Reluctant Escort

by Mary Nichols

  It just wasn’t fair that she should be left at home to dream while her mother, who had been to hundreds of balls and often pretended they were a boring duty, should go. It was to be a masked ball so how would anyone know she had not yet come out? No one of the ton knew her, except Mr Bellamy. Would he be there? Would Duncan? But her mother had said she was sure he would not be invited.

  The more she thought of it, the more the imp of mischief which habitually sat on her shoulder when she was thwarted urged her to rebel. She would go. But how could she accomplish it? The problem occupied her mind to the exclusion of all else for the next three days.

  On the evening of the ball, she sat on the bed in her mother’s bedchamber and watched her dressing. She was going as Queen Elizabeth, in a brocade gown so impossibly tight over the bust, Molly wondered how she could breathe without popping out of it. She had fake diamonds in her great orange wig and a starched lace ruff about her throat which made turning her head difficult. Her skirt was four feet wide, looped and garlanded. The whole thing was finished off with a white satin mask, a chicken-skin fan and a quizzing glass dangling from a ribbon about her wrist.

  ‘Lovely, Mama,’ she said. ‘Do you think anyone will recognise you?’

  Her mother laughed. ‘Not until we unmask at midnight. That is half the fun of it, keeping people guessing.’

  ‘Does that always happen? I mean if someone knew you really well…’

  ‘If they knew you well, naturally they would recognise you. Tadbury would almost certainly recognise me whatever I wore, but as I am going with him it is of no consequence. And I suppose if someone had a distinguishing mark, like a scar or a mole, or a figure you could not mistake, like the Prince Regent’s…’

  ‘But someone who was quite ordinary and had not been seen in Society before would remain anonymous?’

  Harriet looked at her curiously. ‘I suppose so. Why do you ask?’

  ‘Oh, no reason. I was just dreaming…’

  ‘That is half your trouble, Molly—you dream too much. Life is not like that. Now, I must go.’

  She picked up her cloak and reticule as the front door knocker resounded through the house and Perrins came to tell her his lordship, the Marquis of Tadbury, was waiting for her downstairs. She pecked the air six inches from Molly’s cheek, told her gaily not to expect her home before dawn and not to stay up reading too late, and disappeared.

  As soon as she heard the front door shut, Molly raced to her own room where Betty was waiting for her. ‘They’ve gone,’ she said, stripping off her day gown and slipping into the ballgown which she had persuaded the maid to clean and press. It looked as good as new; the blue-green crepe had lost none of its translucence and floated about her slim figure like a gossamer cloud.

  She had removed the flowers which had trimmed it and replaced them with woodland greenery. Betty put her hair up in the Greek style, finishing it off with a coronet of ivy. Her mask of green velvet was tied on with a narrow green ribbon. The last thing she wanted was for it to fall off.

  ‘There!’ Betty said, standing back to admire her handiwork. ‘You will be a sure hit.’

  Molly took a deep breath, slipped on her Greek sandals and picked up her fan and reticule, in which she had put the last of her Newmarket winnings; her mother had not thought it necessary to provide her with pin money. ‘I am ready. What time did you tell the cab to come?’

  ‘Nine. Are you sure you want to go alone?’

  ‘Oh, yes, for if Mama ever found out you had helped me she would turn you off.’

  Betty realised the truth of this and was grateful. She led the way down to the hall just as Perrins opened the door to the cabman. Molly sailed out into the balmy evening air and climbed into the hackney with all the aplomb she could muster. How to get in to the ball without an invitation she was not at all sure, but her adventures with the Captain had taught her self-reliance and ingenuity and she would manage that when the time came.

  She arrived within three hundred yards of the Tadbury mansion in Bedford Row in no time but then they came to a stop. Looking out of the cab, she could see a long line of carriages all waiting to pull up at the door. As soon as one had deposited its occupants, the empty carriage rolled away and the next drew up. It was going to take an eternity to reach the entrance and she realised, too, that each arrival was being carefully scrutinised by a footman and invitations checked. She could not go in that way.

  ‘I’ll walk from here,’ she called up to the driver.

