Saffina's Season by Flora Dain Page B

through me at the same time. “Our marriage is still the talk of the town. They’re curious to see if my new countess lives up to their idea of her.”
    I arched an eyebrow. “And what idea would that be, sir?”
    He lowered his eyelids with a cynical look. “That you’re beautiful beyond belief and fresh as a daisy. Now hush. The curtain rises. Keep your eyes on the stage.”
    Pleased, but sure he was funning, I glared at him. He leaned back into the shadows, his expression unreadable.
    Quizzing glasses flashed as heads turned toward me. Then I spotted Lady Hornsea over in the regent’s party. Insolently, I fluttered my fingers at her. She tried to look haughty, so I did it again.
    Soon my antics drew the prince’s attention. He fixed me with his glass and stared our way for most of the last act.
    I smiled serenely and ignored them both.
    On the way out, there was quite a crush. Jacquard kept hold of my arm. As we waited for our carriage, he was distracted by some remark from the duke. I stood back to let people pass and we became separated.
    All at once something crunched under my slipper. I picked it up and turned it over in my hands. It was a gaudy scarlet fan, lacquered in the newest Chinese style and heavily daubed with gold. It had a gold tassel shaped like feathers.
    I flicked it open and fluttered it a few times.
    As I snapped it shut and scanned the crowd for its likely owner, a stout gentleman stepped in front of me and bowed low.
    “Your Ladyship? Delighted to find you here. A few moments of your time? This way, quickly. Before anyone sees.”

Chapter Seven
     
     
     
    Startled, I followed the mysterious stranger away from the glittering crowd into the shadow of a doorway. He looked middle-aged and well heeled. This was no struggling young artist and certainly no footpad.
    “Your Ladyship? A word, I beseech you. Just while the carriages line up.” He bowed, removing his hat with a flourish. His coat flashed with fine gold stitching. His wig, silk stockings and buckled shoes seemed old-fashioned but clean.
    “What can you want with me, sir?” I smiled vaguely. We were in a reputable district, a far cry from the back alleys of Chelsea. Even a well-dressed footpad could hardly molest me in a crowd this size.
    The stranger shielded his mouth with his hand. “Concerning the—ah—portrait, Your Ladyship?”
    “ La , sir, you gave me such a fright. Yes, indeed. How soon can we arrange things? I’m keen to begin.”
    “Of course, of course. As soon as you wish.” He was sweating now. “Suppose you call tomorrow morning for our first sitting?”
    “Perfect.” I felt a wave of relief. Jacquard would be at his tailor’s. I had calls to make but could easily cry off. “Tomorrow then. And the address?”
    He gave me an oily smile. “Surely my studio is well known, milady, even to Your Ladyship. Why, all London knows of it. Ladies and gentlemen of the ton call by at all hours. I keep open house.”
    “Not when I’m there, sir,” I said firmly. “It’s all agreed. My sittings will be strictly in secret. No one else must know of this or the commission is void. I made that very clear.”
    His eyes widened. He coughed politely behind his hand. “Oh—ah—certainly, Your Ladyship. Whatever you say. It shall all be arranged to your exact wishes.” He coughed again. “Perhaps if you take care to come incognito? To conceal your visits?”
    “Very well. And I want no contact with the painter, obviously. I might feel awkward later if we were to meet socially. It was suggested he paint from behind a screen.” I spoke quickly, keen to get rid of him.
    He looked dazed. “I—that is he —could do so, I suppose. It’s a little unusual.”
    I glanced over my shoulder, impatient to be gone. The crowd was thinning now. Any moment Jacquard might spot me, then all would be lost.
    “We can go into detail tomorrow. By the way, have you any idea who this belongs to?” I dangled the fan in front of the