Belle of the Ball Read online

  Eager to see what else could be done with it, Belle entered Madame Aglaia’s a little early for her appointment. Luckily, the dressmaker had no one else in the shop except for Alvina, who had arrived early as well.

  “Miss Sullivan, how wonderful to see you.” As before, the beautiful dressmaker greeted Belle as if she were a longtime friend.

  Smiling, Belle said, “Oh, I know I’m early. I’m just so excited to see what might be done with my hair.”

  Madame Aglaia smiled, an expression full of satisfaction. “Ah, I see you have a head start on it already. Lovely, just lovely.”

  Alvina agreed, marveling about the improvement.

  Belle beamed. “Yes, it’s so much nicer now. What style do you think will look best on me?”

  “Come, let’s look, shall we?” The dressmaker urged her to a room at the back of the establishment that was set up with a dresser and mirror, and a small table that held a number of sketches from Godey’s Lady’s Book.

  Madame Aglaia had Belle unpin her hair and regarded her thoughtfully. “It is too bad the Titus is no longer in style. The short curls would suit your piquant little face.”

  Piquant? No one had ever said anything so nice about her appearance before. Belle felt herself blush. “I don’t mind. Mama would be horrified if I cut my hair that short anyway.”

  “And short hair is really not the thing,” Alvina said ruefully as she sorted through the sketches.

  Then she and Madame Aglaia seized upon the same drawing at the same time. “Perfect,” Alvina declared, as the dressmaker nodded. “You must have a fringe. Belle.”

  But Belle wasn’t so sure. “I don’t know,” she said doubtfully, studying the drawing of a woman with short, feathery locks framing her face. “Don’t you think a fringe would look a little . . . fuzzy on me?”

  “Oh, no,” Madame assured her. “Well, it might have looked so before, but now that your hair is so improved, it will have the effect of soft curls around your face, highlighting your best feature—your eyes.”

  “My best feature?” Belle repeated in wonder. She hadn’t even known she had one.

  “Yes, my dear,” Madame said with a smile. “You have lovely eyes—such a pretty shade of pale green—and the way they sort of slant up at the corners is very appealing.”

  “I have pretty eyes?” Belle repeated in wonder. “Why has no one told me so?”

  “Because they never noticed them before,” Alvina said. “Not with your hair the way it was. Oh, do try this style, Belle. And you must use a sort of braided, pieced bun in back, to give it more interest, instead of that boring spiral thing.”

  “Well, if you say so . . .”

  Madame Aglaia smiled. “We do. But I don’t want to alarm you when I cut the front of your hair shorter than you’re used to.” She draped a piece of cloth over the mirror and set to work on Belle’s hair, with comments and advice from Alvina.

  At first, Belle was a little nervous, but realized she certainly couldn’t look worse than she had before. She had to trust these two experienced women to do what was best for her.

  Once Madame Aglaia had finished cutting and arranging her hair. Alvina declared it perfect, but they still wouldn’t let Belle see it yet. Nor would they let her look in the mirror as they had her try on one of her new ensembles—a lovely ball gown in a vivid shade of green that had a lower neckline than she was accustomed to.

  Kit had arrived by now, but they kept him cooling his heels in the other room while Belle finished her toilette under the watchful eyes of her mentors.

  Then, once they were satisfied with her appearance, they sent her out to see Kit.

  Belle held her breath, hoping for stunned admiration.

  What she got was a nod and a cool assessment. “Good choices,” Kit said. “The hair suits you and the dress color lights up your face. Very nice.”

  Nice? Her spirits sank. She had hoped for breathtakingly beautiful. Oh, dear. This wasn’t going to work. How could she ensnare the threescum if she couldn’t even get them to notice her as a woman?

  Quickly, she found a mirror and stared at her reflection to learn the worst. Yes, there was definitely an improvement. The soft curls around her face gave her an elfin look and enhanced her eyes. And the dress made her complexion look as if it had a healthy glow instead of the sallowness she had become accustomed to. But . . . it wasn’t what she’d hoped for, and her disappointment showed in her expression.

  “What’s wrong?” Alvina asked. “Don’t you like the way you look?”

