Earl of Scandal (London Lords) by Mary Gillgannon Page A

like someone else—someone sophisticated and exotic.
         She bit her lips to redden them, then made a pouting moi .  To enhance the effect, she tilted up her chin and lowered her eyelashes.
         Heavens!  When she did that, she appeared as a wanton, or, at least what she supposed a wanton looked like.  Perhaps she merely resembled the illustration in the eight-year-old copy of “Le Beau Monde” they had found in the attic. 
          She made a hideous face, then attempted the sultry expression again, fascinated by the transformation.
         “Admiring your beauty, are you?”  Elizabeth’s gentle voice broke into Merissa’s reverie.  “I must say, you look stunning.”  She wrapped her arms around Merissa’s shoulders and stood on tiptoe to kiss her sister’s cheek.
         “Oh, Elizabeth.”  Merissa fondly returned the embrace.  “You’ve done wonders.  The dress looks exactly like the picture, and my hair...”  She fingered the silk roses and gave a satisfied sigh.
         “I’m pleased you like it.”  Elizabeth stepped back and examined her critically.  “But I wish I could have found a lighter shade for the underskirt. I’m not certain the bright pink is all the thing.”
         “But the rest of it is perfect,” Merissa insisted.  “The high waist, the short puffed sleeves, the lace bodice.  And your dress...”  She nodded to Elizabeth’s attire, “although the design is simple, the green color makes your skin look like ivory and brings out the gold in your hair.”
         “You’re certain that the style is not scandalous?”  Elizabeth looked down at the square neckline that exposed her neck and shoulders. 
         “Nonsense.  It’s not as if the bodice is particularly low cut.  Why, in some of those pictures, the women look as if they might fall out of the gowns altogether!”  Merissa blushed. When she and her sister had first perused the magazine, she had briefly imagined herself in one of those outrageous styles, with her breasts half exposed to Christian Faraday’s eager examination.
         In the end she had selected something much more modest for Elizabeth to copy, with a high neck and demure lace bodice.
         “Well, I must pronounce myself quite pleased with the way we look,” Elizabeth said.  “While we may not be in the very height of fashion, we both appear very elegant.”
         “Have you heard if Richard will be there?”
         It was Elizabeth’s turn to blush.  “I don’t know, but it would be delightful if he did come.  At least then we would have someone to talk with.  I confess that I find the idea of entering a room full of strangers unsettling.  Of course,” she added quickly, “Lord Bedlington will be there. And we must remember what Papa has always told us, that a person’s worth cannot be measured by their clothes or other outward trappings.  When we are judged before God, it will be on the basis of our good works and what is in our hearts.”
         Merissa nodded.  “Indeed, we must not forget that truth.”
         Despite the reassuring words, she could not quite shake her own nervousness.  No matter how much she told herself that she did not care what the people at Darton Park thought of her, she knew that she did.  Tonight she was Cinderella, and she dreaded anything shattering her fantasy. “Is the brougham ready?” she asked.
         “Yes.  Bob has agreed to drive us so you needn’t worry about soiling your gloves.”
    Merissa felt a twinge of irritation.  She hated the way Bob drove.  He was too slow, too cautious.  But Elizabeth did have a point. Ladies did not drive themselves.  If they were to carry off this masquerade successfully, she must keep to her role.
    ~ ~ ~
    Lord and Lady Chester,” Ginter intoned as the middle-aged but still vigorous marquess and his petite, dark-haired wife entered the ballroom. Devon moved to greet his guests, but