The Keys of Love by Barbara Cartland

“you’re thinking that you don’t want to be recognised wearing that . But worry not. No one will recognise you for hark!”
    He jokingly put a hand to his ear as a knock on the door sounded.
    â€œI do believe the great Lando has arrived.”
    He then pulled open the door and a small fat man with a powdered face came mincing in, a large black case in his hand. He put the case down and turned to throw an appreciative eye over Henrietta.
    â€œExquisite!” he pronounced. “It will be such a sad pleasure to hide such natural beauty!”
    Henrietta realised that he was the make-up man that Eddie had summoned from London.
    â€œSit down, my dear,” invited Lando.
    Henrietta took the seat nervously and stared glumly at her reflection. The next moment Lando had tilted her head and began to apply some scented unguent to her face.
    He was hard at his task for a good half an hour.
    Henrietta had almost dozed off when Lando at last whisked away the cloth from her shoulders.
    â€œFinis!” he cried.
    Henrietta opened her eyes and gave a gasp of shock at the sight that confronted her.
    Her eyes were heavily lined with kohl, giving her a sleepy gaze. Her ivory skin was concealed beneath a beige paste of some sort and her cheeks were almost purple with rouge. Her lips were scarlet, heavily outlined in black.
    Before she even had time to digest her look, Lando held something sleek and black over her head and the next minute he was fitting it down over her helpless skull.
    It was a wig.
    â€œYou look every inch the professional showgirl,” proclaimed Eddie.
    â€œB-but I don’t want to look like a showgirl!”
    â€œHarrie, I know,” Eddie soothed her. “But this way, nobody, but nobody is going to recognise you, are they?”
    Henrietta looked at herself again. Eddie was right, she scarcely recognised herself. Every trace of Henrietta Radford let alone Harrietta Reed had been eliminated. She looked older and wiser and much, much harder.
    The dress will certainly suit me now, she thought.
    She had no doubt that the Duke of Merebury would enjoy pointing her garishly garbed figure out to the Prince of Wales!
    The musicians had supper in the servants hall.
    Then they hurried to the ballroom where they were in place and striking up as the doors were thrown open for the Prince of Wales and his retinue.
    The Royal stare swept appreciatively all round the room and over the orchestra.
    Eddie gave a cheeky deep bow which the Prince of Wales graciously acknowledged.
    The other guests surged in behind the Prince.
    Henrietta tried not to look but her eyes, lashes laden with mascara, continually flicked at the those milling about on the floor.
    She could see Mrs. Poody beaming on the arm of an elderly Admiral and could not but smile to herself.
    Then she caught sight of the Duke.
    The dishevelled tousled Joe had disappeared. In his place was a tall commanding figure in black evening dress and white gloves.
    His hair was all smoothed back, revealing a dark, brooding brow and hooded eyes. He was by far the most handsome man in the room.
    Henrietta tore her gaze away from him to examine his companions, Romany and Lady Butterclere.
    Romany was in a most unbecoming pink. Her hair, piled unsteadily high, threatened to topple at each nod of her head. Her hand lay like a claw on the Duke’s forearm.
    Lady Butterclere was in an innocuous blue muslin, the mild colour belying the baleful glare of her eye.
    Henrietta stole another glance at the Duke.
    To her horror she saw he was now looking directly her way, his forehead furrowing as he took in her outfit.
    She looked quickly down at the keyboard, a blush suffusing her face, surging up her cheeks beneath the rouge and making it seem even more vivid.
    For the rest of the evening she never once looked up from the piano.
    She relinquished herself up to the music, accepting with gratitude its power to soothe.
    At last she began to forget her