Marquesses at the Masquerade

by Emily Greenwood

  What to say? It seemed foolish to admit to all the hours she had thought about him, the stacks of letters that she had never sent. Now it was her turn to look away. “I do.” She shook her head. “I know he doesn’t love me. You don’t have to tell me that. He never wrote to me. My love is all my own.”

  Exmore said nothing, but when she ventured a glance at him, she saw pity in his eyes.

  “Do you ever hear from him?” She blurted the question that had been in her mind since the night they had danced together. “No.” She raised her palm, catching herself. “Don’t answer that.” Yet, she paused, waiting for an answer. What was she doing? She already knew the answer. Hearing it wouldn’t soothe her hurt but make it worse. Yet, she had to hear him say it.

  “Yes,” he said slowly, drawing out the one syllable. “I do.”

  She had gone too far already, so she kept going down this painful course. “Does he ever mention me?”

  “No, he doesn’t.” He was holding something back. It lurked behind his words.

  “I fear you are not telling the truth.”

  He paused for a moment. She could tell he was choosing his words to tell her gently. At last, he said in careful tones, “Your assessment that he doesn’t love you is correct. Please don’t ask me for more.”

  The rain picked up. A gust of wind splattered it on the windows. “He probably thanked you for your counsel in the matter.”

  Exmore remained quiet. She could see the back of his jaw work.

  “You once said that one day I would love more wisely, but clearly I haven’t,” she quipped.

  He reached across the table, touching her arm. “Please ignore what I said that night. All of it.”

  Her eyes burned with the beginnings of tears. “I thought of him every day. I spoke to him as if he were there. I just needed... I needed someone to talk to. I couldn’t share my worries with my mother or father. They had to contend with dying. I felt…” She stopped, not wanting to admit how alone and scared she had been. “I guess that’s why I came back to London. I was chasing memories of a better time.”

  “And now you are leaving.”

  She smiled. “I didn’t find what I was looking for. It’s gone forever.” She turned, self-conscious, having admitted too many honest, vulnerable feelings. She no longer wanted to talk about herself. “Did you have someone to talk to after your wife’s death?”

  He thrummed the table with his thumb. She noticed his lashes. They were thick and curled, the kind women coveted. They softened his otherwise hard features.

  “My wife’s pregnancy was difficult.” His voice was hollow. “She couldn’t keep down any drink or food. Then she contracted a chill, and her body… she hadn’t the strength.”

  Annalise took his hand that rested on the small table beside hers. “I’m sorry.”

  “But the answer to your question is no, I had no one with whom to confide my feelings.” There was an odd quality to his voice, something she couldn’t articulate. But he slid his fingers between her gloved ones and gave them a small squeeze. She waited for him to say more, but he didn’t.

  “I was alone because, well, I was truly alone in the country, unless you count the sheep, but they aren’t very commiserating,” she noted. “I’ve spoken to enough to say that the species, as a whole, is not a sympathetic one. Yet, you had people buzzing all about you, and you still felt alone. Feeling alone is so personal.”

  He tilted his head, his eyes burrowing into hers. “Do you feel alone now?”

  She shook her head. “Not today. Despite the rain, today is lovely, for I have excellent company and tea. There is little else to want.”

  “I concur, my friend.”

  “Friend,” she echoed. The word, the pressure of his hand on hers, and the kindness in his expression sent the smile that warmed her lips to her heart. Several seconds passed in silence. It wasn’t an awkward, dangling pause of not knowing what to say, but a full and content silence. Her father’s kind of soothing quiet. This silence said, I’m here. You aren’t alone. We’ve found each other. We are true friends.

  Moments later, they spoke again. Not returning to the subject of pain and loss but ranging across topics. He listened to her, leaning back in his chair, shaking his foot where he had braced it casually over his knee. When he spoke, he leaned forward with a smile twisting the side of his mouth, often playing devil’s advocate. He declared outrageous things that he seriously couldn’t believe and made her laugh. Cup after cup of tea was poured and biscuits were consumed, until Mrs. Bailey edged over, breaking into the invisible circle that seemed to have formed around Annalise and Exmore.

