Buckingham Palace Gardens - Anne Perry [60]
She was in love with Julius. Or she was in love with the idea of love, the hunger for it that was a gnawing ache inside her, as if she were being eaten from within. She didn’t know Julius, not really.
She shuddered as Bartle laid out her gown for the evening. It was exquisite: the sort of smoky blue that most flattered her cool coloring, and was trimmed with black lace. Minnie could get away with the hot scarlets and appear wild and brave. Elsa would only look like a failed imitation. Cahoon had told her as much. He had often compared her to Minnie—never to her advantage. This was in the shades of dusk, or the twilight sea that she had once felt to be romantic. Now she simply found it drab.
She obeyed patiently as Bartle assisted her into first the chemise, then the petticoats, and finally the gown itself, then she stood still while it was laced up as tightly as she could accommodate without actual discomfort. It was wide at the shoulder with the usual exaggerations of fashion, and low at the bosom. It had a sweeping fall of silk down the front, and pale ruches at the hem. The bustle behind was very slight but extraordinarily flattering. The color made her skin look flawless, like alabaster, and her eyes a darker blue than they really were.
Then she sat again, motionless while Bartle dressed her hair. It was long and thick, dark brown with warmer lights in it. The jewels that Cahoon was so proud of would come last.
It was preposterous to be preparing for dinner when that woman had been hacked to death, and they could not escape the fact that one of the men at the table with them had done it. But neither could they put off the occasion without arousing a suspicion they could not afford. The Prince was dining with them, and of course the Princess. Lord Taunton was the guest. He was a financier Simnel had been courting, who had specific interests in Africa. His support would be of great importance, possibly even necessity. He had never married, so he would bring as his companion his younger sister, Lady Parr, who was recently widowed. Her husband had left her with a fortune of her own, and she was handsome in a rather obvious way. She certainly had admirers—Cahoon among them. Elsa had seen the flash of hunger in his eyes, the way he had once looked at her.
The evening would require great fortitude and the sort of self-mastery that even the strongest woman would find taxing. They would all have to hide their fears. There must be no frayed tempers, no hint of anxiety. Taunton must believe that all was well, that they were full of optimism and faith in the success of the new and marvelous venture.
“There you are, Miss Elsa,” Bartle said, clasping the sapphire necklace around her throat. “You look lovely.”
Elsa regarded her reflection. She was tired and too pale, but there was nothing she could do about it. Pinching her cheeks would bring a little color, but only for a very short time. It seemed a pretense not worth making.
She thanked Bartle and sent her to inform Cahoon that she was ready.
A moment later she heard the door close and saw his reflection in the glass. He examined her critically, but seemed satisfied. He said nothing, and they went down the stairs together in silence.
Olga and Simnel were already waiting, standing in the yellow sitting room with its illusion of sunlight, two or three yards apart from each other. She wore a gown of dark green, darker than the emeralds at her ears and throat. It was hard and too cold for her. It leached from her skin what little color there was, and its lightless depth made her look even more angular. Her lady’s maid should have told her so. Perhaps she had, and been ignored. There