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

by Brenda Hiatt

  Kit couldn’t resist a friendly wave at the pair of constables standing off by themselves, looking singularly ill at ease. At one time or another each had held him in custody. He supposed they had been invited to swell the line of infantry meant to throw Lord Whitney on the defensive immediately he stepped into the room. The heavy artillery—among them two viscounts, three barons, and the Earl of Lonsdale—were waiting with the Earl of Kendal in the upstairs salon until time for their grand entrance.

  When last he saw them, Lucy and Celia were in the nursery, fuming. Kendal had ruled that no females were to be present at this settlement conference, and both took great exception to his order. “Men conduct business with other men,” he had said firmly. “Like it or not, that is the way the world turns.”

  Kit was inclined to agree with him, although he understood Lucy’s indignation. She had well earned the right to see the end of what she had begun. At least they all hoped that today’s events would mark the conclusion, but all remained in doubt until Lord Whitney affixed his signature to the documents.

  Kendal’s battalion of solicitors had descended on Lord Whitney the very morning after his encounter with the Lancaster witches. By all accounts he had been pale, panic-stricken, and willing to sign anything short of his death warrant. Because his servants could attest to his disordered state of mind in the event of a later appeal, the solicitors wisely left a mountain of papers for him to examine, advising him to engage a solicitor to act on his behalf.

  No one could be certain what he would do at this meeting. It was possible he’d declare his intention to pursue the matter in the courts, especially if he still retained the financial backing of Sir Basil Crawley. If not, there was little question that he would attempt to renegotiate, in his favor, the terms Kendal’s attorneys had offered him. Which would mean a long, tedious afternoon, Kit thought, opening the newspaper and pretending to be absorbed in what he was reading. The pompous lord-lieutenant had begun to sidle in his direction, apparently bent on striking up a conversation.

  “Sir Basil Crawley and… er, Mr. Bartholomew Pugg,” the butler announced from the doorway in a soft voice that shouted his opinion of their worthiness to be there.

  No one else paid the slightest attention to their arrival, but Kit immediately went on full alert. Crawley had brought along his pet Runner, which could not be a good sign. He lifted the newspaper so that it covered most of his face and watched as Crawley accepted a glass of wine from the footman. Pugg declined, and then both men headed in his direction.

  “Mr. Valliant, it is my pleasure to see you again,” Crawley said with a bow as Pugg separated himself far enough for discretion and close enough to hear what was said.

  Kit lowered his newspaper but did not rise, a mild insult that Crawley noted with a flash of anger in his steel-gray eyes. But he never lost his polite smile, and Kit gave him points for self-control. “Lud, half the population of north England must have been invited to this party,” he said, lounging back on the chair with his legs crossed. “I don’t suppose you know what is happening here?”

  Crawley looked puzzled.

  “No? Well, that makes us a pair. M’brother is up to something, I daresay, but damned if I can make any sense of it. Some sort of legal kafuffle, I suppose, what with a clutch of lawyers infesting the place.”

  “You are not involved in this matter?” Crawley asked, recovering his stiff poise.

  “Lord, no. My beloved Lucinda—you met her t’other night—is having one of her moods, and I’m far safer here than elsewhere in the house. The woman can peel the hide from a fellow with her tongue.” He shuddered theatrically. “So why have you come? If it’s to pay a call on the earl, allow me to advise you this is not the best of times.”

  “So I apprehend. But as it happens, I have some minor stake in this afternoon’s proceedings.”

  “Well, don’t tell me about it.” Kit waved a negligent hand. “I mean to drink Kendal’s wine, read my paper here in the corner, and maybe have m’self a snooze. But who is that odd chap came in with you? He looks disposed to pilfer the silver.” Crawley gave him a cold smile. “I doubt he will. He’s a Bow Street Runner.”

  “Indeed?” Kit raised the quizzing glass he’d borrowed from Kendal for this occasion and examined Pugg from head to toe. “Never saw one before now. Can’t say I’m very much impressed, though he looks smarter than the two constables lurking across the way. What’s he doing here?”

  “I could ask the same about the constables,” Crawley said, dancing to his own evasive tune.

  “Lord Whitney,” the butler intoned, “and his associates.” Geeson stepped aside to admit the guest of dishonor, who was followed by two men wearing badly fitting coats, baggy breeches, and furtive expressions.

  “M’brother is keeping sorry company these days,” Kit said, clicking his tongue. “Who is the one looks like a bloated codfish?”

