Regency Masquerades: A Limited Edition Boxed Set of Six Traditional Regency Romance Novels of Secrets and Disguises

by Brenda Hiatt

  Frederica blinked in confusion at his inexplicable change of manner. Most likely he was simply preoccupied with his plans for the evening, she decided with a shrug. She opened the library door, hoping that she and the steward might find something that would enable her to preface her most-necessary revelation with good news.

  Gavin walked quickly away from Seabrooke House, his thoughts and feelings in turmoil. Why in blazes had Mrs. Abbott put that idea into his head yesterday? Since his interview with the housekeeper, he had scarcely been able to think of anything but Cherry. He had concocted this evening’s assembly in hopes of distracting himself, but so far it had not worked. Even the brandy he had drunk the previous night had done nothing but break down his last reservations, finally allowing him to admit to himself the very feeling he was trying so hard now to deny.

  He was in love with Christabel’s nanny. There it was: the plain, unvarnished truth. He had hoped that in the cold light of day he would be able to dismiss that remarkable discovery as an alcohol-induced fantasy but after seeing her again, his conviction remained stronger than ever. Never having been in love before, he could attribute the powerful emotions that assailed him to no other cause.

  By thunder, when she had looked up at him outside the library door just now, it had taken every ounce of his control not to kiss her right there, in the front hall. What would she have done if he had? he wondered. Probably slapped him across the face and given notice, he thought ruefully. And rightly so. He had no business indulging in such fancies about a servant, even such an unusual one as Cherry. Especially when he would be meeting his promised wife within two weeks!

  Forcing his thoughts to the evening ahead out of pure self-defense, Gavin directed his steps towards Lord Jocelyn’s house to deliver his first invitation.

  Mr. Trent was an earnest, ambitious man, but Frederica soon realized that the steward was not particularly clever. Perhaps he was competent enough to be trusted with the running of an estate diminished to the current size of Brookeside, but she would have been exceedingly reluctant to allow him the management of Maple Hill.

  “Did you ever think to cross-check the different account books?” she asked him in exasperation after nearly an hour’s work had revealed additional puzzles, rather than answers.

  The steward ran a hand through his thinning brown hair and regarded her nervously. His attitude towards her had changed dramatically over the past hour, from amused condescension to blustering defensiveness and, finally, to grudging respect.

  “Don’t forget, miss, that I’ve only had the running of Brookeside and the other Seabrooke holdings for a few months. There was no steward at all for the past year and more. Seems the old earl kept the books himself after Mr. Collins retired.”

  Frederica strove for patience. “Yes, you’ve told me so already. But in those months, did you do nothing to verify his totals?”

  Mr. Trent blinked owlishly at her. “No one ever told me to. I did make certain that income exceeded expenditures, and the picture has improved considerably since I came aboard, as you can surely see!”

  “You’ve done an admirable job at that, certainly,” said Frederica soothingly, realizing that she had pricked his pride yet again. “And of course you had no way of knowing that Lord Seabrooke would ask for this sort of investigation into his uncle’s finances.” She sighed. The quarterly books had merely echoed the ledger: money had been bled from the estate for unknown reasons, beginning three years ago and continuing almost to the time of the previous earl’s death. “May I see those other papers you brought?”

  “Ah, now here you’ll find I’ve done a bit of investigating after all,” said Mr. Trent proudly, digging into his satchel. He beamed at her as he handed them across the desk. “When word came from Mr. Culpepper a week ago, I did some exploring and found that the old earl had more than just the one strongbox in his study. He also had a safe of sorts in his bedchamber.” His smile faded. “But it contained only these deeds, no money. And they aren’t even for the land attached to Brookeside.”

  Frederica examined the documents curiously. “No, you are right, they are from another county entirely—Cornwall, in fact. Nor do they represent a great deal of land, for all he apparently paid for them.” She looked at them carefully, noting the dates of purchase. “This is certainly where the money went, however, for the first purchase coincides with the time he began mortgaging the Seabrooke lands. Hmm.”

