Masquerading the Marquess Read Online Free

people were staring. Some guests appeared to be enjoying the show, some were eyeing her with pity and others looked uncomfortable. Calliope’s glance fell on Angelford lounging in the doorway. She tried to read his expression, but he was too far away. No doubt he was pleased with the entertainment unfolding in the ballroom.
     
    Calliope straightened her spine and addressed Lady Simpson. "And it is a good thing, Georgina , " Calliope said, drawing out her Christian name. "A reference from you would mean I might be tempted to seek employment from one of your friends, such as Lady Turville. Looking at her muttonchops over dinner every night would probably upset my ability to eat, just as you claimed it upset yours. Or perhaps I would have tried Mrs. Dunleavy’s employ. I remember you calling her an ordinary fishmonger. And let’s not forget Lady Flanders, a woman you claim dresses and acts like a flagrant strumpet. I would have been plumb fatigued after opening her well-used door for each devotee."
     
    Lady Simpson was sputtering, and her fan mimicked the action as it madly twitched.
     
    Calliope did not falter as weeks of pent up abuse spewed forth. "How kind of you to decide not to recommend me to your friends. What a nuisance to search for a miracle cream to shrink Lady Killroy’s nose. I believe you called it piglike?"
     
    Calliope raised her chin. "No, I don’t believe a reference from you would do me much good." She started walking and then turned. "By the by, you would make a wonderful lady’s maid. Keep it in mind in case fate is unkind."
     
    Calliope swept out of the ballroom. A swath was made for her, people too agog at the verbal interchange to do anything but move out of her way. She marched up the curved staircase and looked toward the green-and-gold-liveried servants. They were staring avidly and showed no sign of movement, so she decided to abandon her cloak.
     
    She exited the Killroy residence and halted at the drive, rubbing her arms. She hadn’t given a thought to how she would get home. And she had forgotten her cane on the terrace, blast Angelford.
     
    She had no trouble walking most distances unaided, the cane was more a part of her disguise. But her right leg would not hold for the long trek to her real home.
     
    "Miss Stafford! Miss Stafford!"
     
    Terrence raced down the steps, his face etched with anxiety. He skidded to a stop in front of her.
     
    "Where will you go? For whom will you work?"
     
    Calliope’s shoulders drooped. It was easy enough to disappear and reappear when one used a variety of pseudonyms and attracted little attention, but after tonight she would have a difficult time re-entering society in a new guise. "I’m not sure, Mr. Smith. I’ll think about that later. Right now I must find a way home."
     
    Terrence cast an uneasy glance toward the mansion’s entrance. Any minute the curious would be exiting to see if the spectacle might continue outside.
     
    "Take my carriage. My driver will drop you at your residence." He told her how to identify his carriage and slipped two worn cards from his jacket. One was embossed with a heavy red wax seal, probably the symbol of his father’s baronetcy.
     
    The other was a calling card. He handed her the latter. "Give this card to my driver and tell him your destination."
     
    The night’s events started to weigh on her. She gripped his arm. "Thank you, Terrence . "
     
    He looked startled at her use of his given name, but patted her hand. "Send a note around and let me know how you’re doing . "
     
    She nodded and walked quickly toward the row of carriages parked along the lane. The merged voices of the guests increased in volume, so she stuck to the shadows. She located Terrence’s carriage and gave his card to the sleepy driver along with her direction. He asked no questions.
     
    Inside the carriage, Calliope slumped into the well-worn seat and leaned her head against the door as the conveyance moved down the