Runaway Duchess (London Ladies Book 1)

by Jillian Eaton

  What he needed was a wife. But not just any wife. She would have to be a lady from a well to do family. A lady the ton knew and admired. A lady that would make him the envy of every man. A lady with hair the color of fire and eyes that burned like the setting sun.

  A lady just like Charlotte Vanderley.

  Chapter Eight

  “I feel like a peacock.” Jutting out her chin, Charlotte glared at her reflection in the gilt framed mirror above her dresser. For the past two hours she had been sitting in the same chair in her bedchamber while Tabitha fixed her hair into an elaborate tower of curls to complement her fanciful Georgian gown, and her patience was finally wearing thin.

  Surprisingly, it had been Dianna’s idea to attend the masquerade ball held yearly at the renowned Devonshire Estate. It was an illicit affair, filled with drinking and gambling and other acts of sin usually denied to women of their station, but for one night a year, as long as the faces of everyone in attendance remained suitably covered, the ton chose to look the other way.

  “You look beautiful,” Dianna said from behind her. “Now hold still, this feather is not sticking like it should. Tabitha, what if we used hot wax to secure it?”

  Charlotte instantly ducked her head to the side, no small feat given the current weight of her hair. “Do not even consider it,” she warned in an ominous tone. Obediently the maid set down the beeswax candle she had picked up from the dresser and resumed attempting to pin in the final white feather by less destructive means. Charlotte rolled her aching shoulders and sighed. “Remind me why we are doing this again?”

  Dianna’s grin in the mirror was unmistakably mischievous. “Because your Mr. Graystone will be there, and it will be a splendid opportunity to woo him.”

  “Firstly”–Charlotte held up a finger–“he is not my Mr. Graystone. Secondly, who said he will be there?”

  “Lady Harrington.”

  “Lady Harrington seems to know a great deal about Mr. Graystone.” Not that she cared. Of course not. After all, she hardly knew the man. They had only spoken for a few minutes…and shared a kiss most women waited their entire lifetime to experience.

  “Yes, I do believe she has set her cap for him. A lot of women have, it seems. He is not titled, everyone knows that, but he is wealthy and undeniably handsome. Why, if not for, well, you know, I might set a cap for him myself.” Her smile fading, Dianna averted her gaze as Charlotte felt a pang of empathy for her friend.

  Dianna had been engaged to Lord Miles Radnor, Earl of Winfield, since the age of nine. It was a family match, made before such arrangements fell out of favor. By all appearances (and against all odds) they’d been in love with each another, until–for reasons still unknown–Miles vanished on the day of their wedding. He’d been gone for four years now, and Dianna rarely brought him up in conversation.

  “I still don’t see why you think I should marry Mr. Graystone,” Charlotte said quickly. Even though Miles had vanished nearly half a decade ago, he still cast a long shadow, and Charlotte knew if she did not keep the conversation on track Dianna would fall into it. “There was a spark between us, that’s true. But, to be honest, I did not leave with the impression that he liked me very much.”

  “Don’t be silly,” Dianna scoffed. “He’s a man, isn’t he? All men like you, Charlotte. Half of them are in love with you, you’ve just never cared enough to notice. And as I’ve already explained a dozen times, the only way to escape marrying Paine is to marry someone else. There’s no other lord in London who would dare defy a duke, but Mr. Graystone is a commoner. He needn’t concern himself with affairs of the peerage. Add to that he is also rich, which means he will be able to pay off your mother’s debts and you will be free of Paine once and for all.”

  It did make a great deal of sense. It also meant Charlotte would effectively be exchanging one husband for another, but she’d rather marry a hundred Gavin’s than a single Paine.

  Still, there was a single small matter to consider.

  “What if Gavin doesn’t want to marry me?”

  Dianna lowered the smudge of kohl she’d picked up to darken her eyes. “That is why we are attending the masquerade. So you can flirt outrageously and get him to propose.”

