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

by Brenda Hiatt

  To distract herself, she turned to Lady Elizabeth and said, “I collect that you and the Duchess are sisters-in-law?” She had become so comfortable in their company that her earlier fears were quite forgotten and she looked directly at the other woman as she spoke.

  “Oh, yes! I forgot that you could not have known, being so newly arrived in Town. Brie is married to my brother, Dexter, the Duke of Ravenham.” She paused, a slight frown creasing her white brow. “But are you absolutely certain that we have not met before, Miss Chesterton? There is something exceedingly familiar about you.”

  In sudden panic, Frederica averted her eyes. “Perhaps you have met my own brother, Sir Thomas,” she said quickly. “Some people have remarked on a certain resemblance between us.”

  Lady Elizabeth’s brow cleared. “Oh, yes, I have—at Lord Seabrooke’s. That must be it.”

  Frederica began to breathe normally again, but allowed the others to dominate the conversation for the remainder of the visit. She could not help but hope that a time might come when she could reveal everything to these two ladies, with whom she would like to become friends. Somehow, she thought they just might understand.

  Gavin stifled an oath. Three days of diligent sleuthing had brought him no closer to discovering Miss Cherrystone’s whereabouts—or origins.

  “Are you certain that no one mentioned driving such a person from Upper Brooke Street, perhaps to the outskirts of Town?”

  The hackney driver shook his head again. “Not as I c’n recall, m’lord. Course, there’s nothing much to remember, meaning no offense. Brown hair ’n’ spectacles ain’t so very remarkable.”

  “No, I suppose not.” The earl thought hard. What detail could he offer that one of the drivers might have noticed and told his cronies about? While he found Miss Cherrystone far out of the ordinary, there was no denying that her looks bordered on commonplace. Her special qualities were not likely to be perceived by a jarvey taking her for a short drive.

  “… young buck with a bright green wig!” the driver was saying. “Now that’s somethin’ I’ll recall to me dying day. Or Old Joe—he was tellin’ me about some woman insisted on bringing along a peacock! I ask you!” The man chortled, wiping one grimy hand across his mouth. “By gum, if it’d been me—”

  Gavin looked up in sudden excitement. Of course! “Where can I find this Old Joe?” he demanded, interrupting the jarvey’s reminiscences about his queerer fares.

  He seemed unperturbed, doubtless owing to the gold coin the earl had already given him. “At this time of day? I don’t rightly know. You might try the business district—Threadneedle ’n’ such. A dark blue hackney he drives, used to belong to Lord Linley, or so he says.”

  He trailed off, for the eccentric nobleman was already walking quickly back to his own carriage. “Thank ye, m’lord!” he called, flipping his easily earned guinea in the air. “If’n ye need any more questions answered, just come to Chalkie!”

  Gavin lost no time in finding the man referred to as Old Joe. As Chalkie had suggested, he was plying the business district at that hour and was more than willing to allow Lord Seabrooke to transfer from his crested carriage into the battered old hackney he drove.

  “Chalkie tells me you drove a lady with a caged peacock recently,” said Gavin, climbing up to sit on the box beside the grizzled driver.

  The old man frowned, but before he could open his mouth, Gavin pulled another guinea from his pocket and the frown was magically smoothed away. “That I did, m’lord,” he said promptly.

  “Take me to the house where you picked her up and this is yours,” said Gavin.

  “Aye, guv—I mean, m’lord. Right away!” Old Joe whipped up his pair of nags and headed out of Town at a spanking pace.

  “This be the place, m’lord,” he said a short time later, drawing up before a respectable-looking cottage.

  Gavin surveyed it critically. No one seemed to be about. “Are you certain?” he asked.

  “Aye, that I am. I won’t soon forget that ride, with that gaudy heathen bird squawkin’ the whole way!”

  “Very well, then, here you are.” Gavin flipped him the coin. “You may go.” His own carriage, which had followed them, drew up behind. With a touch of his hat, Old Joe clattered off down the street, doubtless hoping more eccentrics with well-lined pockets might come his way.

