Page 37

CHAPTER TWENTY

D iana stood before the long cheval mirror next to her armoire, her fantastical attire nearly sufficient to make her forget her problems.

Nearly.

“The modiste said something about Orcan women wearing bangles, not that I’ve heard of such a thing before,” Izzie told her, clasping the small chain of the silver armlet Diana had thought might flatter this eccentric gown.

“But Mademoiselle Rosalie seems to think she can procure them in time for the ball.”

Diana and Albie were to attend a performance of Fidelio at the opera house later that week, followed by the ball hosted by Lord Mandeville. These were the ideal events at which to showcase her Orcan attire, yet she did not have the same enthusiasm as she’d mustered before.

A persistent pressure pounded the back of Diana’s head, undoubtedly brought on by the terrible task Reginald wanted to delegate to her and the constant worry over Lillian’s safety.

Diana smoothed the overskirt, cunningly designed with tiny hooks sewn into the waistband. It could be detached to construct a less formal gown. “I still question how Mademoiselle Rosalie became familiar with what Orcan women wear and don’t wear.”

“Truth be, I think she relied heavily on our sketch to form her opinion,” Izzie confided. “Though I suppose it might stand to reason that she caught sight of Lord Albion’s mother at some point.”

Diana turned, trying to view more of the back of her gown over her shoulder. She hadn’t thought to ask Albie if the Dowager Duchess would be in attendance at the opera or the ball after. If so, she was due for a more thorough inspection of the authenticity of her attire than she’d anticipated.

“Wait … let me get the looking glass.”

After fetching the item from the vanity, Izzie held it up so Diana could see.

The topaz blue frock, constructed of flowing crepe silk, fit her perfectly but provided sufficient room to move and breathe without constriction.

The modest cap sleeves were large and peaked at the top like those on the Dowager’s gown.

All the nips and tucks in the design flattered the female body, and she pivoted to see from different angles.

She feared it looked like fancy dress, which Lord Mandeville did not specify in the invitation to his ball. Yet, in other ways, it didn’t feel that way. Diana felt more her true self in this gown. And like a true Lady of the Hidden Realm.

Only now, she was not worthy of it.

“I think it’s splendid,” Izzie sighed. “I almost wish I might attend such a ball myself.”

“If you want to—”

Izzie shook her head, delicate black curls flapping. “Not on your life. I’ve not a mind for the to-dos of Society and such. I never expected to find myself working as a maid, but I’ll take the freedom of earning my way any day.”

“To each her own,” Diana said, catching Izzie’s gaze in the mirror and smiling. She ran her hands up and down her bare arms. “Some degree of independence can be found in this design. I move more freely than in any I’ve ever worn.”

“Something to be said for a gown that does not require a corset,” Izzie remarked. “I’ll hand that victory to Mademoiselle Rosalie. She seemed to get the cut precisely right. Once word gets round, her shop will do mighty well.”

“I shudder to think what some of the matrons will make of it.”

“What can they say? You’re properly married, and Lord Albion’s more gold than that old King Croesus, I’d wager.”

Diana bit her lip and fussed with the “v” shaped satin band around her waist, sitting lower than current fashion dictated but quite flattering.

“Something wrong?” Izzie asked.

“I’m fine.”

“Now, you never let me get away with such pert answers. Come now. You know you can take me into confidence.”

Keeping her encounter with Reginald Addington from Albie weighed on Diana’s mind like a stone.

“I confess something is bothering me,” she told Izzie sadly.

“I must leave its nature vague at present. Keeping it to myself is unbearable. But I fear if Albie learned of it, he would soon regret marrying me.”

Izzie expelled air between her teeth. “I find that difficult to believe. Remember what I told you? The staff here talk about his lordship like he has been bewitched. You did that.”

“Were that I was a witch. If love is akin to a spell, perhaps I could prevent it from being broken.”

Izzie patted her arm fondly, then shifted the gauze overlaying her satin skirts one last time.

“I think you need to credit Lord Albion with greater sense,” she told Diana. “I’ve never seen a gent more smitten. Whatever troubles plague you, he will help find a solution.”

With a nod to Ollie, Albion took his customary seat at the Wayfarer’s Respite, grateful that the tavern was empty at this hour. After his luncheon with Dunc, he hoped for a quiet space to wait before he met with Edward Langley.

