her hair unbound in public.
Hang society anyway. Well, hang it halfway at least.
At Odette’s insistence, a final touch of powder made from crushed pearls had been dusted across Celine’s face and décolleté. “You simply must, my dear,” Odette had said, as if this made a sliver of sense.
Every time Celine bent one way or leaned to reach for something, she could hear the seams of the emerald basque start to scream. She’d laced her stays as tightly as they would go, and still the rich green fabric across her bust was holding together on little but a prayer. By the end of the night, her breasts were likely to burst free from her corset, a sight that would draw a certain kind of ignominy. Though it would advance Celine’s removal from proper society, it might bring about this conclusion in an abrupt manner. One with which she was not yet entirely comfortable.
But from the way the evening looked to be progressing, it might not be the most scandalous event of the night.
The moment Celine and Odette had entered the glittering foyer of this magnificent home, champagne had been poured liberally, to any and all who wished to partake. Hours later, the glitziest pillars of New Orleans society were well into their cups. Already couples were disappearing into the hedgerow deep within the impressive labyrinth, seeking shadowy corners awash in fervent whispers.
Celine fiddled with the low-cut edge of her emerald gown, trying in vain to tug it higher.
“Stop fretting over it, mon amie. You’ll only draw more attention to the impressive swath of bare skin there,” Odette said from beside Celine, her long sheath dress falling from her shoulders in a cascade of lavender organza, her hair cocooned in a shimmering net atop her head. She’d styled herself in Regency garb, with a hint of Greco-Roman influence. A skein of whisper-thin tulle stained a deep Tyrian purple had been draped across her chest, its ends left to trail down her back. Around her waist was a golden girdle inspired by the character Hippolyta, queen of the Amazons.
“I don’t mind a swath of bare skin,” Celine retorted. “I do mind my bare breasts spilling over the top of my dress at a party replete with satyrs.”
Odette laughed, her ivory fan fluttering her loose brunette curls. “If that happens, you’ll have ten marriage proposals by the end of the evening.”
“I have no intention of becoming the future Madame Goat.” Celine sniffed. “Besides that, I feel like a ham trussed up for holiday dinner.”
Odette’s laughter rang into the starlit sky. “One glass of champagne, and you’re far more entertaining than the Bard himself.” The edges of her lovely face crinkled as she gazed upon Celine, her expression warm. “Before I forget, you look divine in that color. It’s a perfect match for your eyes.”
Her words caused Celine to flinch. Her tormentor that night in the Quarter had used that word. Divine. Meaning “of the gods.” She certainly didn’t feel “of the gods” tonight.
“I should have gone dressed as a tree,” Celine said in a flat tone. When her gaze ran the length of the hedgerow, she caught a glimpse of yet another satyr, his goat ears high on his curly head, a tail fashioned of wool and feathers pinned to the back of his gabardine trousers.
Exasperation rippled through her chest. “Have any of these fools actually read the play?”
Odette cackled with merriment, her long purple mantle swirling about her feet.
A familiar figure caught Celine’s attention across the way. Her heart missed a beat when a pair of sapphire eyes skimmed dangerously close to where Celine stood, the smile below them sweet and serene.
Pippa Montrose was in attendance at this soirée, dressed as Titania, the queen of the fairies, if Celine had to hazard a guess. She’d arrived on the arm of a placid young man with a slender frame and large round spectacles, likely Phoebus Devereux.
Thankfully, it appeared Pippa had yet to spot Celine across the crowded expanse.
Without a second thought, Celine turned in place, positioning her back to Pippa, all the while wishing she could shrink into the rosebushes. If Pippa saw her, a confrontation would likely ensue. Pippa had sent two messages to the hotel today alone, both inquiring after Celine’s welfare. In the latter part of the afternoon, Pippa had come to the Dumaine in person, hoping to check on her friend. Celine had begged off each attempt to make contact, spinning a web of white lies designed to keep Pippa