Yes. Well. This time, she’d be giving her all forherselffor a change. Creating her own legacy. Controlling her own future.
“How would you like to be the first investor in a new business opportunity?” she asked.
Sampson made a face. “We’re widening Eshu’s Altar. I won’t have a spare penny for at least six months. By then, your public masquerade hall will be the only reason anyone comes to London.”
Damnit. Unity forced a smile. She wished his words were true. Itcouldhave come true. But Sampson was the only wealthy person she knew—and trusted. She wanted to partner with someone from this neighborhood.
Unity had stumbled in here all those years ago out of necessity and out of revenge. Cousin Roger had turned her out into the street without a care. She had wanted to make him pay. This venue was the one he despised above all others. The one he had resented being better than his.
Helping Sampson had been a wonderful start. Helpingherself... ahh. Her future success as an independent club owner would be the sweetest revenge.
But first, she had to learn everything there was to know about operating a successful masquerade. The sort people would do anything to attend. She knew from experience that the best way to learn was from the thick of things. If she wanted to start a club that rivaled Lambley’s balls in popularity... then she needed to become very familiar with Lambley’s balls.
“You’re making the face,” Sampson said. “TheI-will-destroy-all-competitionface.”
“You said it wasn’t competing,” she reminded him. “The duke and I shall be... colleagues.”
“Doesheknow that?” Sampson said doubtfully.
Unity handed him her empty glass and straightened her bonnet. “He’s about to.”
Chapter 4
On Monday afternoon, Unity wrangled her voluminous black curls into subdued twists and clothed herself in her finest day dress. She looked more like a governess than a society miss, but she wished tolearnfrom the Duke of Lambley, not waltz with him.
How many masquerades would he permit her to attend? If she were lucky... maybe two. It was not at all ideal, but if one was the best she could negotiate, then it would have to do. She’d bring a reticule large enough to hold a journal and several pencils, and take note of absolutely everything.
Her confidence wavered.
She’d spent years observing her cousin’s operations before attempting to meddle, and months immersed in Sampson’s before daring to make changes. Did she really think a single night hosted by the Duke of Lambley would have the power to—
Yes. She did think. After all, she knew what a masqueradewas. She had attended several at Vauxhall and elsewhere. All she was looking for was the special spark that made his so different.
It couldn’t just be the carnal assignations rumored to proliferate at his parties. London had plenty of brothels and street prostitutes and high class demimondaines for all tastes and pocketbooks. Nor was Lambley the only member of the beau monde to host a masquerade.
Of course, fine gentlemen weren’tsupposedto host parties. There was meant to be a wife or a dowager or an aunt or a sister acting as hostess, to make the gathering respectable. But clearly the duke wasn’t too concerned with conforming to society’s expectations.
That was the only reason Unity might have a chance.Shedid not match Polite Society’s expectations. To them, she was the wrong color, the wrong class, the wrong everything. But to Lambley, who delighted in being unconventional...
One night. One invitation. It could happen.
When the hack drew up outside the duke’s grand residence, Unity froze with her gloved fingers against the smudged glass of the small window.
The house was enormous. Three stories tall, and wide enough to fit her cousin’s club and Sampson’s gambling parlor in each wing. What on earth did anyone do with that much house? He could turn the first two floors into a theatre and still have more living space than a normal person would know what to do with.
Perhaps that’s what hewasdoing. Masquerades were a sort of theatre. Costumes to wear, roles to play. She could not wait to see what the stage looked like up close.
Unity handed the driver a coin and scrambled out of the hackney, then immediately regretted having done so. A lady did notscramble. Not that she was likely to be confused for a lady, but nonetheless, she did not wish to create a poor impression. What if he had seen her ungainly leap to the cobbled street?
More importantly, how was this street soclean?Did he and his neighbors employ an army of sweepers to dust away every pebble and leaf and horse dropping before it could even land? Did shoe-shiners pop out of the shadows to buff individual cobblestones into gleaming perfection after each carriage passed?
She made her way up the gorgeous, trimmed path to the front door, pausing every few feet to gawk at the size and breadth of his home.
Only because she was staring slack-jawed and shameless did she see a figure step close enough to one of the enormous windows for his face to be bathed in sunlight.
Three seconds. Maybe four. But that was all it took to burn that patrician profile into Unity’s brain for the rest of time. He was not even the sort of man sheliked, and she would no doubt dream of him every night for the next two months.
Tall and wide of shoulder, dressed in the first stare of fashion and all that other twaddle Unity didn’t care about. It should have made him indistinguishable from every other rich, indolent Town buck.