  Gavin strode up the flagged walk and rapped on the cottage door. Finally, he was getting somewhere! A moment later he knocked again, more loudly this time. If no one was at home, he decided, he would damned well camp on the doorstep until someone returned. This was by far the most solid lead he had had.

  He was just raising his hand to pound on the door again when it opened, revealing a bent, grey-haired man. “Yes? Oh, it’s you!” he exclaimed in apparent delight.

  Gavin was taken aback. He was almost certain he had never seen the man before. “Good afternoon, sir,” he said politely. “I’ve come to ask—”

  “Well, don’t stand there on the step, Kenneth, come inside!” said the man, opening the door wide. “I told Charlotte you’d be coming back today.”

  The earl blinked. “Charlotte? Sir, I fear you have mistaken me for someone else. My name is not Kenneth.”

  At that moment, a maidservant hurried out of one of the rooms and placed one hand on the elderly man’s arm. “Come back to your dinner, won’t you, sir?” she said cajolingly before turning to the earl. “I don’t know what you wanted, sir, but you’ll likely want to leave a message for Miss Charlotte. The master’s mind tends to wander a bit.”

  “Miss Charlotte?” asked Gavin, his hopes soaring. Surely that would be Cherry! “Is she not here?”

  “No, sir, nor expected back for some weeks. Would you care to leave a message?”

  “Weeks?” Gavin’s spirits plummeted from their sudden peak. She was not here. But surely he could discover where she had gone? First, though, he must be certain. “Would she have green eyes, by chance, and freckles? About twenty years of age?”

  “Oh, no, sir. Miss Charlotte would be much older. She has brown eyes, and I never noticed no freckles.”

  “My Charlotte is the very image of her mother,” the old man affirmed, nodding emphatically. “She’ll grow up just as lovely, I’ll be bound.”

  Gavin smiled uncertainly at the master of the house, who obviously spent much of his time in the distant past. “And is there no one here who fits that description? A servant, perhaps?”

  The woman shook her head. “I’m the only one here now, besides the master and his man-of-all-work. I do the cooking and housekeeping, while John does the heavy work and gardening. Would you like to speak with him?”

  Gavin shook his head. “You must excuse me for disturbing you. I seem to have mistaken the address.”

  During the drive back to Seabrooke House, he pondered the recent interview. If Old Joe had not been mistaken, Cherry had come from that house; it seemed wildly improbable that two young women had transported a peacock in a hackney within the past week. But where was she now?

  Back in his library, he tried to think what he should do next. Should he go back to that house, perhaps disguised as a delivery man? Idly, he picked up the stack of correspondence that had accumulated in his absence.

  Among the various invitations and letters of business, he found a note from Sir Thomas. He opened it absently, still mulling over what his next step should be. He had to scan the note twice before its import registered.

  “Confound it!” he exploded, crushing the missive in his fist.

  Miss Frederica Chesterton was already in Town.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Lady Humphries’s ball would be Frederica’s first formal function in Society, the first occasion for her to see and be seen by the most influential members of the ton, but that was not the real cause of the anxiety she felt. Of far more importance to her than the impression she might make on the Prince Regent, who was expected to attend, was the fact that this evening would likely mark her first meeting
with Lord Seabrooke as Miss Chesterton.

  At her suggestion, Thomas had yesterday sent word to the earl of her presence in Town. She had both hoped and feared that he might call on her during the course of the day, but he had not. Now she was rather relieved; she felt she had a much better chance of carrying off her deception in a ballroom than she would in private conversation. If all went as she hoped, she would not have to fool him for long.

  Her nerves in high flutter, she critically examined herself one last time in the cheval glass. Her red-gold curls were piled high on her head, with tiny white flowers woven through them. The white gown she wore was sprigged with green, flattering both her hair and her eyes—not that she planned to let Lord Seabrooke get a good look at her eyes. Still, it was vastly comforting to know that she looked her best. She practiced flirting with her green-and-white silk fan, pleased with the effect. Surely Lord Seabrooke would not be able to resist her as she was now?