  “But–but we do not have a proper chaperone.” She was reaching for excuses now, and even Tabitha knew it if her raised eyebrow was any indication. Charlotte’s fingers twisted anxiously in her lap.

  For the first time in her entire life she was truly apprehensive about something, and she wasn’t certain how to handle it. Usually she acted first and considered the consequences later. It was Dianna who questioned everything; Dianna who talked her down when she wanted to do something impulsive. Now Dianna was urging her to commit the most reckless act of her life and she was balking.

  It was almost embarrassing.

  “No one has a proper chaperone,” said Dianna, “which is the entire point of the ball.”

  “But my mother—”

  “Believes you are staying with me for the night so we can go to the dress maker’s first thing in the morning, just as my mother believes I am staying with you. My driver has sworn not to breathe a word, and he will pick us up and drop us off as though we truly were staying at each other’s houses.” Dianna wrapped her fingers around Charlotte’s shoulder and squeezed. “If you truly do not want to go, then we will not go. But this is your one chance, Char. Your only chance. You will be getting married at the end of the week no matter what you do. Why not choose the groom?”

  When she put it that way…

  “Very well.” Charlotte squared her shoulders. “We’ll go to the masquerade, I’ll woo Gavin as I’ve never wooed anyone before, he will fall helplessly in love with me, and propose before the night is over.” She managed a tight smile. “How hard can it possibly be?”

  “I think this may have been a very bad idea.” Her face white as a sheet beneath her ornate gold and blue mask, Dianna tugged desperately at Charlotte’s arm and yanked her unceremoniously into the bushes. “I think we should leave.”

  A steady stream of guests–all dressed in glittering costumes with demi masks to disguise their faces–sauntered past them, their voices raised to be heard over the steady stream of music pouring through the open French doors of the Devonshire Estate.

  In every visible direction the masquerade was well underway. The front steps spilled directly into the main ballroom, which was already near to bursting at the seams. Through a second set of doors a rambling garden aglow with torches provided an alcove of privacy for those couples wishing to take a respite from dancing. Overhead, balconies were being utilized as well, and as the two friends cowered in the bushes a woman’s pink handkerchief came spinning down in lazy circles to land in a pool of silk at their feet.

  Charlotte bent to pick up the discarded handkerchief, but Dianna pulled her upright with a soft murmur of dismay.

  “Did you hear what I said? I…I have changed my mind. This is a bad idea. A very bad idea. We need to leave at once.”

  “Stop it,” Charlotte hissed. “You are the one who wanted to come in the first place! Now we are here, and we are not leaving.” All around them the air thrummed with excitement as Charlotte’s heart pounded with a delicious mixture of nerves, anticipation, and exhilaration. On the way to the masquerade she’d come to embrace what the evening might bring, and she was looking forward to seeing Gavin again. She wondered how he would be dressed tonight. Would she be able to recognize him? Better yet, would he recognize her?

  Her costume was deceptively simple. It had, in fact, once belonged to her grandmother, and Tabitha only had to make a few alternations for it to fit Charlotte’s body like a glove. It was a traditional Georgian gown, tight above the waist and through the elbow length sleeves before spilling out in a wide hoop skirt supported by an old fashioned wood pannier. The fabric was silk and dyed a vibrant shade of plum with white lace trim.

  Her hair, piled high above her head in a tangle of elaborately styled curls, was fill
ed with feathers and ribbons and heaven knew what else. The combined weight of it all was already straining Charlotte’s neck, and she could not imagine how women had once dressed in such a fashion on a daily basis. Considering what they’d once been forced to wear, it was little wonder simplistic hairstyles and free flowing empire waist gowns were now all the rage.

  A black mask outlined with sparkling amethysts completed the costume. It left only her eyes and the lower half of her face visible, giving her a demure air of mystery that fit perfectly with the night’s festivities.

  Dianna, on the other hand, had been uncharacteristically daring with her costume. She was dressed as Helen of Troy, and her white dress was most definitely inspired by the Greek gods of old.