  He was glad enough of that; time was money and he did not like wasting it sitting in a line going nowhere. He jumped down and opened the door for her. She gave him the fare he asked for and the cab rattled away, leaving her standing in the road, wondering how to go on.

  She walked purposefully up to the house and then, with a quick look round to make sure she was not observed, skipped round the corner of the building and made her way stealthily to the rear of the house, guided by the tuneful music of a country dance. It was a warm night and the windows onto the terrace were open, their curtains wafting slightly in the breeze. She crept up and gazed inside.

  The ballroom was brilliantly lit and crowded. Every historical figure she could imagine was represented: kings, queens, pirates, highwaymen, harlequins and columbines, milkmaids, court jesters, Roundheads and Cavaliers, Greek gods and goddesses whose costumes were so revealing she was shocked.

  There were a few matrons and old men sitting on the sidelines watching the younger ones dance. Little huddles of young ladies stood and giggled, peering over their fans at groups of young men who pretended indifference. The music was setting her feet tapping and she longed to be in among them. The windows were deep and it was only a matter of stepping over a foot of wall and she would be in, behind one of the curtains.

  ‘What are you doing there, miss?’

  She turned to see a liveried footman advancing towards her. Her first impulse was flight, her second to stand her ground; he could not know every guest when they were all masked. ‘It was so hot indoors, I came out for fresh air,’ she said. ‘Now I cannot find my way in again.’

  ‘You will ruin your clothes going in by the window, miss,’ he said. ‘And there is a door not ten feet away.’

  She did not tell him she had seen it and seen the footman who guarded it as well. ‘Oh, what a ninny I am!’ She moved towards it, wondering what she would do if the second footman stopped her.

  ‘There you are, my dear,’ said a familiar voice. ‘I have been looking for you everywhere.’

  She spun round to see a highwayman, complete with black three-cornered hat, cloak and black mask standing beside a garden seat not six feet away.

  ‘Oh, Captain.’ Although she tried to keep her voice light and unconcerned, she could not disguise the fact that she was unashamedly pleased to see him. ‘I lost myself in the garden.’

  He had accepted Tadbury’s invitation in the hope of meeting her, but when Harriet had turned up without her he had been sorely disappointed, assuming she had been sent back to Norfolk after all. He’d been as sorry for Molly as he was for himself, and very angry with Harriet. Wandering out into the garden to calm himself, he had seen Molly contemplating climbing in a window. She had not changed; she was still the madcap Molly he loved.

  ‘And now you are found. Come along in, my dear; I do believe they are playing a waltz.’ And with that he took her arm and sauntered past the footman who had accosted her and the one who stood at the door and she found herself in the ballroom.

  ‘I cannot waltz,’ she hissed at him, blinking in the bright light.

  ‘Of course you can. Listen to the rhythm of the music, follow my lead and don’t you dare tread on my toes.’

  He put one hand about her waist, took her hand with the other and whirled her into the middle of the floor. She had no choice but to do as he said and suddenly found she was enjoying it.

  Everyone else faded into the background and it felt as if they were alone, moving in perfect rhythm to the m
usic, at one with each other. Her temerity in coming, her nervousness, her fear of being caught all disappeared in a haze of joy. He did not speak and, for once, she was silent.

  But it came to an end all too soon and he led her to a quiet corner, pushing two chairs close together so that they might talk uninterrupted.

  ‘Now,’ he said, admiring her composure; any other young miss would have been shaking with nerves. ‘Tell me what you thought you were about. Climbing in at the window of a ballroom crowded with people is not the way to remain anonymous, you know. Or did you wish to embarrass your mama in front of half the haut monde?’

  ‘How could I? No one knows me.’

  ‘Not anyone?’ he asked in surprise. ‘Then who brought you?’

  ‘No one. I came in a cab but as there was such a line at the door I sent it away and walked.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I told you, there was a long line and I would have had to pay for every minute we stood idle…’

  ‘No, you goose, I meant why did you come?’

