Free The Scoundrel's Secret Siren by Daphne du Bois Page B

Street. Lady Hurst held her own mask by a long ebony handle, having claimed that the mystery of such evenings had long since paled for her and that she might just observe the evening from the comfort of the dowagers’ chairs. Her sparkling eyes rather belied the severity of her plans.
    Upon entering Almack’s , Lorelei was in awe. The marvellous ballroom had to be over a hundred feet in length, filled with beautifully dressed company: the most select of the Upper Ten Thousand. There were breath-taking gilt columns and the biggest mirrors Lorelei had ever seen.
    She caught sight of herself in one and wondered if she looked as nervous to the other guests. Her wide eyes stared back at her from behind her mask. The room was elegantly lit by beautiful cut-glass lustres: Lorelei had heard that the modern gas lighting had caused quite a stir when it was first installed here, but she thought she preferred the pale flickering of candles to the bright illumination. She had seen Pall Mall gorgeously illuminated by gaslight at night, but indoors it was somewhat unsettling.
    The young lady wasted no time in spotting Julia – even her mask could not hide her remarkable prettiness and recognizable chocolate curls, brought out by the dark blue of her own gown. As always, she seemed rather unaware of the stir she was causing among the gentlemen.
    “It is not at all fair that gentlemen should be permitted masks also,” Lorelei’s quiet friend observed by way of greeting. “The masks make them all so mysterious and dashing that it quite sets one’s head spinning.”
    Lorelei agreed wholeheartedly, and then laughed. “Ah, but here is one gentleman that ought to hold no mystery for you! Mr Farthingdon, talking to a lady in pink. I have never seen such high shirt points. I wonder if they will quite catch on at Watier’s?”
    The young ladies laughed at this. There was no mistaking Mr George Farthingdon, who had a remarkable fortune and, by all accounts, a remarkable lack of sense or taste. His ‘frightened owl’ hair, a veritable hit among the dandy set, gave the poor man a look of perpetual astonishment.
    “I can only wonder at the amount of starch his valet must go through in a week,” Julia whispered, giggling.
    The par ty proved to be full of enjoyment. Lorelei was not obliged to sit down for a single dance and her partners were most gracious and very droll. Next, however, she was obliged to dance with the odious Mr Farthingdon himself, who was an excellent dancer and very aware of his own skill. His every movement was elaborate, and the lady seemed to be there only to show off his genius on the dance floor. One could not but feel sorry for the unfortunate trying to keep up with Mr Farthingdon as a partner.
    Lorelei smiled her most charming smile and allowed the gentleman to lead her to join the set, while Julia gave her an encouraging smile. Julia was such a kind soul that she somehow managed to feel sorry even for Mr Farthingdon, who was almost as insufferable in conversation as he was during the cotillion.
    Joining the other couples in the circle formation, Lorelei returned her partner’s elaborate bow with as graceful a curtsey as she could manage, given the sense of dread she felt at the forthcoming two dances. She let her eyes scan the room in front of her idly, as she waited for the eight bars of introduction to lead into the dance. She had the most unsettling feeling of being watched.
    “You look nervous, Miss Lindon,” her partner said confidentially , with a great show of kindness obvious in his voice. “Are you uneasy about the figures? It is understandable – you are very young. Do not worry! You need only look to me and my actions will guide you.”
    Lorelei thought of dancing a whole set with the man and barely stopped herself from wincing. With great force of will, she bit back a rejoinder, smiling instead. “You are very gracious, Mr Farringdon, thank you. I shall do my best not to put you to the blush.” He