Christina Hollis by Lady Rascal Read Free Book Online

helped to choose a muslin gown of pale lilac with ribbons of a darker shade for her waist and hair. Privately, she was horrified to discover that women actually went out and about in such flimsy clothes.
    No wonder the Adamsons hadn’t been shocked at the dress she had arrived in. What Madeleine thought of as a shift was actually the latest fashion.
    When she had been bathed and dressed, Madeleine had to sit still for an age while her hair was pressed into tiny ringlets with heated irons. With her thick dark curls piled up and trimmed with the violet ribbon, Madeleine was astonished at the result.
    Mistress Constance teased out a few strands of hair to wisp about Madeleine’s brow, then directed the maid to be sparing with her cosmetics. She was already nearly satisfied with the result.
    Madeleine sat obediently while her face was dusted with the palest powder. A hint of rouge along her cheekbones highlighted the delicacy of her bone-structure. Then all that was needed was to mix a little of the rouge with some softened lard as colour and gloss for her lips.
    An evening bag was evidently something that no lady could be without. Before Madeleine could claim to have lost hers in the riots, Mistress Constance offered to lend her one.
    The maid packed a little more lip colour in an enamelled pill-box for her bag. Taking a moment to rearrange the flimsy folds of Madeleine’s dress, she then pronounced her ready.
    As the mantel clock tinkled the quarter after five, Madeleine crept into the library behind Mistress Constance. She felt as shameful as one of the half-dressed statues the aristos had started decorating the outside of their houses with. What on earth would the staid Philip Adamson say?
    Even if he noticed what she was wearing, Adamson did not have a chance to comment. His mother had a far more important observation to make.
    ‘Philip! You can’t possibly go out looking like that!’
    Adamson seemed genuinely puzzled. He looked down at his sombre black tailcoat and breeches, enlivened only by a white cravat and stockings.
    ‘Why not?’
    ‘Because this is a subscription concert, not a funeral. That’s why not! Go up and change. No—wait. You’ll only choose the wrong things again. I’ll go and tell Higgins to fetch out the new suit I brought with us from England.’
    In a flurry of excitement Mistress Constance scampered off, leaving Madeleine with only Adamson for company.
    ‘Help yourself,’ he said uncomfortably, nodding towards the decanter which stood ready as ever beside the sofa.
    Madeleine needed the courage drink could inspire, and hurried forward to pour herself a large one.
    ‘You seem to enjoy it, mademoiselle.’
    His voice was haughty. Madeleine stopped with her glass hardly half full and looked up into his accusing eyes. He smelled strongly of clean things—soap and the new mystery that was toothpowder.
    ‘This is for medicinal purposes, Master Philip. For my nerves.’
    ‘And I thought the French aristocracy paid underlings to suffer all the baser hazards of life.’
    Madeleine was stung to sarcasm. ‘Does your mother always choose your clothes for you?’ she said nastily.
    ‘Clothes on a rack are as alike as one day and the next to me, mademoiselle. My sensibilities for trivia have long since withered away. I no longer care unduly about my appearance, nor even what people may say or think about me.’
    Madeleine looked at him long and hard, forgetting any embarrassment about her dress. Although his clothes were evidently not suitable for the sub, he was shaved, clean and tidy, with hair neatly brushed. He certainly didn’t show signs of neglect.
    Only later in her education did Madeleine learn that all gentlemen were walking tributes to the hard work of their valets.
    After chivvying her son off to change, Mistress Constance took Madeleine outside to wait in the coach. In no time at all Adamson returned, resplendent in a suit of dusky mallow embroidered with silver. Even this did not