A Lord of Many Masks (Wycliffe Family Book 2)

by Jessica Scarlett

  And I wondered why he didn’t believe it himself.

  Chapter 8

  I sat at my desk, idly grazing my lips with the quill. A quiet thought entered my head, sparking the idea for my poem.

  I had wanted to say more to William the other day in the park, when he’d announced his plans to travel. About how much I cared for him as a friend, and how much I would endeavor to encourage and support him.

  But most of all, I had wanted to ask him to stay.

  Adventure was something I longed for as well. When I was younger, I used to daydream about exotic places, wondering about the smells, people, plants, and culture. It wasn’t until I was much older that I realized how special those daydreams were. They enabled me to experience—at least for a moment—the thrill of travelling to distant shores. More than that, they helped me realize that I didn’t need to go far away for excitement. It was around every corner of life, if you looked for it.

  I dipped my quill into the inkwell, then scratched at the parchment, the words coming easily.

  Adventure Waits

  Be it as a pirate who

  Is heading out to sea

  Be it as a princess fair—

  Adventure waits for me

  Be it off in foreign lands

  In deserts without tree

  Or be it here in London town—

  Adventure waits for me

  Be it staying where I am

  While wishing I could be

  Someone other than my self

  Adventure waits for me

  Be it as a girl whose light

  Has gone and left her eyes

  Because my hopes and dreams crashed down

  And rendered me more wise—

  Be it so, so simple as

  A love that sets me free

  Content I’ll be, because I’ll know

  Adventure waits for me

  I posted it a week later. Not only did I not want to seem too eager in my response, but I grew self-conscious. It was the most soul-revealing poem I’d ever written, and as our poems were strictly silly, it felt risky to write something so serious. The last thing I wanted was for William to make fun of me.

  Still, post it I did, and the following evening I sat in the drawing room, working on my embroidery and trying not to worry over William’s reply. Matthew occupied a chair near the fire, absorbed in a thick volume. Every few minutes a page rustled as he turned it, marking his steady progress.

  “Why does that woman keep appearing?” he said suddenly.

  “What woman?”

  “The loud one.”

  I needed no other description to know he spoke of Lady Prima. Suppressing a smile, I continued my needlepoint. Lady Prima had been to see me twice more since the visit with Mr. Hayman, but Matthew hadn’t been in attendance either of those times.

  “Have you met her?” I said.

  “One does not have to meet the woman to be annoyed by her. Whenever she comes, there is little peace to be found.” He slammed his book shut and looked up. “But as it happens, I did meet her. Ran into her in the foyer just as she was departing from one of her visits. Pinched my cheeks as if I were a coddled babe.” Matthew glared at me like I had been the one who dared touch him so. I bit my lip to keep from laughing.

  He scoffed, rubbing his cheeks with one hand. “Laugh all you wish. She may be a chucklehead, but the woman has a strong grip.” Reopening his book, Matthew settled back into his chair again. “And you have avoided my question.”

  I looked up. “Hm?”

  “Why does the woman keep coming here?” Matthew’s eyes darted over the pages of his volume, but I knew he was just as attentively waiting for my response. And that he wouldn’t let the matter rest until he had an answer.

  To Matthew’s logical brain, there was an answer for everything.

  “She is helping me on a project.”

  “If you are about to tell me this project of yours involves matchmaking, then you’re an even bigger fool than I thought, Eliza.”

  My mouth dropped open—but really, I shouldn’t be so surprised. Very little slipped past Matthew, who was wise beyond his years. His youth coupled with the fact that he always had his nose in a book caused most people—including me—to underestimate him, to assume he wasn’t paying attention. Many secrets I’d harbored over the years, never telling another soul about them, only to discover that Matthew already regarded them as fact. He was too perceptive for his own good.

  It shouldn’t have shocked me that something as flimsy as my plans toward marriage wouldn’t have gone unnoticed by him. But it did. For if Matthew knew of my schemes, did he know of Mama’s illness?

