She laughed. ‘Oh, very well. I should enjoy it too.’
Rochford turned to his sister. ‘Bella, if you go to the Venetian room, you will find a very pretty papier-mâché box, in which there are various masks I brought back from the Carnival. You will see they are just the thing.’
Arabella left the room, closely followed by Franklyn, who was to help her carry the masks. It seemed to Minette a very long time before they reappeared and, when they did, Arabella was flushed, and her hair was untidy. She thought that Rochford surveyed his sister rather thoughtfully, but he made no comment.
The masks were beautiful. Even Lady Gatley was moved to try on an embossed gilt half-mask trimmed with gold lace and an aureole of peacock feathers, which quite concealed her enormous turban. Arabella swanned around the room in a full mask of ivory porcelain, painted and gilded, with a cascade of deep-purple ribbons, wired and curled, that fell to her shoulders, while Minette chose a half-mask of red velvet, trimmed at one side with feathers and silk flowers that brushed her cheek.
‘Beautiful,’ murmured a voice in her ear, and she turned to find the Duke at her side. ‘You should always wear just that shade of red.’
‘I do. At least I do very often.’
He lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss into her palm. ‘When are you going to send for me, my pretty Duchess? I am growing impatient, you know.’
In spite of herself, her fingers curled to clasp his, and her eyes, exquisitely framed by the velvet, grew languorous. He caught his breath and, regardless of the company, bent his head to press a swift kiss upon her mouth. ‘Tonight?’
She opened her lips to answer but felt, like a shiver of ice between her shoulder-blades, her grandmother’s approving eyes upon her. This was what Grandmère wanted, but she must be thwarted. Rochford should be protected from himself. Her own desires were nothing when set against his pain.
‘No, no please, I cannot—’
He dropped her hand as though it burned him, and his face hardened. ‘Very well, Ma’am. It shall be as you wish. You have my word upon it.’
Fourteen
The next morning being Christmas Day, the entire party, with the exception of William and his mother, were driven to church in two of the Duke’s closed carriages.
The little Norman church was situated just far enough from the Castle to prevent the household being disturbed by the sound of the bells. It stood upon a knoll and, in the summer, the little porch was covered in roses, and the graveyard was sweet with the scent of hollyhocks and bright with geraniums. Now it was grey and stark; nothing softened the silhouette of crumbling old headstones against the low, leaden sky. Inside, however, all was warmth and cheer. Dr Lucas, the comfortable rector, conscious that a very good dinner awaited him at the Castle, was commendably short in delivering his sermon, which was in essence a heartfelt exhortation to the congregation to enjoy the feast day to the full. Since considerable largesse in the way of goose, beef, sausage, and pudding had been distributed to the villagers and tenants already, it seemed likely they would obey this behest.
The company returned full of virtue, with Dr Lucas in tow, to find the great hall transformed with holly wreathes and fir branches adorned with gilded pine cones. The scent of spiced punch wafted towards them as they came in, and very soon they were all gathered around the fireplace where massive logs blazed, sipping the hot punch and savouring sweet biscuits and little cakes. Even Selina and Georgie were permitted a sip, a very tiny sip, of punch before a cup of chocolate was substituted.
Mrs Forsyth, who had been watching the Marquise, gently touched Minette’s arm and said, ‘I think your grandmother would be the better for a rest. She looks rather done up.’
Minette glanced across the room to where the old lady was sitting, very upright, holding an untouched glass cup in her hand. Her heart sank. Mrs Forsyth charitably attributed the expression on the Marquise’s face to fatigue. Minette knew better. It was temper that had set those two deep lines between her brows and drew down the corners of her thin mouth. However, she rose from her place beside the fire and, bending over her grandmother, she said gently, ‘Let me help you to your chamber, Madame. You should rest before dinner. We dine early today, you know.’
The knotted old hand clutched her, and the old lady rose with her usual regal air. ‘I will bid you adieu for the moment,’ she addressed the company. ‘My granddaughter insists that I should repose myself.’
