suited to his needs, he used the smaller townhouse to store and display his numerous and assorted collections. A rudimentary staff managed the house, but – when it was decided Esmerelda needed a place of her own, the unused townhouse had been the easiest solution. Stephen had put his own butler in charge of imposing order and making a smooth transition. A new staff and inexperienced mistress of the household could be a disastrous combination.

"Miss Daly is in your room, and Mr. Chalmers is in the library. A few parcels arrived from Madame Giselle’s an hour ago," Grimmond said in his dry, haughty manner. Calliope wanted to tease the man. He was quite nice when he thought no one was looking, but the presence of two footmen necessitated a display of superiority. She had learned she would receive raised eyebrows and a flat look if she tried anything in front of others.

"Thank you, Grimmond."

Calliope ascended the stairs to see Deirdre first. Bless Madame Giselle, and for more than just the dresses. Adjusting to her new home had been difficult. Calliope had finally gotten a decent night’s sleep thanks to Madame Giselle and her army of marauding Huns. She had been so exhausted she c0uldn’t remember anything past placing her head on the still-unfamiliar pillow.

She entered her room. Clothing littered every surface.

"Where did all of this come from? Dee, did you raid the costumes?"

"One of the girls from Madame Giselle’s brought them. There are ten dresses here. It’s a good thing we are similar in size, because I plan on borrowing quite a few of these."

"There must be some mistake. I ordered three gowns."

"The girl said they were paid in full and the other dresses would be arriving within the week. She wouldn’t even accept money for delivering them."

"But who?"

Deirdre wasn’t paying any attention. She held up garments for inspection. "Did you order these on two different days? The styles are nearly opposite. "

Calliope looked at the two dresses she held aloft. One had obviously been made for Esmerelda, the other for Calliope. A well-executed plan.

"And look at this riding habit. Is Stephen going to teach you to ride?"

"Excuse me for a moment, Dee. "

Calliope headed down to the library, her favorite room in her new home. Stephen reclined in front of the fireplace reading. A potted fern sat next to him on the floor. The leaves were oddly shaped, which labeled the plant as one of his experiments.

He looked up from the book. "I heard some of your new garments arrived. How do they look?"

"I can’t believe you did this."

"You don’t like them?"

"They’re lovely. That’s not the point. I only needed the three gowns." She could only afford the three gowns.

"You will need more than just those three. If we are to put the proper face on this charade, you must be outfitted in the style I am able to afford. The same argument for you moving into this house applies. Appearances count."

"I will pay you back."

His expression turned serious. "No, you absolutely will not. I can’t explain my reasons to you, but if you refuse the gowns it will be one of the greatest blows to my honor anyone could make."

"I don’t understand."

"I know, but please trust me."

Calliope nodded for his benefit but resolved to pay him back for the fortune in garments lying in her new bedroom.

She would definitely arrive in Newmarket in style.

"And they’re off!"

Shouts and cries greeted the announcement as the gate went up. Prime horseflesh rounded the track. The crowd urged the riders on and the riders drove the beasts forth.

" Come on, Devil’s Own!"

" Get in there, Cypress Tale! "

"Knock it loose, Credinburgh’s Bane!"

The stands were full of people actively engaged in betting and cheering, seeing and being seen. It was a gorgeous spring day with a crisp breeze and no clouds in the sky. The day reflected the crowd’s mood.

Calliope lapped up the excitement. She wished Deirdre had been able to join them, but rehearsals were in full swing for the new show set to open next month, and the weekend trip to Newmarket had been out of the question. Robert was in the crowd somewhere, but was keeping his distance in public.

"Let’s look at the horses in the next race," Stephen suggested.

Calliope put her hand on his arm and they joined the crowd of onlookers. The horses fascinated her. She had never learned to ride, and the powerful beasts were captivating on the track.

They didn’t look nearly so primal when they were being danced in the park with delicate ladies perched side-saddle.

A gorgeous, spirited black stallion caught her attention.

"I like number five."

Stephen smiled and rolled up the sheet of statistics. "Excellent choice. I believe I will also choose five."

Stephen escorted her back to their seats and left to place their bets. He usually read all of the statistics aloud. Odd he hadn’t this time.

"Esmerelda, a pleasure to see you."

Calliope turned in her seat and smiled at Marcus Stewart, who always managed to appear somewhat of a fallen angel with his dark hair and golden eyes. "Good afternoon, Lord Roth. I haven’t seen you since the Campton party last week. Are you enjoying the afternoon at the Heath?"

Marcus unrepentantly sank into Stephen’s chair. "I am. And how have you fared? Are you winning or will Chalmers be required to pawn his new townhouse?"

Calliope grinned. "I am up twenty pounds."

"Good to hear. Where is the boy, anyway?"

The "boy" was only a few years younger than Marcus.

"He is placing our bets."

"Ah, yes, the feature race of the afternoon. Should be a good one. Which horse did you choose?"

"Number five."

Marcus cocked a brow. “Thor? Speaking of which, I haven’t seen that boy either. Where is he?"