  She pondered for a moment, then glanced back at the ledger. An investment had been noted on that date. In sudden excitement, she asked, “Have we any way of knowing what this land is now worth?”

  Mr. Trent looked perplexed. “I suppose Mr. Culpepper, his lordship’s man of business, could find out,” he said uncertainly.

  “Take these to him at once, Mr. Trent! I believe we may well have solved Lord Seabrooke’s riddle—and perhaps his financial difficulties, as well!”

  By early afternoon, Lord Seabrooke had secured the acceptance of nearly two dozen people, all among the more unconventional members of the ton, to attend his spur-of-the-moment rout. It was to be an informal affair, and he had advised everyone that they were free to spread word of it to whoever they might encounter. While he could not expect a crush, his assembly should be well attended, he thought with satisfaction.

  He hoped so, for he needed the distraction more than ever. The flood of congratulations and well wishes he had received in the course of his calls had only served to increase his unease over his inappropriate feelings toward Miss Cherrystone, along with his doubts about his upcoming nuptials.

  Gavin found himself wishing he had a confidant, someone who might advise him about the matter. He now realized, as though for the first time, that although he had numerous acquaintances whose company he enjoyed, he had no really close friends. He supposed his years as a soldier, and later as a spy of sorts, must account for it. Odd that he had never noticed it before. Mentally cataloguing everyone he knew, he was forced to admit that the only person he felt comfortable confiding in was Cherry—and she would obviously not do in this case.

  Still, he had been reminded in the course of his visits that numerous of his acquaintances had made marriages of convenience and scraped along quite comfortably. Surely he could do so as well? In fact, as he headed back to Seabrooke House, he almost managed to convince himself that he was doing the only possible thing in marrying an heiress. It was what Society expected, and it would allow him and, more importantly, Christabel (whom he had casually mentioned during nearly every call) to move in the convivial circle he currently enjoyed. If Miss Chesterton was not a complete crosspatch, perhaps she would come to enjoy it, too.

  It was in this precariously settled frame of mind that he entered the house and went at once to the library. There he found Mr. Trent awaiting him. He should be grateful, he knew, that Cherry had already returned to the nursery; ruthlessly, he ignored the pang of disappointment he felt at her absence. Only then did he notice that his steward was smiling broadly.

  “Praise be you’re back, my lord, for I’ve been fair bursting to tell you the good news,” he exclaimed at once. “Of course, it was Miss Cherrystone’s idea to check out those deeds—an exceptional young woman, my lord, I must say.”

  Gavin nodded in complete agreement with that sentiment before prodding the man to continue. “Deeds?”

  "Yes, my lord. I didn’t think them of any particular importance, but Miss Cherrystone, she figured out what they were right away. I took them to Mr. Culpepper, as she suggested, and he was able to trace them in under an hour. He wishes to acquaint you with the details himself, but it seems your uncle bought some old copper mines in Cornwall that have begun producing again over the past year or so. He died before the profits came in, and as he bought them through an agent, there was some confusion over who the owner was. It turns out, my lord, that you are a very wealthy man!”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Frederica reached the foot of the stairs just in time to hear Mr. Trent’s last
words and almost cursed to herself. She had so wanted to be the one to tell Lord Seabrooke the good news! Why had he returned just then, when she had run up to the nursery to check on Christabel and to tidy her mousy wig? She was tempted to flee back up the stairs, but before she could do so, the earl turned and saw her.

  “It seems I owe you yet another debt of gratitude, Cherry,” he said, coming forward. “I begin to believe you were sent here as some sort of angel, to solve my knottiest problems. I must see if I can find any others for you to attack.”

  She retreated a step, fearing a repetition of yesterday’s hug. Her heart was pounding so, she would never manage to maintain her composure were he to embrace her again! “I—I am happy to be of service, my lord,” she said breathlessly.

  To her relief, Lord Seabrooke made no move to touch her. Still grinning, he said, “At the very least, you must receive a substantial bonus for this morning’s work. I shall go at once to Culpepper’s office to learn all the particulars and I’ll inform you of them when I return. Will you come to the library this evening?” Something in his expression told her that he was recalling other occasions when they had met there.

