“And you as well, Lord Gowding,” replied Amelia, inclining her head even as he rushed away from them. She turned to Lydia, whose face was twisted into a wicked grin worthy of a magistrate who had bested a foe. “Thank you for that, but there was no need to be cruel to him.”
“There was if you didn’t wish to be pawed by him before the night is out,” said Lydia in a matter-of-fact tone. “I know it is you who is supposed to be chaperoning me, but I have the horrid feeling I will be saying cutting things to gentlemen all evening just so they leave you alone. I’ll have to think up some clever retorts, and claim I was acting my part.”
“I’m hardly attracting that many men,” laughed Amelia, but Lydia pointedly looked toward a group of gentlemen in plain dominoes who were openly ogling them.
“Dearest, you’re a beautiful widow with a fortune to spend. I can already spy three Roman senators and Julius Caesar, making their way toward us. I’m fairly certain that they are not attracted by a Bow Street magistrate over Cleopatra!”
Amelia sighed and did not argue the point. While Lydia was younger than her and very pretty, the magistrate’s robes and the ridiculous wig seemed purpose-made to disguise her best features. Amelia, on the other hand, had agonized over every last detail of her dress, from the sumptuous gold embroidery to the elaborate, expensive jewelry. Her maid had practiced for weeks until she could draw the elaborate kohl eye makeup without the tiniest smudge, and her tiara had been redesigned on three different occasions.
“Perhaps I should not have allowed Her Grace to talk me into this costume and gone with my initial urge to dress as a medieval nun,” sighed Amelia, remembering the conversation with Georgiana over her plan. “I could have strangled people with my rosary if they got too close.”
Lydia gave a commiserating smile. “But that would not have drawn the attention of a particular gentleman, now would it?”
Amelia felt her cheeks heat. “I don’t know what you mean by that.”
Lydia rolled her eyes. “Of course, you don’t, for it is surely a coincidence that William Haddington is passionate about ancient Egypt, and you just happened to dress as Cleopatra.”
“He is also very interested in Greek vases,” she replied, aware of how silly she sounded even without the condescending look from her friend. “Anyway, there’s no guarantee that he will be here because it would be just like him to pick up a volume on early Roman inscriptions and forget he was to attend the Melbournes’ masquerade in the first place.”
“His friends won’t let him forget,” promised Lydia. “Conway might be a dissolute wretch, but I will credit him with being loyal to those he loves.”
Amelia scrunched up her face. “Why would William’s friends insist that he attend?”
Lydia’s smile did not make her look as innocent as she seemed to think it did.
“They are interested in his happiness, but I will not say anything else on the matter. Shall we take a turn about the gardens? If nothing else, we can amuse ourselves studying all the costumes.”
While Lydia’s idea turned out to be an excellent suggestion, the enjoyment provided by the lantern-lit path proved short-lived. By the time they returned to the veranda, intending to replace their empty champagne flutes with full ones, Amelia had encountered one of her least favorite people in the world.
“Mother, how delightful to see you,” sneered a voice from beside them.
Amelia tried not to scowl as she turned to face her stepson but was quite sure that she had failed. Lydia was even less able to control her facial expression, but Archibald ignored the girl completely.
The current Lord Fellowes was a thin, gaunt-looking man whose expression was one of perpetual disapproval. He had chosen to attend the masquerade dressed as Punch, but the mask would not disguise him from anyone familiar with his sneer. He was of average height but insisted on wearing heels considerably higher than fashion dictated, apparently oblivious to the mockery they inspired. He was twenty years older than Amelia but looked at least ten more than his actual age. Despite the sizeable fortune he’d inherited, he’d been unable to convince any young woman of the Ton to marry him.
“You are mistaken, Mr. Punch, for this is Queen Cleopatra,” said Lydia, puffing herself up as though she really were the great Sir John Fielding. “I am the Blind Beak of Bow Street, and yet I can recognize her. Surely you can do the same.”
Lord Fellowes forced himself to look at Lydia and did not bother to hide his disapproval of her costume.
“While I am happy to indulge Lady Melbourne’s desire for a costume ball, Miss Willow, I am not one to indulge in something so uncouth as play-acting,” he said, his mouth twisting up in an ugly grimace.
“That was very rude, Archibald,” said Amelia before Lydia had a chance to reply with something she would undoubtedly regret. Amelia was quietly satisfied with the flash of irritation in his eyes. He hated that she did not address him by his title, but since he had refused to use hers since the day she married his father, he could make no complaint about the informality. “I am surprised to see you indulging in such frivolity as a ball, especially one hosted by a Whig.”
Her stepson couldn’t help the look of contempt he cast across the room at Lord Melbourne before he returned his attention to her.
“It seemed the best way to keep an eye on you now that you insist on disgracing father’s name,” he responded.
Amelia gave a slow, deliberate yawn, her eyes never leaving his. She knew he was lying and that the opportunity to irritate her had been an unexpected pleasure. She rather suspected he was hunting, once again, for well-heeled friends, regardless of their politics, for Archibald had a genius for risking other people’s money on his ventures but rarely risking any of his own wealth.
“I cast off my blacks three months ago, as well you know, and I am not prepared to listen to your moralizing on my behavior, when you threw over that pretty opera dancer without seeing to the care of your child. You should be grateful to me for taking responsibility for their upkeep,” she replied in a bored tone. “And don’t look at me like that, Archibald. The entire Ton knows about it, including Miss Willow. Believe me when I say they are more scandalized by your penny-pinching than they are by my excess.”
“Penny-pinching! Ha!” he scoffed. “When I think of the ways I am forced to economize after you tricked my father into letting you spend without consequence! You have left us all on the verge of penury!”
Amelia shook her head, for it seemed that her stepson had once again forgotten that she knew precisely how much he’d inherited from his father and that her own considerable portion had barely made a dent in it.
“Do go away, Archibald,” she said with a heavy sigh. “I do not have the patience to argue with you. Try to smile, if you please, it is a party, after all.”
Lydia took the empty champagne flute from Amelia’s hand and held them out to Lord Fellowes, who took them without thinking.
“I think I saw your wife over by the palm tree,” she said with an innocent smile, before interlocking her arm with Amelia’s. “Come along, dearest, there’s somewhere else we really need to be.”
Amelia allowed herself to be led back into the crush of the ballroom, holding up her chin as Lydia guided her through the crowd. Lord Fellowes was left staring after them in confusion.