Free MISTRESS TO THE MARQUIS by Margaret McPhee

further.
    * * *
    Before heading to the Green Room within the Theatre Royal that night, Alice called in at the dressing room that Sara shared with two other actresses.
    ‘Oh, Alice, I’m not ready yet! I just can’t get my hair to sit right. All the curls have fallen out because of that damn wig! Look at the state of it!’ Sara wailed.
    ‘Just leave it as it is, Sara!’ one of the other actresses said. ‘Or we’re all going to be late for the Green Room and Kemble will have something to say about that.’
    ‘You two go on ahead and keep Kemble happy. I’ll help Sara with her hair,’ Alice said.
    ‘If you’re sure, Alice?’ They did not look certain.
    ‘Go! The pair of you!’ Alice ordered with a grin.
    The two younger women smiled and hurried away, while Alice, elbows akimbo, hands on hips, turned to where Sara sat before a peering glass, her hair lying limp and straight from three hours of compression beneath a hot heavy wig.
    ‘Lucky for you I’m a dab hand with hair that’ll not take a curl. Now, missus.’ Using just her fingers she scraped Sara’s hair back into a ponytail, twisted it round, gave it a flick and secured it in place with just three pins.
    ‘Alice, you’re a wonder!’
    ‘I am, indeed,’ Alice teased. ‘Now, come on, get yourself moving, girl.’ She turned to leave.
    ‘Just before we go through...’ Sara put a hand on her arm. ‘The gaming evening at Dryden’s, the one I told you about last week.’
    ‘It is still on, isn’t it?’
    ‘Yes.’ Sara smiled and gave a nod, but there was a slight look of unease in her eyes. ‘It’s just...well...I was talking to Fallingham about it last night and it seems that he’s invited Razeby.’
    Razeby. Just his name made Alice’s heart skip a beat.
    Sara screwed up her face in an expression of awkward apology. ‘Sorry!’
    ‘What’s to be sorry about?’ Alice gave a smile. ‘It doesn’t matter to me whether Razeby’s there or not. I’ve already told you, it’s fine between us.’
    ‘Really?’
    ‘Really,’ Alice reassured her.
    ‘I hope so, or it’s going to be an awfully uncomfortable evening.’
    ‘You don’t have to worry about that, honestly.’ Such confidence. Truly worthy of her best performance upon the stage.
    Sara smiled her relief.
    ‘Now come on.’ Alice slipped her arm through Sara’s. ‘Kemble will be wondering where on earth we’ve got to. Better make sure you dazzle him with that new hairstyle of yours.’
    Sara gave a giggle as the two of them hurried from the dressing room towards the Green Room, to dazzle and sparkle, to tease and entice. But beneath all of Alice’s air of glamour and charm was the constant knowledge that tomorrow would bring Dryden’s and a night spent gaming with Razeby.

Chapter Eight
    D ryden’s Gambling Palace was busy. It was a luxurious affair that rivalled Watier’s, with tables to cater to every taste and every pocket. The top room had a chandelier reputed to have real diamonds amongst its glass. Entry was by invitation only and the stakes could stretch to match the highest in all of London.
    The room was spacious, airy, the walls papered in plum-coloured paper embellished with real gold patterning. The floor was tiled in marble imported from Italy, black and gold to match that of the blinds that masked the windows. There were no footmen, only the prettiest girls dressed up in footmen’s livery who served free drinks to the men who came here to game.
    Along the full length of one wall was a bar that housed any drink a man might desire, whatever the time of day. On the opposite side was an enormous Palladian-style fireplace of black marble. The walls themselves were hung with expensive works of art depicting Rubenesque women and wondrous exotic landscapes. But no clocks. Not a single one.
    A champagne fountain flowed in the centre of the room, the filled glasses from which were being served and replenished all around. There was a faro table in one corner, casino in