  “Are you not expecting guests tonight, my lord?” she asked quickly, very much aware of Mr. Trent’s interest in their conversation. The man might not be clever, but he was no fool, either. The last thing she needed just now was another spate of gossip.

  The earl smacked his forehead with one hand. “So I am. And now I really do have something to celebrate. Which reminds me, I have told all of my acquaintance about my niece, who is newly come to live with me.” He gave her a significant look. “I should like to introduce her to them tonight, if you will consent to bring her down. Will you, Miss Cherrystone?”

  Frederica realized with a start that tonight’s gathering must have originally been planned as a sort of betrothal party, even though Lord Seabrooke clearly did not consider that event worthy of celebration.

  He was still watching her expectantly, and she abruptly abandoned that line of thought. “It is highly irregular to allow a child to attend an assembly, my lord, but under the circumstances I think no one would take it amiss, providing Christabel stay a very short time only. But I—I fear I have nothing suitable to wear,” she finished lamely, suddenly struck by how very inappropriate it would be for her to appear at this particular event.

  “Wear something of Amity’s,” suggested the earl. “You are much the same size as she was. Do say you’ll come!” His eyes held a boyish appeal that she had not nearly the strength to resist.

  “Very well,” she said, knowing full well how weak and foolish she was being. “But only for a little while.” Surely no harm could come of a brief trip downstairs, disguised as Christabel’s nanny?

  She would tell him the truth tomorrow, she promised herself. Absolutely no later than tomorrow.

  Frederica waited until she heard a steady hum of voices below before descending to the ballroom. She hoped that with so many people in attendance, she might manage to slip in with Christabel and sit in some inconspicuous corner while the earl introduced the child about. Then she and her charge could retire to the nursery again before anyone noticed her.

  The dress she wore was one of Amity’s plainest, though still much finer than any she had brought along for her role of nanny. It was with some regret that she had resisted one of the more elaborate gowns, firmly telling herself that Miss Cherrystone would never be comfortable in such a dress. Clad in a simple blue poplin, she felt that she looked as she should: a prim nanny dressed up in her Sunday best to mix with her betters. Stifling a chuckle at the thought, she stooped to straighten the bow on Christabel’s dress, then took her firmly by the hand before entering the ballroom by a side door.

  There, she stopped short. How on earth had Lord Seabrooke managed to gather so many people on such short notice? The large room was by no means filled to capacity, but it appeared to Frederica’s inexperienced eyes that half of the ton must be present. As they moved farther into the room, she realized that there were, in fact, probably no more than forty or fifty people in attendance, all talking animatedly. Christabel chattered excitedly to her, but Frederica scarcely heard her as she scanned the room in search of the earl.

  Since the afternoon, she had been wondering how the news of his unexpected wealth would affect his marriage plans. He patently had no need to marry an heiress now. Would he adhere to the betrothal? And did she want him to? Several hours of reflection had been insufficient to provide her with answers.

  Smiling cordially at various guests, all unknown to her, as she attempted to answer Christabel’s rapid-fire questions, Frederica moved through the throng around the buffet into the relatively uncrowded centre of the room. Before she could catch her breath, they were accosted by the earl, who was smiling with delight.

  “Miss Cherrystone! I was beginning to fear you meant to hole up in the nursery for the duration after all. Let me introduce you about. You remember Sir Thomas?” He gestured towards her brother, who had just come up.

  “Of course,” she replied, refusing to meet Thomas’s eye. She knew that he must be wondering how much further she meant to take this charade. That she also knew his speculation was justified did nothing to restore her composure. “How pleasant to see you again, Sir Thomas,” she murmured.

  If Lord Seabrooke noticed her discomfiture, he gave no sign. “And my niece, Christabel,” he said then, taking the little girl’s hand. She smiled shyly up at Sir Thomas, forcing him to withdraw his gaze from his sister to smile back at the engaging child.

