Free The Wedding Chase by Rebecca Kelley

moronic. “He even played her lady’th maid, tying her bonnet and replathing her eyeglatheth afterward.”
    “We are due a little more fun.” Newton spotted Miss Fleetwood sitting across the room with Lady Selby, her gaze straying frequently to her side where Northcliffe stood, restless as a pendulum, switching his balance from one foot to the other. “Which would be more amusing, to facilitate or interfere? Or throw in a complication and watch the results.”
    “But what complication?” Isadora’s eyes followed Newton’s. “He is acting like a fool over that slut.”
    “Tut, tut. Jealouthy ith not becoming.” Melbourne twittered. “Hard to call one a thlut when one’th rigged out like an aging maiden aunt.”
    “Ah, Melbourne, you have unwittingly hit upon a plan.” Newton stroked the silk wall covering as he continued to stare at the couple across the room. He scarcely saw Miss Fleetwood, so focused was he on Northcliffe. Northcliffe who took any woman he wished, on his terms, leaving others the remains. “The masquerade. Miss Fleetwood is deserving of a costume that clearly reveals her charms. My valet will call on Lady Selby’s butler and help him find the
only
costume that will possibly fit her.”
    The borrowed maid applied the finishing touches to the plumed headdress and the ringleted, powdered wig.
    “Look in the glass, miss. You’re a princess, straight out of a fairy tale.”
    Zel turned, afraid to face her reflection. She felt naked despite the yards of rich cloth. Picking up the skirts, she gingerly approached the glass. Lord! She was naked! Pulling at the chiffon-and-lace stomacher was futile, it barely covered her nipples, and the corset pushed her up so high she could almost lay her head down on a pillow of her own breasts.
    “I cannot go out in public in this.”
    “Miss, there’s nothin’ wrong with showin’ a bit of bosom.”
    “But not the whole thing. What a disaster. There must be another costume.” Zel blinked back the threatening tears. “I picked out a shepherdess gown just yesterday.” She had been excited as a child, anticipating this masquerade, and now …
    “There isn’t another, miss, I asked the butler. This is the only one left that’ll come close to fittin’ you, you bein’ so very tall and slender and, ah, full on top. And there’s no time before the ball to be takin’ in or lettin’ out seams and hems.” The plump maid curtsied. “Now, miss, I have another lady to dress and the first dance only minutes away.”
    “Go ahead.” She sighed, hands brushing over the sleek fabric. “Thank you.”
    Zel stood before the glass again, fearlessly taking stock of what she saw. The dress was beautiful. The tight, open bodice and overskirt were of a brilliant aqua watered silk. The ecru chiffon stomacher and underskirt were lightly laced and flounced, trimmed with gold ribbon and underlined with the aqua silk. More of the ribbon-trimmed lace circled her neck and the hem of her sleeves. She did look like a fairytale princess, down to the low-heeled brocade slippers on her feet. That neckline—Zel Fleetwood would never wear a gown cut so dangerously low. But Madame Pompadour would, without a single qualm.
    Could she play the part? Could she masquerade asJeanne-Antoinette, marquise de Pompadour, just for tonight? Be the mistress to King Louis XV?
    Zel lifted the aqua demimask to her face. She did not even recognize herself, how would anyone else? With the additional guests from throughout the countryside attending this event, she would be lost in the crowd. She could whirl among the masked and costumed throng, coy and flirtatious as she had never been.
    Inhaling deeply, she straightened her shoulders and pulled at the bodice quickly, fearful her breasts would escape the confines of the stomacher, but the gown stayed in place. She bent in a deep curtsy and still the gown clung firmly to her skin. At least exposing herself completely was one less thing to fret