ELIZA REACHED HER BEDCHAMBER AND OPENED the door to an explosion of colorful fabrics, frantic activity, and an open-mouthed Daisie. Madame Clarise clearly ruled her fashion empire with an autocratic hand, no matter which space she colonized for her purposes.
Mostly-completed dresses and undergarments covered every surface in the room. Three seamstresses sat ready to do their mistress’s bidding around a table close to the sparse winter light streaming through the windows. A plethora of ribbons fluttered in the breeze of activity, and a delicate pair of silver fairy wings hung from a corner of the clothes press. But there was no time for Eliza to take in the riches before her; Madame Clarise’s unchecked enthusiasm demanded her immediate attention.
“Mademoiselle Eliza, how wonderful to see you again.”
The exuberant dressmaker bussed both Eliza’s cheeks, then held her at arm’s length by her shoulders. Madame took in Eliza’s blue gown and, with a gesture of Gallic disdain, commanded her minions, “Oh, mon Dieu! Vite vite, help me get these rags off her.”
Before Eliza could formulate a protest, she was pulled to the fire and divested of her gown and underdress. But as soon as Madame took in the French corset and the silk petticoats Eliza wore underneath, she was all smiles again. “Good girl! We French always know best how to reveal a woman’s assets.”
Eliza smiled at the English dressmaker claiming the French as her countrymen. “It’s very comfortable, and the hooks in the front make it easy to put on.”
“And get out of, n’est-ce pas?” Madame winked, and Eliza blushed deeply, which made Madame laugh uproariously. “Oh, I can see why Sir Henry is besotted with you. That blush is adorable.”
All traces of coquetry evaporated in an instant, and her charming smile turned all business as she fixed her assistant with a stare that clearly announced playtime was over. “Now, Marie, hand me the rose silk. Let’s deal with the morning and walking dresses first.”
Madame guided the heavy silk gown over Eliza’s head with practiced ease, ordered her assistant to close the buttons in the back, then walked around Eliza, and with a critical eye assessed every aspect of the fit. She pinched the dress in a few places to mold it better to Eliza’s form and pinned it in place. Then she lifted it off her again and tossed it across the room at one of the three seamstresses, who caught the gown and started to stitch without so much as a flinch.
Eliza caught Daisie’s mesmerized stare and couldn’t suppress a giggle. An answering grin spread across Daisie’s face, her eyes dancing with amusement. Eliza was glad to be able to provide her friend with a diversion from this morning’s trials.
Gown after gown was tossed over Eliza’s head, pulled, pinched, and pinned into place, then ripped off again, and piled onto the table by the windows where the seamstresses worked. By the time Madame ordered Eliza stripped to her drawers, Eliza felt more like a rag doll than a valued customer. She was so exhausted from all the pulling and pushing, not to mention the meeting that had come before, she didn’t even think to object to Madame’s commands until she saw Daisie look at someone behind her with a startled expression.
She reflexively crossed her arms over her naked breasts and looked over her shoulder to see what had caught Daisie’s eye, to find Henry grinning back at her.
“Seems I made it just in time,” he quipped while Madame sank into a deep curtsy.
“Sir Henry, what a pleasure!”
But before Madame could launch herself at him, he waved her off. “Don’t mind me. Carry on.”
Eliza saw the little smirk on Madame’s face as she turned back to her assistant, and when she looked at Henry again, he winked, and she was struck by the realization he was not here to ogle at her—well, not exclusively anyway—but to reinforce the fiction that he was nothing but a rogue wastrel, intent on debauching his mistress. He was here to maintain a cover for all of them, and she would do her part to help. She let her arms drop, giving him a tantalizing side view of her breasts, and returned his wink right in Madame’s line of sight. Henry’s grin widened and he mouthed, “Good girl!”
Daisie had divested her of all her petticoats, and Madame had her ease a fabulously soft silver-gray satin underskirt over Eliza’s head. The garment slid down Eliza’s body like flowing water, but as soon as the skirt had settled over her hips, Madame ordered harshly, “No drawers.”
And Henry drawled from the other side of the room where he was leaning a hip against the footboard of her bed, “My sentiments exactly!”