The young man would soon need a safe establishment close to the border of Chamberly—so he could sneak away in the dead of night and find the Comtesse’s son, Jacques. Albion had identified just the right spot. He wanted to inform Edward that Albion would remain nearby during this rescue.

He thought back to his conversation with Daisy the previous night.

She mentioned not hearing about the Phantom in some time.

But it hadn’t been so long since their last rescue, had it?

More saliently, why was Daisy invested in this line of questioning?

It was strange, but Albion had actually felt jealous of the Benevolent Phantom, which made no sense.

And now the esteem in which she held the Phantom seemed to have dampened.

Silly as it was, Albion found this most satisfying. Ridiculous.

He was the Phantom. And yet he was not. It was sufficient to make a fellow’s heart hurt.

Out of sorts, Albion checked his pocket watch. It seemed Edward Langley’s typical punctuality had been tested by something or other today. So Albion occupied himself with the latest copy of the Post until he heard the tavern’s front door swing open.

Instead of the younger Langley, the gent who walked into Ollie’s establishment was the man he’d met several weeks prior, and who he supposed he had to thank for his newfound wedded bliss.

After all, if Sir Reginald Addington hadn’t proven such a boor, Daisy would never have begged Albion into the conversation at Lady Talridge’s supper party.

Nevertheless, Albion’s jaw tensed. This tavern was not the sort of place he’d expect to find someone like Reg.

That was the precise point of the location.

It sent his nerves to immediate and agitated attention.

Edward would not be so daft as to sit down with Albion when he had company. Best to control this situation.

“I say, is that Reg?” he called, waving him over as if he couldn’t wait to converse. “As I live and breathe. I didn’t know you were fond of Ollie’s offerings. What good taste, sir.”

“I might say the same of you, Lord Albion.” With a puzzled frown, Reg offered a pinch from his snuff box, which Albion shook his head to refuse.

He had never understood the fascination with the stuff.

“I had not thought an esteemed member of the beau monde such as yourself would be familiar with this area of the city. Are you dining alone or meeting a companion here?”

“A business matter. My acquaintance will arrive presently. And how do you find yourself in this district?”

“Oh, the same. The same. A business matter, as you say.” Reg looked about the cavernous room that Albion supposed might seem gloomy on an early summer day like this.

“I must say this is fortuitous, Lord Albion. Before your companion arrives, may I have a word?” Sir Reginald slanted his hand to the chair that Edward Langley should presently have occupied. He didn’t bother to wait for a response before making use of it.

Albion raised his tankard. “Certainly. Join me for another round, Reg? Nothing of the like in the Hidden Realm, I can assure you. My brother would have you believe our brewing heritage is to be favored, but then Dunc lives a most austere lifestyle

“Yes, yes.” As intended, Albion’s droning commentary set Reg on a course to get to the point straightaway. “I have something to ask of you, sir.” He splayed his bony hands on the table. “Though I fear it is not the gentlemanly thing.”

Englishmen were always going on about the gentlemanly thing, even when they were anything but behind closed doors.

He recalled Reg’s eagerness to condemn the Benevolent Phantom.

And he had seemed even more eager to talk about the bounty on the Phantom’s head.

Now, he had shown up at the tavern mere minutes before Albion was to meet Edward? That was no coincidence.

Albion’s pulse raced, and only with a concerted effort did he slow it, as he was taught as a child.

The skill was meant for such a time as a boy might be required to join the defensive army of the Hidden Realm, warriors whose prowess was so beyond question any human would be a fool to provoke them.

Albion was no warrior, but he found the trick had its uses.

Without turning his head at all, Albion assessed the club. He saw nothing to indicate Reg had brought any constables with him. Then again, he might harbor more elaborate plans. Maybe he wished to extort Albion for more money than the reward, so long as he didn’t hand him over to the authorities.

After another moment, as Reg smiled at him, Albion realized that nothing of the sort had been presented. So he wouldn’t make life any easier for this man by offering himself up on the proverbial silver platter.

“Blast it all, man!” he said lightly. “Something to ask? Why, can’t you let a fellow enjoy a drink in peace?”

“I find myself in trouble, Lord Albion,” Reg said. “It has to do with the Duke of Rostin.”

Albion searched Reginald’s eyes for the glint of recognition but found none. If he already knew Albion was the Phantom, he was doing a fine job of hiding it.