Being Wicked. Lacy Danes

you need to straighten yourself up. No, what she needed was to futter. The herbs in the wine had taken full hold, but the act would have to wait. Something was amiss with what she had just witnessed. Though the herbs may have conjured that vision, she bit her lip. Doubtful. The herbs intensified lust, not conjured up escaping ladies. She forced her eyes open. Where was that fleeing woman?

      The room stood empty. She walked to the only window in the room and drew back the covers. Pitch-black darkness stared back through the windowpane. She could see nothing.

      Grace sighed, and the door to the room pushed open. A young woman, with mud spattered up her skirt, slid into the room. Her gaze darted around.

      She came into the house? Grace’s eyes widened. She would never have held the level of gumption to enter the home of a known courtesan at this woman’s tender age.

      “Good evening.”

      The young girl jumped.

      “All is well, no need to fright. I sighted your flight from the carriage. I was actually looking out the window here”—Grace pointed to the window behind her—“to see if I could find you.”

      The woman stood stock-still, eyes the color of a deer’s soft brown fur fixed on Grace.

      “All is truly well. I do not believe anyone else saw you. May I help you?” Grace stepped forward toward the girl. “Truly, I will not harm you.”

      The young woman bit her lip. “I was not expecting to be here. I followed my brother.”

      Grace nodded. “I will not ask his name. This is a party filled with anonymous encounters…that may turn into long-term endearments.” Endearments involving more than one, usually. Grace held back a frown as she reached the young woman’s side. “If you wish to blend in, your attire will not do.” Grace raised her hand and touched a strand of black hair that hung in a curl down the woman’s cheek. “You will need a mask, especially if you decide to partake in any of the goings-on. You cannot have someone find out you are of class and breeding.”

      The young lady sucked in her breath. “How did you know that?”

      Grace’s lips turned into a smile. “Your clothes…” Grace ran her finger along the well-made muslin on the woman’s arm. “Your hair…” She wrapped the onyx strand around her index finger. “The way you walk. It is all indicative of a lady.”

      “Who are you?”

      “I am a woman who was once like you—a young lady of breeding and class with no experience in the world. My proper name is not important. Please simply call me Grace.” Grace inwardly cringed that she just offered this woman her Christian name. Since everyone else here knew her as such, why should this girl call her something different?

      The young girl glanced around the room, then at Grace. “What kind of event have I arrived at?”

      “I hope it will be an event of education for you. You are at a ball for the underbelly of all of London. This is one of Emma Drundle’s Cyprian events.”

      “Oh! Oh, no!” The doe brown eyes of the petite woman closed and reopened, glossy from tears.

      “All is well.” This young woman feared for her reputation. Grace’s heart ached for her, but she deserved an education of what life was truly like before all her dreams shattered. She deserved to be educated about the enjoyment that could come with this kind of life.

      A tear fell from the young woman’s eye. Grace dragged the tips of her fingers along the woman’s cheek and caught the petal-soft drop.

      The strange girl squeezed her eyes shut. “My brother is here. This is all a big blunder. What is he doing?”

      “I know exactly how you feel. If you do wish to stay, I will help you to understand. Everyone here is not evil or bad. When I was your age, I was married off to a man who was twice my age. An important man in society. I had no clue about what marriage was. I had dreams of what life after marriage was filled with, and it was all wrong. What people had filled my head with was…” All rubbish. She couldn’t very well say that. She glanced at the young woman’s fisted hands. “Let me show you. Do not give me your real name, but what shall I call you?”

      The woman looked down at Grace’s belly and bit her lip. “I don’t know.”

      “Very well, I will give you a name for the night….” Grace trailed her finger along the young woman’s chin and lifted her head so her eyes met Grace’s. “You will be Veronica for tonight…Miss Veronica.” Grace rolled the name off her tongue and winked at the young girl.

      “Oh, I can’t play t-that part…. I—I—am not like that. I—I have…” The young woman’s face turned a beautiful shade of red.

      How delightful. The men here were going to devour her. Literally. She needed to prepare her for such an outcome. “Have you ever kissed a boy, Veronica?”

      “Pardon?”

      “You heard me, Veronica.”

      “Oh…um” Veronica looked down at her shoes and reached up and twirled a strand of hair about her finger. “Once.”

      “Delightful, was it not?”

      “But it is not right unless you are wed. Isn’t it?” Her huge brown eyes snapped up to Grace’s again.

      “I realize this is a lot of information for you to absorb, but we need to get you masked and veiled and ready before someone walks in here and sees you.”

      Veronica sucked in a sharp breath. “Oh, dear.”

      “Come with me.” Grace held out her hand. “I will get you turned about.”

      3

      The Intersection

      After trying several doors to apparently the wrong room, Lilly followed Grace into a well-appointed room with light blue and green cloth on the walls. She stood absolutely still a foot into the room. She inhaled a breath and tried to calm her rapidly beating heart. Her gaze darted around the bedchamber.

      Off to one side was a large wooden bed, covered in deep bluish purple silk, and a swath of purple gauze hung by the headboard. In the middle of the room was a thick, circular grass-green pillow. The pillow was larger than anything she’d seen. Surely, it could hold five or so people lying down.

      Lilly stared at the tufted cushion. After being cramped up in the blanket box for so long, stretching out on a divine pillow would be decadent. A sigh pressed past her lips.

      What was she thinking? Her hands trembled and she shook her head. Silly, foolish girl. She needed to find her brother and then leave this house. Not nap here. She would be entirely ruined if it was discovered she attended this…this…ball? What a jest—could simply being here ruin her if no one knew of her folly?

      She turned toward the woman who led her to this room. She stood, smiling at her. Grace. That was what she called herself. Lilly’s brow drew tight. She appeared nothing like a Grace. She was more of an Olivia or an Elizabeth or a Helene. She was something classic, simple but sophisticated.

      Grace certainly was a lady and all those things her name suggested, but she also was scandalous…Lilly fidgeted with the fabric of her skirt.

      Were many of the women who attended these events ladies of the ton? Women whom she would admire and see as mentors when she finally entered society?

      Green pins held Grace’s brown hair away from her face. With each turn of her head, her hair shimmered red in the candle glow. Her eyes were not green and not blue. Beauty glowed about her, though not in a strikingly handsome kind of way. She radiated sincerity and goodness. Lilly’s brows drew together. What a puzzle Grace made.

      “This, I surmise, is Emma’s room, Veronica.”

      Lilly swallowed hard; she would burst into flames and be sent straight to hell. She stood in Emma Drundle’s bedchamber.