Calliope didn’t hide her confusion as Marcus scrutinized the other spectators. "Would have thought he’d be here to watch Thor." Marcus snorted. "The names he gives his animals. If I didn’t know better I’d say he had vanity problems."

"Who?"

"Roth, get out of my chair."

Stephen nudged Marcus with his foot. Marcus winked at her, ignoring her question. "Chalmers never did like competition from the older folk."

Stephen rolled his eyes. "Yes, Grandfather. Now out of my chair."

Marcus took his time unfolding his long legs and standing up. "Ah, there’s the other youngling. Think I’ll go put a bee in his bonnet, too. "

Calliope followed his gaze. Angelford and Stella were strolling through the crowd. Stella was beautiful in a pale yellow day dress. Calliope would have bet all her winnings it was the garment Angelford had ordered from Madame Giselle.

Marcus moved toward them, and Stephen sat down.

"All set. I put all our winnings on number five. "

"All our winnings on one horse? All on Thor?"

Stephen looked surprised. "I thought you didn’t know the horse."

.

"I didn’t, but Marcus volunteered the name. Said something about the owner and his vanity."

Stephen laughed and hit his knee with one hand. "I wouldn’t put it past Roth to say it to his face either."

"Who?"

"The race is beginning! "

Calliope focused on the gate. The gun sounded, the gate opened and eight magnificent beasts surged forth. The riders leaned forward, their bodies moving in unison with the animals. The pack was tight down the stretch, but as they rounded the corner, three horses pulled away. Thor was third. The animals tore around the track, bodies lunging, chests heaving. The crowd mimicked them and an excited man bumped into her, his breath coming out in puffs. "Hang in there, Champion."

Her blood pounded. Thor was moving into second. Come on, Thor. Half a track remained. The rider leaned into the movement and Thor burst around the last turn, hammering toward the finish.

"Stay up there, Champion," the man was muttering.

Thor and Champion were neck and neck. Stephen was smiling. The people in the front row were jumping. Thor broke away and soared through the finish. Calliope felt like jumping too.

A man swore. A lady fainted. The crowd cheered.

"We won! We won! ".

Calliope hugged Stephen. He looked smug. "Knew we would. Always bet on James’s horse in an event race. You stay here, I’ll go pick up the winnings."

He scurried off. Calliope sighed. Was it hypocritical of her to have cheered for Angelford’s horse?

Calliope followed Stephen with her eyes and saw him join Roth and Angelford. Stella was nowhere to be seen.

People were vacating the stands and Calliope resumed her inspection of the crowd. Even learning Thor was Angelford’s horse hadn’t dimmed her elation. This setting would make a nice backdrop for a number of drawings. She wished she had her sketchpad. She noticed a scurvy-looking man staring at her, but as soon as she made eye contact he moved to the side and melted into the crowd. Strange.

"Here are your winnings." Stephen handed her thirty pounds.

"Thirty pounds? I thought you wagered it all."

"I did. But the odds aren’t the best when betting on one of James’s horses."

Calliope pocketed the money with a small measure of triumph. She had begun with two pounds, her limit on the day’s gambling. As soon as she had doubled her money she had pocketed the original two pounds and gambled her winnings. It had been hard enough to wager the original two.

"I invited some of the others to dine."

"I hope you invited Roth. I don’t believe he brought anyone with him."

Stephen nodded. "Roth has been spending most of his time alone, which is unusual. The man used to be quite social."

Calliope took Stephen’s arm and they made their way out of the stands. "I also invited James and Stella. The Pettigrews were standing close, so I was forced to extend an invitation to them as well. They accepted."

The earl had established a marked interest in Esmerelda. She had learned the Pettigrews enjoyed varied entertainments, often with other couples. They were yet another sterling example of the ton, the moral center of all Christendom. Pettigrew frequently hinted for her to attend one of their parties. Someday, when she ran out of cartoon ideas, she would accept.

Stephen would probably have a conniption. He was becoming as protective as Robert. He only left her alone in the company of Roth and Angelford.

Stephen knew of her caricatures of Angelford. Yet, he seemed pleased when she and Angelford were together. When confronted, Stephen had merely grinned and said he liked to "watch the sparks fly." Stephen could be irritating sometimes. She could never rely on him not to leave her stranded with the beast.

Stephen stranded her at dinner.

They had been the last ones to enter the dining room and she had been forced to take the last available seat. The one opposite Angelford.

The mood at the rest of the table was light. Everyone had done well at the races. The Pettigrew threesome chattered. Roth appeared entertained by their conversation. Stella and Stephen were embroiled in a lively discussion.

Only she and the man across from her were silent. Angelford sipped his scotch and observed the rest of the table. And her.

He leaned back in his chair, and she felt his boot touch the top of her slipper. He had stretched his legs out, forcing hers to remain tucked under the chair. She leaned back and lashed out, kicking him in the shin. His eyes glittered.

Calliope widened her eyes and made a show of looking under the table. "Oh, how clumsy of me."

Stephen glanced at her. She smiled, and he resumed his conversation with Stella.

