Lady Pirate (11 page)

He knew what that meant;
Daniel, now that you know you have to marry to inherit your dear grandmama's money, I am arranging a party to parade available females by you. Is there anyone you prefer?

“Nay.”

His mother blinked. “Well, then, I shall just do my best.”

Translation, he thought dryly:
Every available female in England shall be invited
.

“Do not bother; I will be unable to attend,” he began. Suddenly he paused. “On second thought, I do have someone I wish invited.”

His mother's expression, which had begun to turn down with displeasure, abruptly lightened. “Yes, dear?”

“Lady Ainsley.”

Her face fell with displeasure again. “Not that woman! Oh, Daniel, you cannot be interested in her! She is the talk of the ball. My God, her face fell off in Lady Beecham's wine. And her uncle is an absolute horror. Completely barbaric, from what I have heard. He—”

“She had an unfortunate experience with some bad makeup, Mother. It was not her fault, and she was humiliated by it.” He somehow doubted that the lady in question had really felt much more than a touch of embarrassment—amazing, considering that the situation would have crushed most young women attending a soiree—but his mother need not know that. “As to her uncle, she can hardly be held accountable for his behavior. If you wish me to attend your party, you will invite Lady Ainsley. Otherwise I shall be quite unavailable. For the foreseeable future, I shall attend only balls that she is attending.”

His lady mother's mouth dropped open, her eyes wide as she gazed on him. Then she fairly beamed at him. “Oh, Daniel! Of course, I shall invite the dear girl then.”

“You were a success!”

Valoree paused halfway down the stairs to peer at One-Eye warily. He closed the front door, waved a small piece of paper at her, then snatched up a small stack of four or five more and hurried toward her.

“See! Invites, all of them. Soirees, balls, the lot,” he announced with glee, waving the invitations under her nose. “See, there weren't nothing to worry about. I knew ye'd do just fine.”

“Do just fine at what?” Henry asked, catching the tail end of One-Eye's comment as he came down the stairs behind Valoree.

“At being a lady,” One-Eye explained, grinning widely as he flashed the invitations at the older man. “Invites. Five of them. She must have done us proud last night. She's been invited to more balls and such.”

“Pity invitations,” Valoree muttered, pushing the papers he held out of her face with disgust and continuing past him down the stairs.

Quick to speak up, Henry followed her with One-Eye on his heels. “Oh, now, I don't think them nobles we met last night would send invites to their sworings out of pity.”

“Soirees,” Valoree corrected automatically as she crossed the hall. “But aye. Mayhap you are right. Mayhap they invited me for the entertainment value!”

“Entertainment?” One-Eye asked, moving to
Henry's side as they followed her into the small morning room.

Valoree had refused to discuss the evening's debacle once they had returned home last night. She had simply stridden upstairs and straight to her room, rolling her eyes as she'd heard Henry telling the others that all had gone “well enough.” So much for the man's leading her to believe that they would give the sorry task up.

Now she ignored One-Eye's questions to glare at Meg. The older woman was already seated at the table, and she looked pretty bright and chipper for someone who had drunk herself into unconsciousness the night before. Her aunt merely smiled blandly back.

Petey entered then with a rack of fresh loaves of bread, still steaming, and Valoree's attention turned to her rumbling stomach. Nodding to the dark-haired, solemn man, she moved toward him as he set the bread on the table.

“Oh, come now. It weren't that bad,” Henry soothed. “Ye did real fine for yer first night out.”

“Real fine?” Forgetting food briefly, Valoree spun on him in fury. “
Real fine?
A great chunk of my face fell off into the hostess's glass! You call that
fine?
”

“What?” Meg gasped with horror.

“Her makeup,” Henry explained quickly, then glared at Petey. “It dried, cracked, and fell off her face. She left a trail of face flakes from one end of Beecham's ballroom to the other.”

“What are you looking at
me
for?” Petey asked, eyes narrowing. “I had nothing to do with it.”

“Nothing to do with it?” Henry sputtered. “You made the muck up!”

“I didn't make nothing up!” Petey snapped back, drawing himself up proudly. “What do you take me for? I don't know how to make that muck noblewomen put on their face. I cook.”

Henry scowled. “I sent One-Eye down to have you make something up for her to wear on her face.”

“And I set aside the cake I was making and went down to the docks to see if I could find someplace to buy some proper makeup,” the man snapped impatiently. “I wasted two hours searching for some, and when I come back, what do I find? You're gone, my cake batter is gone, my raspberries are gone—”

“Ahha!” Valoree interrupted, turning to glare at both Henry and One-Eye. “I told you it tasted sweet when you got some on my lips.”