  “Miss, I don’t mean to interrupt, but it’s almost three, and the rain has stopped.”

  “Oh heavens, I’ve lost all knowledge of time. I must go. My uncle!” Annalise gathered her things. “But think of the pleasure he will have in berating me.”

  She affected her uncle’s tone as Mrs. Bailey helped her slip on her coat. “Annalise, you are late because you attended a lecture. See what happens when you attempt to think?”

  Exmore seized her naked wrist. Somewhere in the conversation, she had unconsciously drawn off her gloves. A jolt of strange electricity ran over her skin. “There’s a chemistry lecture next week,” he said. “Please attend. You can ignore me all week, pretend I’m a homely insect that you should smash under your foot, anything to appease your vile uncle, but… but come to the chemistry lecture.”

  “I don’t know. What if people—”

  “It promises many colorful explosions.”

  She chuckled. “Oh, things being blown up is so very tempting. But—”

  “You can sit on one side of the room and I on the other. When you see me, feign outrage and loudly announce that you would have never attended had you known I would be present. Once our fierce animosity is established, we can slip away afterwards and hide in our favorite tea shop.”

  She tried to object, but his imploring eyes melted her words away. “Very well. But promise to be as fascinating as you’ve been today.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of disappointing your expectations of me.”

  She laughed as she picked up her portfolio and headed for the door. There, she stopped, turned, and walked back to him

  A smile dawned on his face that caused her heart to rise.

  “Did you forget something?” he asked.

  She carefully cracked the portfolio and drew out her illustration. “Yes, I forgot to give you this.” She set it on the table and hurried away, pretending not to hear his objections.

  She met Mrs. Bailey outside the door of the tea shop.

  “I don’t care what your uncle and them at his home say,” Mrs. Bailey said. “I know people. I can peer into their hearts. And this talk of the marquess being a cruel rake is pure rubbish. He is a good man. Good like my departed Edward, please his loving soul.”

  Chapter Nine

  * * *

  A game began between Exmore and Annalise: the ignore-each-other game. He left his house every night to search for her. Sometimes, he found her at the opera or theater, where their gazes might accidentally meet to share in a laugh or make an unspoken sarcastic remark. Just being in the room with her, the light in her eyes, the benign brush of their arms, gave him peace. Her presence moored him. While she orbited his world, the days no longer stretched before him like an endless ocean. The gray sameness that characterized his days lifted. He felt like he was returning to himself, the old demons fleeing.

  The day before the chemistry lecture, he headed to his club with his correspondences and a journal. He had a quickness to his mind and step. His former vitality was slowly returning with more sleep, less brandy, and less time at gambling tables. Yet, his good mood dampened when he strolled into the club’s morning room to find Colonel Lewiston and Wallis Hume sharing a table.

  Wallis hailed him. “Ahh, the man I desired to see. Come, come sit. We have a pressing matter to discuss.” He gestured to a passing servant. “More tea,
please.”

  Exmore glanced about the crowded room. All the tables and chairs were occupied with men smoking and reading papers or discussing the day’s politics. He was trapped.

  “Sit, my good man,” Wallis urged him, oblivious to the invisible current of animosity between Lewiston and Exmore. “You are looking quite well. You must have taken my advice.”

  “Err, yes,” Exmore agreed, remaining standing. He didn’t remember Wallis’s advice. People had been trying to offer Exmore their so-called wise words since Cassandra’s death. Exmore conveniently forgot all the inane counsel.

  “Who is she?”

  Exmore blinked. “Pardon?”

  “The lady,” Wallis prompted. “Remember, I told you to find a good lady. So, who is she? I’m an old man who rarely gets out to parties, and unfortunately, I hear the gossip days after everyone else. You must tell me.”

  Lewiston tilted his head and studied Exmore. His pale silvery eyes reminded him of cold, stark, snow-laden landscapes.

  “No one,” Exmore muttered. “I have found no one.”

  “Sit down.” Wallis patted the armrest of the empty chair beside him. “We must discuss Patrick.”

