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“And swore you to secrecy, no doubt.” Lawrence sighed as he rose to assist in the struggle to slide the gown over his nephew’s head. The younger man’s height, well-nigh to six feet tall, made the cramped confines of the carriage an extremely difficult setting for a dressing room.

Adam laughed softly. “Actually, the modiste looked upon it as a most excellent challenge. Eef I can make the seigneur look like une femme, then every chienne in town will flock to me .” Adam said, mimicking the seamstress’s heavy accent.

When his tousled Apollo finally emerging from a fount of white ruffles at the neck, he carefully worked his arms into the sleeves and pulled the front in place “Well?”

The older man sat back in his seat to eye his nephew critically.

“We might just carry it off,” Lawrence said, nodding as he scrutinized the costume.

Madame Robard’s creation was a marvel of deception, its padded folds transforming the marquess’ masculine frame into that of an aging female.

The cunningly fashioned facade of sagging charms, dowager’s hump and strained seams was virtually indistinguishable from the figures of those ample matrons who presided over many a fashionable salon and ballroom.

Although Adam wore full evening dress beneath, not a trace of Weston’s work was visible.

Even the snowy fall of immaculate necklinen vanished beneath the swaths of lace.

Still, though the garment contrived to stoop those broad shoulders and conceal his athlete’s physique, there was nothing the least bit frail and feminine about the Marquess of Brand.

His chiseled features, a pleasing plane of aristocratically sculpted chin and cheek, were undeniably male.

“You will never pass muster as a crone, dear boy,” Lawrence remarked with a rueful shake of his grey head.

“Not done yet,” Adam said, setting an actor’s box of paint on his makeshift vanity and taking a small pot from the top of the coach lantern.

Dipping a finger into the tin, he skillfully spread a waxy substance to simulate the tracks of wrinkles near his eyes.

Next rouge was applied with the heavy hand of a woman with failing eyesight.

Lawrence looked on in amazement as his nephew transformed himself.

“You put me in mind of Great-aunt Sophronia.

Ugliest woman that ever walked on the face of the earth.

I had never remarked the resemblance till this moment, somehow.

‘Tis the gown, I suspect, her taste was almost as hideous as her phiz.”

“ I think it rather becoming,” Adam retorted, batting his thick lashes in a parody of femininity. “Will you fasten up the back, please?”

“As becoming as a pair of Hessians on a rooster,” Lawrence grumbled, fumbling with the row of buttons. “Damme, I never thought to spend my graying years playing abigail to a thirty-four-year-old man. How do you mean to shed these hideous rags when the time comes?”

“The front is very lightly stitched,” Adam explained, reaching beneath the seat to unearth an elaborate wig.

“All I need do is rip it away and step out of the skirts. Then ‘Herr Gutmacher,’ or Bob Taylor, as his Mama named him, will be exposed for the charlatan that he is. Taylor is as much a graduate of the University at Heidelberg as I am King of Prussia. The flash houses of Covent Garden were the only school that he can honestly lay claim to.”

“You do realize that it may not be all that simple to enter the hall,” Lawrence cautioned, reaching to tuck a stray wisp of his nephew’s chestnut hair underneath the powdered curls.

“As we passed, I saw a burly fellow out front, an apostle of the Fancy, by the look of him. The fighter was giving a careful eye to anyone walking through that door.”

“Only one guard tonight.” Adam chuckled as he glanced at the small mirror on the wall.

“There were three bruisers there yesterday. Likely, Taylor believes himself safe. Heaven knows that I have told everyone from the potboy to the Archbishop that I fully intend to be at Lady Enderby’s entertainment this evening. Herr Gutmacher does not expect me.”

“I should have realized that something was havey-cavey when you agreed to attend Hester’s affair!

” Lawrence exclaimed in growing dismay. “Hester’s husband is a dear friend of mine, for all that his wife is something of a widgeon and she is in alt at the thought of you gracing her table.

You cannot be so unkind as to cry off at this late hour?

She has even acquired a famous magician to entertain. ”

“So I have heard and that is why I have chosen to attend.” Adam said, his lip curling in mockery.

“However, I must in all honesty confess that I tremble at what Lady Enderby has in store far more than I fear anything that Herr Gutmacher might try. The woman is a matchmaking menace.” Adam feigned a shudder and touched his glowering companion lightly on the shoulder.

“Have no worry, Uncle, I have no intention of disappointing the lady. We might be a trifle late, but I hope we shall have a tale to tell in compensation for our tardiness. Ouch!” He grimaced as he maneuvered the hairpin to anchor the wig fully in place.