“Aye, that you did,” Henry muttered. He turned to glare at One-Eye. The man raised his hands helplessly.

“How was I to know it was cake batter? You said to go down and see what Petey had whipped up to put on the captain's face. I went down. Petey wasn't around, and there it was. White gooey stuff. It looked like it could have been makeup to me.”

“Let me get this straight,” Meg interrupted quietly from her place at the table. “You took Lady Valoree to a soiree with cake batter on her face?”

“And raspberries smooshed into my cheeks and on my lips,” Valoree added with disgust.

“Raspberries?” Meg stared at Henry with dismay. He shifted uncomfortably.

“Well, it worked. Her face was white—”

“Until it fell off,” Valoree snapped.

Ignoring her, Henry continued. “And her lips and cheeks was red like all the rest of them ladies at the swarming.”

“All the rest of the ladies at the
soiree
didn't have people picking raspberry seeds off their cheeks all night long,” Valoree snapped.

“Oh, dear.” Meg sank back into her seat, her face dropping weakly into one open hand.

Valoree was gratified by this display of horror until she noticed the way the other woman's shoulders were
shaking. She was laughing! “It was not funny!” she said in a snarl.

“Nay, of course not,” Meg said at once, though the words came out with a few chortles. “It is not funny at all,” she agreed again, trying for solemnity and failing desperately as a chuckle began to rumble from her belly upward. “Oh d-dear.” She gasped apologetically, fighting valiantly to keep the laughter in, but the moment she looked at Valoree, it exploded out of her mouth on a hiccup of sound that quickly grew into a full-blown laugh. “Oh m-my! C-cake batter for makeup.”

“And raspberry cheeks,” One-Eye added with a grin that died the moment Valoree turned her sour gaze on him. “Well,” he said unhappily, “it seemed like a good idea at the time.”

Grunting, Valoree glanced toward the steaming bread on the table. Her stomach rumbled. Before she could move toward the food, however, Meg suddenly sobered and looked questioningly at Pete. “Were you able to find the makeup in question?”

The Greek scowled. “Nay. I told you it was a wasted trip.”

“I see. Well, that shall be our first order of business this morning, then,” she decided solemnly, rising to her feet.

“What?” Valoree asked suspiciously, tearing her gaze from the food.

“Going out to purchase some proper makeup. We cannot have another night like your last.” She headed for the door, but paused beside Henry. “Did it really fall into Lady Beecham's glass?”

Grimacing, Henry nodded. Meg shook her head, amusement twinkling in her eyes briefly before she sobered again and ordered, “You'd best fetch some of that gold, Henry. We shall need it.” She sailed through the door then, adding, “Come along, Valoree. The
bread will still be there when we return.”

“Not bloody likely with Bull and One-Eye around,” Valoree muttered, snatching up the biggest loaf, and a good-sized hunk of cheese, before following the woman. As she passed a frowning Henry, she said sweetly, “Ye'd best be fetching some of that there gold, Henry. Or have ye changed yer mind and decided we can return to the sea, after all?”

The last part was more a hope than anything else. Valoree would have dearly loved to give up this humiliating venture and return to their lives on the sea, but she knew even as she voiced the words that none of the men was likely to give up yet. She figured she had a great deal more humiliation left to suffer before they would call it quits. And why not? They weren't the ones having to suffer.

 

“Which do you like best, Valoree?”

Sighing, Valoree peered at the small pots of red color and frowned. She did not have much patience at the best of times, and this little expedition seemed to be evaporating what tiny bit she did have rather quickly. They were supposed to have come in search of makeup. And they were…now.
Finally.
But they had left the town house several hours ago.

First, “Aunt Meg” had insisted on a stop at the tailor's to see about those dresses Henry had gone to order. Despite her irritation, Valoree had to admit that at least that had proved to be an intelligent move. The little land-rat had horrible taste, and the dresses he had decided on for her had all been atrocious. They were frilly, fluffy, busy little dresses that had made Valoree curse a blue streak when she saw the designs. He apparently didn't realize she was not a frilly, fluffy sort of woman. The tailor was an idiot. She had told him so as she had ripped up the designs he had made, then spent a grim hour hanging over his shoulder and di
rected him in sketching more acceptable gowns, slapping him in the head or bellowing in his ear every time he had tried to sneak in a ruffle or frill.

They had all—Meg, Valoree, and the tailor—been relieved when that was over. But then Valoree had climbed out of the carriage at the next stop to find they were at a perfumery. Entering the smelly place had given her an immediate headache, one that had stayed with her throughout the hour of sniffing and sampling Meg forced on her. The woman favored flowery odors, forever shoving them under Valoree's beleaguered nose until she'd finally ordered Henry to buy one of them for Meg to get her to leave off.