  “Ah, and let me present to you Lord Garvey, Miss Cherrystone, and his wife, Lady Elizabeth,” the earl added before Frederica could gather her thoughts.

  She turned to see a handsome, fair-haired man, younger than the earl, and a sprightly brunette lady quite evidently in the family way. She warmed to them both as they cheerfully acknowledged the introduction, with no hint of surprise in their manner at being presented to a mere nanny.

  Lady Elizabeth gushed warmly over Christabel, then whisked her away to introduce her around the room herself. When she returned a short time later, Frederica almost regretfully suggested to the earl that it was time she took her charge up to bed.

  “Nonsense,” he said cheerfully. “Mrs. Abbott can take her up.” He gestured to a passing footman, who hurried off to find the housekeeper. “I’d like you to stay and enjoy yourself.”

  “Oh, but—” Already, Frederica had realized what a great risk she was running of meeting someone here who might recognize her later, as herself. That would not do at all!

  “Please, Miss Cherrystone, I insist.” He held her eyes with his own for a moment and, again, she could not disappoint him.

  “Very well,” she said. “But only for a little while.” After half an hour of spirited conversation, and the glass of champagne that had been pressed upon her by Lord Seabrooke, Frederica was surprised to find herself enjoying the evening. As more introductions were made, she noticed that few of those present seemed to conform to Miss Milliken’s description of Society’s “high sticklers,” in spite of their wealth of titles. She wondered whether Milly had exaggerated, or whether Lord Seabrooke merely tended to befriend the less formal members of the ton. She rather suspected the latter, from what she knew of the earl.

  Gavin, meanwhile, was not enjoying himself nearly so much as he strove to appear. His thoughts kept returning to his conversation with Mr. Culpepper late that afternoon and to his own subsequent decision. When he had learned just how extensive a fortune his uncle had actually left him as a result of his investments, his first inclination had been to put an end to a betrothal that felt so very wrong. Christabel—and he—now had the means to live adequately, even luxuriously, without any dependence whatsoever on Miss Chesterton’s money.

  Almost at once, however, he realized how selfish, how unfair, even how dishonorable such thoughts were. How could he, in conscience, refuse to marry the girl now? He had been willing enough to give her
the consequence of his name when he had stood to benefit from the match. It would be reprehensible of him to attempt to cry off now that she might similarly benefit. What had at first appeared as an answer to a prayer now placed him under even stricter obligation. Before, he might have justified breaking the engagement with the honorable motive of sparing his fiancée a financially disadvantageous alliance. Now he had no such recourse.

  Watching Cherry as she talked easily with his friends, he felt as though a part of him were dying. At that moment, Lord William, the Duke of Brenthaven’s third son and a mad rapscallion, even for Gavin’s set, raised his glass and voice.

  “Here, here! Quiet, everyone! I’d like to propose a toast!” Tall and extremely thin, Lord William swayed like a reed in testament to the excellence of the champagne. Gavin watched him with some misgiving.

  “To our esteemed host and his chosen bride. Gavin, if Miss Chesterton is half as pretty as she is rich, you should be a very happy man. And if she ain’t, well, you’ll be able to afford to take your pleasures elsewhere!” He accompanied his words with a broad wink.

  An uncomfortable silence followed the toast, the majority of the guests recalling, as Lord William apparently did not, that the brother of the lady in question was present. After a moment, Lord Garvey stepped forward, prodded by his wife, and shoved Lord William unceremoniously aside.

  “I will echo the first line of that toast,” he said. “To Gavin and his bride—may they enjoy a long and happy marriage!”

  To this toast, everyone felt perfectly justified in drinking, and the awkward moment was smoothed over. Lord William, belatedly realizing his mistake, attempted to stammer an apology to Lord Seabrooke and the glowering Sir Thomas, but the others began to talk and laugh as before.

  Frederica, however, scarcely heard Lord Garvey’s amendment. She stood rooted to the spot, scarlet with embarrassment and shame. Embarrassment that such a thing should be said of her, in front of all these people whose opinion she now valued, and shame at her own stupidity. For it all made sense to her now.