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

by Brenda Hiatt

  “So what if he does? You’d not hand her over.”

  “I could be forced to by legal means. Miss Whitney is subject to her guardian, however unworthy he may be. Should he elect to exercise his rights over her and pursue the matter diligently, I would have no choice but to, as you say, hand her over.”

  “Whyever not? Whitney cannot mount an army and storm the gates. Who could compel you even to admit she is here?”

  Kendal released an exasperated sigh. “Kit, you have danced on the other side of the law for so long that you’ve forgot where the boundaries are set. I’m a civilized man, not a warlord. We’ll do better to employ stealth than common deceit, let alone outright defiance.”

  “However much he might wish to,” Celia remarked, “James will never swear to an untruth. And as you know, I have no gift whatever for deception. If Miss Whitney is here, even the most inept of magistrates would be able to read it on my face.”

  “There is Alex’s house at Coniston Water,” Kendal said thoughtfully. “We have not leased it out since the previous tenants moved away. And your own cottage in Hawkshead remains vacant, I believe.”

  Celia gathered up her knitting. “I have decided that I do not wish to know how you resolve this, gentlemen. I make a poor conspirator, given my lamentable habit of blurting the truth at the most inopportune times. And,” she added, brushing a kiss on her husband’s cheek, “men always speak more freely without a lady in the room.”

  Kit opened the door for her. “You’re a trump, Countess. Now I won’t be forced to mind my language.”

  “When have you ever done?” She sniffed at him and wrinkled her nose. “Mercy me, Kit. I shall have a tub brought to your room and instruct the kitchen staff to heat a lake’s worth of water. Pray advise the servants when you are ready for your bath.”

  “Lucifer’s privates!” Kit swore when she was gone. “How is it, Jimmie, that we have both fallen in love with managing females?”

  “Is there any other kind?”

  “None willing to put up with the likes of us, I suspect.” Kit flopped onto the chair again and stretched his legs to the fire. “Sorry for any unpleasant odors wafting from my direction, by the way. The cottage where I spent the last few days didn’t have provisions for bathing. Odd thing is, the ladies always smelled of fresh air and spring flowers. I’ve no idea how they managed it.”

  “And this is relevant in what way to the point at hand?”

  “Right. Back to business. As you say, any property owned by the family will be a natural target for a search when our involvement becomes known. But is that inevitable? Our name cannot be kept out of it?”

  “Not if I file a petition to remove Lord Whitney as the young lady’s guardian and replace him with myself, which seems the next logical step. Mind you, I’m no expert on these matters. We require professional counsel before taking legal action of any kind.”

  “There’s a chance you can be appointed her guardian? That would be the ideal solution!” Kit’s enthusiasm quickly ran up against a wall. His brother had a family of his own, a large estate to manage, and scores of civic responsibilities Kit knew nothing about. What was more, the Earl of Kendal had never even met Diana Whitney.

  “Are you willing to take on such an obligation, Jimmie? I always assumed you would act on her behalf, but I reckoned that would involve no more than bringing her to Candale and hiring a solicitor. I never meant you should take personal charge of her.”

  Kendal draped his arm over the back of the sofa. “I am perfectly agreeable, so long as Celia has no objections. I cannot imagine that she will, but of course I must ask her before committing myself.”

  “Is that how things are done when one is married? Will I be required to ask Lucy’s permission every time I want to buy a horse or… or brush my teeth?”

  Laughing, Kendal shook his head. “I have pronounced myself willing to take on a ward I’ve never met and fight her case through the courts if need be, but damned if I mean to start passing out marital advice. When you are leg-shackled, Kit, you can bloody well stumble along the way the rest of us do.”

  “Sorry again. But the thing is, it’s all tangled up together, my passion for Lucy and this mess with Diana. I can’t think straight. What are we supposed to be talking about?”

  “When we left off, we were discussing where to deposit Miss Whitney while I extricate her from the clutches of her uncle.” Kit adjusted his arm in the sling. “I’d figured on bringing her here, but clearly that won’t do. Tell you what, Jimmie. I’m no good with the legal ins and outs, so you take charge of those. I’ll put my mind to finding her a place to stay.”

