Susan Carroll Read Online Free

the
ivory handle of her fan.
    Phaedra had not gone far when she was
accosted by a set of wide hoops swirling under the rustle of a blue
silk domino. The lady's rows of white-dusted curls were adorned
with ostrich feathers, the outline of her mask emphasizing the pert
tilt of her chin and the black silk patch expertly placed at the
corner of her pouting red lips.
    "My dearest Phaedra," the young woman
trilled. "So unexpected a pleasure."
    "Good evening, Muriel," Phaedra said.
    The woman started, disconcerted to have her
disguise so easily penetrated. But Miss Muriel Porterfield's
high-pitched voice was easily as distinctive as Phaedra's red
hair.
    "I simply never dreamed to find you returned
to London, let alone as a guest at my ball. And so charmingly late,
as usual."
    Phaedra gave her a brittle smile. "You are
looking well, Muriel. But if you will excuse me, I believe I must
offer my respects to your esteemed mother.”
    She gestured toward where a formidable dame
stood, her hollow cheeks puffed out with cork plumpers. She held
court amidst a circle of clucking dowagers, all of them unmasked,
all of them haughtily aloof from the ball's proceedings.
    Muriel caught Phaedra firmly by the elbow,
steering her in the opposite direction. "Most unwise. Dearest Mama
is already in a high tweak. She disapproves of masked balls. It
took endless coaxing to persuade her to allow me to have this one.
And now your arrival!"
    Muriel rolled her eyes. "Frankly, she is less
than enchanted. So old-fashioned, you know, in her notions of
propriety, especially with regard to widows-being such a notable
one herself. She still wears weepers upon her sleeves, and Papa has
been dead an age."
    Phaedra attempted to disengage her arm. "I
did not come here to be intimidated and skulk around as if-"
    "But she is, at this very moment, attempting
to decide if she should have you discreetly evicted. Far better to
avoid Mama until she has time to reflect upon the rashness of such
a decision." Muriel smiled demurely. "I have always found it
so."
    Phaedra hesitated, risking one more look at
Lady Porterfield. Both plump cheeks shook with outrage. Phaedra
opted for the better part of valor. It was no part of her plan to
find herself escorted to the door before she had achieved her
purpose in coming here this evening. She hoped that would not take
long. The heat was oppressive. Already she could feel beads of
moisture gathering upon her brow beneath the mask.
    "Very well," she conceded, allowing Muriel to
lead her through the press of guests.
    "Is it not the most infamous crush?" Muriel
sighed. "My ball shall be acclaimed a roaring success, though I was
most distressed earlier. Parliament sat so late, we were dreadfully
thin of masculine company. All the men are such selfish beasts
these days. They talk of nothing but the American war and that
scurrilous rogue writing those horrid pamphlets. I wish they might
hang this tiresome Robin Goodfellow and be done with it."
    "They would have to discover who he is
first." Phaedra's lips tilted into a smile that she quickly
suppressed. It would not do to look as though she knew more than
she ought.
    But Muriel was too taken up with enumerating
the triumphs of her ball to take notice of much else. "Three young
women have swooned from the heat already. We've done far better
than Lady Hartford's rout. She can boast but two casualties."
    "You may have a fourth victim upon your hands
if I do not soon get a breath of air." Phaedra fanned herself more
vigorously, an unpleasant thrumming starting inside her head in
tempo with the scrape of the bows against the violin strings. The
sensation grew worse as the crowd surged backward to make room for
the dancers in the center of the marbled floor. But Muriel found
them a spot near one of the massive white pillars that supported
the cherub-bedecked ceiling of the ballroom, and sent one of the
liveried footmen to procure Phaedra a glass of lemonade.
    Phaedra sipped at the tepid liquid,