  No, he couldn’t. The whole family—even Peter—had heard the doctor’s multiple assurances that Mama would recover. No matter how perceptive Matthew was, he wouldn’t disregard a physician’s professional assessment.

  “How so?” I said at last.

  “Everyone knows the only people who employ matchmakers are the ones who can’t find a match themselves. The ugly, untalented, ill-bred ones.”

  My needle burrowed into my finger and I gave a hiss, sucking my thumb. Matthew delved deeper into his book, seemingly unconcerned with the barbs he shot with shocking ease.

  He and Peter looked so similar; dark hair, high cheekbones, striking blue eyes. However, their personalities differed greatly. Peter was sensible but mischievous, whereas Matthew at fifteen was Solomon reborn—with a healthy dose of snobbery mixed in. The boy could be absolutely horrendous sometimes. Just as he was being now.

  I bit my thumb, inspecting the damage. It must’ve been only a little prick since the blood had already stopped oozing. “I can find a match perfectly well on my own, thank you. I have other reasons for employing Lady Prima.”

  “Such as?”

  “Such as pinching your cheeks when she comes to visit.”

  Matthew rolled his eyes to look over at me. He didn’t appreciate it when I treated him like a child—and I could understand the feeling—but I didn’t appreciate it when he acted so pompous and nosy.

  So, nearly all the time.

  Mama entered with a newspaper and a pair of spectacles. “Ah, here you both are. Matthew, I do wish you’d do something else for a change.”

  She meant the reading, of course. Mama often made the comment, but it never made a whit of difference. I couldn’t recall a time when I’d ever seen Matthew without his signature book in hand. In response to Mama, Matthew licked his finger and turned a page. She sighed. “What about riding, or perhaps hunting?”

  Matthew’s expression took on a bland quality. “I can take up chess if it would satisfy you, Mother, but please don’t make me gallivant about the country like some caper-witted rogue. Sounds devilish tiring.”

  Mama sighed and her shoulders sagged, though there was a soft pull to her lips. “So Eliza,” she said, turning to me. “Any progress?”

  Matthew still hadn’t glanced up, but I knew he was listening. He was too clever not to be.

  “We are to go to the opera tomorrow,” I said.

  “And Allerton is to be there?”

  “Yes. In our box, in fact.”

  Mama looked pleased, as if the arrangement had been my doing. “See that you don’t waste the opportunity. Remember to smile, and make conversation.”

  “Of course, Mama.”

  I glanced at Matthew again, only this time his gaze locked with mine above the spine of his book. Something passed between us, though I couldn’t exactly put my finger on it. He was being shrewd again.

  Mama noticed and cleared her throat. “High time you were in bed, my boy.”

  With a sigh, Matthew closed his hardcover and stood. He gave Mama a kiss on her proffered cheek before leaving the parlor. The fire crackled and popped in the hearth, making the shadows dance upon the rug.

  “I find it promising that Allerton called upon you twice this last week,” Mama said. “And once more while you were out.”

  “Yes.” I smiled at th
e memory of his visits. He had been thoughtful and generous by bringing me extravagant gifts, like hothouse orchids and a lace fan straight from Paris. On each of his visits, he’d made me laugh. And the way he looked at me with his warm eyes . . .

  “How do you find the duke?”

  My needle faltered after jabbing the fabric. I forced myself to resume my needlework, stitching a yellow flower to its stem. “He is reserved, but unassuming. I have no difficulty conversing with him anymore.”

  “Then what is troubling you?”

  I glanced up, then wished I hadn’t. Mama was being shrewd too, detecting some hesitation within me that I barely knew was there myself. About what, I didn’t know. Or rather, I did, but didn’t want to think on it. To think on it would be to acknowledge it, and to acknowledge it would be catastrophic.