But there was no repose for either of them when they were finally alone in the Marquise’s bedchamber. ‘What game are you playing, girl?’ The old lady’s voice was sharp and cold as ice.
‘Game? I do not understand you.’
‘You understand me very well. I saw you last night with Rochford.’
‘You could not, I think, overhear our conversation, however.’
‘As if I needed to! Do you think I spent my life at the French Court and yet cannot read a man’s face when he is making love to the woman of his choice? He wanted you, and you rejected him. Can you deny it?’
Minette sank to her knees before the fire and turned away from her grandmother to gaze into its depths. The flames scorched her, but not as much as her grandmother’s angry glare. She lifted her pretty hands to shield her face from both. ‘No, I do not deny it. We have spoken of this before, and my answer is the same.’
‘Are you so bourgeois that you require marriage before you bed a man like this one, un homme vigoureux et viril? You can have little idea of the pleasures you forgo.’
‘Please do not enumerate them, Madame. It is not my pleasure that is the issue. If I were to so far forget myself as to lie with my sister’s husband, how can you imagine it is possible that he would not instantly detect a difference when my sister returns?’
‘I see no difficulty. You will instruct Eugénie of course, but all cats are grey in the dark.’
‘She finds him repulsive. Do you think he will not notice that?’
‘She must learn to conquer her aversion. One night in his arms should encompass it.’
Minette stared at her grandmother, realising for the first time that she had never known her. ‘For a lady of your birth and upbringing, you can be remarkably vulgar.’
The Marquise’s hand tightened on her stick, and she raised it threateningly. ‘Do not dare to speak so to me.’
‘Oh, I dare many things now, thanks to you and Eugénie. Has it ever occurred to you that I might come to like being a Duchess? That sharing the Duke’s bed might be so pleasurable that I would not wish to give it up. How do you propose to dislodge me from this position you have forced upon me if I should refuse to leave? Who would believe you if you tried?’
‘Insolent girl! You would not dare.’
‘I would, and I will, if you raise this matter again. I shall tell them you are mad and have you clapped up. Think upon that, Madame.’
Under her heavy rouge the old woman’s cheeks drained of colour. ‘You would not,’ she whispered. ‘You could not.’
Minette was filled with horror at what she had just said, but she would not recant it. She told herself she must not soften. Her grandmother would use the slightest sign of weakness against her. So she steeled herself to answer without a tremor, ‘I could, but I shall not if you cease your meddling.’ She noted that the Marquise’s hands were trembling. She poured some water from the crystal pitcher upon the side table, searched for her grandmother’s hartshorn, and mixed a little into the glass. ‘Here, Madame, drink this.’ She held the glass to her grandmother’s mouth, and soon the old lady breathed more easily. In spite of herself, her tone was more gentle when she said, ‘Now you must rest in earnest. For God’s sake, Grandmère, try to enjoy Christmas and forget this stupid masquerade. Stop weaving your toils and let what will be—be.’
She walked to the door and turned back as her grandmother softly called, ‘Minette.’
‘Yes?’ She was astonished to see an expression in her grandmother’s thin face that she had never found there b
efore. It was approving, almost respectful.
‘You are not quite such a mediocrity as I had thought.’
Minette smiled and said in a dry voice, ‘You mean I am more like you than you knew?
‘Exactly.’
‘Yes, that has been a shock to me, too.’
A few minutes later, secure in her own room, Minette succumbed to a storm of weeping. The encounter with her grandmother had been the worst few minutes of her life, and she could hardly believe that she had emerged victorious. She sat upon the edge of her luxurious bed and let the tears fall without any attempt to brush them away. She made no sound and, after a few minutes, she rose, washed her face, and summoned her abigail to assist her to dress for dinner.
Despite her determination to resist Rochford’s advances, she could not refrain from wearing his favourite colour for the evening. Her satin gown was the exact shade of claret wine and, like wine in crystal, it caught and reflected the light of the candles, shimmering as she moved. The bodice was cut very low, revealing the deep cleft between the smooth ivory of her breasts. Tight elbow-length sleeves ended in a frill of gold lace, and gold-spangled ribbons trimmed the flounce about her ankles.
