Free The Adventuress: HFTS5 by Marion Chesney, M.C. Beaton Page B

Emily left. She sat there, in the blazing light cast by the huge overhead chandelier, her face very white, her hands shredding a handkerchief in her lap.
    The earl raised his quizzing glass and studied her. He barely knew her; he was sure no woman could hold any fascination for him merely because she was beautiful. But as he watched her, he felt a pang of compassion, an odd longing to shield her from the consequences of what he was convinced was her own folly.
    He muttered something under his breath, rose to his feet, and left the box.
    The earl was subsequently seen visiting box after box, finally ending up bowing before Emily. Fitz wondered what on earth his friend was up to. The noise from the pit grew louder and harsher. The diva on the stage was becoming very angry and was hurling the missiles thrown at her back at the audience. This was considered highly sporting of her, and after a little more shouting and noise the audience decided to give her a chance and settled down to listen.
    The earl returned during the interval. “Come, Fitz,” he said. “We have much to do. I am giving a rout—an impromptu rout at midnight.”
    “But everyone will stay for the ball after the opera! No one will come.”
    “Oh, yes they will. All declare themselves anxious to make the acquaintance of London’s latest star—Princess Anastasia Moussepof.”
    “Never heard of her. Who is she?”
    “You, my dear chap. You.”
    “Do you really think I should attend Fleetwood’s rout?” Emily asked Mrs. Middleton.
    “I think it would be wise, Miss Goodenough. Fleetwood is admired by all. The Prince Regent himself might come, if he hears of it.”
    “Then we
must
go,” cried Mr. Goodenough. “I have long been an admirer of the Prince Regent, and it has always been my dream to meet him.”
    “But I fear Fleetwood may be mocking us,” said Emily anxiously. “Another princess! He had that funny droll look in his eyes when he issued the invitation. I am so weary of being thought a princess. Unless something happens to divert society’s attention from me, then someone is going to become over-curious and unmask me.”
    “Perhaps this new princess will be just the thing,” said Mrs. Middleton.
    “But what if I am introduced to her as another princess and
she
starts questioning me?”
    “Then you must do what you have done with everyone else,” said Mrs. Middleton. “Deny that you are a princess. So far, no one seems to have believed you, but perhaps when they hear you tell this Princess Anastasia so, then they will come to accept you as Miss Goodenough. But you must admit, it
was
a good idea. You would not have met anyone in society had it not been for Lizzie’s idea.”
    “Who is Lizzie?”
    “The little scullery maid. A most superior person. Shhh! The opera is about to recommence.”
    Emily barely heard any of it. She felt the strain of being an impostor. It was bad enough being an ex-chambermaid—but to pretend to be a princess! Only the other week, some unfortunate had been hanged outside Newgate for pretending to be a peer of the realm. But that was an
English
peer. They surely could not hang someone for pretending to be a
foreign
princess. Why did Fleetwood look at her with that mocking, amused expression in his eyes?
    Poor Emily’s worries went on and on while the undistinguished opera by a little-known Italian composer dragged on to the end. The opera was followed by a farce, and then it was time to go to the Earl of Fleetwood’s house in Park Lane.
    As they left the opera house, Emily glanced at herself in one of the long mirrors. A beautiful and elegant lady looked back. “If only I could feel like a lady
inside,”
mourned Emily.
    On the way to Park Lane in their rented carriage, with the tall figure of Joseph clinging to the backstrap, each occupant was immersed in his and her private thoughts. Emily was deciding that it would be a relief, in a way, to be unmasked. This Season had been a great mistake. How could