  “Oh, yes,” Belle said, knowing how hard her friends had worked to make her look this good. “But I was hoping for . . . something more.”

  “You’re quite pretty now,” Alvina assured her.

  Pretty? Perhaps, but not stunning. “Yes, I suppose . . .”

  “Very pretty,” Kit agreed. But though his lips formed compliments, the admiration didn’t quite reach his eyes the way she had hoped.

  Belle didn’t want to be ungrateful, but she didn’t know how to put her dismay into words without hurting their feelings. So she picked on a minor point instead. “But my freckles . . . can nothing be done with them?”

  “Short of covering them with cosmetics . . . ?” Madame Aglaia ventured.

  Regretfully, Belle shook her head. It wouldn’t do. Mama would definitely not approve.

  Madame shrugged. “There are freckle creams available, but none are very effective. The best preventative for freckles is to ensure your skin is covered when you go out into the sun.”

  And so Mama had said—Belle should have listened.

  Kit cocked his head and regarded her thoughtfully. “Your freckles aren’t the real problem, are they? What is it?”

  He was too observant. Belle hemmed and hawed, but finally blurted out, “You promised to make me beautiful. . . .”

  She should have known better. Who could expect plain Belle to turn into a femme fatale overnight? The raw material just wasn’t there to begin with.

  “Ah, I see,” Kit said, though he exchanged puzzled glances with Alvina. “Do you fear the gentleman whose attention you wish to capture won’t be impressed by your improved appearance?”

  Frankly, yes. And her fears were obviously not unfounded. Just look at Kit’s reaction—it hadn’t made a parcel of difference in how he looked at her or treated her. She nodded.

  “Shouldn’t he like you regardless of how you look?” Alvina asked.

  In an ideal world, yes. “He hasn’t yet,” Belle said bluntly.

  “Just who is this man you’re trying to impress?” Kit asked, looking as if he’d like to set the man straight right then and there.

  “I—I’d rather not say.” Belle had no intention of letting him know that, in actuality, there were three men whose attention she wanted to attract, including Kit Stanhope himself.

  “It’s no use,” Alvina told him. “I haven’t been able to pry the name out of her.”

  Kit looked a little peeved, but Madame Aglaia said, “It isn’t so much that you want to be beautiful, then, but that you want to be popular . . . sought after . . . irresistible?”

  “Well, yes,” Belle admitted. “Isn’t it the same thing?”

  Madame smiled. “Not necessarily.”

  Alvina and Kit looked struck by her statement. “Madame has a point,” Kit said slowly. “Beauty alone is not nearly enough—not if you wish to take the town by storm. You need to be interesting.”

  “Yes, that’s it,” Alvina concurred excitedly.

  Interesting? That sounded promising, if Belle could just figure out what it meant. “But how?”

  Madame Aglaia shrugged. “Experience, mystery, allure, Parisian polish . . .”

  Belle’s spirits fell. “I haven’t any experience, I can’t go to Paris, and it’s difficult to suddenly become mysterious or alluring when the people around here have known me for years.”

  “Perhaps,” Madame said with a mysterious smile. “Perhaps not.”

  “What do other wome
n do to be interesting?” Belle asked.

  “They have the vapors. . . .” Kit said doubtfully.

  Alvina shook her head. “No, that won’t serve. We have too many invalids in town as it is. They’re not . . . interesting.”

  Very true. And Belle didn’t want to be the object of pity, for heaven’s sake.

  “Perhaps an exotic perfume,” Madame suggested.

  “Yeees,” Alvina agreed. “Something musky and redolent of forbidden pleasures.”

  Belle blushed at that, but though she protested, she really liked the sound of smelling like a man’s hidden desire. She glanced at Kit, wondering how he felt about it.

  “A good start,” he said, “but perfume is not enough. She needs something . . . special.”

  “Special?” Belle repeated, not sure what he meant.

  “Yes, something that sets you apart from the others. Something that only you can do well.” He turned to her expectantly. “So, what can you do well?”

  “Nothing.” Nothing that would help in a ballroom, anyway.