  ‘I am to go back to Stacey Manor but I did not want to go without wearing this beautiful gown you bought me. I thought as everyone was masked…’

  So, she thought the gown was beautiful. On her it was, though he realised most young ladies of her age would decry it as too plain. It had a simple elegance that enhanced her delightful figure. ‘They will unmask at midnight.’

  ‘Oh, I shall be gone by then.’

  ‘Have you asked the cabman to come back for you?’

  She looked nonplussed. ‘No, I did not think of it…’

  He smiled. ‘I think I had better take charge of you.’

  ‘Oh, no, that will not do.’

  ‘Why not? Oh, I know you think I am an old goat…’

  ‘I do not think anything of the sort, my lord.’ That was perfectly true. She no longer thought of him as old, nor of herself as young; somehow or other she had grown up to meet him.

  ‘My lord?’ he repeated. ‘I am not your lord or anyone else’s.’

  ‘Yes, you are; Mama told me. She said you were really the Earl of Connaught come back from the dead. And you were a rakeshame and always would be and Beth Gooderson has had a lucky escape…’ The words tumbled out breathlessly.

  ‘Undoubtedly she has. And so have I.’

  ‘You cannot mean that. Mama thinks you are still suffering over it and that is why you have been riding about the countryside calling yourself the Dark Knight.’

  ‘You were the one who clung to that notion—something to do with Don Quixote, or some such romantical nonsense, I collect. I never said it. Highway robbery is not romantic; it is a crime for which the punishment is hanging.’

  ‘Do you wish to be hanged? Is that why you take such risks, because you are tired of life?’

  He smiled. ‘Molly, I am not tired of life. I am very glad to be alive, especially at this moment.’

  She did not recognise the compliment for what it was and ignored it. She looked him up and down, noting that his costume was made of the very best materials, that the frills that fell from the cuffs of his shirt were of handmade lace and that a diamond pin in his skilfully tied cravat twinkled in the light from the chandelier above their heads. ‘No, for I perceive the cards have fallen successfully for you again.’

  He laughed. ‘How well you know me, Molly.’ He was suddenly serious. ‘Or perhaps you do not know me at all. Perhaps I am Don Quixote, after all, rescuing a damsel in distress.’

  ‘I am not in distress.’

  ‘You will be when your mama finds you here. Why do you do these foolish things, Molly?’

  ‘For the same reason you do the hare-brained things you do—for adventure. Life would be very dull without it.’

  ‘True,’ he said. ‘But I am a man and you are…’He paused and finished softly, ‘You are a dream.’

  ‘You know, I dreamed of being a female high toby,’ she said, disregarding the second compliment she had received from him in the space of a minute. ‘A daring rider, known the length and breadth of the country for taking from those who did not deserve their wealth and giving it to the poor. That would be an especially commendable adventure, don’t you think?’

  He laughed. ‘An impossible dream, my dear, and sooner or later we have to face reality.’

  ‘Yes, I know. I must go back to Stacey Manor and you…What will you do?’

  ‘Oh, I shall contrive.’

  ‘By gambling and taking risks. I wish you would not. I should hate to see you hang.’

  ‘How did we come to be talking about me, when it is clearly you who have the problem?’

  ‘Please do not concern yourself on my account. I have worn my ballgown and had my dance…’

  ‘And is that enough?’

  ‘You told me I had to face reality.’

  ‘So I did, but I think we can prolong the dream for an hour or two. Come, let us take a last turn about the floor before we go.’

  And for a second time that evening she was on the dance floor being whirled round in a rapture of joy which was not lost on the chaperons who habitually sat on the sidelines making comments on everyone. ‘It’s the second time he has danced with her,’ they said. ‘Who are they?’

  ‘I believe he is the Earl of Connaught’s relative,’ said another. ‘But who the young chit is, I have no idea. Some barque of frailty, I shouldn’t wonder; she don’t seem to have a chaperon.’

  Molly did not want it to end, but when it did she was surrounded by young men, all clamouring to mark her card, including Andrew Bellamy, dressed as a Cavalier. Duncan stood back and smiled stiffly as she was claimed and whisked away. It was what she wanted and who was he to deny her a little happiness?