Her toes hurt.

"Tell me, Esmerelda, what do you do in your spare time? Do you have any hobbies?"

It was the first thing Angelford had said to her all day.

"I enjoy reading. "

She stabbed a piece of the tender beef on her plate and popped it in her mouth. Stephen had already finished his meal, but she had been pushing hers around her plate.

"What do you like to read?"

"Shakespeare."

"Macbeth?"

"Twelfth Night."

"Interesting."

She forced another piece of beef into her mouth, hoping he would stop talking. The juicy meat had lost its flavor and tasted like leather.

"And do you enjoy music?"

She chewed slowly and sipped her water. "Mozart. Rossini, Beethoven." She was being rude and didn’t care.

"James, I was telling Esmerelda the other day about Milan and La Scala. Do you remember that night?"

The mocking dropped from Angelford’s face and he smiled at Stephen, his eyes crinkling in the corners. A genuine smile from the Marquess of Angelford. Calliope was suddenly glad he had never loosed one on her.

"I do, but I’m surprised you remember." Angelford looked at Stella. "Stephen imbibed a bit too much wine. Thought a contessa was a tavern wench. Nearly got his ears boxed."

"She was a tavern wench."

"Aren’t we all?" Stella joined in the fun. Calliope didn’t want to like her, but it was hard not to. Under different circumstances they might have been friends.

"But she was a tavern wench, I tell you. Ask Roth, he was there."

"Ask me what?"

"About the tavern wench masquerading as a contessa," Angelford said.

"Nearly unmanned Stephen, if I recall."

Stephen looked affronted. "Am I the only one here who remembers the evening correctly? The contessa nearly unmanned James. The tavern wench liked me."

"Sorry, boyo. They were not two women, and you were the one on the ground, not me."

Roth nodded agreement.

Stephen glared at him. "Well, if I remember correctly, Roth ended up in-"

A piece of bread bounced off Stephen’s head. "I insist we cease now before the three of us damage what’s left of our reputations," Roth said.

Suddenly all three of them were smiling. Calliope remembered Madame Giselle’s comment about the trio.

The light-hearted bantering continued, and Calliope found herself swept into the fray.

Calliope strolled out of the Newmarket inn and into the cool night. Her back and right leg ached from the ramrod posture she had maintained throughout dinner. Why couldn’t Stephen have invited only Roth? And perhaps Stella sans Angelford?

Dinner had proven to be much more lively after the Milan memories, but it had been too late to help her aching back.

The cloudless day had spilled into the night. The stars shone brilliantly this far from the London haze.

How nice it was to spend time away from the bustle of town. Too bad they would be returning on the morrow.

She walked farther into the small garden outside the inn. One of the benches she had spied earlier would be perfect for stargazing and was close enough to the inn to keep her out of trouble if one of the drunks coming out of the taverns happened by. She skirted a few hedges and peered into the dark recess of the garden. Moving from memory, she neared one of the three benches facing the small fountain in the center. It was a modest garden, and quite perfect for uninterrupted gazing.

She was certain one of the benches was straight ahead, but her eyes hadn’t totally adjusted to the dark. She tentatively stuck out a foot and hit stone. Success.

She walked forward and hit an object with her right foot. She stumbled forward and her left foot tangled in the lowered hem of her dress. Damn roots. She hadn’t seen them this afternoon.

She was going down.

She threw her arms in front of her to break the fall, but something grabbed her across the chest. A warm arm. The action allowed her to regain her footing and stand upright. The arm released her slowly, sliding across her chest and leaving sharp tingles in its wake.

A long shadowy leg lifted, bent at the knee and rested on top of the bench. There was no other movement. The mysterious root had been a foot.

"I believe the other two benches are empty. "

It was Angelford, of course. No one else could possibly be a better witness to her embarrassment.

"What are you doing here?" The words were out before she thought better of speaking. She could picture his raised brow, but could barely discern his form stretched out on the stone.

"I will confess after you do."

"It is a good night for stargazing. What is your excuse?"

There was a marked hesitation. "That is mine as well."

She didn’t believe it for a second. Her eyes started to adjust. She located another bench and sat. "Marvellous. Which constellations have you spotted?"

"Ursa Major, Cassiopeia, Cancer, Leo…" He rattled off a dozen and she was glad the darkness hid her dropped jaw.

"I’m still trying to find Hydra. Can you help?" The voice dripped sarcasm.

"Very amusing."

Calliope gazed up into the night, and after a few minutes spotted the multi-headed serpent. "Well, Hercules, if you found Leo and Cancer, just look south. Perhaps you’d have more luck looking for Virgo. It’s in the same region." Give him something to think about.

"What game are you playing?"

"I have no idea." It was the truth.

"l give you fair warning. You won’t like it when I uncover your scheme. Hercules slew the Hydra."

Calliope drew herself up. Stargazing had lost its appeal. "Hercules also made sure two heads didn’t sprout from each one he cut off. Good night, my lord."

She walked through the hedges and back inside the inn. Nightmares of Hercules slaying the Hydra plagued her sleep.