had surpassed herself. A neat label in tight script declared it to be the costume of Athene. It was of fine white lawn—so fine it was nigh transparent and the skirt ended
just below the knee
. Did Madame Croke expect Annabelle to show her legs in public? She obviously did.
Annabelle recalled having seen a slim rose silk gown in her vast wardrobe. With a few tucks and changes and stitches, it could be transformed into an alluring under-dress. The flounces at the hem would have to be removed to style the dress in keeping with the Greek-goddess image.
The gold helmet was, however, very flattering andno doubt Monsieur André, the hairdresser, would twist Annabelle’s long curls into an attractive style to suit it.
She bent her head over the costume and began to work.
Horley came into the room as quietly as a shadow. Annabelle guiltily thrust her work behind her. “What is it, Horley?” she demanded as Horley’s piercing black eyes seemed to stare straight through her to the costume hidden behind.
“It’s the Captain, miss. Captain MacDonald,” said Horley, holding open the door and stepping aside to let Annabelle past. “He’s waiting downstairs.”
“I shall be down presently,” said Annabelle. “And next time, please knock, Horley.”
“Good servants
never
knock,” said Horley righteously.
“Then scratch at the door. You know exactly what I mean, Horley,” snapped Annabelle. Horley bristled with anger and then turned abruptly and left the room.
She was quite sure miss was tampering with those gowns and more than one lady had held out a bribe to Horley in the hopes of finding out the name of Annabelle’s dressmaker. Then they should have it, decided Horley grimly, and that might give that little upstart something to worry about.
The Captain was pacing up and down the room. He stopped when he saw Annabelle, and the pair went through their peculiar hit-and-miss ballet—the Captain trying to kiss Annabelle and Annabelle trying to avoid the kiss being planted on her mouth. At last the Captain turned to the decanter as usual and, after he had poured himself a generous measure of canary, he asked Annabelle in a surprisingly gentle voice if she would mind if he did not escort her to the fête.
Annabelle did not mind in the least but felt it would be rude to say so. She compromised by pointing out thatthe Captain had indeed been a dutiful escort during the previous days and that she felt he deserved an “evening off.”
The Captain beamed at her with affectionate relief. There was a prime mill at Brick Hill and he would not miss it for worlds and if he did not get there the night before, then he would not be able to command the best place since sportsmen from all over the country would be journeying there. He waxed almost poetical on the subject of boxing—how the last time he had been at Brick Hill, he had been loitering around the inn door when a barouche and four had driven up with Lord Byron and a party and Jackson, the trainer. How they had all dined together and how marvellous it had been, the intense excitement, the sparring, then the first round and— oh! it was …
Homeric
.
Annabelle smiled and tried not to show her relief at the prospect of a social evening without the Captain.
L ADY Jane Cherle bit her rather full underlip. For all Lord Varleigh’s kisses and caresses, she had not liked the way he had promptly walked off with Annabelle from the Standishes’ breakfast. He had just now sent Jane a note saying that he would be grateful if she could make her own way to the Hullocks’ party as he had some pressing business. She would not go, thought Jane pettishly. But her costume of a Turkish harem girl was infinitely seductive, and she did not want its charms to go to waste. After some thought she decided she would go after all—but very, very late. That would give Sylvester Varleigh time to miss her. And that way she could make a very splendid last minute appearance.
A NNABELLE and Lady
just below the knee
. Did Madame Croke expect Annabelle to show her legs in public? She obviously did.
Annabelle recalled having seen a slim rose silk gown in her vast wardrobe. With a few tucks and changes and stitches, it could be transformed into an alluring under-dress. The flounces at the hem would have to be removed to style the dress in keeping with the Greek-goddess image.
The gold helmet was, however, very flattering andno doubt Monsieur André, the hairdresser, would twist Annabelle’s long curls into an attractive style to suit it.
She bent her head over the costume and began to work.
Horley came into the room as quietly as a shadow. Annabelle guiltily thrust her work behind her. “What is it, Horley?” she demanded as Horley’s piercing black eyes seemed to stare straight through her to the costume hidden behind.
“It’s the Captain, miss. Captain MacDonald,” said Horley, holding open the door and stepping aside to let Annabelle past. “He’s waiting downstairs.”
“I shall be down presently,” said Annabelle. “And next time, please knock, Horley.”
“Good servants
never
knock,” said Horley righteously.
“Then scratch at the door. You know exactly what I mean, Horley,” snapped Annabelle. Horley bristled with anger and then turned abruptly and left the room.
She was quite sure miss was tampering with those gowns and more than one lady had held out a bribe to Horley in the hopes of finding out the name of Annabelle’s dressmaker. Then they should have it, decided Horley grimly, and that might give that little upstart something to worry about.
The Captain was pacing up and down the room. He stopped when he saw Annabelle, and the pair went through their peculiar hit-and-miss ballet—the Captain trying to kiss Annabelle and Annabelle trying to avoid the kiss being planted on her mouth. At last the Captain turned to the decanter as usual and, after he had poured himself a generous measure of canary, he asked Annabelle in a surprisingly gentle voice if she would mind if he did not escort her to the fête.
Annabelle did not mind in the least but felt it would be rude to say so. She compromised by pointing out thatthe Captain had indeed been a dutiful escort during the previous days and that she felt he deserved an “evening off.”
The Captain beamed at her with affectionate relief. There was a prime mill at Brick Hill and he would not miss it for worlds and if he did not get there the night before, then he would not be able to command the best place since sportsmen from all over the country would be journeying there. He waxed almost poetical on the subject of boxing—how the last time he had been at Brick Hill, he had been loitering around the inn door when a barouche and four had driven up with Lord Byron and a party and Jackson, the trainer. How they had all dined together and how marvellous it had been, the intense excitement, the sparring, then the first round and— oh! it was …
Homeric
.
Annabelle smiled and tried not to show her relief at the prospect of a social evening without the Captain.
L ADY Jane Cherle bit her rather full underlip. For all Lord Varleigh’s kisses and caresses, she had not liked the way he had promptly walked off with Annabelle from the Standishes’ breakfast. He had just now sent Jane a note saying that he would be grateful if she could make her own way to the Hullocks’ party as he had some pressing business. She would not go, thought Jane pettishly. But her costume of a Turkish harem girl was infinitely seductive, and she did not want its charms to go to waste. After some thought she decided she would go after all—but very, very late. That would give Sylvester Varleigh time to miss her. And that way she could make a very splendid last minute appearance.
A NNABELLE and Lady
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