  “Then we shall have to find something,” Alvina declared. “Perhaps she wears only green, or carries outrageous parasols, or . . . sports the most dashing hats around.”

  “Now you’re thinking,” Kit declared. “What have you in that line?” he asked Madame Aglaia.

  She smiled mysteriously, almost as if she’d been waiting for them to reach this point in the discussion. “Just a moment. I have the very thing.” She rummaged in a back room and came back with a beautiful hand-painted fan that complemented the dress Belle wore. “Here, try this.”

  Belle obediently opened it and fanned herself.

  “No, no,” Madame said gently. “Like this.” Standing in front of Belle, she showed her how to cover her lower face and peek out over the fan with just her eyes showing. “Now, look mischievous,” she whispered.

  As Madame moved away, Belle did as she instructed and gave Kit a saucy look over the lace-edged fan.

  His stunned expression and Alvina’s gasp of pleasure gave her a thrill.

  “That’s it,” Alvina whispered. “Why, your eyes look positively enchanting.”

  “Indeed,” Madame agreed with a self-satisfied smile. “With the fan, you are a lady of mystery, a saucy minx . . . a coquette. You must carry a fan with every ensemble—each one more beautiful than the last. Don’t you agree, Mr. Stanhope?”

  But Kit was still staring at Belle with his mouth open. A thrill coursed through her. Oh, my, was this all she needed to capture his attention?

  And the rest of the threescum, too, of course, she added hastily to herself.

  “What?” Kit asked Madame distractedly. Then, turning from Belle, he wiped a hand over his face and said, “Oh. Yes, the very thing. Um, do you know the, uh, language of the fan, Miss Sullivan?”

  “Well, no,” she admitted, lowering the fan, a little disappointed he had recovered so quickly. She knew it couldn’t be that easy. “What’s that?”

  “A way for women to convey their feelings to men without words. I learned to interpret it when I was in Paris last year with my sisters, but I don’t think it has reached this continent yet.”

  Alvina nodded. “I’ve heard of it, but don’t know much about it.”

  “Then we shall make Miss Sullivan an expert,” Kit declared with a smile. Turning to Belle, he asked, “What do you think? I shall be most happy to teach it to you.”

  Belle raised the fan once more to cover her self-satisfied smile. “It sounds wonderful.” And she watched in wonder once more as Kit didn’t seem to be able to take his eyes off her. If her untrained use of the fan had this sort of effect on him, she definitely wanted to learn more.

  No, she reminded herself sternly. Her goal was not to capture Kit’s attention, at least not yet. She needed to take care of George and Harold first.

  And with this fanciful little weapon, she might just have the ammunition she needed to make her dreams of revenge come true.

  Chapter Five

  As arranged, Kit went to Madame Aglaia’s the next day to meet Belle, but this time Miss Keithley was regretfully unable to join them. Kit had convinced Belle that Madame would provide sufficient chaperonage to satisfy even her mother and reminded her they couldn’t waste any time—there was only a week left until her debut at the garden party.

  All in all, Kit was very pleased with himself. Between the three of them, they had managed to find a way to make Belle provocative and intriguing. Why, she had even piqued his interest there for a moment or two.

  But only for a moment. It was Belle, after all—his student and employer. It wouldn’t do to be attracted to her.

  As Belle arrived, Madame escorted them to the back room once more for privacy and stayed to play duenna.

  Belle was wearing one of Madame’s creations—a rust-colored, tailored dress with a matching jacket that made her look sophisticated and grown up, quite unlike the Belle he had met just a few short weeks ago. She sorted through the fans Madame had laid out for their inspection and looked up at Kit uncertainly. “Does the type of fan matter? There are so many. . . .”

  Madame had provided a large selection, including lace-edged fans, painted fans, Chinese fans, embroidered fans, and feathered fans. And they came in a variety of sticks ranging from mother-of-pearl to fretted ivory, sandalwood, and cedar.

  “No, the only requirement is that it feels comfortable in your hand,” Kit assured her.

  She nodded and selected a painted fan with ivory sticks that matched her dress. Kit suggested she open and close it a few times to assure herself she could do so with ease. She did so, then asked eagerly, “What now?”