Eliza was torn between amusement and mortification, but obediently held up the narrow skirt so Daisie could remove her drawers. Out of the corner of her eyes, she caught Henry tilting his head to the side to get a better view of her bottom and almost laughed out loud at his expression of rapt attention.
Daisie busied herself lacing up the silver-gray satin corset Madame had instructed Eliza to climb into and chose that moment to whisper into Eliza’s ear, “What’s the matter with Sir Henry? I’ve never seen ’im like this.”
Madame and her assistant were absorbed in lifting a shimmering garment out of a box on the bed and had not noticed the exchange, so Eliza answered, “Shh, just play along.”
Then she winked at her friend, and judging by the wicked grin on Daisie’s face, there was no need to explain further. After all, Daisie was fully aware of the meeting that had taken place earlier. “Ah, gossip! Can be useful, that.”
Eliza nodded sagely and went back to throwing coy smiles over her shoulder at Henry as the dressmaker and her assistant approached with the gown.
The gown was an exquisitely layered flurry of blue, green, and turquoise chiffon and shimmering silver organza. As the dress settled over Eliza’s body, it became clear it was just wide enough to slip over her head and shoulders without having to be laced in the back, but tight enough to follow her curves and sheer enough to let the silver-gray underskirt and corset shine through.
The dress was made up of three overlapping paneled layers that played against each other. Instead of sleeves, the panels ended in points with tiny crystals sewn onto them. Madame took those points and tied them in a simple knot over each shoulder and let the sparkling ends play down Eliza’s arms. The dress had a simple v-neck plunging right to the edge of the corset and flared out into a full skirt, ending again in points. Eliza realized these, too, had tiny crystals winking from the hem, and still more crystals glistened from the folds of the dress, randomly placed like dewdrops.
The shape of the skirt reminded Eliza of a bluebell, and she loved the way it swished and flowed around her as she walked to the mirror. She had no doubt it was designed to draw a man’s attention.
Henry’s sharp intake of breath let everyone in the room know it had the desired effect.
Madame retrieved the wings from the clothes press and showed Daisie how to tie them. The silver ribbons coming over her shoulder crossed between Eliza’s breasts and met up below them with the lower ribbons that had been brought forward. They were twisted together, crossed in the front, and then tied at the back.
The artfully tied ribbons added a Greek feel to the gown, but also raised its hemline above Eliza’s ankles. The ensemble was completed by sheer silk stockings, tied Roman sandals made of the same silver satin as the underdress, and a silver-lined, jade-green velvet cape with a tasseled hood.
But Eliza couldn’t ride in the coach with the wings; they would have to be tied on at the opera house. So Henry decreed Daisie would accompany them, eliciting excited squeals from the maid.
Her mission completed, Madame gathered her assistant, begged Henry not to hesitate to call on her in the future, and swept out of the house, leaving her seamstresses behind to finish the remaining gowns. In her wake, a calm descended on the room that finally allowed everyone to take a deep breath.
Henry came up behind Eliza, who was still mesmerized by her own image in the mirror. “It’s exquisite and you look exquisite in it. But it’s also quite scandalous. Are you ready to expose yourself to the world like this?”
Eliza leaned into him, as much for warmth as to show her appreciation of his concern, and smiled. “What’s scandalous is that I’m your mistress, but I find I’m quite unconcerned about scandal. I’m more concerned that I might freeze to death.”
She threw a quick glance in the direction of the seamstresses by the window. He smiled his understanding at her in the mirror and bent to kiss her neck. “Don’t worry, I shall keep you warm, and these affairs usually overheat pretty quickly.” Then he motioned to Daisie. “Come help Eliza into a warmer gown and then bring us some tea to my sitting room.”
WITH THE FICTION OF HIS dissolute nature successfully maintained, Henry departed for his apartment to change into formal afternoon attire for his visit to the Old Man.
To everyone else, the Old Man was the mysterious, omnipotent figure who always knew far more than they did and only told them what they needed to know in order to complete their mission. But to Henry, the Old Man was his mentor, almost a surrogate father. Still, the reason for today’s visit made him more than a little nervous. So much depended on the Old Man sanctioning this mission.