  “Very well. But I require a good deal more information from you before I can be of service. What level of opposition are we facing?”

  “Hard to tell. As I understand it, the new Lord Whitney has been living off his expectations for several years, is up to his eyebrows in debt, and stands to gain by marrying off his ward to Sir Basil Crawley. That’s a considerable incentive to fight us for control.”

  “And what do you know of Crawley?”

  “Other than the fact Diana won’t have him, nothing. By her account, her uncle is a nincompoop and Crawley makes her skin crawl. He’s the one pulling the strings, I have no doubt.”

  Kendal rubbed his chin. “I’ve heard his name, or read it, not too very long ago. Let me think on this a moment.”

  Kit used the opportunity to refill his wineglass and sort out his thoughts. It would be a wonder if his brother could make sense of the bits and pieces he had thrown at him thus far. But then again, who was better qualified? James had slithered through the courts of a dozen countries while Europe was at war, sifting solid information from the chaff of rumors and disinformation, manipulating kings and czars and ministers of state on behalf of England’s foreign policy. Such as it was. He often said that England was its own worst enemy, and that he’d rather deal with Napoleon’s Imperial Guard than a squabbling Parliament.

  “I have it! Or I think I do.” Kendal rose. “Come with me.” Kit followed his brother downstairs and into the study where he had been summoned far too many times, never willingly, to hear a lecture on proper behavior or to be punished for his latest offense. The room still made him bloody uncomfortable.

  Kendal went to his desk and rummaged through the orderly stacks of paper that covered it end to end. “Yes, this is it. Have a look.”

  Kit took the folded card and saw his own name inscribed with those of Lord and Lady Kendal and Colonel Alexander Valliant. “He’s invited us to a ball? Good Lord. Will you accept?”

  “Under no circumstances. He has not been presented to me, and I was frankly astounded to receive this card. One only, mind you, addressed to all of us and sent by way of common post at that. I would have immediately declined, but unimportant matters are awaiting the return of my secretary, who is visiting his family in Carlisle.”

  “Hold off awhile longer, will you?! I may decide to make an appearance.”

  “Is that wise?” Kendal sat behind the desk and steepled his hands. “It will draw unnecessary attention to the family before we are prepared to make our move.”

  “Know thine enemy, or something of the sort. Besides, I’m devilish curious to meet the fellow.”

  “If you must. But think on it before making a decision, will you? It won’t help our case to put him on his guard.”

  Kit chuckled. “You never fail to underestimate me, Jimmie. I’ll pop in at the ball, do a bit of reconnaissance, and pop out again, leaving Crawley none the wiser. Besides, you can hardly expect me to sit around doing nothing while you and the lawyers are huddled over your books.”

  “I certainly don’t wish to have you hovering about and making a nuisance of yourself. But you must know it will be some time before we begin… er, huddling. The solicitor I have in mind to supervise the case resides in London.”

  “What’s wrong with Carruthers? He could set to work immediately.”

  “To what purpose? He is w
ell qualified to handle my affairs, but Miss Whitney’s situation is quite out of the ordinary. There can be little precedent for what we mean to attempt, Kit. I have no connection to her family, nor even a long-standing acquaintance. Convincing the court to overturn her father’s will, remove her from her uncle’s custody, and declare her my legal ward will not be a simple matter. Indeed, I expect it to be impossible. But a battery of superb lawyers can tie this up in Chancery until Miss Whitney comes of age.”

  Kit mauled the back of his neck with taut fingers. “What would happen if Lord Whitney failed to contest the petition?”

  “That would be altogether different.” Kendal raised a brow. “Is there reason to think he will not?”

  “Not a one that I know of. Just asking.” Kit stood and began to pace, his mind churning with half-formed ideas. None of which he meant to reveal to his brother, of course, even when he had settled on a likely plan. “So what comes next?”

  “I shall send a letter by tomorrow’s post requesting that Mr. Bilbottom make the journey to Candale, and it will be well if I give him as much information as possible from the start. Tonight I want you to write down what you have already told me, along with anything else that comes to mind. The injury done to Miss Whitney’s face is of particular importance, being evidence of her guardian’s unsuitability. Pray describe it in detail.”