  Exmore sank into the empty chair. Lewiston shifted in his. One of them would have to go soon.

  “I have heard very troubling reports, indeed,” Wallis said. “I understand that brazen girl Miss Annalise Van Der Keer has been in London for a few weeks now and is making her way into some of the finest homes. It was relayed to me only hours ago that she would be attending Lord Warrington’s ball this evening. Lord Warrington! The Prince Regent shall be there. To think he would be sharing a room with that… fiendish woman. Oh, had I known sooner, this wouldn’t have happened.”

  This was what Wallis needed to speak about? Exmore looked down to where his hands had balled into fists. He spread his fingers as a servant arrived with more tea. He could feel Lewiston’s blue-flame eyes on him. He hated being so close to the man. Although they rarely spoke, Lewiston possessed a silent smugness in his power over Exmore.

  “What say you, Lord Exmore?” Wallis continued when Exmore didn’t answer. “Surely you are outraged.”

  “I believe Lord Exmore has danced with her,” Lewiston volunteered.

  Exmore’s restraint was cracking. How easy it would have been to strike the man’s handsome face. Perhaps blacken those pretty eyes, as Exmore had wanted to for years.

  “He has?” Wallis cried, outraged. “Is this true?”

  “Yes,” Exmore said, forcing himself to sit back in his chair. He decided that the best course to protect Annalise was to appear nonchalant, as if she meant nothing to him.

  “I say, you of all men should know her true nature,” Wallis said. “She’s a termagant. A hellion.” He waved his hand dismissively. “No doubt, you had to dance out of politeness.”

  Exmore didn’t trust himself to answer. He drew a long sip of tea instead. Lewiston had remained silent but looked on with a small amused hike to his lips. What did he know? Lewiston always had the advantage of knowing more than Exmore did.

  “Lord Exmore, I fear for Patrick,” Wallis continued. “I don’t want that wild gel chasing after him. He’s an important man now. Five thousand a year. He doesn’t need her sort dragging him to her depths, scaring away more promising prospects.” Wallis looked at Exmore for agreement.

  Exmore spoke in low, measured tones, aware that Lewiston was watching him closely. “I think you would find that Miss Van Der Keer has matured. I haven’t witnessed any of her former misbehavior of which you speak.”

  “But what happens when Patrick arrives?” Wallis pressed on. “She knows he’s coming. That’s why she’s here. She has the mind of a cunning minx.”

  “I feel you are mistaken.” Exmore could no longer conceal his anger. It ground in his voice.

  Wallis patted his armrest. “I want you to talk to her father.”

  “He is dead,” Exmore said bluntly.

  “You appear to know a great deal about Miss Van Der Keer,” Lewiston said slowly, slyly.

  Exmore ground his molars. How had he fallen into this delicate game of societal chess? He had to move carefully to protect his queen.

  “Then who chaperones her?” Wallis demanded. “Her uncle again? That insidiously ambitious man. You must talk to him. Remind him of his and his niece’s station.”

  “Which is?” Exmore snapped.

  “Her uncle is a hairbreadth above middling, and she herself is barely respectable.” Wallis’s voice was raised, thundering over the din. “You must speak to her uncle and find some means, some leverage on the man to have his niece removed from London before she can get her scheming claws into my boy. She means to make him the contempt of gentle society and ruin all he has become.”

  Exmore bolted to his feet, shaking the table, splashing tea.

  “Come now, what is this?” Wallis demanded, lifting his tea-soaked linen from his lap.

  “Very well.” Exmore’s voice was a low, hoarse whisper. “I shall speak to Miss Van Der Keer and warn her away from Patrick. I shall suggest that she find a gentleman who knows his own mind and doesn’t require his papa to solve all his problems.”

  Wallis’s mouth dropped. “Are you insulting my son? I say!”

  Lewiston released a low chuckle. Damn the man.

  “You asked me to warn away Miss Van Der Keer,” Exmore said. “I’m merely thinking of a course that will work.”