  “A fool,” Crawley said tersely. “Perhaps a madman. He claims to see witches and demons, and fears that a giant bird will rise up from hell to peck out his eyes. Pray excuse me, but unfortunately I have need to speak, with him.”

  “By all means.” Kit turned his attention to Lord Whitney, taking note of his blotched, pasty skin, his bulbous red nose, and the belly sagging over the waistband of his breeches. He had been no great beauty when Kit saw him cowering on the ground at Amside Tower, but in the three days since, he appeared to have gone entirely to seed.

  Were Diana’s fate not at stake, Kit might have enjoyed this circus. He would certainly have liked to eavesdrop on what Crawley was saying to Lord Whitney, but the Runner had stationed himself where he could observe everyone in the room. He was sure to notice if Kit showed even a mild interest in Crawley’s business.

  Unaccustomed to sitting back and allowing someone else to order events, Kit found it devilish hard to maintain his careless pose. He’d passed the reins to Kendal, which was without question the correct thing to do, but that failed to stanch his frustration. Lucy must have felt much the same when Kit Valliant swept onto the scene and immediately took charge.

  With a considerable degree of ceremony, Geeson stepped into the parlor and read off a long series of names and titles. One by one, virtually everyone of rank in the county of Westmoreland made a dignified entrance. Lord Kendal was the last to appear, and Kit covered an inordinate desire to laugh by coming to his feet.

  The earl, impeccably clad in a pewter coat, darker breeches, and dove-colored stockings, entered his parlor as if it were the court at Versailles. A hush descended and all eyes were focused on him as, supremely aloof, he paused and slowly swung his gaze around the room. When it fell on Lord Whitney, the baron’s face turned an alarming shade of purple.

  Paying him no special notice, Kendal continued to briefly examine each man in turn until he came to the tall, hook-nosed Sir Basil. With a slight frown, his head slightly tilted, he studied him as he might a bug pinned to a blotter.

  Kit decided he could not bear to miss the fireworks. He sauntered across the room, plucking a full glass of wine from a footman as he passed by, and greeted his brother with an elaborate bow. “I thought you’d never get here, my lord earl. Precisely whom are we burying this afternoon?”

  Kendal turned his icy gaze in his direction. “This is none of your concern, Christopher. Unless you can identify the two… er, gentlemen standing with Lord Whitney. I cannot think what they are doing in my home. Are they perchance friends of yours?”

  Crawley moved forward and bowed. “I have a slight acquaintance with your brother, Lord Kendal, but he is in no way responsible for my presence here. Will you do me the honor of allowing him to introduce me?”

  “If I must.” With a small sigh, Kendal sliced a meaningful look at Lord Lonsdale, who immediately turned to one of his fellows and struck up a conversation. Others took the cue and moved away, leaving the three men to speak privately.

  No one, Kit thought admiringly, exercised power with such exquisite finesse as his brother. Careful no
t to meet his eyes for fear of laughing, he presented Sir Basil Crawley. “Lucinda and I attended a ball at his home near Flookburgh,” he added. “Remember? You were invited, too.”

  “Was I? Then my secretary must have sent my regrets.” Kendal said nothing more, merely gazing with resigned boredom at a place beyond Crawley’s shoulder. Kit recognized his brother’s strategy, having been its victim on many nasty occasions, and knew that Crawley would soon jump in to fill the uncomfortable silence.

  He made the leap within moments. “I hope you will pardon me for the intrusion, Lord Kendal, but it happens that I have considerable interest in whatever decisions are made concerning Miss Diana Whitney.”

  “Indeed? I cannot imagine why. Your name has not appeared on any of the documents relating to her case.”

  “My interest is personal, sir. Perhaps Lord Whitney failed to mention it, but I have offered for the young lady’s hand in marriage.”

  Kendal raised a brow. “And how did she reply?”

  “Unfavorably, I regret to say. But that is entirely my doing, for I approached her at an inappropriate time.” Crawley contrived to look bereft and repentant, although neither sentiment reached his eyes. “She was yet grieving for her parents, snatched from her so cruelly, but I was unaware that they had perished only a few months earlier. I am newly come north from Manchester, you see, and had no acquaintance among the local gentry until I chanced to meet Lord Whitney. He introduced me to his niece, and—well, how shall I say this? It will sound altogether foolish from a man of my years, but I was irreparably smitten when first I clapped eyes on her. My impressions of her worth were confirmed as I came to value, even more than her beauty, the charm, intelligence, and grace that stole my heart and sealed my fate.”