  ‘Miss Martineau, how lovely you look tonight,’ Andrew said as they stepped hand in hand into the dance.

  ‘You know me?’ she said in dismay.

  ‘Of course. Did you think a scrap of velvet would be disguise enough? I would know your figure anywhere—such grace of movement, such perfection. It would put Venus to shame. And those eyes! Ah, the eyes! What can I say to do justice to their colour, their brightness? And rosy lips made for kissing…’

  ‘Mr Bellamy, I beg you, desist,’ she said, laughing. ‘You will make me puffed up with your flummery.’

  The dance took them away from each other as they paraded down the outside of the line of dancers. At the top of the room, they came together again. ‘There is to be a firework display at Vauxhall Gardens on Saturday evening,’ he said as they promenaded in a circle round each other. ‘It promises to be very fine and there will be musicians and tableaux. Will you allow me to escort you?’

  She sighed. ‘I think I shall have gone back to Norfolk by then.’

  ‘Oh, you must not; you must not deprive Society of one of the brightest stars in its firmament.’

  ‘It is not my choice.’

  They moved hand in hand down the long line of dancers. ‘I shall go at once and speak to your mama.’

  ‘No, please don’t. She does not know I am here…’

  ‘Then who brought you? Could it be the highwayman? I fancy when we unmask we shall see the face of that rakeshame, Captain Stacey.’

  ‘He did not bring me. I came alone.’

  ‘Really?’ He looked closely at her and smiled knowingly. ‘Then if you do not want your mama to know I think you should repay me for my silence by allowing me to escort you home.’

  ‘There is no need; the Captain has already offered and I have accepted.’

  ‘Give him his right about.’

  ‘Oh, no, I could not do that. I promised…’

  ‘And promises count with you, do they?’

  ‘Oh, yes. I should never break my word.’

  ‘Then I must accept that, but you will come to Vauxhall Gardens with me on Saturday?’

  The intricacies of the dance separated them before she could frame a reply and when they returned to each other the music came to an end. He bowed and she curtsied and put her fing
ers lightly on his arm to be escorted from the floor. ‘I will wait for you in my carriage on the corner of Holles Street,’ he murmured as he returned her to her seat. ‘Eight o’clock. Please do not disappoint me or you will break my heart.’

  ‘Then I am afraid your heart will have to break,’ she said crisply. ‘I am not so lacking in sense as to agree to meet you in such a clandestine way.’

  He did not answer because at that moment the Marquis of Tadbury bowed over her hand and requested the pleasure of dancing with her. She smiled at Andrew and allowed herself to be led away. The Marquis was hardly less fulsome in his compliments than Mr Bellamy, but he was certainly a much worse dancer for he trod on her toes several times, blaming her loveliness for his lack of attention. She was thankful that he had not realised who she was.

  She could see her mother out of the corner of her eye dancing with an older man and coming perilously close. Surely she could not fail to recognise her? But her eyes were only for the Marquis. Could she be jealous? The idea would have amused Molly if she had not been so anxious to steer her partner away from her mother—a move which was not lost on Harriet and was entirely misinterpreted.

  At the end of the dance, Harriet claimed the Marquis before he could conduct Molly to her seat. For a moment she stood alone in the middle of the floor, feeling lost, and then she saw Duncan leaning nonchalantly against a pillar, watching her from beneath his dark lashes, a smile playing about his lips.

  She walked over to join him. ‘Are you going to ask me to dance again?’

  ‘Twice is considered enough for couples who are not engaged to be married, my dear. And you have had partners enough. You are the belle of the ball. I heard the tabbies whispering, “Who is she? Where has she come from?” They are all agog to see you unmasked.’

  ‘Mr Bellamy knew me, but I made him promise not to tell Mama. He was vastly amused.’

  ‘I’ll wager he was,’ he said laconically.

  At that moment a drum rolled and a hush of expectancy descended on the company; it was time to unmask. Duncan grabbed her hand and marched her off the floor, out of the nearest door and into the garden. ‘Home, before any damage is done,’ he said, giving her no time to argue.