Page 8 of Enslaved
When Diana arrived at the Shepherd Market studio, she left Biddy with James, the coachman. She was aware they were attracted to each other in spite of the fact that they had to pretend otherwise under the watchful eye of Prudence.
Allegra was radiant in a vivid shade of pinky purple, fashionably known as amaranthus. Diana was happy to see that Dame Lightfoot had been banished for the evening along with her iron-gray wig and whalebone. “Come in, darling,” Allegra said. “I was just putting the finishing touches on the old physiog.”
When Diana emerged from the dressing room in costume, she watched Allegra in fascination as she outlined her eyes with kohl. “May I try some of the lip salve?”
“Yes, do. Put a little sandalwood rouge on your cheekbones too. I know your mask will cover everything except your lips, but I think a littlemaquillagegives a woman confidence in her charms.”
Diana was thrilled with the results of her handiwork and, as a finishing touch, boldly painted her eyelids with silvery violet.
“Voilá!A goddess down to your fingertips,” Allegra declared, placing Diana’s long cloak about her protégée’s shoulders. “We can take your carriage if your servants are discreet.”
“We have a mutual understanding,” she assured Allegra, who picked up a large ostrich-feather fan, dyed dark purple. Small fans were the fashion, but Diana had to admit Allegra’s fan was spectacular. It bespoke a language all its own.
“Oxford Street,” Diana told James, as Biddy scurried to hold open the carriage door, unable to keep from staring at Allegra.
The traffic along Oxford Street was backed up all the way to Bond Street. Carriages trying to get close to the Pantheon clogged all the main arteries. “We’ll walk from here,” Diana decided, rapping on the coach ceiling. “You can have the carriage, Biddy. Be back at Shepherd’s Market by ten thirty.” Diana fastened her mask in place before she quit the carriage, then she and Allegra stepped out into the throng.
Everyone in London who was anyone was making his way to the Pantheon tonight. They managed to push their way through the crowd until they came up against a large group of gentlemen escorting a sedan chair and holding aloft lighted torches. Allegra touched the arm of one of the gentlemen in evening clothes. He gave her a familiar grin. “Hello, Allegra. Come to watch the fireworks?”
“What are you up to, Sir Charles?” she drawled.
“We got wind that actresses were not to be admitted, so we are giving Mrs. Baddeley our personal escort; a guard of honor so to speak.”
“Anything for a lark, eh, Charlie?”
When Diana looked puzzled, Allegra explained, “Sophia Baddeley, who sings at Ranelagh, is Viscount Melbourne’s current mistress. His friends are making sure she receives a triumphant welcome.”
Diana’s mouth almost fell open. Emily and William’s father had a mistress? “Lady Melbourne is as straightlaced as Prudence,” Diana whispered.
Allegra winked. “There’s your answer, my pet. It pays a woman to be flexible and pliant—not quite loose, but accommodating at least.”
Diana’s thoughts progressed from Prudence to Richard. Could he possibly be unfaithful? After contemplating the notion for a full minute, a giggle escaped her.He’d’be a bloody fool if he wasn’t!
As they made their way along Oxford Street, Diana noticed that all the gentlemen were on familiar terms with Allegra. She recognized both Lord Bute and Lord March, whom Diana had always considered respectable pillars of society. Apparently there was a double standard of behavior.
Allegra poked William Hangar, an intimate of the Prince of Wales, in the ribs. “Sophia enters society, or is it the other way about?”
The men surrounding them roared with laughter at Allegra’s bawdy wit, and Diana wondered if perhaps it was only the life of a debutante that was staid and suffocating.
Porters in livery stood at the entrance to the Pantheon, their long staves at the ready to bar the entrance of any undesirables. When the gentlemen championing Sophia Baddeley whipped out their swords in unison, the porters fled. Then to the delight of all assembled, the actress made her grand entrance under the arch made by the crossed swords of her gallants.
Inside was every bit as much of a crush as outside. When a footman relieved Diana of her long cloak, she felt very wicked indeed. It was an absolutely delicious sensation. She received more stares than the eccentric Countess of Cork, who was dressed as an Indian sultana with her face painted dark and wearing a headdress of diamonds.
Cumberland, the wicked uncle of the Prince of Wales, was dressed as Henry the Eighth, and Sir Richard Phillips was resplendent in black and white—half miller, half chimney sweep. As Diana stared and was stared at in return, she realized that everyone wanted attention and she was no exception. People had outdone themselves with their costumes. Every age in history was represented from Restoration to Elizabethan to ancient Greece. Cupid stood next to a lady who looked as if she had just stepped from King Arthur’s court of Camelot. The whole room was a mass of swirling color and glittering lights. Diana decided happily it was the most fun she’d ever had.
The Earl of Bath, in town on business, was between mistresses at the moment. He had no illusions about himself and was the first to admit he was both jaded and cynical. The image of his younger brother Peter flashed briefly through his mind. Thank God he could rely on him to uphold the good name of Hardwick. The earl himself had no intention of ever getting trapped by society into marrying and having a family. He knew he was self-indulgent and had the reputation of a rake, but women were attracted by his title alone, so when his wealth was added, the fair sex panted after him like bitches in heat. Had he but known it, his dark dangerous looks accounted for his sexual congress.
The earl had jet black eyes and hair to match, which he refused to powder or cover with a wig. The slight hook in his aristocratic nose lent him the profile of a raptor. Seeking diversion, he surveyed the crowded room for worthy quarry. His dark gaze did not linger upon any female who cast him an invitation; he was a man who did his own choosing for better or for worse.
Bath had not been part of Sophia Baddeley’s escort, but had arrived alone from his town house in Jermyn Street. He felt only contempt for those of his peers who were slaves to their vices of gambling, drink, or debauched women. He prided himself on always being in control. But he came very near to slipping when he glimpsed the glorious creature who was surely dressed as Diana, Goddess of the Hunt. His attention was caught and held by this unknown woman who was in the company of the notorious Allegra. He watched in silence as the young beauty threw back her head in appreciative laughter. She had an unaffected quality that lured him closer in spite of her obvious youth.
Unaware of the speculative eyes upon her, Diana was overcome with mirth at the wickedly amusing remarks of Allegra. They were discussing at this very moment one of the more peculiar guests of the ball. When people backed away from the Countess of Cork, appearing here in the Arabian costume of a sultana, Diana said innocently, “She may be eccentric, but surely she’s harmless?”
“Actually she’s deadly,” Allegra drawled. “Punctuates her speech with farts. Her rectal repertoire is amazing. Move over so you can listen.”
As Diana bent her ear in the direction of the sultana, she heard her say to Cumberland, “Time they passed the Regency Bill; King’s as mad as a damned hatter!!!” Sure enough, the duchess punctuated her sentence with a loud cannonade of exclamation points.
As Diana hastily backed off, Allegra rolled her eyes and wafted the ostrich-feather fan languidly but effectively. Laughing helplessly, she asked, “What advice would Dame Lightfoot give her pupils on the subject of farts?”
