Netta sucked on the comfit and tried to look interested in the conversation. That amount of acting skill was almost beyond her reach. Did all society woman only talk of such nonsense as the latest cross-stitching technique? It had been twenty minutes of this tedium.
She idly rubbed her breastbone. In another world, another life, this would have been her. No worries about whether she could pay rent that week. No concerns except the latest fashions.
No intrigues with devilishly exciting men.
She didn’t know if it was regret or relief she felt over her changed circumstances. Most likely a bit of both.
“…don’t you think, Miss Courtney?”
Netta sucked away all the sugar until all that was left was the caraway seed. At least there were treats in the little crystal dish on the table. The visit wasn’t a complete waste.
A sharp elbow poked into her side. “Miss Courtney,” Lady Mary said pointedly, “what say you on this new trend of rouging one’s cheeks.”
Drat. She’d forgotten she was supposed to be Miss Courtney. It wasn’t her favorite pseudonymous name, but it was the best compromise she and John could arrive at. “Rouge? Is that what the Countess of Avignon is wearing now?” She hoped they were still speaking of the French émigré. Lord, how she wanted to shock these women. Tell them how she’d employed all types of face paint to great success. But that wouldn’t be in character with a little society miss. “I believe rouge to be the outward sign of inner moral decay. It’s frightful that any woman would use it.”
Their hostess, Caroline Brennan, nodded stoutly. “Very true.”
Lady Mary snorted. “When you get old enough to show signs of outward decay, perhaps you’ll be more understanding of those who wish to distract from it. A bit of rouge never hurt anyone.”
Mrs. Brennan gasped. “You’ve never worn anything so scandalous.” She shot a look at the empty doorway of the sitting room and leaned forwards. “Have you?”
“My cheeks don’t get this hint of pink from walking,” Lady Mary said.
“Well…” Mrs. Brennan sat back and lined her fingers together, circling her thumbs around each other. “Perhaps a tiny bit now and then never hurt anyone. A dab here and there to put one’s best face forward. Wouldn’t you agree just a dab is tolerable, Miss Courtney?”
Netta looked at the mantel clock. Would John be home when she returned? Would he have any new games for them tonight?
With memories of yesterday’s kiss swirling through her mind, she did the unforgiveable. She broke character. “When I want to impress it’s not my face I put forward. I find a tight French corset to be the most inspiring. When I wear it, I can assure you that no one is looking at my face.”
There was a moment of silence, a sharp inhale from their hostess, then Lady Mary burst out guffawing. She laughed so hard her face turned bright red, and Netta began to worry for her health.
Netta poured the woman another cup of tea and pressed it into her hands. “Are you all right?” She should have controlled her tongue. But she was finding it more difficult each day to maintain her act. She missed being just Netta. She felt like herself when she was with John, but she still had a pretense to uphold. Still had lies to tell.
She buried her face in her own cup. But they were small lies with John. Small, and false, details about her history. But her true self—her thoughts, her feelings, her desires—she readily revealed.
She tapped her finger against her cup. They were small lies. Microscopic really. So why didn’t she feel better about them?
Lady Mary held up a hand. “I’m fine,” she said and wiped her eyes.
Mrs. Brennan’s chin wobbled. “I don’t think such talk is appropriate in my parlor.”
“Don’t get your curls in a knot.” Lady Mary slurped her tea. “We have discussions such as this at the club all the time. I don’t see why your sitting room should be sacrosanct.”
Mrs. Brennan flushed. “It’s different at The Minerva. There we have a space to indulge in a little bad behavior. But this is the real world.”
Lady Mary sighed. “Which is why I don’t like making calls.” She stood. “The real world, as you call it, is dull beyond belief. I’ll see you at the club tomorrow night?”
Mrs. Brennan nodded. “It’s lawn darts night. I’ll be there.”
Netta put her cup down on the table and sketched a hasty curtsy. “Thank you for the tea.”
Mrs. Brennan nodded. “It was…” She pursed her lips as she struggled for the right word. “…interesting to meet you, my dear.” She walked Netta and Lady Mary to the front door. “You look so familiar to me, Miss Courtney. Are you certain you weren’t at Victorino’s ball last season?”
“I’m certain.” The tea in her stomach slid uneasily about. But her mother may have attended, and there was some similarity of appearance between the two. Perhaps a false name wasn’t enough to protect her.
Lady Mary prodded her forward with her walking stick. “Can’t be late for our next appointment. Have a good day,” she called over her shoulder.
Netta let the footman hand her into John’s landau and waited until Lady Mary was settled beside her and they had rolled several feet from Mrs. Brennan’s house. “Well, that didn’t go well. I hope I didn’t embarrass you with your friend.”