The woman had fairly beamed at the gift, though Henry had been less than pleased. Still, they had both left her alone to choose her own fragrance then. She had made her choice relatively quickly, picking one that reminded her of tropical breezes and the smell of the ship's hold after they took a galleon rich in spices. Meg had looked doubtful at her choice, but Henry had proclaimed it nectar and paid for it a little more happily than he had Meg's.

Now here they were, finally at the makeup shop. But this part of the expedition was going no faster than the rest of the trip. They had spent half an hour just choosing a foundation, the white base that was spread over a woman's face, neck, and bosom to hide skin problems or scars from the pox. And while Valoree did not have either of those problems, due to her years of sea and sun she had a slight tan—despite the captain's hat she always wore. And tans simply were not the thing at court. Ladies were to have lily white skin and rouged cheeks and lips.

A foundation made of white lead and vinegar had been what the shopkeeper obviously favored, but Valoree had refused to even consider it, no matter how many times he insisted it was the best. She had heard
that the concoction made the skin shrivel and turn gray. When he had finally given up on trying to sell her that, he turned to a long description of the other offerings he had; pastes made up of alum and tin ash, others featuring sulfur. She had chosen one with an egg white–and-talc base and stood firm on it despite his efforts to steer her back to the lead and vinegar.

Now they had moved on to the fucus, as he kept calling it—a most unattractive name for the variety of red face paints that were used on both the cheeks and lips. Once again he was insisting on describing their contents. There were madder-, cochineal-, and ocher-based compounds among them, but vermilion, made up of mercuric sulfide, was the one he kept drawing their attention to.

Valoree groaned. There were still kohl and concoctions to brighten the eyes to get through yet. Also, Valoree seemed to recall Meg muttering something about a wig. She envisioned hours of this nonsense ahead, and, frankly, she had already had more than enough. It was nearly the nooning hour and she was dying of thirst. She hadn't had anything to drink since the night before, and the fact that she had eaten the whole loaf of bread as well as the chunk of cheese in the carriage, polishing off a good portion of each on the way from the town house, then finishing them between shops, didn't help.

“Well? Do any of them appeal to you?” Meg asked.

Sighing, Valoree focused on the paint pots again, then shook her head. “I do not care.”

“Of course you do, dear. You—”

“Nay. I don't,” Valoree assured the woman grimly. “I am hungry and—”

“How can you be hungry?” Henry asked peevishly. “You ate that whole loaf of bread yerself.”

Valoree's mouth began to twitch at the resentment in the old man's voice. She had been aware of his
hungry-eyed glances at her loaf and cheese, but had ignored them, still irritated that he'd reneged on his claim last night that they would give up this fool's errand of trying to find a husband.

Forcing her amusement aside, Valoree shrugged. “Well, I am. And I am also thirsty. I have not had a drop to drink since last night. So the two of you can make the choices,” she announced, turning toward the door. “I am in search of…refreshment.” She said the word dryly as she walked out of the shop, knowing Henry would gather her true meaning. She wanted a damn drink. A real drink. Rum, or whiskey, or—

“Ah, Lady Ainsley. What a surprise.”

Valoree gasped and stepped to the side to avoid colliding with Lord Thurborne as the man suddenly appeared before her, but she did not slow her step. She was too damned thirsty to be bothered with the irritating nobleman. Rather than leaving her to her own devices, the pest fell quickly into step beside her.

“I see I caught you without your blade again,” he said lightly, reminding her of her last comment the night before. She had been frustrated to find the knife missing when she had finally gained the wall, but it had only been knocked off to land on the other side. She had snatched it up on her way to the carriage.

“Aye. More's the pity,” she muttered now.

“Then I suppose I am safe,” he teased. Then, before she could comment, he asked, “Where is it we are headed exactly?”

“
I
am headed for a tav—” Catching herself, she cleared her throat and tried for a less irritated and more ladylike answer. “I am searching for an establishment in which I might partake of refreshment.”

“Alone?”

Valoree rolled her eyes at the question. She had been doing things alone since she was eleven. Disguised as a boy, mind you, but alone nonetheless. Ladies, of
course, would not take refreshment unescorted—especially in this less than ideal part of town.
Damn!
The rickety little shop that Meg had directed them to was in an area that had once been quite upmarket and expensive, but that was years earlier. Now the buildings were crumbling and the shops were gradually moving out, a less pleasant element moving in.