  It draped across one shoulder, leaving the other scandalously bare. Her dance slippers, mask, and jewelry were all gold. She had purchased a wig to disguise her tell-tale blonde curls, and her new ebony hair reached all the way to the small of her back.

  “I should have brought a cloak to wear,” Dianna moaned as she did her best to cover her wantonly exposed flesh with her hands while simultaneously shrinking further into the bushes. “What was I thinking? I am going to be ruined. Someone is going to recognize me.”

  “You are not going to be ruined.” Charlotte’s eyes rolled behind her mask. “No one will recognize you.”

  “Are you certain?”

  “Positive.” And she was. Why, if she didn’t know for a fact that it was Dianna beneath the gold mask she would have looked right past her own dearest friend. “You look beautiful. Radiant, even. Now come along. I am not going to find my future husband hiding in the shrubbery.”

  “No, I guess not.” Dragging her heels only a little bit, Dianna allowed Charlotte to pull her out of the bushes and onto the path where they were quickly swept up in the crush of bodies fighting to make their way into the manor. The moment they were through the towering entryway both women stopped and stared, identical expressions of shock and amazement lighting their faces as they took in the full breadth of the masquerade.

  Men and women swirled in every direction, their fanciful costumes glittering beneath ornate chandeliers swathed in ivory silk. A lively waltz floated on the air, coaxing the crowd forward into the massive ballroom. Cigar smoke billowed up from beneath one closed door; high pitched giggles from another. Champagne flowed freely and tables weighed down by every delectable treat imaginable ran the length of an entire wall. A fountain–a fountain!–had been dragged into the middle of the massive ballroom and was spraying impressive jets of water high into the air, showering those who dared venture close enough with a cooling mist.

  It was, Charlotte thought as she spun in a slow, wide-eyed circle, almost otherworldly.

  “This is truly unbelievable,” Dianna said in awe.

  “Do you still want to leave?” she asked innocently.

  “Leave?” Dianna repeated, her eyes wide as tea saucers. “Heavens, no.”

  Linking their arms tightly together at the elbow, the two women made their way further inside, fighting for room to move in the sea of costumes. Dianna was forced to stop short to keep from being run over a ghost, while a woman dressed as a swan complete with a feathered headdress was jostled hard into Charlotte’s right side. For a fleeting moment their eyes met, the swan winked, and Charlotte stifled a snort of surprised laughter.

  “What is it?’ Equal parts nervous and excited, Dianna Pained her neck around to look behind them, but the swan had disappeared.

  “Lady Nettle,” Charlotte explained.

  Dianna’s face paled beneath her mask. “Did you say Lady Nettle?” she hissed. “Can you imagine what she would say if she saw us here? She is a patroness of Almack’s! We would never be invited again.”

  “Oh, I think we would.” Leaning in close, Charlotte repeated what she had seen, and Dianna visibly relaxed. If Lady Antonia Nettle, renowned for her social etiquette, was in attendance, then the rumors were true: for tonight all bets were off, and the strict rules of the ton that governed their every step did not apply. They were as free, and it felt blissfully liberating.

  “What should we do first?” Still holding fast to Dianna’s arm, Charlotte sidestepped a tottering clown, ducked under the arm of a goat, and narrowly avoided being run over by a man dressed as a horse. He raised his flute of champagne, neighed at them, and stumbled off.

  “Dance?” Dianna suggested breathlessly.

  “Dance,” Charlotte agreed.

  The next hour passed in a blur of changing faces and colorful ensembles. Charlotte could not say for certain who any dance partners had been, and she knew no one had recognized her either, for not a single question about her engagement or impending wedding was asked. Somewhere during the organized chaos she lost sight of Dianna, but she wasn’t worried. Quite the contrary. She was glad her friend had stepped beyond her comfort level and was enjoying herself for a change. This was precisely what Dianna needed: to loosen up and enjoy her life without all the seriousness she imposed upon herself on a daily basis.

  “Might I cut in?” a husky voice asked.

