The Rake's Unveiling Of Lady Belle. Raven McAllan

expression she once more saw the young man she’d fallen headlong in love with all those years ago. Belinda wasn’t sure whether the lurch of her heart was in pleasure or pain.

      ‘Just so,’ he said. ‘This could be one way of extracting myself, without too much angst, or getting indigestion. If you agree.’

      Belinda made her mind up. There would be no way Rosemary would connect Madame Belle to plain Lady Belinda Howells, especially if Phillip didn’t. And in truth she was nosy enough to see how the woman had fared. ‘It will cost you.’

      ‘Anything will be worth it, to extract me from this with my body in one piece,’ Phillip said. ‘The lady doesn’t like to be thwarted.’

      ‘Then why on earth did you get involved with her?’ The Phillip she remembered was too wily to get caught, surely?

      He shrugged. ‘Stupidity and an itch to be scratched. Oh I beg your pardon, that was crass.’

      ‘Very, but if it’s true?’ Belinda spoke with an insouciance she didn’t feel. After all what did she really know about gentlemen’s itches? ‘But I assume you now wish you hadn’t thought she might be the one best served to help?’

      ‘Oh yes. So therefore I’m throwing myself on your mercy.’

      Belinda moved to the desk to add ink to her quill. ‘What were you thinking would suffice?’

      Half an hour later her head was reeling, and her coffers considerably heavier. Phillip didn’t stint.

      ‘If Lady Rattenberry doesn’t realise how lucky she is, then really she deserves nibbling to death by her namesakes,’ Belinda said to Tippen as they drank chocolate later that evening. ‘Seriously, Tipp…oh this is ridiculous. All this time and I still don’t know your given name.’

      Tippen reddened. ‘You do.’

      ‘I do not; you’ve only ever been Tippen.’

      ‘That’s because it is my name.’ Tippen rolled her eyes and shuddered. ‘Stupid though it sounds, my name really is Tippen. Tippen Smellie.’

      Belinda put her chocolate down on the table with a thump that threatened to spill the contents of the mug. She bit her lip and did her best not to laugh. Tippen shrugged and then grinned. ‘Go on, laugh, get it over with.’

      Belinda firmed her lips and shook her head.

      Tippen crossed her eyes, pulled out her mouth wide in an awful leer and stuck her tongue out. Then she waggled her fingers. ‘Shall I tickle you?’

      That was enough. Belinda laughed. ‘Oh my. Where did that come from?’

      ‘My papa’s grandmother was Tippen Smellie. Evidently it is an old family name given to the firstborn girl. I was the only one for two generations so I was saddled with it. Lady L suggested I use Tippen, because…well it sounds better than you calling me Smellie.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘Oh, Smellie…’

      Belinda snorted. ‘I see what you mean. Tippen it will always be, but at least I won’t feel so infernally offensive when I call you that now. I didn’t like the fact it seemed to show I felt superior to you when I didn’t. And as you well know, I am Belinda, but it’s never to be uttered, therefore Belle will suffice.’

      Tippen smiled. ‘You’re still my lady to me.’

      Belinda grinned. ‘Better than saying I’m your Madame. People might get the wrong ideas, if you go around saying that.’

      Tippen stared at her then put her hand over her mouth as she laughed out loud. ‘Oh my goodness.’ She spluttered as Belinda began to snigger. ‘Best not to, eh? So what exactly are we doing for the rodent?’ She twitched her nose, just like the said rodent did.

      ‘Oh Tippen, don’t or my sides will ache.’ The anguish over being so close to Phillip and not able to chat or get back to the innocent friendly approach they once had towards each other began to subside. It was what it was. ‘And we shouldn’t call her that now, should we?’ But it was oh so fitting.

      ‘Perhaps not but she is akin to one,’ Tippen said. ‘I saw her on one occasion, when I accompanied Lady Clarissa to the warehouses when you sprained your ankle. She was giving some poor man such a telling-off when he said he didn’t have the silk she wanted. Of course he didn’t; it was that ecru-shot bolt that we ordered, and Lady Clarissa had a ballgown made with. Somehow Lady Rattenberry must have decided she’d like some of it, and we subsequently found out she had interrogated every merchant around to find out who originally brought it in. Well of course she was out of luck. No merchant worth his salt would share what you had ordered or agreed upon.’

      ‘I remember Clarissa saying Lady Rattenberry had cut her dead at Almack’s. Apparently she was seething and hissed, “I might have guessed,” to Clarissa. She truly is stupid. Lady R, not Clarissa.’

      ‘And now you have to dress her.’

      ‘Well, yes, and I will do, and make sure she forever knows what she will never have again. To be “Dressed by Belle”.’

      ‘Perfect,’ Tippen said in an admiring tone. ‘I love it. Oh so very devious.’

      ‘Honest,’ Belinda said. ‘I might do it this once, partially for Phillip, but mainly for my own satisfaction of knowing I can make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear. Now enough of the woman. I suspect we’ll see and hear more than we want of her over the next week or so.’

      Two weeks later, Belinda began to realise just how prophetic her words were. Lady Rattenberry was on her third visit and still refused to agree to anything Belinda had suggested.

      ‘These are all rubbish,’ Lady Rattenberry said petulantly, with a spiteful gleam in her eye. ‘I can’t think why so many people admire your work.’ She plucked at the toile she had on. ‘I shall tell his lordship how misinformed he has been and make sure none of my friends ever want to use your services.’

      ‘They won’t get the chance,’ a new voice said pleasantly. ‘Hello, Rosemary, look who is with me.’ Clarissa strolled in arm in arm with her brother.

      Belinda bit her lip. She recognised the militant expression her friend wore and prayed Clarissa wouldn’t let her temper get the better of her. If it did, heaven knows what she would say or do. To her relief, Belinda watched Phillip give his sister a nip on her arm. Clarissa frowned but the expression lightened.

      ‘Only the best of the best are accepted here. Of course on occasion there is a slip-up.’ Her tone made certain Rosemary knew that this was one of those times. ‘My dear Madame Belle, I’m so sorry that my entreaty for you to help my brother in his hour of need should have come to this.’ The wink that accompanied the outrageous untruth was enough for Belinda to keep her mouth shut, and not put her feet into it.

      Rosemary stood slack-jawed. ‘Are you going to let your sister speak to me like this?’ she demanded of Phillip, once she seemed able to talk. ‘Hour of need?’

      ‘Five minutes then,’ Clarissa said in an ‘oh aren’t I helpful’ tone.

      ‘Clarissa, hush,’ Phillip said firmly. ‘I’m interested to hear what Lady Rosemary thinks.’

      Rosemary smirked. Phillip narrowed his eyes, and then nodded.

      Clarissa rolled her eyes, but kept her mouth shut. How Rosemary didn’t realise Clarissa did it to stop herself laughing Belinda had no idea.

      ‘She is rude and I won’t have it,’ Rosemary said petulantly. ‘She needs to apologise and leave us to sort this mess out.’

      ‘That’s a pity because I have no intention of asking her to cease offering her opinions, although this mess as you call it is easily resolved. If you can be rude to Madame Belle, who went against her better judgement to do this for me, why shouldn’t Clarissa be rude to you?’

      Rosemary went red, white and then red again. ‘She…’ she waved at Belle ‘…is a servant.’