Midnight Masquerade by Joan Smith Page A

into.
    “It’s Miss Gower, isn’t it?” Lenore said, looking in the mirror at the reflection of the bright-eyed girl behind her. She could hardly have been more startled if the old duchess herself had come to call.
    “Yes, we haven’t had much chance to become acquainted.”
    Oh, my God, Lennie thought with a silent laugh. She’s come to warn me away from Dickie. “I have regretted the wasted opportunity, Miss Gower. Do have a seat. I hear tantalizing whispers that you have landed Belami. If it is true, I offer my heartiest congratulations. You’ve pulled off quite a coup.”
    “Thank you. Ac -tually, I have come to ask a favor, Lady Lenore.”
    “Ask away,” Lenore invited with a swallowed smile as she tried to decide whether to play the outraged matron or woman of the world when the Bath Miss told her to keep away from Belami.
    “Yes, the thing is, I have got a ladder in my last good pair of stockings.”
    “What?”
    “I want to borrow a pair of stockings, if you would be so kind. Would you happen to have a spare pair?”
    “Oh, is that all?” Lenore asked, finally letting a laugh escape her pretty lips. She arose and went to decide what gown she would wear to dinner. “Help yourself, my dear. They’re in the top left drawer,” she called over her shoulder, “but don’t take the blue ones. I shall be wearing them myself.”
    It was better luck than Deirdre hoped for, to have the run of the drawer. She was amazed to see a dozen pairs of stockings packed for a brief visit. They came in beautiful shades—blue, and red, and green. But soon she spotted what she was really looking for: one lone stocking of a flesh tone, surely the mate to that which Dick had pulled from the flue. She bunched it into a ball in her fingers, thence into a pocket, while she selected the red stockings.
    “Can you spare these?” she asked. “I’ll wash them and get them back to you tomorrow. It’s just for tonight. I haven’t a thing to wear.”
    “Will your auntie like you to wear red stockings?” Lenore asked with a teasing smile. “Never mind, I’m sure Belami will approve.”
    Deirdre’s eyes next strayed to the dresser top, to the array of beauty aids spread before her eyes. Powder and rouge and scent and creams, all in the most beautiful chased silver traveling case she had ever seen. It was sybaritic, almost decadent, and wildly interesting. There were even bits of someone else’s hair there—curls, in the same shade as Lady Lenore’s own hair. She lifted one and hung it before her ear.
    “Give me a hand with this, will you?” Lenore asked as she pulled off her robe and lifted a blue gown from the clothes press. “It fastens up the back.”
    Deirdre dropped the silk stockings and went to do as she was bid. Though she was astounded that Lady Lenore should strip herself to her underwear before a virtual stranger, her interest was soon diverted to the underwear itself. It was lace trimmed, inches of Belgian lace so beautiful it was a shame to cover it. It was as carefully designed as one’s outer garments, with little tucks and frills everywhere. Obviously, it was made to be seen. There was a little difficulty getting the dress to do up, as Lenore wore them tight, but by pulling it was done.
    “Now for my face,” Lenore said when she was dressed, and walked to the dresser to resume her seat. Deirdre stood transfixed, to learn the secret of applying the contents of those pots. Her eyes rounded to see that a black grease pencil was the first item lifted. It was not applied to the brows, but to the mole, to accentuate it.
    “Thank you, dear. You can go now,” Lenore said. “You won’t forget to bring the stockings back, will you?”
    “No, I won’t,” Deirdre told her. Had it not been for this reminder, she might have forgotten to take them with her, but she reached down for them. As she did so, her eye was caught by a glimmer of something metallic on the hearth. It was at the inner edge of the hearth