  “Frederica, are you ready? It will not do to arrive after the Prince Regent,” Miss Milliken informed her, coming to the door of her boudoir.

  “Yes, Milly. Let us go.” Holding her head high to conceal the tremor she felt, Frederica descended the broad staircase to where her brother waited.

  “Blast it, Metzger, not like that!” Lord Seabrooke rounded on his hapless valet, ruining yet another neckcloth. “Here, I shall tie it myself.” As he deftly knotted a fresh square of the snowy linen into a flawless Orientale, he glanced at the man at his side. “I’m sorry, Metzger, it isn’t your fault. I am in the devil’s own temper tonight.”

  Metzger nodded silently. Such outbursts and apologies had become increasingly frequent since Miss Cherrystone had left, but his master’s mood was more dangerous tonight than he had yet seen it. Doubtless it had to do with the fact that within the hour he would be meeting his fiancée for the first time. It was a pity, that, but none of Metzger’s business, he well knew.

  A short time later, Gavin stood at the top of the staircase leading into Lady Humphries’s magnificent ballroom. Surveying the glittering throng before him, he wondered dispiritedly whether Miss Chesterton had yet arrived.

  He should have called on her earlier in the day, he knew, but had not been able to bring himself to do so. What possible reason could he give her for wishing now, at this late date, to dissolve their betrothal? Was he to say that he loved another, even though that other had seemingly fallen off the face of the earth? It sounded lame even to himself. Taking a deep breath, as he had often seen Cherry do in times of stress, he vowed to at least give Miss Chesterton a chance. It was in no way her fault that they were in this absurd situation.

  Gavin had just begun to mingle with the crowd when he spotted Sir Thomas bowing over Lady Humphries’s hand. With him at the head of the stairs stood a handsome lady of middle years who must be Miss Chesterton’s companion, and a vision in white crowned with copper. Miss Chesterton’s eyes were demurely downcast as she made her way into the throng on her brother’s arm, but her complexion appeared flawless and her hair fairly glowed above the whiteness of her shoulders. His bride-to-be was no antidote, that much was certain.

  Still, Gavin had to force himself to step forward to greet the Chesterton party. No matter how lovely she might be, she was not Cherry.

  “I am most gratified to finally make your acquaintance,” he said when Sir Thomas had performed the introductions. Even to his own ears the formal greeting sounded stiff almost to the point of rudeness. Hastily, he attempted to soften it. “Perhaps you would be so gracious as to grant me the first dance?”

  “Certainly, my lord,” she replied in a voice so low that it was almost a whisper. With a sinking heart, Gavin realized that Miss Chesterton must be extremely shy of him, in stark contrast to Cherry’s plucky outspokenness. Unfortunately, he felt no particular inclination to draw her out.

  “Pray allow me to present you to my acquaintance,” he said, offering her his arm. It would look deuced odd, he realized, if he were to abandon her the moment she arrived.

  She placed delicate fingers on his arm and obediently accompanied him into the crowd. Gavin duly introduced her to several of his friends, as well as to such exalted persons as a patroness of Almack’s and two of the Royal Dukes. The Prince was not yet in attendance. Seabrooke was surprised to discover that Miss Chesterton had already met some of those present; he would not have thought she had the gumption to go out visiting her first week in London. Perhaps her companion had insisted upon it.

  Though for the most part Gavin kept his gaze averted from the lovely creature at his side, an occasional glance was necessary as he made the introductions. Each time he looked her way, however, she quickly averted her eyes. This was going to be more difficult than he had thought. How could he possibly jilt such a shrinking violet without appearing the greatest brute in the realm? Even Cherry—especially Cherry!—would never forgive him.

  It was with relief that Gavin heard the orchestra begin the opening minuet. After the first set he could reasonably leave Miss Chesterton on her own for a while. They took their places and moved through the dance. With some surprise, Gavin noticed that his partner’s steps were flawless, and none of her apparent nervousness showed as she dipped and curtsied as the dance demanded. How had she learned to dance so well, immured in the country as she’d been?