Ten years ago, in Portugal, when it had become clear to Wellesley and his staff that the British campaign was being hampered by espionage, Wellesley—now the Duke of Wellington—brought in the Old Man to organize a countermeasure. The Old Man in turn had recruited Henry, who had been on Wellesley’s staff at the time, and, by and by, six others who formed independent cells for the purpose of counterespionage.
They created covers for themselves and continued in their military positions, but their true purpose was to find out where the leaks in the admiralty were coming from and who exploited them, and to feed those agents false information. They also were entrusted with carrying secret dispatches and coordinating with the Portuguese and the Spanish Guerrillas.
Quite a few of the agents knew each other—it was essential to their mission that they did—but only the original seven knew who the Old Man was and were sworn to keep his secret to their dying day.
Henry tied his snow-white cravat and tucked the ends into his proper gray wool vest, retrieved his watch from the dresser, and threaded the chain through his buttonhole before he headed back into his dressing room.
Preparedness being nine parts of success, he checked that his Oberon costume, a veteran of three previous costume balls, had been properly aired out and pressed. Then he shrugged into his fitted gray dress coat, smoothed down the black velvet lapels in front of the mirror, and ran his brush through his short sandy hair. He had shaved that morning, so his chin and sideburns looked presentable enough, but he would have to shave again before the ball to spare Eliza’s delicate skin.
He smiled at the thought of sharing her bed again tonight, or perhaps he would invite her into his bed instead. But first he had to warn her about the kinds of things she was sure to hear about him from others at the ball. She was his friend as well as his responsibility, and he would be damned if he let her walk into this situation without all the armor he could provide.
He grabbed his top hat when he heard Eliza enter the sitting room and walked out to meet her.
She was back in her serviceable blue wool dress and looked up from surveying the volumes on his bookshelf by the window. “You look very dapper.”
He winked. “Well, yes. One can’t visit with one of the grand dames of society in anything but the correct attire for the occasion.”
Eliza frowned in confusion. “I thought you had to go see someone in charge to get another person to shadow Astor.”
Henry smiled, but his eyes were serious. “Indeed I do. But Eliza, I think it best for you to forget you ever heard mention of the Old Man. As far as you and everybody else is concerned, I am about to pay a visit to my godmother.”
Eliza looked at him for a moment, then nodded and sat on the chaise longue, her hand pressed against her forehead. “Oh Lord, do I have a heap to learn about all this sneaking around. I’m glad you told me; I might have blurted that right out in front of someone who could have told Astor or Hobbs.”
Henry sat next to her and drew her against him, mindful of his pristine cravat. “That is precisely why I am telling you now. So far, we have been amongst friends, and you did fabulously well with Madame Clarise earlier.” He kissed her temple to underscore his words. “I know you will do well tonight, but there are some things you should know before we go. You might be subjected to crude comments from my so-called friends, and jealous speculation from some of the women.”
She looked at him, slightly alarmed. “What do you mean?”
He heaved a sigh and locked eyes with her. “I have a reputation in this town, one I have carefully nurtured over the years. As far as society is concerned, I am a ladies’ man. I like variety and I’m not afraid to pay for it. Over the past six years, I have never been without a mistress, and I rarely keep one for longer than three months. I am always upfront and generous with the women I engage to provide me with intimacy and companionship, and when the time comes, I hand them off to another affluent man waiting in line, or I provide the lady with enough funds to tide her over until she finds another protector.”
Eliza couldn’t help but fear he was telling her what would happen when he grew tired of her, and swallowed hard to subdue her panic. But she held his gaze and straightened her spine, resolved to deal with whatever life had in store for her.
Henry was quick to reassure her. “Those are the facts as far as society is concerned. However, and I need you to believe me when I say this: none of this applies to you! You are not a professional like all those other women were. You were my friend before we became lovers, and I’m well aware of the gift you gave me when you surrendered your innocence to me.”
The relief on her face was obvious, and he was glad to be having this conversation. Not just so she would be prepared, but also because he had a sudden longing to tell her how he felt.