  “It happens I can do better. She allowed me to make sketches of her, although to convince her to do so, I had to half promise that no one would inspect her person directly.”

  “The sketches will certainly help, and I’ll enclose them with your written report. But you must know that should all else fail, Miss Whitney could be summoned to testify.”

  “It won’t come to that, I assure you.”

  Kendal looked displeased. “Do you mean to run wild behind my back?”

  “Do you really want to know?”

  “I suppose not. Just see that we are never acting at cross-purposes, and hold in mind that a young woman’s future is at stake.”

  “I am well aware of that. Good Lord, Jimmie, I’m practically an old man. Knocking at thirty. Credit me with a particle of sense.”

  “One at most. But I’ll spare you another of my traditional lectures, since you pay them no heed in any case.” Kendal smiled. “Toddle off to your bath, ancient one. Write up your report and get some sleep. We’ll meet again over breakfast.”

  “How the blue blazes does Celia put up with you?” Kit grumbled, slouching to the door.

  “She is a woman of singular endurance, to my great good fortune. And on the subject of long-suffering females, when do I meet the one who may be required to put up with you?”

  “Not may, sir. Will, sir. Consider, Jimmie, that if a smug, overbearing tyrant has won himself a wife like Celia, a dashing young cavalier such as myself cannot help but nab an equally remarkable bride. Mind you, if she is to have me, she must first beat out a rival for my affections.”

  Kendal’s smile went cold. “You speak of Miss Whitney?”

  “How you do leap to conclusions.” Kit turned with his hand on the door latch. “I speak of Miss Fidgets, who happens to be an owl.”

  Well pleased with the astonished look on his brother’s face, Kit made his way upstairs. The Honorable Christopher Alexander Valliant had been twelve days old when last he saw him, and two months had passed since then. Fortunately the infant was awake, to judge by the piercing screeches emanating from the room at the end of the passageway.

  Celia looked up with obvious relief when he let himself into the nursery. “Come see if you can calm him down, Kit. I’ve been walking the room with him for an hour, but he won’t stop crying.”

  “He’s probably bored with the scenery, love. Try taking him out and about.” He settled the infant in the curve of his good arm. “C’mon, rascal. I’ll tell you a story about two maidens in distress and how your brave, resourceful uncle saved them from the wicked old dragon.”

  Celia shook her head when Christopher immediately stopped crying. “How do you do that?”

  “Ineffable charm,” he said, gazing down into a pair of wide blue eyes. “When are you going to grow some hair, young man? You put me in mind of a billiard ball. You’re a beauty, though. When you’ve filled out some, you’ll be almost as good-looking a fellow as your uncle Kit.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” Celia said. “James tells me that Alex is far and away the handsomest of the Valliant brothers.”

  “Pay her no mind,” he told the babe. “She’s never seen him. I bet he’d come home, though, if he knew you were here. Has there been any word, Celia?”

  “Not since the letter from Lima, and you’ve read that one. James replied immediately, but correspondence requires months to pass between England and South America, and Alex rarely stays in one place for very long.”

  “Take heed, Christopher. Everyone accuses me of being a here-and-thereian, but Uncle Alex is the true culprit. And I have excellent news for you tonight. By Michaelmas next, you are likely to have your very first cousin. I’m hoping she’ll be a girl, though. Too many males in this family as it is.”

  “You are serious about this young woman you’ve met?” Celia asked.

  “Absolutely.” He glanced up. “If you’ve no objection, I mean to bring her here within the next few days.”

  “She is welcome, of course, for as long as she wishes to stay. But won’t she prefer to go wherever it is you plan to put Miss Whitney?”

  “I expect so. But if the lady I have in mind to ask does agree to take Diana, you may be sure I cannot send Lucy along. We are friends now, but there was a time we were a trifle more than that.” Unaccountably, he felt heat rise up the back of his neck. “If you take my meaning.”

  “How could I not?” she said, laughing. “But will she be a suitable companion for a young girl like Miss Whitney?”