  As I set my embroidery aside my brows slanted up. I sighed, a sound that was hurried and hopeful. “Mama, must I really marry before the year is through? I’m sure His Grace is a fine man, but I am uncertain of my own heart. Marriage is for a lifetime, so how can I make such a decision so hastily? We needn’t rush in so. You will get better—I know you shall.”

  I could taste the lies like blood on my tongue. I knew my heart. She would not get better. Time was running out. I picked up my needlepoint again and continued my embroidery faster than before, creating uneven stitches that matched my erratic pulse.

  At length Mama spoke, words quiet but not without intensity. “I see now I should not have encouraged your friendship with William.”

  “Why ever not? He and I are close.”

  “Perhaps a little too close.”

  Dropping my needle, I gaped at Mama in complete shock. “You misunderstand.”

  “Do I?”

  “Yes! William and I are friends. I cannot believe you’d—”

  I cut off as a servant entered. She scurried to stoke the fire and add more firewood. While the girl worked I said nothing, but my denial built within me, yearning to burst out. William flirted with every girl he passed. He would never feel that way about me. And I . . .

  Mama began to cough. It turned vicious near the end and grated on my ears before it subsided. Finally the servant girl finished and bustled back through the doors.

  Several minutes had passed but Mama continued the conversation as if we hadn’t been interrupted. “I was aware of your preference several years ago. I had hoped you would grow out of such silly wishes, but I see that is not the case.”

  “Mama—”

  “Truly I did not think anything would come of it. You would eventually move on, and since William was such a strength to me when your Father died, I could not bear to send him away. I see now that I should have.”

  I swallowed, blood pounding in my throat, fingertips, and toes. Wringing my hands in my lap, I shushed my heart, feeding it more lies.

  He is only a friend. He doesn’t affect me in that way. I can’t be in love with someone who hides, and pretends, and acts as if the whole world lies at his feet. I can’t.

  It didn’t work.

  The truth coursed through my veins, rhythmically thumping with each beat of my heart, forcing me to acknowledge what had been troubling me of late. Unbidden, the image of my mysterious suitor came to my mind, shadowed as usual. Only this time, slowly, color began to filter into the picture, piece by piece revealing his sharp chin, full mouth, straight nose, hazel eyes. Features more familiar to me than my own.

  It was William. It had always been William.

  But how? How could I have been so blind to my own feelings? How long had I been in love with him without even knowing it? A memory played out before my eyes.

  Chapter 9

  I sobbed into my father’s jacket, squeezing it as I sank to the floor. The brass buttons clinked as I brought it to my nose for the hundredth time. It still smelled like him—pipe smoke and cinnamon. The cloth absorbed my tears, forming a huge wet spot over the left breast, where Father always kept his tortoiseshell snuffbox.

  Unlike at the funeral and the fortnight since, I didn’t hold back my grief. Mama had sequestered herself away in her room. Peter was gone to London. Matthew had buried himself in his library. Father was dead. There was no one left to hear me.

  “I thought I heard crying.”

  I sniffed and looked up. Through the dark I made out William’s figure filling the doorway, casting a long shadow that stretched across my crumpled form as he neared. Pale moonlight illuminated his features as he stopped by the window.

  “Where is that happy girl I know, hm? Where has she gone off to?”

  I didn’t answer, but my thoughts did. She is gone, just like my father. Gone, gone, gone.

  Fabric rustled as William squatted next to me. A cool hand touched my cheek. “Why do you cry so, Eliza?”

  My lower lip trembled and I hugged the coat all the tighter. “Because he shall never come back,” I whispered. “He has left me behind.”

  “But you are not alone.” Then he paused, before his other hand grasped mine. “Here. Come with me.”

  I wanted to protest. I wanted to cry long and hard until my eyes were swollen shut. To sit in my dark little corner and let the shadows peck at me until I became one of them. But William’s hand was firm as it led me out of the parlor and out into the night.

  The grass swished under our feet as we climbed a hill littered with dandelions. Stars blinked sleepily overhead, a few feathery clouds circling the full moon. Just as soon as he let me go his arm enveloped my shoulders. “Look up there,” he said. “Tell me what you see.”

