Mary carefully fitted the headpiece on Alice. The thick gold band, embossed with Egyptian-style motifs, enclosed her head. On her forehead was a large jewel glittering in the center of a sunburst shape entwined with snakes.
“It’s perfect and lighter than I remember,” Alice said, adjusting it slightly. She slipped the snake armbands on and fastened the belt of Egyptian-style medallions around her waist. It, too, had new glittering “jewels” glued on. There was also an elegant gold mask with large cat’s-eye eyeholes with gold ribbons to tie it on.
She turned to Lucy to thank her again and frowned. “You’d better hurry and get dressed. I hoped we’d leave in half an hour.” Lucy was wearing a wrapper, and she hadn’t even dressed her hair.
Lucy dimpled. “Don’t worry, I’ll be ready. I just need Mary’s help with a few things.”
Mary smiled. “Be with you in a minute, miss.” Lucy danced out, and the maid added, “If that’s all right with you, m’lady?”
“Of course. You’re enjoying yourself, aren’t you, Mary? Dressing us up like dolls.”
“I am and all, m’lady. This old house has really come to life since that young miss came to live here. Her, and having Lord Tarrant’s little girls come to visit. Like a breath of fresh air, it is, having young life about the place.” As she was leaving, she turned in the doorway and said, “And you, m’lady, I can tell you’re happier—you look ten years younger. And dressed like that you look . . . stunning. Lord Tarrant’s eyes are going to fall right out when he sees you.”
“Oh no, you’re mistak—” But Mary had gone.
Alice viewed herself in the looking glass. Mary—all the servants—had the wrong idea about Lord Tarrant and her. They were all expecting a betrothal announcement, and that wasn’t going to happen.
She wasn’t dressing for him, she really wasn’t. She was dressing for herself. And so that the night wouldn’t be spoiled for Lucy. And Lady Peplowe. And because this was the only costume she had.
Besides, she wasn’t even sure he was coming. Lady Peplowe might not have invited him.
She stood in front of the looking glass and swished her skirts gently back and forth. A smile slowly grew. She did look quite unlike her usual self.
She tied on the slender gold mask. Her eyes glinted mysteriously through the cat’s-eye slits. Her smile deepened.
He probably wouldn’t even recognize her. If he came, that is.
Half an hour later, Alice watched Lucy coming gracefully down the stairs. “You look wonderful,” she exclaimed. “I would never have recognized that as my old muslin dress.”
Lucy, smiling, pirouetted on the landing, skipped down the last few steps and made Alice a deep curtsy. She was clearly looking forward to the ball.
The dress was pure white—Mary had worked wonders—and it seemed looser, floatier and less structured than the dress Alice remembered. A Grecian-style pattern had been stenciled around the hem in gold, and gold braid sewn around the neck. Gold buckles were fastened at the shoulders, to which a length of gauzy, gold-edged fabric was fastened, floating about her, adding to the impression of a statue come to life.
Around her waist Lucy wore a braided girdle of gold rope, with ivy and other creepers from the garden woven in. Her tawny hair was arranged in a vaguely Grecian style, loosely pulled back and bound in places with more gold rope. A headband made of fresh leaves crowned her brow. She wore a pair of light sandals and carried a simple white satin mask. Alice noticed with a jolt of shock that her toes were bare and her toenails were painted gold. It was very daring and wonderfully bold.
The difference between this young, happy, excited girl and the sulky, badly dressed creature she had first encountered was heartwarming. It might have started as blackmail, and Alice still fretted about the consequences of that, but she couldn’t regret having Lucy come to live with her. Mary was right: Lucy had brought life and liveliness to all their lives.
“You’re so clever! I never could have created such a costume,” Alice exclaimed. “You could have stepped straight out of a mural in a Greek temple. And you look beautiful.” It was true, too. Lucy glowed with health and youth and excitement.
“We both look beautiful,” Lucy said.
Alice helped Lucy tie on her mask and arrange her cloak over her costume, being careful of all the greenery, then they climbed into the carriage and were on their way.
* * *
* * *
Alice looked around her. There was no doubt about it, Lord and Lady Peplowe knew how to throw a ball. Carriages lined the street, waiting to drop off their occupants. The front of the house was lit with blazing brands tended by liveried footmen, the dramatic leaping flames lighting up the night. A temporary porte cochere had been erected in case of rain, and a red carpet laid from inside the house to the edge of the road, ensuring that neither hem of dress nor sole of shoe need touch the common pavement.
Inside people milled about, passing their cloaks and hats to servants—though not those people wearing dominos, who were mostly men. The crowd moved slowly up the stairs, where they were greeted by Lord and Lady Peplowe.
Lord and Lady Peplowe looked magnificent dressed as an oriental potentate and his queen, in sumptuous colorful silks and satins, glittering with gold and jewels. Both wore large, splendid turbans, and Alice felt a little dull by comparison, but Lady Peplowe was extremely complimentary. “The perfect partner for you is waiting inside, Queen Cleopatra,” she said with a wink to Alice. “And any number of young gentlemen will be lining up to dance with this lovely Greek goddess.”
Alice hoped so. Bamber’s deadline was creeping ever closer.
They passed the receiving line, entered the ballroom and stopped to admire the scene. It was decorated with colorful silks draping the walls, potted palms and sprays of greenery placed at intervals around the room, and pierced-brass lanterns studded with colored glass throwing patterns of colored light across the crowd beneath.
“Isn’t it wonderful?” Lucy breathed. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
Alice had to agree. The Peplowe ball was going to be talked about for months to come. It was already “a sad crush”—the ultimate accolade.
People were dressed in every variety of costume one could imagine. There were harlequins and pirates, knights of old, several devils with horns, Cossacks and Turks, Neptune with his trident, ladies in last century’s fashions, with high powdered hair and wide pannier skirts, creatures from mythology with strange heads and human bodies, jesters, medieval ladies with high pointy headdresses, Spanish ladies in mantillas, and dainty milkmaids and shepherdesses.
Lucy leaned over and murmured in Alice’s ear, “No self-respecting shepherdess or milkmaid would be seen dead in an outfit like that.” Then she added with sardonic humor, “Maybe I should have come as a goose girl.”