Free The Governess Was Wanton by Julia Kelly Page A

her own nervousness. Mary’s borrowed dress and mask were stored at Elizabeth’s house, waiting for her to slip away and transform into a lady just as she and Lady Eleanora had planned. She crossed her arms and reached into the edge of her sleeve to graze her handkerchief. Mrs. Cooper had always told her that she would live to see great adventures one day. She just hoped her nerves would stand up to such a great risk.
    Luckily, Lady Eleanora’s excitement provided a good cover for her own.
    â€œBut do you think the bow will become cumbersome?” the young lady asked, shaking the prop in her hand.
    Lord Asten, who was dressed as a buccaneer in black buckskins, a commander’s coat his daughter had dug up from one of the trunks in the attic, and a hat with a long ostrich plume, shot Mary a look. She pursed her lips to stifle a laugh. This was the third time her charge had asked about the problematic bow—twice during the light meal they’d shared and once when her father had actually come to her door and told her that if she was not downstairs in five minutes he would leave in the carriage without her. That had set the young lady into motion, but it hadn’t stopped her distress.
    â€œIf you find it to be more bother than it’s worth, you can leave it with your wrap,” said Mary as she reached over to smooth one of the folds of Lady Eleanora’s dress. It had been done up in the Grecian style similar to one their grandmothers might have worn when Napoleon charged through Europe. An added piece twisted over one shoulder and fell in a long, elegant shawl halfway to the floor. The other shoulder was bare with only a loop of gauze around Lady Eleanora’s upper arm to support the dress.
    â€œAre you certain that’s quite appropriate?” asked Lord Asten with a frown at his daughter’s bare shoulder.
    This time it was Mary who raised her eyebrows at him. “Most of London is going around with bare shoulders and bare décolletage in the evenings.”
    â€œI don’t know . . .”
    â€œPapa,” Lady Eleanora said, using that voice daughters employ when they want their fathers to bend to their whim. “You don’t want me to be unfashionable, do you?”
    â€œI want you to be clothed,” said her father.
    â€œI think you’ll find that there will be ladies wearing far more scandalous gowns than this tonight,” Mary said.
    â€œYes, but how many of them are my daughter?” he asked, his voice a little gruff but clearly melting under the influence of his lovely daughter’s insistence.
    â€œIt’s white,” said Lady Eleanora, her eyes growing so big and innocent that Mary knew the earl didn’t stand a chance. “You can’t object to a white gown. It was the height of propriety when you were young.”
    â€œI’m still young,” said Lord Asten.
    â€œPapa, thirty-eight is not young.”
    â€œWait until you’re thirty-eight and see what you think then,” he said.
    â€œMiss Woodward,” said Lord Asten, turning his attention back to her, “what will you do tonight while Eleanora plays Diana and I make a fool of myself dressed as a marauder?”
    Mary resisted the urge to touch her hair, which she’d done with extra care that evening, and schooled her eyes to stay off of her charge, who shuffled nervously. “I thought I might practice my half of a duet Lady Eleanora selected. I’m far too slow to keep up with her. Then I might retire with a book.”
    Lord Asten smiled. “That sounds like a very improving evening.”
    â€œI’m sure it will be full of untold excitement,” she said, refusing to acknowledge the grin that spread across Lady Eleanora’s face.
    Lord Asten donned his hat. “Come, Eleanora. We’ll be late to Lady Laughlin’s home if we don’t hurry.”
    With one last glance back at Mary, Lady Eleanora tugged her