  “You used not to be such a prude. Jimmie has corrupted you.”

  “I have corrupted him,” she corrected, “and he has enjoyed every minute of it. But you must know that he can’t help watching over you like a fussy hen. I know he gets on your nerves, but he practically raised you from an egg. He feels responsible for you.”

  “And I’ve not given him much to boast of since flying the nest.” Kit nuzzled the infant’s warm cheek, loving the milky smell of his breath and the tiny bubble that had formed at the corner of his mouth. “Your papa will be devilish surprised when I settle peaceably with my moonbeam. I’m going to hand you back to your mama now, and you are to treat her kindly. Agreed?”

  The babe gurgled cheerfully, settling into Celia’s arms without protest. “You will make a prodigiously fine father,” she told Kit in a whisper.

  “So I have always believed. And if Lucy gives me the chance, I shall also make a prodigiously fine husband.”

  Chapter Ten

  Late the next morning, Lucy took Kit’s spyglass and went into the woods to look for Fidgets.

  This would be their last day at Cow’s Mouth cottage, assuming that all went as Kit had said it would. Diana was prepared to depart, the few possessions she meant to take with her wrapped in a woolen pelisse and tied up with string. She seemed calm, as if she had handed herself over to Kit and need no longer be concerned about her future.

  With Fidgets disinclined to respond to her calls, Lucy left the trees and ascended the grassy hill to the limestone headland. The day was cool and clear, with a few clouds hanging in the sky like dandelion fluff and a fresh breeze blowing in from the ocean. She extended the spyglass and looked out over the sparkling bay. Near the shore, shallow water flowing over its long legs, a gray heron stood motionless, waiting for a meal to swim by. Leisurely, she enjoyed the view of Cartmel peninsula across the bay and the Lakeland fells rising in the distance.

  At length she turned in the direction of the track that led to the cottage, amazed at how far she could see with the aid of the spyglass. All the way to the Warton road, in fact, although the road itself was invisible behind a sc
reen of trees. She gazed over the rolling hills beyond the road and then back again, just in time to see two horsemen emerge from a break in the trees. They were moving slowly, but quite evidently had set themselves on the track to the cottage. She couldn’t make out their faces, but one man was too barrel-shaped to be Kit and the other was far too small.

  Wheeling, she sprinted down the hill and dashed into the cottage. “Cave!” she told a startled Diana, grabbing Mrs. Preston’s dress from the hearthside where it had been left to dry. They had rehearsed what to do if a stranger suddenly appeared, so Diana went immediately to the trapdoor. Lucy closed it behind her, covered it with the thatched straw carpet, and tugged her portmanteau atop it.

  A knock sounded as she was adjusting the wig. Quickly donning her bonnet, she lowered the veil, drew in a deep breath, and went to the door.

  “Beggin’ your pardon for the disturbance, ma’am,” said a burly man with a large nose and red cheeks. “M’name is Ralph Planter, and I be constable for this parish. This here is Mr. Bartholomew Pugg come north from Bow Street, him bein’ a Runner. We are come to inquire concernin’ a young lady what’s gone missing.”

  “Are you alone here?” Pugg asked, looking past her into the cottage with dark, intelligent eyes.

  “Yes, certainly.” She stepped aside. “Do come in, gentlemen. I would offer you refreshment, but as you see, nearly everything has been packed up for my journey.”

  Pugg prowled the room, examining the nearly bare shelves and the sparse furnishings. He paused to examine the spyglass, which she had dropped on the table in her rush. “This is a fine piece of work, madam.”

  “It belonged to my l-late husband. He died at Waterloo.” The constable regarded her solicitously. “My condolences, ma’am. Them was brave men. I lost a brother there, and another at Vittoria.”

  Recognizing a potential ally, she slipped her hand into her pocket and withdrew a painted miniature in a gilt frame. She had bought it at a secondhand shop in Lancaster, along with the black dress and the veiled mourning hat. The shop had been filled with items sold off by impoverished war widows, and Lucy felt sad every time she looked at the face of the dark-haired young man, so solemn and proud as he sat for the artist.