  I sniffled again and shook my head. I didn’t want to be cheered up.

  William’s finger prodded my chin up, and I didn’t resist. “Tell me what you see,” he repeated.

  “Stars.”

  “Yes, but not just any stars.”

  “Of course they are. They are the same stars that were in the sky last night, and the night before, and a hundred years before that.”

  “Mm, I don’t think you looked close enough. You see, there’s a new star in the sky. That one.” He pointed. “Do you see it?”

  I followed the direction of his finger to a pinprick of light. It flickered up there in the deep, dark sky.

  “That star has a very unique story attached to it. Shall I tell it to you?”

  “Is it a true story?”

  He paused, looking down at me in the moonlight. “ . . . Yes, if you choose to believe it.”

  I hesitated before giving a slow nod.

  “Once upon a time, there were two lovers, named Deneb and Cygnus. Deneb was immortal, and he loved Cygnus, a mere mortal woman. The Goddess of Heaven who ruled the sky heard of their love and forbade it. Then, when she learned they were secretly married, the Goddess was furious. She kidnapped Deneb into the Heavens and created a river in the sky, to forever separate him from his wife. Cygnus and her children begged the Goddess to return Deneb to them, but she would not relent.

  “Cygnus did not give up.

  “Once a year, all the swans in the world assembled up in the sky. They climbed to the Heavens, forming a bridge over that vast, wide river for just one night. And once a year, Cygnus crossed the bridge and joined her husband up in the stars, lying next to him in the abyss. For that one night, they cherished each other, cherished those few moments they had. And then, she would return to Earth, already eagerly waiting for another year to pass away.

  “Cygnus loved him, just as you love your father.” William brushed an errant lock of my hair away from my cheek. “They too existed worlds apart. Yet never for one moment were they lost to one another. She was a lover of the stars, and she never gave up on him.

  “That star that you see there,” he said, pointing back to the same spot, “is part of the swan constellation. It is only visible in summer, but you must find it every time you look at the sky—for hidden deep behind its stars is where your father is this very moment, guiding your life from a distance.

  “And once a year, on this day—and only
this day—the swans will fly up into the sky and bridge that enormous river that separates you. You can stay all through the night. And though your father will always be near you, watching over you—this night. This night is special. Now close your eyes.”

  I did.

  “Can you see him?”

  A peace settled over me. “Yes,” I whispered, forming a wobbly smile. All at once my cheeks were wet. I opened my eyes and smiled up at William in the starlight. He looked different, somehow. Stronger. And kinder, and nobler.

  More . . . like everything a man should be.

  The corners of his mouth turned up before his thumb brushed a tear from my cheek. Then his finger tapped my smile. “There’s that happy girl.”

  Chapter 10

  The realization pummeled my insides, looking for a form of release as his face swam before my eyes. I was in love with William Bentley.

  And I had been ever since that night he heard me crying.

  I stared at the vision again, shocked again to find William staring back. So, so different from what I had imagined.

  I’d imagined a gallant knight who would charm me with his gestures and wit. That role, William had no trouble filling. But I’d also imagined a secret confidante, someone who shared their deepest secrets with me, thereby sharing their burdens too. I’d imagined someone who actually believed in love.

  Oh, what a horrible, tangled-up mess.

  Mama’s voice broke into my stupor, though it sounded distant to my ears. “William is charming. There is little wonder you would fall for him, but I have blinded myself of it.”

  I glanced down at the scrap of fabric in my hands, at the flowers with mismatched lengths of petals. William and I were like that; part of the same flower, perhaps, but growing different directions and at different speeds. He and I didn’t fit together. William didn’t fit with anyone.

  “But what if,” I found myself saying, softly grazing over one petal with my thumb, “. . . what if my affections were returned?” I looked up at Mama. “He is not a Peer, but he is amiable and incredibly wealthy. You cannot deny that such a match would be suitable—even advantageous.”