  As the dance brought them back together, she flashed him a brief look. Gavin started involuntarily at the emerald green of her eyes before she again shaded them with her long lashes. A sudden memory of Cherry assailed him, and he had to steel himself inwardly. He had been imagining her likeness everywhere he looked for days. Now he was even attempting to find a resemblance in the unlikely person of Miss Chesterton. Absurd!

  When the dance ended, he delivered her back to her chaperone and made his bows, promising to return for the supper dance before decamping.

  Frederica watched him go with mingled regret and relief. This was going to be far harder than she had expected. How could she charm the man when she couldn’t even look at him or speak clearly? But she did not dare to do so. She hadn’t missed the sudden flicker in his expression when she had accidentally allowed him to see her eyes. Had she held his gaze as the minuet actually called for, she would already be undone. She must not let him catch her looking at him again.

  For indeed, with surreptitious glances she had been drinking in the sight of him, so precious after these few days of separation. And she had been secretly appalled at the changes she could perceive. Somehow, in less than a week, he had lost his sparkle, his vitality, that zest for living that had always drawn her to him. He also appeared to have lost weight. Had he been ill, she wondered? Her senses sharpened by love, Frederica noticed what no one else would have: that Lord Seabrooke appeared far from happy.

  As she danced a quadrille with Mr. Gershom, she puzzled over the realization. She had known all along, of course, that Lord Seabrooke had been less than enthusiastic about his betrothal to her, but that hardly seemed enough to account for the dramatic difference in him tonight. He had seemed resigned, if not content, when they last spoke of his forthcoming nuptials. Tonight he almost looked like a man whose heart had been broken.

  From that thought, another occurred to her so suddenly that she almost missed her step. Could it be possible that he really had fallen in love with her as Miss Cherrystone—that her leaving had hurt him so badly? The idea filled her with guilt even as it gratified her. She could not wish on him the sort of pain she herself had been subject to at their parting, even though it might indicate that his feelings were all she had hoped.

  But what was she to do now? Was there any way to know for certain? As the quadrille ended and a country dance began, she scarcely noticed the change of partners, so full was her mind with the dilemma before her.

  “My dear, what a success you are! ” exclaimed Miss Milliken more than two hours later, when Frederica had consented to sit out a dance with her brother so that he might procure some lemonade for her. “Lady Humphries tells
me that your card was full before the dancing had even begun.”

  “Yes, I suppose it was,” said Frederica absently, scarcely noticing the distinguished-looking gentleman at her companion’s side. “But Lord Seabrooke asked only for two dances. As we are betrothed, he could quite properly have requested three, or even more.” She had been acutely aware of the earl—and his many partners—throughout the evening.

  “Can you blame him, Frederica?” asked Miss Milliken gently. “From what you tell me, this match was scarcely more to his taste than it was—originally—to your own.”

  Startled at her friend’s outspokenness, Frederica glanced quickly at the stranger standing nearby.

  “Oh, let me present to you Mr. Westlake,” said Miss Milliken, with a slow smile that caused Frederica to sharpen her gaze. “He and I met years ago, and have been renewing our acquaintance after a long hiatus.”

  “Yes, I well remember Charlotte when she made her debut back in ’95,” said Mr. Westlake, smiling at his Miss Milliken in a way that Frederica would almost have called besotted. “She is the only female I have ever known who truly appreciates military history, a particular passion of mine. Indeed, she was the brightest diamond of the Season that year, but disappeared before I, or any of my many rivals, could place her in the setting she deserved. I am delighted that she is come back to us at last.”

  To Frederica’s astonishment, Miss Milliken blushed at this recital. “Your memory is quite obviously addled by time, Charles. I was nothing out of the ordinary, then or now.”

  As Mr. Westlake began to protest, Sir Thomas arrived with lemonade, interrupting the fascinating exchange.

  “Egad!” he exclaimed, mopping his brow with a handkerchief. “No doubt Lady Humphries is in alt because of the crush, but I’d as lief there were fewer people here. You’d best drink up, Freddie, for the set is nearly over.”