Kate had only a few moments to scan the startlingly colorful sea of guests for a familiar face before a large woman with a more-than-ample bosom, swathed in yards of purple satin, swooped down upon them. Her hair was tightly crimped, and a myriad of tiny sausage curls fluttered about her heavy face. Kate blinked at the two enormous purple ostrich feathers implanted atop her head, which swayed precariously as she walked.
“Ah, my dear March. And your new countess. So delighted you could come. Quite unusual you look, my dear. Marie Antoinette, I daresay. And you, my lord March, so disobliging of you not to come in costume. But no matter.” She beamed at them, revealing large, protruding teeth.
“You look quite dashing, Constance,” Julien said when the lady halted her monologue for a moment. “Yes, this is Katharine, my wife.”
Lady Haverstoke favored Kate with a tap on the arm with her ivory brisé fan. “The hair creates quite an effect, my dear. So very white, ah, but you are in good company.” Lady Haverstoke pointed her ubiquitous fan in the general direction of a small knot of elderly women, each attired more outrageously than the other. “Lady Waverleigh and that monstrous pink wig. That lady in the lavender silk, Elsbeth Rothford, how very youthful she would like to appear. And, of course, there’s Lady Ponsonby, surrounded by her gallants— her court, as I call it.” She looked expectantly to see some signs of agitation in Katharine, but seeing none, hid her disappointment and added for effect, “Scandalous, in my opinion. Cleopatra, she informs me, and garbed in that clinging wisp of material. And her toenails painted gold.” Still observing no noteworthy response from either the earl or the countess, she contented herself with the fact that the evening was far from advanced.
“My dear Lady Ranleigh!” And Lady Haverstoke was gone with amazing speed away from them, soon lost to view among a throng of guests.
“Lord Haverstoke must be either a man of great forbearance or deaf,” Kate said, staring after their hostess.
“Lord Haverstoke had the good sense to depart this world some years ago.” Julien wished he could see behind her mask to see what effect Lady Haverstoke’s malicious and quite calculated words had on her.
“Come, sweetheart,” he said then, taking her arm, “I believe I’ve located our lord of the manor, battle-ax and all.”
“Oh, and there is Hugh, Julien. He looks terribly somber, does he not? All that black satin.”
“Don’t I look equally as somber?”
“How ridiculous— of course not. You look rather dignified, perhaps like a very young statesman.”
“High tribute, certainly. If ever I take an active role in the House of Lords, my first act will be to condemn auburn hair.”
“Then you will find that your bills for white powder will grow monstrously.”
“Julien, at least have the decency to tie on your mask,” Percy said, thrusting forward his hand and shaking Julien’s heartily. “You look like some sort of hellfire parson bent on destroying the world.”
“Kate tells me I appear more like a statesman,” Julien said, smiling as he got the full effect of Percy’s grandeur, his noble proportions encased in a jerkin of light-yellow wool. His battle-ax dangled from a large leather belt about his waist.
“How grand you look, Percy, so very impressive.” She laughed in delight when he tried to favor her with a gallant bow. “Ah, good evening to you, Hugh.”
“Katharine. If my memory doesn’t fault me, you have copied Pompadour’s gown. I must commend your originality and the skill of your modiste. An unusual lady the Pompadour was, to say the least.”
Kate sensed more than observed a stiffening in Julien at Hugh’s appraisal. She said quickly, “The portrait took my fancy, Hugh. But you know, the black patch is most bothersome. It itches excessively.”
“Well, I would most willingly exchange your patch for this deucedly cumbersome ax,” Percy said, shooting a look at Hugh. “Never should have let him talk me into wearing it.”
“Me talk you—”
“March,” Percy continued, ignoring Hugh’s astonishment, “you don’t mind if I dance with Kate, do you?”
“If Kate doesn’t fear for her toes, I suppose I can make no argument.”
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