Satisfied with the gown, she opened the velvet jewel cases, in which reposed the famous Rochford rubies. Becky had styled her hair in a high chignon, the better to hold the weighty tiara. This was composed of three rubies the size of quail eggs and, between each, a creamy pearl set in a shell of gold foil, each one perfectly matched with its fellows.
She clasped the matching necklace around her throat and slipped a bracelet over her gloved arm. She took no satisfaction in these ornaments; indeed, she cast a wistful glance toward the box that held her brooch, the only jewel she possessed that was truly hers. It would not suit this gown, however. She could not resist opening the case, just to drink in its beauty. But the case was empty.
‘Becky, what has happened to my brooch? Do you know?’
‘No, your Grace, it should be there.’
Minette was thoughtful but not alarmed. ‘Perhaps Miss Arabella borrowed it and forgot to mention it to me.’
‘Aye, maybe, the naughty girl,’ agreed the abigail. ‘She borrows just about everything else of yours.’
‘She knows I do not mind. She must have wanted it to go with her pink gown.’
But when Minette went down to await her guests in the salon where they gathered before dinner, she found Arabella there alone, demure for once in sprigged organdie. She was not wearing the brooch. Nor had she seen it.
‘Why, have you lost it?’ she demanded in her loud way. ‘Philip will be mad as fire.’
‘Why should I be mad as fire?’ The Duke had entered the salon in time to hear this.
Minette frowned at Arabella. ‘It is merely that I have misplaced the flower spray brooch you gave me. No doubt, I forgot to put it away the last time I wore it. It will be still pinned to the gown.’
‘No doubt.’ His hard gaze softened as he took her hand and drew her a little apart into a curtained window embrasure. ‘I was right about one thing. You do look very beautiful in red.
She smiled up at him. ‘And you look very handsome in black.’
He drew back as though she had struck him, lifting one hand to his scarred cheek. ‘Handsome? Where are your eyes, my dear? Or are you jesting?’
‘No, I am not jesting,’ she said quietly. She did not seem to think it necessary to say any more, and presently his face relaxed into a smile.
‘Forgive me, I am unused to compliments.’
‘Do you truly think that you appear ugly to me, or to Arabella, or Mrs Forsyth, or even Lady Talgarth?’
‘You may leave Lady Talgarth off your list. I thought you knew that she had found my face so impossible to live with that she broke off our engagement.’
‘I am sorry; I did not know.’ She reached for his hand and held it for a moment against her cheek. ‘I am sure she regrets her unkindness now, when you are so very good to her boy.’
He gently withdrew his hand and shook his head at her, wonderingly. ‘My little Duchess—so loving, so sweet, and so very—unavailable. What must I do to win you?’
‘You have won me,’ she whispered. ‘Just give me time, please.’
‘I wish I knew what you are so afraid of.’ He stood for a moment studying her flower-like countenance, and then he drew her gently into his arms and pressed his lips to hers. If his first kisses had aroused her to passion such as she had not believed herself to be capable, this kiss, deep, tender, searching, seemed to bathe her whole being in the warmth of his love. In spite of her best resolutions, her lips moved eagerly under the pressure of his mouth, and her slender form bent before his ardour.
‘You see,’ he said in a shaken voice when he eventually raised his head. ‘You were made for love.’
She pressed her palms against her flushed cheeks. ‘Perhaps that is why I am afraid.’
‘Come out of there, you two lovebirds,’ called Arabella in arch tones. ‘Your guests are here.’
Fifteen
That Christmas dinner seemed to Minette no more than a dream, a colourful pageant that passed before her eyes but in which she had no part. Her thoughts were chaotic, and her emotions alternated between a kind of ecstatic wonder and utter wretchedness. Even as she urged her guests to sample the goose breast, haunch of venison, and mince pie, she mused within herself. She knew she had not the strength to resist another such assault upon her resolution. If he touched her again, she would melt beneath his hands and, try as she would, she could no longer remember why that should be such a disaster.