  Turning, a smile already in place, Charlotte froze when she saw who had come up behind her. It was him. Oh, he wore a costume like the rest, but she would recognize those piercing gray eyes anywhere. He was dressed all in black, from the hat tipped rakishly over one eye to a pair of gleaming riding boots that reached all the way up to his muscular thighs. Thighs that happened to be–not that she was looking–dressed in the most form fitting breeches Charlotte had ever seen.

  “Or not,” Gavin said, an ebony eyebrow rising above his mask.

  Belatedly she realized she had been standing and staring without making any move to accept his outstretched arm. This is why you came here, she reminded herself before she lightly closed her fingers around Gavin’s wrist. He swept her immediately into a waltz, so fast she was forced to cling to his broad shoulders or be thrown off balance, and she knew by the gleam in his eye that was exactly his intent.

  “What are you supposed to be?” she asked once her body had settled into the familiar rhythm of the dance. “A man dressed in black?”

  He grinned down at her. “A pirate, of course. And might I ask who you are?”

  It took Charlotte a moment to understand he was referring to her costume, not her actual name, and she wondered if that was because he had already guessed who she was.

  “Marie Antoinette,” she said impulsively, although in truth her attire had not been modeled after any woman in particular.

  “Before she lost her head, I presume.”

  Charlotte’s lips twitched, but she did not laugh. Poor Marie Antoinette’s untimely death was a tragedy, not a comedy, although she did appreciate Gavin’s dark sense of humor. She could count on one hand the number of men who could make her laugh. Certainly Paine was not among them, and her smile fell away as she recalled why she was here. This was no harmless flirtation. She had a serious job to do, and she could not afford to let herself become distracted.

  For the rest of the waltz they danced in companionable silence. When the music died away and Gavin still held possession of her arm, Charlotte gazed up at him questioningly.

  “It is rather warm in here,” he said. “Would you care for some fresh air on the terrace?’

  “That would be lovely,” Charlotte murmured, and again she wondered if he recognized her, or even remembered her. Surely he would have said something if he had, and as he led her out to a private stone terrace overlooking the gardens she thought madly of a way to reintroduce herself without seeming too desperate.

  A light breeze cooled her warm face as they stepped outside. Charlotte positioned herself in front of a curved railing that wrapped around the entirety of the terrace, leaning carelessly against it while Gavin stayed a notable distance away from the edge.

  “I have never liked heights,” he admitted. The silvery light from the moon played across his countenance, highlighting his rugged features and truly making him look like a pir
ate of old. All he needed was a sword and she would be convinced he really was a ruthless buccaneer intent on pillaging ships and deflowering innocent young maidens.

  “Have you been to a masquerade before?” she asked, peering coyly at him from beneath her lashes. “Your costume is very impressive.”

  “You mean now that you know what I’m supposed to be?” he said wryly.

  “I would have guessed pirate if you hadn’t told me. Eventually,” she conceded. “You should have an eye patch.”

  “Do you know why they wore them? The eye patches.”

  Her brow furrowed. “I…no, actually. I don’t.”

  “To help their eyesight adjust faster when they went below deck. Or so people say. Are you enjoying yourself, Marie Antoinette?”

  “Oh yes,” Charlotte said without hesitation. “Immensely. Masquerades allow one to forget all of their…er…inhibitions.”

  “Or the fact they are engaged.”

  It took a moment for the meaning of his words to register, but once they had her eyes widened and she drew in a sharp breath. “You do know who I am!” she accused, pointing her finger at him.

  “Should I not?” he asked with an amused tilt of his mouth.

  “You knew who I was the entire time.” The cad. “Why did you pretend otherwise?”

  Gavin shrugged. “Why did you?”

  “Well, because I…That is to say…” But for once in her life, Charlotte did not have an answer. Nor did Gavin give her time to think of one.

  In one ground-covering stride he was in front of her. He stretched his arms out and covered her hands with his, the calluses on his palms rubbing against her bare knuckles.

  My gloves, Charlotte thought dazedly. I must have left them in the carriage.