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The Captain’s Christmas Bride
by Annie Burrows
Chapter One
Christmas Day, 1815
‘How long do you think it will take? To make sure I am thoroughly compromised?’
Lady Julia Whitney observed Marianne’s face turn a little pink as a frown flitted across her brow. But then Marianne disapproved of the whole venture and was uncomfortable being dragged into it.
‘You only need to leave us alone long enough to be sure he is kissing me,’ Lady Julia pointed out. ‘And then you can burst into the orangery and find us.’
‘Yes, but how will I know he is kissing you?’ Marianne yanked hard at the laces in her valiant, prolonged struggle to do up Lady Julia’s masquerade gown. ‘The mistletoe didn’t work. And we hung kissing boughs everywhere.’
Lady Julia winced. Not only had they hung mistletoe everywhere, but almost everyone else was making good use of it.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Marianne. ‘Did I pinch you? This dress is rather tight, isn’t it?’
‘I shall hold my breath until you get it done up,’ said Lady Julia, unwilling to admit that it was chagrin that made her wince, at the reminder that after all the hours spent gathering mistletoe, fashioning it into dozens of kissing boughs, and getting footmen to hang them all over the house, she hadn’t managed to coax David to stand still underneath a single one of them.
‘Thank you,’ said Marianne. ‘I didn’t realise how difficult this would be. I mean, you do look about the same size as the Neapolitan Nightingale. I didn’t think we’d need to make any alterations when she agreed to lend you her gown for the evening. But actually, you are rather more…um…robust.’
She gave another hard tug. ‘There. All done,’ she said.
‘Oh, my goodness,’ said Lady Julia, studying her reflection in the mirror with awe, as well as a touch of dizziness from having held her breath for so long. ‘But it was worth it.’
‘Lawks,’ said Marianne, her eyes widening as she peeped over Lady Julia’s shoulder.
Lawks indeed. The peacock-blue silk gown was a lot more daring than even she’d suspected it might be. On the Neapolitan Nightingale—the opera singer from whom she’d borrowed it—it hadn’t looked any more daring than any of her other gowns. But with Lady Julia’s bosom hitched up like that, and overflowing the straining bodice, it was teetering on the verge of scandalous.
‘Lawks,’ she echoed faintly, staring with astonishment at the impressive cleavage which had never before had a public airing.
‘Well, that puts paid to any worries that people might recognise you,’ said Marianne tartly. ‘Once you put the mask on, not one single man there will be able to raise his eyes from the front of your gown.’
‘And don’t forget the wig,’ came a muffled voice from behind the screen where the Neapolitan Nightingale herself was changing into the costume supposedly made for Lady Julia.
Marianne and Lady Julia exchanged a guilty look. Just how much might she have heard? They’d been whispering to start with, but the sight of that cleavage had shocked them both into indiscretion.
‘Goodness,’ said the Neapolitan Nightingale when she came out from behind the screen—in a voice that betrayed her far-from-Italian origins—and saw the way the two young ladies were gaping at Lady Julia’s extremely risqué décolletage.
‘You look far more delicious in that than I ever did,’ she said, with a wry twist to her lips. ‘You can keep it if you like, after the party is over.’
‘Oh, no, really, I couldn’t…’
‘Well, I shan’t want it back. It’s been my favourite this season, but it’s about time I got a new look.’
Julia took another look at herself in the mirror. The idea had been to make herself look irresistible and completely unlike her rather demure self. Well, she’d certainly done that!
She stroked the shimmering blue-green silk lovingly. She couldn’t imagine ever having the nerve to wear such a revealing gown again. But she would rather like to keep it as a memento. Of this party, and the woman who’d lent it to her, and, she hoped, the successful conclusion to her campaign to make David propose.
‘Then, thank you. Thank you very much.’