“Damned thing must weigh a stone,” he muttered, patting the curls into place.

“It was no wonder that Grandmama Lawrence was plagued by perpetual megrims.”

“The lice were none too pleasant either, as I recall. There were veritable hordes of them in those old perukes. Occasionally even a mouse or two,” Lawrence added his brow arching.

Adam turned, his hand rising involuntarily in search of a sudden phantom itch until he saw the older man’s lip quirk upwards. “And you dare call me unkind. Now I shall imagine all manner of vermin running about my skull for the balance of the evening.”

“Serves you right, boy, for cozening me into this,” he grumbled. “I shall account you lucky if a mere megrim is the only consequence of tonight’s lark. If the half of what you have said about this fellow Taylor is true, he will not take this humiliation in good grace.”

“That is why I want you to leave as soon as I make my move,” Adam said, trying to impress his uncle with the gravity of the situation.

“Wait for me at the reins, as we planned, in case there is a need to make a rapid exit. In fact,” he reflected, taking a brush from the Chinese box and dabbing it in carmine, “maybe you ought not to come in with me at all.”

“Nonsense, might as well be in for a pound as a penny,” Lawrence said, then drew an awed breath as he took in the full effect of his nephew’s disguise. “I cannot credit it! You are the image of great-aunt Sophronia!”

The devil danced in Adam’s eyes, and his baritone dropped to a crone’s cackle. “Aye, Nevvy, a gel in Drury Lane taught me a thing or two about painting the face.”

“And knowing you, I suspicion that you taught her a thing or two in return,” his uncle retorted. “I would say that you look at least a century old.”

“La, not a day over eighty!” Adam declared, slapping him playfully on the hand with a folded fan. “So ye think I’ll do?”

“Your own father wouldn’t know you,” Lawrence assured him.

“That is significant of nothing, I fear.” Adam picked up a pair of lace mitts and began to jam his fingers in blindly.

“Here, allow me, Aunt Sophronia, before you rip those gloves to shreds,” Lawrence said, giving the young man’s wrist a gentle squeeze, offering what comfort he could with that small contact. “Your father loved my sister to distraction, but he might as well have gone to the grave with your mother.”

Two pairs of brown eyes met, mourning the immutable past.

Adam shook his head, picked up an ivory headed cane and allowed his uncle to hand him out the door.

“Shall we go, Nevvy, and see if Professor Gutmacher can cure what ails me?” Adam asked, his tones rising to an old-woman’s pitch as they walked toward the entry.

“Way I hear it, the man’s wonderful electric machine can cure everything from the flux to the French disease.

Who knows? By tonight I may be walking without this cane. ”

“Or mayhap even running,” Lawrence commented in a dry undertone.

. . .

“We are horribly late.” Lawrence fretted, all but hauling his nephew up the stairs of the Enderby house on St. James. “Hester will never forgive us if we have spoiled her numbers for dinner.”

“It is most frustrating,” Adam said, drawing off his gloves as they stepped into the entry way. “I would not have stayed for the refund of our tickets, but to do otherwise would have marked us as suspicious. The Professor has a stomach ailment ?” He gave a snort of disbelief.

“All those deuced buttons on that damned dress, and all for nothing in the end!” Lawrence agreed, as he mounted the stairs.

“Lawrence! Lord Brand!” Lady Enderby exclaimed as the two men reached the landing. “We were just about to go into dinner.”

“Forgive me, Lady Enderby, it was my fault, a sartorial matter,” Adam began, mischief in his eyes. “As my uncle was saying, buttons are-

“He found a button missing and there was naught to do but change,” Lawrence broke in, flashing his nephew a warning look. “His valet all but wept. No less than a dozen cravats wasted too! Brummel is to blame, for setting so high a standard.”

“Indeed, he goes too far,” Lady Enderby agreed. “They say his valet polishes his boots with fine wine.”

“Ah, if Brummel could have but seen me earlier, he would have laughed himself silly,” Adam added, heeding a warning dig from his uncle’s elbow. “In consideration of my charming hostess, I had no choice but to make certain my attire was worthy. Forgive us for delaying you.”

“Well,” Lady Enderby preened at the compliment as she rushed them into the company. “No harm done, I suppose, but Lord Brand I must introduce you to . . .”

“Lawrence!” The silver-haired woman exclaimed as Lady Enderby brought Adam and his uncle to her side.