The empress of ice cream

Louise

The masks fool no one. Yet I do not recognise the woman in a chequered vizard who stands beside me later at the supper board.

‘So you are my replacement,’ she says.

‘I’m sorry.>’ I turn to look at her. Tall, well-figured, older than me. But there is something about the way she carries herself confident, strong, commanding - that puts me on my guard.

‘Oh, don’t worry,’ she says. ‘I’ve had a good run. Besides, as you’ve doubtless discovered by now, some of his . . . peccadilloes can be rather wearying.’

‘Who are you!*’

‘Don’t you know.^*’ She sounds amused. ‘Well, I suppose there plenty of us to choose from. But I’m the only one so far who’s gained a title from it. Mind you, I had to let him watch me with three of his guardsmen before he made me a duchess.’

My shock must be evident, despite my mask. ‘Oh, has he not sprung that one on you quite yet?’ she murmurs. ‘Give it time, my dear, give it time. But don’t be fooled by his perfect manners. For all his charm, he is a libertine just like the rest of them.’

A footman steps forward with a platter laden with langoustines. Spearing one on a knife, he thrusts it into my face. I look round. The other woman has vanished. ‘Where is the closet?’ I ask the footman. ‘Quickly - I think I am going to be sick.’