Page 17 of Lady Beast's Bridegroom
“The gold it is, then,” Arial agreed.
“Do you have a mask to match?” Vivienne asked.
When she had been much younger, Arial had experimented with painting her papier-mâché masks in a flesh color, with an eye drawn in place of her own. The result had not been happy, the bland unmoving solid surface too much of a contrast against her own living flesh on the other side of her face. “All of my masks are like this one,” she said, bracing herself for questions about why she kept half her face covered.
But Peter must’ve explained, for Vivienne merely said, “We should paint it gold, to go with the dress.”
Rosalind’s eyes lit up. “With flowers or swirls. Butterflies perhaps. Or, I know. Do you have some more of this lace?” She stroked the falls of delicate lace that trimmed the cuffs, hem, and neckline.
Arial began to shake her head, but Nancy said, “Yes, Miss. The dressmaker sent some so we could make repairs. I think I packed it.” She disappeared into the dressing room and returned with a paper package. “Here it is.”
Vivienne and Rosalind turned beseeching eyes onto Arial. Vivienne spoke for them both. “May we, my lady? May we, please?”
Miss Pettigrew added, “Rosalind is very talented.”
Well, what was the harm? She had half a dozen spare masks, and it would give the girl something to do this afternoon, since at least two more hours must pass before they dressed for thewedding. “Very well. Clara, can you set them up somewhere with one of my masks and whatever else they need?”
Arial went back to her brooding about the unexpected guest and the risks she was taking that Peter might turn out to be a domestic tyrant. But Clara soon pulled her away from that to come and talk to Cook about a wedding supper, and one way or another the afternoon passed more easily than she expected. When it was time to fetch the girls from their painting, they refused to let Arial see the results.
“It has to dry,” Vivienne explained.
Arial left the girls to their governess and went to have her bath. The knock on her bedroom door came three quarters of an hour later, when she was clothed again and sitting in front of her mirror while Nancy dressed her hair.
“It is the little misses, my lady,” Nancy said, when she’d opened the door.
Arial checked that her mask—loosened to facilitate the hair dressing—was fully in place and called, “Come in, girls.”
Clara and Miss Pettigrew entered with the two girls. All in their best. All beaming. “Vivienne and Rosalind, you look wonderful,” Arial told them. What a difference a well-fitting dress made. They looked like young ladies rather than neglected waifs, from their neatly plaited hair to the slippers that matched their dresses; their dresses matched their eyes—blue for Vivienne and green for Rosalind.
“You look lovely, too, my lady,” Vivienne said.
“Call me Arial,” Arial suggested. “After today, we shall be sisters, we three. I have always wanted a sister.”
Vivienne and Rosalind looked at one another and nodded. Vivienne again took the spokesperson role. “We are so glad you are to be our sister, my lady. Arial. Will you call us Viv and Rose, like Peter does?”
“Of course, you darlings,” Arial agreed.
Viv was holding her hands behind her back. Rose nudged her. Viv hissed, “I was just going to do it.” She turned back to Arial. “We have your mask. We hope you like it.” And she pulled it from behind her back as Arial composed herself to say something complimentary.
Chapter Seven
It was athing of beauty. They had left the background white and decorated it with gilded lines and swirls in a delicate filigree. Lace trimmed the top and side, attached behind the mask, and the edge was trimmed all around with tiny, paste jewels that caught the light and sparkled. Arial stared at it, entranced.
Her silence made Viv ask in an anxious tone, “Do you like it?”
“I love it.” Why had it never occurred to her to adorn the mask, beyond that first failed attempt to mimic a face? She sat back down on the chair in front of the mirror and held the golden concoction up in front of her every-day, blank, white half-face. The transformation was astounding. Instead of the familiar half-person, half-monster she was used to seeing reflected, the woman in the mirror before her was fey, mysterious, and attractive.
She gazed for a long moment before the nervous fidgeting of the girls caught her attention. They were looking over her shoulder, their expressions saying, as clear as words, that they were waiting on her judgement.
As she turned to face them, Rose blurted, “We could have done better if we had had longer.”
Viv spoke at the same time. “We could make one for each of your gowns, Arial. If you would like.”
“I would like,” Arial assured them. For her soon-to-be husband, as well as for herself. She could do nothing about herunfashionable curves except make the best of them, which her dressmaker had done. Peter would not need to blush for her appearance in that regard.
But faced with the ugly expanse of white where her face should be, people did not see her figure or her clothes. People would still stare, she knew. But perhaps in wonder rather than disgust. It was certainly worth a try.
There was another knock on the door. Nancy crossed the room to open it part-way and slipped outside to speak to the person in the passage. Arial, meanwhile, put the gold mask down, with some reluctance, and reached for the box of ribbons in her bottom drawer. Sure enough, as she remembered, the box contained ribbons in the colors of the girls’ dresses—a light blue for Viv and green for Rose.
