Выбрать главу

I instantly forgave him for doubting my ability to separate the duke’s assistance on one investigation from his role in another. “You found him.”

“Baby steps, Georgia. This man covers his tracks well.”

I was nearly jumping with anticipation. “What have you learned?”

“Do you know Weldon Parrish?”

“Bookshop owner, antiquarian collector, hates women who own shops.” I’d once tried to broker a deal with him over an old copy of the Psalms. I didn’t plan to do business with him again.

“He came here yesterday at my request. The sort of request Adam Fogarty and his friends can deliver.”

Sir Broderick seldom used muscle, preferring persuasion. “Why did you—?”

“Parrish was the one spreading the Gutenberg Bible rumor.”

“He has the copy my parents were killed for?” I’d kill him myself if he did.

“I don’t think so. I told him I didn’t care why, I just wanted the truth about the book. He was finally convinced to tell me he was acting for a South African collector who has decided to take his book off the market.”

“And you think this South African—?” I was halfway out of my chair.

“No. Sit down. The man most interested in buying the book was tall and blond with a faint accent. He gave his name as Mr. Jones. Parrish said it’s obviously fake, but his money is real. A fortune, apparently. His description of Mr. Jones matches yours of the killer.”

“Does he have an address for Mr. Jones? How does Mr. Parrish get in contact with him?”

“Parrish claims he doesn’t have any way to get in touch with him. The man seeks out Parrish. Parrish says he seems to know when he’s heard back from the seller.”

“I don’t believe Mr. Parrish.”

“Neither do I, but that’s what I learned.”

*

THE NEXT DAY, we closed the bookshop at noon so we could get cleaned up, put on our best corsets and shifts, and hide the jeweled daggers Jacob had brought us in our bags before we left for Lady Westover’s.

We were shown into the parlor where Madame Leclerc and her assistant waited. “Oh, good. Try on the dresses, ladies. I can’t wait to see you in them,” Lady Westover said. Her eyes glowed with excitement.

Emma went first. In her dress, with her mask and the jewels the duke had sent over that morning, I wouldn’t have recognized her. She was beyond regal. She was mesmerizing, icy, devastating, and she hadn’t even done her hair yet.

Madame Leclerc looked her over and said, “There is one more detail.” She brought out a sash in the same fabric and fastened it from one of Emma’s shoulders to the other side of her waist, mimicking the sashes royalty wore.

I reached into her bag and pulled out the diamond-encrusted dagger. I handed it to Emma and said, “Think this will be a good addition to the sash?”

She smiled beneath her half mask. “Perfect.”

“Daring,” Madame Leclerc proclaimed and fitted it to the sash by the fastener on the back of the dagger’s sheath at Emma’s waist.

“That is certainly unique, although not quite what I had in mind.” Lady Westover glanced over at me and raised her eyebrows. I shrugged in reply, knowing she couldn’t imagine the dangers we might face. I didn’t like not knowing what we’d encounter. She turned toward Madame Leclerc and announced in a firm tone, “Now, let’s get Emma out of her dress and get Georgia into hers.”

I expected my appearance to be a disappointment after seeing beautiful Emma so exquisitely dressed. After helping me into my petticoat, Madame Leclerc and her assistant lifted my dress over my head and lowered it into place. They buttoned the back, fastened the sash, and put on my mask. Then they put the tiara on my messy hair and hooked the necklace so it lay cold against my chest.

Finally, they led me over to a full-length looking glass. The eyeholes in the mask were large enough that I could see most of my reflection. Once I got past the décolletage, what I saw amazed me.

The dress flickered and rustled like flames around me. Emma, wearing a wrap over her corset and stockings, brought the ruby-handled dagger to me, and Madame Leclerc hung it from my sash. I looked like a Renaissance queen or an avenging goddess in a fairy tale. Except for my hair, which needed taming, I didn’t look like me.

I took a few steps away from the mirror and then returned. Emma and Lady Westover applauded. The skirt shimmered around me. The woman looking through the mask at me was no bookseller. She was a warrior, passionate and invincible.

“Yes, you will do very well.” Madame Leclerc and her assistant reversed the process, and when they finished, one of Lady Westover’s maids handed me a wrap to cover myself and keep me warm.

The dressmakers left to a round of thanks and then Lady Westover invited us to a late tea of cakes and sandwiches to hold us over until the midnight supper at the ball. Our best corsets were never designed for a full meal in our stomachs, and I was too nervous to eat more than one sandwich.

“How are we traveling to Arlington House?” I asked.

“By unmarked carriage. The two of you will arrive alone, and when asked for your names so you can be announced, say, ‘The Ice Queen and the Fire Queen.’ You are to arrive precisely at ten while the ball is in progress.”

“These are the Duke of Blackford’s orders?” I asked.

“Yes. It would so help if we knew what he has in mind.” Lady Westover wrung her hands. I’d only seen her do that once before, when her grandson disappeared in the course of an investigation.

I laid one of my hands on top of hers. “It’ll be all right. I’m sure the duke wouldn’t do anything to put us in danger.”

“Are you coming to the ball tonight?” Emma asked.

“Dear me, no. Balls are for young people. Besides, I need my beauty sleep. Waxpool is coming over tomorrow for a full report.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Do you two need a chaperone?”

She laughed. “No, just a full account after this affair ends.”

The longest part of readying for the ball was Emma doing her hair and then attacking mine. She called Lady Westover’s maid in for her assistance, holding strands of my hair while she pinned others. When they finished, an explosion wouldn’t have upset my coiffure.

Only then did Lady Westover’s lady’s maid help us into our clothes, necklaces, and masks, while Lady Westover outfitted us with our tiaras. The clock downstairs struck the half hour as we finished.

“How do I look?” I asked.

“I wouldn’t recognize you if I attended the ball tonight. And I’m certain there won’t be another costume like yours.”

I smiled at the dowager and started to leave the room.

“Oh. This won’t do,” she said behind me.

“What?”

“Long gloves. I almost forgot. Two pair, please,” she said to her maid.

When the maid returned, Emma slid on her twenty-button gloves and only needed to work three buttons at the wrists like a pro. I fumbled mine at first and needed help with the buttons from elbows to wrists. “Where is the mirror?” I asked when we finished.

“Downstairs in the parlor.”

My arms were bare from above the elbows to my flouncy little sleeves, but they were covered compared to my chest. When I looked in the mirror, the first thing that caught my eye was how much milky white breast appeared below the large ruby necklace. The part of my face not covered by the mask flamed in embarrassment. I felt as if I were flaunting myself.