Scandalous Regency Secrets Collection. Кэрол Мортимер

do you have on your face?” she asked as her sister pulled off a quilted satin sleeping mask, to blink furiously in the light. “My God, Mari, you’re green! And why were you wearing that mask? And...and where’s your hair?”

      “I am not green.”

      “You are so,” Dany said, hopping up onto the bed. She reached out to remove a bit of something that was hanging from Mari’s cheek. “And you’re molting. Ugh!”

      Mari put her hands to her face and likewise came away with a little bit of peeling greenery. “Now you’ve gone and ruined it, Dany. The instructions were to wear it for a full twelve hours in order to wake with a dewy, flawless complexion.”

      “Whose instructions?”

      “Mrs. Angelique Sweet, of course. She comes straight from Paris. And before you say it, no, she’s not a witch, like that old crone Mama used to visit in the village to buy her elixir, until Papa drank some and took it for himself. But her results are magical. She’s a highly respected...purveyor of beauty. All the best ladies of the ton seek her custom.”

      Angelique Sweet. I’d wager my best new gloves the woman’s real name is Agnes Clump and she hails from Cheapside.

      “And if all the best ladies of the ton stuck their fingers in their ears and quacked like ducks, I suppose you’d join them in that, too. I can see you all now, marching through the park on your way to wade in the Serpentine.”

      “You always think you’re smarter than me, but you aren’t. I have every confidence in Mrs. Sweet.”

      Dany sniffed the bit of dried potion, which smelled rather like apples, and then sniffed the air...which didn’t. “You have something on your hair underneath that toweling, don’t you? Or are you hiding a chicken leg you stole from the kitchens?”

      Her sister patted the wrapped toweling. “If you must know, Mrs. Sweet’s recipe for maintaining a lush, full head of hair does contain some...some chicken fat in it, I believe.” She rushed to add, “But she warned me that many women lose handfuls of hair when they’re increasing, and this is the one sure way to prevent that. Nourishing the...the follicles, whatever they are.”

      “Feeding the follicles. With chicken fat,” Dany said flatly. “I begin to understand the multitude of bottles and pots on your dressing table.” She reached out to put a hand on her sister’s. “Don’t you know you’re already beautiful?”

      “Yes, I suppose I do. Mama always says I am her beautiful daughter.”

      Dany rolled her eyes. Just when she wanted to hug her sister, she said something like that. Lord bless her, she never meant anything mean by what she said. Or perhaps that was the pity of the thing.

      Mari plucked at another thin apple scraping. “But being beautiful can be a curse as well as a blessing.”

      Dany pulled her legs up under her, cross-legged, and rested her elbows on her knees, pretending her sister had her fullest attention. “Not that I’d have reason to either understand or worry about that. But, please, do go on.”

      “I’d be happy to explain.”

      Sarcasm was something else that eluded Mari’s comprehension. It must be nice to be so completely and dedicatedly involved only with oneself.

      Mari unwrapped one side of the toweling and used it to wipe away the drying, flaking green potion. “It’s simple, really. Oliver saw me and was immediately smitten. He told me that, told me how beautiful I am. But I was four entire years younger then, Dany. If I’m to keep him, to hold him, I have to remain beautiful. And—” she sighed soulfully “—clearly I’m failing. Soon I’ll be a hag.”

      Dany was all attention now. She shifted uncomfortably on the bed. What had Coop said to her when she was wishing he’d shut up and kiss her? Oh, yes, she remembered. You’re so beautiful.

      “I think you’re wrong,” she said, partially to reassure herself. “Men always say things like that. Especially when they’re...when they’re being romantical.”

      “And how would you know that?”

      Dany blew out her cheeks, and then smiled. “I’ve read a few of Mama’s books.”

      Mari motioned for her to move so that she could put down her legs and get out of bed. “Oh, that’s too bad, Dany. I thought perhaps your betrothed kissed you.”

      “And what do you mean by that?” Dany asked, following her sister to the dressing table and the basin and pitcher of water that sat there. “Not the kissing. The way you said betrothed. As if you—how did you—Emmaline?”

      “It wasn’t her fault, so don’t fly up into the treetops, for goodness’ sake. After my initial jubilation, I got to thinking, that’s all. What would the hero of Quatre Bras see in my fresh-from-the-country sister? You only did it so that he could be closer at all times, to help me retrieve my letters. Really, Dany, I’m extremely grateful to both of you. What I don’t understand is how you’ll manage to cry off without looking the greatest fool in nature. Turning away the hero, that is.”

      “The debutante who turned off the hero. I imagine it will do wonders to enhance my reputation when I make my formal debut in the spring.”

      It seemed a reasonable answer. For three full seconds.

      Mari was bent over the washbasin but, unfortunately, every word she said was clear as the pealing of a bell—perhaps a death knell. “But, Dany, haven’t you realized yet? With me increasing, and probably huge by the spring, I can’t possibly chaperone you, and Mama swore she would rather have splinters stuck beneath her fingernails than try to ride herd on you in Mayfair. Your debut is going to have to be delayed again. How old will you be then? I mean, in real years?”

      “You missed a spot on your forehead,” Dany said dully once her sister was done scrubbing at her face and turned around. “I’m going to bed.”

      “Yes, all right. No, wait. Why did you come bursting in here in the first place?”

      “Oh. That. I was... I was just going to say that Coop believes we’ve identified the blackmailer, and you’ll have your letters well before Oliver comes home.”

      Mari gave a ladylike screech and held out her arms as she raced to gather her sister close. “Oh, you’re the best of sisters, Dany. Thank you.”

      “I’m your only sister,” she returned, attempting to avoid being coated with chicken fat and whatever else was clinging to Mari’s hair.

      “Yes, but you know what I meant. You didn’t say. Do you have a name for this horrid blackmailer? Is he anyone I know?”

      “No, Coop plays his cards quite close to his chest, as the saying goes,” Dany lied. “I’m just the make-believe fiancée, as you so kindly pointed out. I don’t know anything more on the subject. You’ll be fine. No matter what, Mari, Oliver loves you. Please remember that.”

      Her sister gave her another hug. “Thank you. I love him so much. And now we’re going to have a baby, and we’ll live happily ever after!”

      Dany struggled for humor. “Only if you don’t wear Mrs. Sweet’s concoctions to bed once he’s home. You’ve given me a lot to think about. Good night.”

       CHAPTER FOURTEEN

      COOP ARRIVED AT the Fleet before ten, having partaken of an early breakfast with Darby, who was now on his way to see Geoffrey Quinton.

      Divide and conquer wasn’t quite their strategy, but time was of the essence, so they’d split their chores between them.

      Besides, Darby had never really cared for Geoff, a man too slow with his brain and too quick with his fists, and had admitted to looking forward to watching the man squirm. “I’m a true believer in taking my pleasure where I can,” had