For this special occasion, etiquette was relaxed and guests, instead of confining themselves strictly to their dinner companions on either side, called to each other down the length of Rochford’s mahogany dining table. Sir Richard even went so far as to remove an elaborate epergne from the table so that he could better converse with Mrs Forsyth, with whom he was conducting a lively discussion upon the propriety of the exotically named Muhammad Ali’s presentation of an Egyptian obelisk to England and whether England should, therefore, underwrite the cost of its conveyance to London.
Arabella, in high good humour, was flirting noisily with Franklyn, who was seated across the dinner table. It was illustrative of Rochford’s preoccupation that her exuberance went unchecked. It was left to Lady Gatley to say, with ponderous humour, ‘My dear Arabella, if you bounce any higher from your seat, you are like to fly.’
‘So she will,’ agreed Franklyn, ‘like the angel she is.’
This caught Rochford’s attention. ‘Anything less angelic I have yet to see.’
She pulled a face at him. ‘You are just cross because you have to sit here being polite when you had rather be alone with dear Minette.’
His gaze dwelled for a moment upon Minette, composedly sipping wine from one of his Irish crystal goblets. ‘Out of the mouths of babes—,’ he remarked thoughtfully. Minette looked up and met his eye for a moment. He lifted his glass in a silent toast, and her mouth curved into a charming smile as she returned the salute. Franklyn, witnessing that exchange of glances, caught his breath and frowned suddenly.
For Minette, the chatter at her dinner table came to her in short bursts of sound, haphazard and without meaning, while her mind raced around and around its accustomed wheel.
They shall not make me give him up. Génie does not love him!
‘But, my dear sir, this Egyptian gentleman has absolutely no right to give away fragments of his country’s history in this way. How should we like it if the Regent gave away a portion of the Tower?’
It is I whom he loves. He never cared for Génie.
‘When I was at the Court of Versailles, the dear Queen was once gracious enough to say to me—’
I cannot, I cannot steal my sister’s husband from her.
‘Franklyn! You wicked creature! You must not say such things to me. What would my brother think?’
‘Your brother is not listening, Sweetheart.’<
br />
If he comes to me, I must do my duty but nothing more. Dutiful compliance! Oh, dear God, help me.
‘The Duke and Duchess must take the parts of Titania and Oberon, of course. I had them in mind when I wrote it. Bella is far too earthy to play Peaseblossom, so she must be Mustardseed. I have made her a comic character.’
This voice penetrated Minette’s preoccupation. William had been carried down by Sir Richard to join the company for the last course and to partake of the flaming plum pudding. He was wrapped in an elaborate brocade dressing gown; but his hair was brushed until it gleamed, and a cravat was neatly arranged about his neck. She smiled at him. ‘I should love to be in your play, William. I think it very beautiful.’
‘Masque,’ he corrected her, flushing with gratification, however, at the compliment.
‘Masque,’ she repeated obediently, but already her attention had wandered. Oberon and Titania? If only they knew. I should be the one to wear the ass’ head!
‘And Edmund shall be Moth. I had meant to play it myself, but I do not think I shall be quite well enough after all. You will do it, will you not, Edmund?’
‘Certainly, my dear fellow, I will do my best not to murder your verse.’
Poor boy, my troubles are nothing to his. I must not be so selfish.
Now it was time for the ladies to withdraw. With the exception of William, the gentlemen rose from their seats to bow them from the room while Rochford moved forward with his easy grace to open the double doors for them.
‘Do not let William have any port,’ whispered Lady Talgarth, hanging back a little as the ladies passed Rochford. ‘It is so bad for him.’
He bowed. ‘You may safely leave him to my care. No one has more interest than I in his continued good health.’
‘Still so cold, Philip?’
‘Forgive me.’
‘If only you would forgive me.’
‘Do not distress yourself. You may be sure that, whatever my feelings towards you, they do not influence my affection for the boy. Everything that can be done will be done.’
Magical Masquerade: A Regency Masquerade Page 10