“Are you in earnest?” Lady Mary arranged the cushion behind her back. “That was just the rattle-about Caroline needed. I’d forgotten how insufferable she can be. At my club, she’s a different person. Open-minded and with a wicked sense of humor.”
“I still should have played my part better. I was supposed to be your demure companion.”
“You were supposed to practice your elocution and manners. And make an impression.” Lady Mary pushed up her spectacles and peered at Netta, her eyes owlish. “I’d say John’s real-world test was a success. Perhaps too much of one.”
Netta rolled the fabric of her gown between her fingers. “What do you mean?”
“You do look familiar, as Caroline said. Yet John says you come from the East End of London.”
She said it as if the East End were one of Dante’s circles of hell, and in some places, Netta supposed it was. She didn’t live there, and was glad for it, but it had seemed a convenient location to tell John. There was no way an earl would enter such a neighborhood. It gave her a level of protection against his curiosity.
Netta cocked an elbow on the backseat of the landau and tipped her face into the sun. “Wot? You’ve never visited? Afraid of getting your slippers dirty?”
Lady Mary pressed her lips flat. “Afraid of having my slippers stolen.”
Netta’s lips twitched. The woman wasn’t wrong. And she was nobody’s fool, a trait Netta admired. She dropped the street accent. “Very wise of you. I suppose I just have one of those faces that look familiar to everyone.”
Lady Mary tapped the end of her walking stick against the coach’s floor. “No, you don’t. Your face is far from common.”
Netta chewed her lip. This conversation was heading nowhere good. She cleared her throat. “So, what sort of club do you have?”
Lady Mary arched an eyebrow but allowed the change in subject. “A gentlewoman’s club.”
Netta pursed her lips. “I’ve never heard of such a thing.”
“No one has. It’s the first of its kind.” Lady Mary angled the head of her walking stick so the jewels on the nob caught the sun. If Netta wasn’t too much mistaken, she wasn’t the only one who liked to engage in a bit of larceny. That walking stick had been in John’s home not long ago.
“It’s like a gentleman’s club,” Lady Mary said. “But without the rules. And for women. It’s all the crack. You should visit.”
“I’m not a gentlewoman.”
Lady Mary waved a hand. “Tosh. We accept all kinds.”
“In that case, I will.” A chance to see such an oddity was too good to pass. From the pocket of her pelisse, she slid out her handkerchief-wrapped bundle and pulled back the edges of the cloth. She held the pile of comfits up to Lady Mary. “Would you like another? I really must find out where these are made.”
Lady Mary huffed as she picked one from the pile. “Why? So you can steal direct from the source?” But she didn’t sound disapproving. A touch of grudging respect might have even been laced in her words.
Netta merely grinned. The warm sun on her face. A pocketful of sweets. And satin sheets to lay in tonight, hopefully not alone. The day was good.
“This plot you have with Johnnie.”
“What about it?” Netta popped another of her sweetly-gotten gains into her mouth.
“I don’t want to know the details—”
“Good, because I don’t have any.” Netta frowned. A fact that was becoming more irritating each day.
Lady Mary held up her hand, palm out. “That’s between you and Johnnie. But…I have concerns.”
“John knows what he’s doing.” If anyone could take the measure of his cleverness, it should be the older woman. “I wouldn’t worry overmuch.”
“It’s not him I’m concerned about.” Lady Mary shifted on the seat to more fully face Netta. “Now, I love Johnnie very much. He’s always been sweet to me. It was only with his assistance that I was able to open my club. But he’s not a man whose attention is ever engaged overlong.” She dipped her chin to her chest and peered over her spectacles. “If you take my meaning.”
Netta paused, mid-suck. All her good humor vanished. She did take Lady Mary’s meaning. It would be a kind warning to a different type of woman, but unnecessary for Netta. She had no illusions about a relationship of any length with the earl.
A small ache bloomed behind her breast, and she rubbed at it. She swallowed the comfit, the morsel not tasting as good as before. “I assure you no such warning is necessary. I’m not the sort to become attached. Or have romantic illusions.” Even had John been a different type of man, it still could never be. A ship to America had her and her sister’s name on it.
“Good.” Lady Mary rested back on her seat. “I thought you were a sensible sort of girl, but wanted to make sure. Because as good as Johnnie is to have as a friend, he’s not the sort to make a dependable lover. I’d hate to see you ill-used.”
Netta forced a smile. “As you say, I’m a sensible sort. And I don’t allow myself to be taken advantage of.” She was the one to take advantage, and then flee before the consequences could catch up to her. It was a pattern that had served her well. One that had protected not only her body but her heart. She knew just how attached she could let herself become before she had to move on.
She and John had yet to be intimate, not truly. There was no need to worry. There were weeks yet for them to enjoy each other.
Her stomach cramped. So why was she worried?