“Eliza, my sweet, there is no time limit on what is between us. The affection I feel for you goes far beyond simple desire, and I can’t imagine a circumstance under which I would want you to leave.”
Eliza gave him a shy smile and nuzzled into the hand he had cupped around her face. “I like you too, Henry, very much. You have already shown me so much more of life than I would ever have seen at the inn, especially the good things. You make me feel valued and safe.”
He brushed a soft kiss over her lips, thanking her wordlessly for her trust. “You are the first woman to inspire trust and affection in me since Cecilia broke my heart the day she had my infant daughter delivered to me.” He leaned his forehead to hers and let out a long breath. “I could understand why she succumbed to the pressure put on her to return to her husband, but to simply abandon our daughter, that was cruel.”
Eliza stroked her hand over his head and kissed his cheek. “Perhaps she had a good reason to send Emily to you. Did you ever ask her?”
He shook his head. “I haven’t spoken to her since she walked out of our rooms in Belgium on her husband’s arm.”
Eliza wanted to say more, to encourage him to find out Cecilia’s motives and heal this lingering pain. But Daisie entered the sitting room with a loaded tea tray, reminding them both she was now part of their plans for the ball. Hobbs could be amongst the guests, so it was imperative they find a way for Daisie to remain undetected.
Henry had secured a box at the opera house, and Daisie assured them she would be happy to see the spectacle from there, but Henry was reluctant to leave her by herself. It would be much safer for her to hide behind a masked costume and join them whenever they left the box. To that end, Daisie was dispatched to the attic to look through the trunks of clothing his mother had stored there, and he hadn’t had the heart to get rid of.
Henry poured Eliza a cup of tea and urged a slice of fruitcake on her before he helped himself. “So you know not to take anything derogatory you might hear tonight to heart, don’t you?”
She smiled. What he’d said earlier had given her confidence. It felt good to be wanted. “Yes, Henry, I promise not to listen to any of the gossip, and if I do, I will not let it upset me.”
“And if I happen to pat some dancing girl’s bottom?” He gave her a teasing grin, and she slapped his shoulder in mock outrage.
“I shall slap your hand away and put myself in between you and her bottom.”
That got her a laugh. “Perfect! Just what a jealous mistress would do.”
Satisfied with her reply, Henry urged her to rest on his chaise longue for the rest of the afternoon, pressed a kiss to her forehead, and excused himself to go on his visit.
HENRY STEPPED OUT OF HIS house into the waning winter light and headed toward Brook Street and the house of his godmother. He was certain to find Lady Greyson at tea with her bosom friends at this hour of the afternoon.
Once ushered into the drawing room, he kissed her cheek affectionately, accepted a cup of tea, and chatted amicably with the assembled matrons until the salon had cleared. Lady Greyson was a formidable woman and one of the very few people who actually knew what Henry had done to earn his knighthood.
There was no need for him to tell her why he had come. Lady Greyson was astute enough to know her godson had not appeared in her salon on New Year’s Eve because he had a hankering to kiss her wilting cheek one last time for the year. Henry thanked God the lady was not only skilled at clearing a room, but also secure enough in his affection for her that she wouldn’t be offended by the ulterior motive for his visit.
As soon as the butler had closed the door behind the last departing guest, she waved Henry out of the room, and he departed, blowing her a kiss. He let himself out of a set of French doors at the back of the house, hopped over the wall at the bottom of the garden, and stepped into the tiny square of no-man’s-land between all the neighboring gardens. It was a peaceful little forgotten wood in the midst of the bustling metropolis, and Henry paused for a moment, inhaling the crisp winter air.
He knew it was no coincidence that all seven cell leaders had either relatives or friends living in houses abutting the tiny no-man’s-land, but it still seemed surreal every time he made his way through Lady Greyson’s backyard to a meeting.
After scanning his surroundings carefully, he removed a brass key from his pocket and headed to a wooden gate at the bottom of a garden whose house fronted onto Grosvenor Street.
Light spilled out from behind the drapes of the library windows, and Henry tapped out a predetermined series of knocks on the French doors, then waited for the sound of a bell before he slipped another key into the lock and let himself in.