secretary.”
“Perfect timing,” Peggy said. “We’ll ask him what he thinks of my costume!” Betsy, Stansbury, and the tailor excused themselves so that Peggy could take the visit with the major. Clara was preparing to follow them through the door—perhaps she could finally tend to the forgotten Miss Betsy—when Peggy stopped her. “Clara, you stay, I’m sure Robert Balmor is eager to see you.”
Clara felt her face growing warm under the observant eyes of the housekeeper, still standing in the doorway.
“Would you like to welcome the gentlemen in the parlor downstairs?” Mrs. Quigley’s question sounded more like a suggestion.
“No, in here,” Peggy answered. Clara wasn’t sure whether Peggy was oblivious or simply indifferent to the distress her words caused her poor old housekeeper.
“In your bedroom ?” Mrs. Quigley did not attempt to mask her horror. “My lady, I must insist—”
“I am not going downstairs dressed like this. Mother will wail in horror and Father will complain about the cost of all of this silk. Send them up here.”
There was a silent standoff as the housekeeper, staring at theyoung lady she’d served since her days in diapers, hovered outside the bedroom.
“For heaven’s sake, Clara is in here with me. What do you think we’re going to do, run straight to bed?” Peggy scoffed at the old woman, causing her to stammer in wordless horror before quitting the room, defeated.
A minute later, Major André appeared in the doorway, accompanied by his secretary, who smiled the instant he spotted Clara. Thinking back to how they had danced the night before, and how he had offered her a glass of Champagne, Clara felt fresh shyness in the sober light of day. She made herself busy with fluffing Miss Peggy’s skirt, positioning herself so that she was partially concealed behind the massive hoopskirt.
“Ladies, hello.” Major André glided into the room, bowing before taking his sword from his hip and placing it casually on Peggy’s bed. “Look at what we have here.” He approached Peggy, kissing her outstretched hand as she stood before the mirror. “What a delicious little heathen you shall make tomorrow night.” André leaned in close, pausing by Peggy’s ear to whisper, “I hope you’ll behave like one too.”
Clara knew in that instant that she would be unable to contain her mistress—she would have to refuse acting as Miss Peggy’s companion to the Masque, not unless Mrs. Quigley or some other servant accompanied her. If left alone with Miss Peggy, Clara could not be sure what sort of trouble her lady might find.
As Peggy and André began giggling, Clara was sure to avoid Robert Balmor’s eyes. Mr. Quigley rapped on the door. “Fresh flowers for the lady, from Lord Rawdon.” The butler entered carrying a bouquet of white and pink lilies.
“Thank you, Mr. Quigley,” Peggy answered. “Just place them on the end table.”
“So I have competition?” André eyed the flowers, helping himself to the note that Peggy’s admirer had tucked into the petals.
“Does that come as such a shock?” Peggy asked.
“Rawdon certainly seems quite taken with you, Miss Shippen.”
Peggy smirked before turning her attention back to her new dress. “A beautiful bloom does not invite the attention of the bees, and yet they buzz around it; is that not so, Major André?”
Aye, and a rotting carcass does not invite the attention of the flies, and yet they buzz around it, Clara thought to herself, but she bit her tongue. She alarmed herself with how much she sounded like her Oma.
“Well, what do you think?” Peggy’s tone was teasing.
“You don’t want to know what I’m thinking. Not appropriate in the presence of ladies.” André and his secretary exchanged a laugh, which Clara found supremely unsuitable.
“Coffin has done a nice job.” André turned his focus back to the gown, the sash, and the jewels with an inspecting gaze, circling Peggy with a slow, lithe
“Perfect timing,” Peggy said. “We’ll ask him what he thinks of my costume!” Betsy, Stansbury, and the tailor excused themselves so that Peggy could take the visit with the major. Clara was preparing to follow them through the door—perhaps she could finally tend to the forgotten Miss Betsy—when Peggy stopped her. “Clara, you stay, I’m sure Robert Balmor is eager to see you.”
Clara felt her face growing warm under the observant eyes of the housekeeper, still standing in the doorway.
“Would you like to welcome the gentlemen in the parlor downstairs?” Mrs. Quigley’s question sounded more like a suggestion.
“No, in here,” Peggy answered. Clara wasn’t sure whether Peggy was oblivious or simply indifferent to the distress her words caused her poor old housekeeper.
“In your bedroom ?” Mrs. Quigley did not attempt to mask her horror. “My lady, I must insist—”
“I am not going downstairs dressed like this. Mother will wail in horror and Father will complain about the cost of all of this silk. Send them up here.”
There was a silent standoff as the housekeeper, staring at theyoung lady she’d served since her days in diapers, hovered outside the bedroom.
“For heaven’s sake, Clara is in here with me. What do you think we’re going to do, run straight to bed?” Peggy scoffed at the old woman, causing her to stammer in wordless horror before quitting the room, defeated.
A minute later, Major André appeared in the doorway, accompanied by his secretary, who smiled the instant he spotted Clara. Thinking back to how they had danced the night before, and how he had offered her a glass of Champagne, Clara felt fresh shyness in the sober light of day. She made herself busy with fluffing Miss Peggy’s skirt, positioning herself so that she was partially concealed behind the massive hoopskirt.
“Ladies, hello.” Major André glided into the room, bowing before taking his sword from his hip and placing it casually on Peggy’s bed. “Look at what we have here.” He approached Peggy, kissing her outstretched hand as she stood before the mirror. “What a delicious little heathen you shall make tomorrow night.” André leaned in close, pausing by Peggy’s ear to whisper, “I hope you’ll behave like one too.”
Clara knew in that instant that she would be unable to contain her mistress—she would have to refuse acting as Miss Peggy’s companion to the Masque, not unless Mrs. Quigley or some other servant accompanied her. If left alone with Miss Peggy, Clara could not be sure what sort of trouble her lady might find.
As Peggy and André began giggling, Clara was sure to avoid Robert Balmor’s eyes. Mr. Quigley rapped on the door. “Fresh flowers for the lady, from Lord Rawdon.” The butler entered carrying a bouquet of white and pink lilies.
“Thank you, Mr. Quigley,” Peggy answered. “Just place them on the end table.”
“So I have competition?” André eyed the flowers, helping himself to the note that Peggy’s admirer had tucked into the petals.
“Does that come as such a shock?” Peggy asked.
“Rawdon certainly seems quite taken with you, Miss Shippen.”
Peggy smirked before turning her attention back to her new dress. “A beautiful bloom does not invite the attention of the bees, and yet they buzz around it; is that not so, Major André?”
Aye, and a rotting carcass does not invite the attention of the flies, and yet they buzz around it, Clara thought to herself, but she bit her tongue. She alarmed herself with how much she sounded like her Oma.
“Well, what do you think?” Peggy’s tone was teasing.
“You don’t want to know what I’m thinking. Not appropriate in the presence of ladies.” André and his secretary exchanged a laugh, which Clara found supremely unsuitable.
“Coffin has done a nice job.” André turned his focus back to the gown, the sash, and the jewels with an inspecting gaze, circling Peggy with a slow, lithe
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