The Disdainful Marquis by Edith Layton Page A

pass and merely said, “I lived with my brother-in-law and stepsister.”
    “And I lived with the pixies at the foot of the garden,” Violet mocked, sweeping into her room and going straight to her looking glass.
    Catherine looked nonplussed as Violet stripped the ribbon from her hair and examined her face in the mirror.
    “Oh, all right, I’ll play the game too,” Violet said wearily. “You lived with your brother-in-law and stepsister. Is it your first time in London then, s’truth?”
    “Yes, and it’s all been so strange to me.”
    “Lord,” Violet sighed, “I’m going to be going across the face of Europe with Juliet. Well, you really landed in gravy hiring on with the dowager. She’s a right old sort once you learn her ins and outs. Just watch your step with her, though. She’s half tiddly, but the other half comes up when you least expect it. I remember once when Rose snuck out with that wild major before the duchess was ready to call it a night. Wasn’t there an uproar about that, though? I thought old Rose was going to be chucked out in no time flat. But all was rosy again in the morning. Rose could never pick them. All for love, that’s Rose. And not a penny in her pocket now to show for it. Not that I’m in clover either now, but after this jaunt I expect to have a few guineas put away, and you never know what gravy boats there are in Paris, do you?”
    Catherine didn’t know what to answer. Evidently Violet and Rose had both been up to some larks when the duchess’s back was turned, and she supposed that the tedium of working for the duchess had to be relieved by some shows of spirit, but she honestly had no similar experiences to relate. So she simply smiled in a hopeful, friendly way at Violet.
    Violet caught Catherine’s expression in the reflection of her mirror. She stared thoughtfully. So the little miss was going to play it all airs and graces and not let her hair down? So be it, it takes all kinds, she thought. Rose had been more forthcoming, a right sort of girl. If this little chit wanted to play at being a society debutante, it was her business. And her dark hair and gamine looks and air of innocence might be a good contrast to Violet’s own more spectacular looks. Just as Rose’s blond buxom placidity had been a good foil for her own Titian vivacity.
    But then, just for one moment, Violet caught one clear look of both their faces reflected in the oval of the mirror. Catherine’s pure fine-grained white skin contrasted with her own powdered complexion; Catherine’s clear startling blue eyes, with her translucent skin that allowed a faint blue tracery of veins to color her lids, contrasted with her own heavily soot-darkened lids and lashes; and the younger girl’s faint blush of color above her cheekbones contrasted with her own heavily rouged cheeks. Then there was the chit’s plump and dusky lips as opposed to her own richly red salved mouth, and, most damningly, the faint web of lines at the corners of Violet’s eyes were not echoed on the girl’s smooth face. No, Violet decided, only from across a room could the contrast between them be to her own benefit. She knew her assets as well as any banker knew his financial situation. Her own full figure and brazen coloring would catch the gentlemen’s eyes long before they noticed the quiet beauty of this little miss. But standing side by side, Violet could only suffer by comparison. Her decision was made unerringly and irrevocably—she would stay away from Miss Innocence, stay far away in public, for her own good. And as far as when they were alone, time would tell if the chit would drop her air of sanctity.
    “I’m for a quick kip,” Violet yawned, and, without further comment, she began to unbutton the bodice of her gown. She stripped down her clothes, as though she were alone in the room. Catherine hastily retreated, calling a good-bye that was only acknowledged by a nod and another huge yawn.
    Really, Catherine