  The old man’s eyes narrowed as his mind worked. “I say,” he said slowly. “Maybe that gel’s sad charms have got to you in your weakened state. Listen to me, my lord, stay away from her low sort. Her kind will say and do anything to ingratiate themselves to their betters.”

  Exmore knew he wasn’t acting wisely, but he wouldn’t stand to have Annalise slandered. He leaned down, placing both hands on the table, his face inches from Wallis’s.

  “If you say a word against Miss Van Der Keer,” he said in a low growl, “I will sink Patrick’s prospects in this city forever. He may as well have stayed India.” Exmore gathered his letters and journal and strolled out, stunned silence in his wake.

  Outside in the vivid sunlight, his body quaked. What had he done? He was supposed to keep things under wraps with Annalise. Their friendship was the purest, most lovely thing he had in his life. Of course, he had to slip up and destroy it. Damn him.

  If anything grew from this unfortunate meeting with Wallis and Lewiston, he would do everything in his power to protect Annalise. He would shoulder all the blame. Until then, he would remain silent and hope nothing came of it. But he had a clawing feeling that a powerful wave was rolling in from the sea about to crash upon him.

  * * *

  Annalise glanced about Lord Warrington’s ballroom, searching for Exmore. Some evenings they crossed paths, other nights they didn’t. She floundered the nights he wasn’t around. Even though they pretended not to notice each other, when he was about she was aware of his every move. She could detect the slightest raised, amused brow or tightened lips suppressing laughter. When it was safe, their gazes would meet, and they would say without speaking, I know you are here. All is well. Strange how she needed only a single look from him to feel strong again.

  She didn’t see him among the faces, but counseled herself that she had only arrived, and the musicians were still warming up. There was still time.

  She continued to furtively search for Exmore, and at the same time, she tried to assure Phoebe that her hair still appeared beautiful, even without the strand of adorning beads that had broken in the carriage on the way over.

  “But I had my hair in papers all night and morning for this coiffure!” Phoebe complained.

  “Don’t be so crestfallen. If you were to meet a gentleman tonight, and he were to fall in love with you only for your coiffure, I don’t think you should have him.”

  “It’s still vexing.”

  “What if I discreetly take a leaf from this palm and place it your hair? Would that do instead?”
Annalise reached for the palm, knowing well she wasn’t going to snap off a branch of the hostess’s magnificent plant, but she enjoyed teasing Phoebe and casting her from her frustrations.

  “No!” Phoebe gasped.

  “But if you don’t stand beside the palm for the remainder of the evening, no one will know.” She laughed. “Come now, you know I’m jesting.”

  “Ah, Annalise, there you are.”

  Annalise whirled around to find her uncle had materialized behind her. He normally didn’t attend parties, but he couldn’t turn down Lord Warrington’s invitation. It was the greatest home he had been accepted in. His pleasant smile looked like a tight, ill-fitting garment on his face. Beside him stood a trim, handsome man possessing an intense face accented by startling pale eyes.

  “Colonel Lewiston, may I present my niece Miss Van Der Keer.” Her uncle had taken on the polite tone he used in public. “The colonel has expressed a desire to dance with you.”

  “Thank you.” Annalise curtsied. “I should be very happy to dance.” And she was. She had danced enough now that she no longer feared causing bodily injury to others.

  “There now,” her uncle said to Colonel Lewiston. “She is tame enough. Enjoy her.”

  Annalise took the colonel’s offered arm and tried to make small conversation to conceal her embarrassment at her uncle’s demeaning treatment of her. “I’m sorry, but I am at a disadvantage,” she said as he led her to the dance floor. “For you seem to know me, but I do not think I’ve met you before.” She would have certainly remembered such a striking gentleman.

  “I do not attend many balls.” He spoke in a blunt, clipped manner. “In truth, I knew you were coming here tonight, and I sought out your uncle to present you.”

  “Oh,” Annalise said, because that was politer than asking, And why were you searching me out?

  “You see, I came to warn you,” he said as they took their positions for a quadrille.

  “Concerning?” Annalise was becoming nervous. Who was this Colonel Lewiston?