Read Online The Scarlet Spy by Andrea Pickens - Free Book Online

entertainment.”
    “A crush indeed.” Sofia swept her skirts from the paths of two young gentlemen, who nearly collided with each other as they turned to ogle her bosom. “Cabbage heads,” she said under her breath, watching them fuss with the voluminous folds of their cravats. “If their shirtpoints were any higher, they would be in danger of poking out their eyes.”
    “As you see, many of the
ton
are slaves to fashion,” said Lynsley dryly. “Take a moment to look around and familiarize yourself with the beau monde. Once we pass through the receiving line and enter the ballroom, things will begin moving quite fast.”
    “I will stay on my toes, sir.” She had not made mention of her pointed exchange with Osborne. She would give the marquess no further cause for complaint.
    “Just Lynsley,” he reminded her. “I am no longer your superior, merely a friend.”
    Yes, sir.
Quelling the urge to snap a salute, Sofia assumed an air of nonchalance and began a slow survey of her surroundings.
    The vast stretch of black and white marble floor tiles were barely visible beneath the sea of ruffled silks and polished pumps. The effect was still impressive, as was the glossy white paneling, trimmed in a tone of deep claret. Several large gilt-framed portraits peered down in grim-faced silence at the milling guests. Judging by the starched white ruffs and richly embroidered velvet doublets, they had witnessed several centuries of frivolity without cracking a smile.
    Their old-fashioned sartorial splendor was more than matched by the feathered finery of the present day.
    Lud, were those really pink ostrich plumes crowning a billowing purple turban? Sofia stilled the flutter of her lips as her gaze moved on. The ballgowns ranged from demure pastel confections to daring jewel tone designs that bared a goodly amount of flesh. Highlighting the soft shimmer of the fabrics was the hard-edged sparkle of gold and precious stones. Lace fichus, gold-threaded overskirts, fringed shawls, painted fans … Sofia felt her head spinning at the flamboyant show of au courant styles.
    The gentlemen were strutting around like peacocks as well. Though some were, like Lynsley, dressed in stark black and white, there was plenty of colorful plumage to be seen. Her eye lingered on a swallowtail coat of canary yellow pressed shoulder to shoulder with a sky-blue wasp-waisted jacket. Even more colorful were the waistcoats, which came in a dizzying assortment of stripes and patterns. The accessories were no less extravagant. Brass buttons the size of saucers festooned the superfine wool, ruby stickpins held knotted cravats in place, and the thick gold watchchains hung heavy with ornate fobs.
    Privilege, power, pedigree.
Wealth had a language of its own.
    “If you are ready, my dear, I think we can begin making our way up to greet our hostess.” Lynsley’s words roused her from her study.
    “Yes, of course.”
    The line snaking up the ornately carved staircase did not appear to have thinned much, but Sofia followed Lynsley’s lead. She felt the brush of wool against her bare arms and heard whispers stir behind her back. Lifting her chin, she pretended to take no notice.
    She was an actress playing a role, she reminded herself. Now that the curtain had risen and she had stepped onto the grand stage, she must get used to being the subject of scrutiny.
    As they made the last turn to the upper floor, the light from the massive chandelier seemed to take on an even more glittering intensity.
    “My dear Thomas! To what do we owe this rare honor? It isn’t often that we can coax you out of the warrens of Whitehall.”
    “To the daughter of an old friend, Sally. Allow me to introduce Lady Sofia della Silveri—”
    “Ah, yes, I’ve heard all about the contessa.” Lady Jersey waggled a plump finger. “You’ve stirred up quite a gaggle of gossip, my dear, by convincing the devilishly handsome Lord Osborne to ask you to ride in his phaeton.” The