  “Before Mr. Stanhope teaches you the language of the fan, perhaps I could give you a few pointers on how to use it,” Madame said with a smile.

  “But I’ve been using one all my life.” So saying, Belle demonstrated by flipping it open and fanning herself.

  Kit hid a smile as Madame shook her head in mock reproach. “That is all well and good if all you wish is a small breeze, but the discerning lady uses a fan as an extension of her hand . . . an expression of her emotions.”

  “I don’t understand,” Belle said.

  Since it appeared Madame knew exactly what he had in mind, Kit suggested she show Belle.

  “Very well.” The dressmaker picked up a fan from the selection. “To get a gentleman’s attention without touching him, you might use it thus.” She tapped imperiously on his sleeve with the folded fan. “Or, if you are displeased with him . . .” She opened the fan, then snapped it shut at the end of Kit’s nose in a very effective demonstration of pique. Too effective—Kit suppressed an urge to finger the slighted appendage.

  “You might use it as a more decorous way of pointing at an object of conversation . . .” Madame made a graceful arc with her hand as she held the fan with feigned nonchalance, but it quite clearly ended up pointing directly at his chest. “Or as a way of displaying ennui.” The fan now drooped languidly from her wrist.

  As Madame continued to wield it in demonstration, the bits of paper and wood seemed almost alive, and Kit realized he had been wise to solicit her assistance. The woman had a master hand with the fan and Belle would do well to learn from her.

  And Belle seemed to be an avid pupil as she watched Madame Aglaia with stunned fascination. “Oh,” she exclaimed breathlessly, “is this the language of the fan?”

  “Not at all,” Kit told her. “Madame is merely demonstrating the basic mechanics of expressing emotions with the fan. I’ll show you the language later. For now, why don’t you try some of the gestures Madame showed you?”

  Eagerly, Belle tried it. At first, her attempts were too broad, almost a caricature, but with Madame’s excellent training and Kit’s encouragement, she soon caught the knack of it and wielded the fan with grace and elegance. She was so obviously delighted with herself that her face became animated and her eyes sparkled.

  My Lord, she is lovely like this, Kit realized. As she cast
him a saucy look over the top of the fan, he said, “Don’t move—hold that position a moment.”

  Then he whisked her around to face the mirror. “Do you see what I see, Miss Sullivan?”

  Belle caught her breath in a gasp and reached out toward the glass to touch it tentatively. “Oh, my. Is that me?” She spun around and gave him an impulsive hug. “Oh, yes, this is what I wanted. Thank you!”

  Having an armful of the soft and slender Belle Sullivan and being enveloped in the musky, heady perfume they had chosen for her acted powerfully on his senses. Suddenly, he no longer saw her as a pupil, but as a sensuous and desirable woman. His arms closed instinctively around her and he longed to draw her even closer. But reason returned just as swiftly.

  This wouldn’t do at all. He jerked away from her embrace, then hastily turned his panicked retreat into a bow toward Madame Aglaia. “I think you should, er, give credit where credit is due.”

  Madame gave him an arch look that said she wasn’t fooled, but Belle didn’t seem to notice as she gave Madame an equally enthusiastic hug.

  See? his conscience chided him. She was just treating you like an uncle or an older brother—not as a prospective lover. So why had she felt so soft and yielding in his arms?

  Kit groaned inwardly. He had done his job only too well—the gauche but endearing Miss Sullivan had somehow turned into an accomplished coquette with no knowledge of the power she held over men.

  Or at least, he hoped she was unaware of her power. If she ever learned, heaven pity the man she had set her sights on, for he was doomed.

  “Mr. Stanhope, are you all right?” came Belle’s concerned voice.

  Lord in heaven, he must have stood there, thunderstruck, like a fool. Pulling himself together and straightening his waistcoat., Kit said, “Ah, yes. Of course. I was merely . . . woolgathering.”

  Belle gave him an odd look but seemed to accept his explanation. “Will you teach me the language now?” she asked with an impish peek over her fan.

  Trying to ignore her appeal, he said, “Ah, yes. I have it right here.” He pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to her. “I’ve written it all down—all you need to do is follow this.”