  Horse manure! Kit thought, longing to plant him a facer. Kendal looked profoundly uninterested.

  Tiny beads of sweat had formed on Crawley’s brow. “The thing is, I rushed my fences. Instead of allowing her time to recover from her loss, I immediately paid my addresses. Quite naturally, she refused my offer.”

  “Then I continue to wonder why you are here. Does not her rejection of your suit mark an end to your involvement with Miss Whitney and her affairs?”

  “Had I courted her when and how I should have done, you would be correct. But I am persuaded that, given time, she will come to see me in a new light.” He lifted his arms in a helpless gesture. “Would you have me forsake all hope?”

  “Perish the thought,” Kendal murmured.

  Crawley drew himself up. “Mock me if you will, sir, but my intentions are both sincere and honorable. And in my defense, I was more precipitate than I might otherwise have been, due to her particular circumstances. Lord Whitney is something of a loose screw, and I feared for Miss Whitney’s well-being. Alas, my judgment of her guardian’s nature was proven correct when she fled him in terror.”

  Kit growled low in his throat. How his brother could listen to this hogwash without the slightest reaction was beyond his comprehension.

  But Kendal had the situation well in hand. “Your concern for Miss Whitney’s welfare was well taken, but no longer necessary. You will be pleased to hear that she will shortly be removed from her uncle’s guardianship and given over to my protection.” He produced a chilly smile. “As for your wish to marry the young lady, I see no reason to object if she expresses a desire to accept you. Naturally you will wait a decent interval, a year at the very least, before approaching her again.”

  Left with no other choice, Crawley inclined his head. “As you say, Lord Kendal. But before taking my leave, I should like very much to pay my regards to Miss Whitney and assure myself that she is content with the arrangements you have made for her. Have I your permission to speak with her for a few moments?”

  “I would naturally grant it, were she here, but Miss Whitney is not in residence at Candale. When the opportunity arises, I shall make certain to convey your good wishes. And now, if you will excuse me, a number of gentlemen are awaiting my attention. Christopher, be so kind as to show Sir Basil out.” Well done, Kit applauded silently before turning his attention to Crawley. He was staring at Kendal’s back, color high in his cheeks. His usually blank eyes had gone on fire.

  “We have both been dismissed, it seems,” Kit said lightly. “Just as well, considering the company in this room. Dull dogs, the lot of ’em. Shall we take ourselves off before my brother has us thrown out on our ears?”

  Beckoning to Pugg, Crawley stalked to the door, sneering at the butler who held it open for him to pass.

  There was more trouble ahead from that source, Kit was certain. Crawley was the sort of man who nursed a grudge and plotted vengeance. He would make no move anytime soon, fully aware that his adversaries were on their guard, but the Valliant family had not heard the last of him.

  While a footman went to see his carriage brought around, Crawley drew the Runner aside and clutched his elbow as he spoke in an urgent whisper.

  Knowing better than to intrude, Kit took shade under the portico with his shoulders propped against a marble pillar and sipped at his wine, gazing off into the distance. He pretended to be startled when Crawley approached him again.

  “I shall bid you farewell now, Mr. Valliant, and expect that we’ll not meet again until after the turn of the year. I have business to put before Parliament regarding a turnpike road between Ulverston and Camforth, along with proposals for the extension of several canals in this area. Likely these matters will keep me in London for a considerable time.”

  “I’m sorry to hear it, but perhaps we will meet sooner than you imagine. Lucinda is nagging me to take her to London for the Season. And by then I’ll have her dowry in m’pocket,” he added, “in case you have ideas how I ought to invest it.”

  “I haven’t forgot,” Crawley said, his eyes opaque. “You may be sure I’ll stay in touch. Might I ask you one last question, as we are business associates of a kind?”

  “Fire away.” Kit grinned at him. “I always cooperate with anyone who can help me get rich.”

  “Is it true that Miss Whitney is not in residence anywhere on Lord Kendal’s estate?”

  “Well, if she is, I ain’t seen her. And I’ll tell you something else. Jimmie was born with a javelin up his spine. You know the sort—honor and duty and all that rot. If he said she’s not here, she’s not here.”

  “I did wonder. The earl appeared to take me in dislike, and I thought he might be fobbing me off.”

  “Oh, he takes most everyone in dislike. He don’t like me above half, and I’m a darling. Think no more of it.”

  With a stiff bow, Crawley went to the carriage that had just pulled up.

  Kit watched with amusement as the man who had shot him opened the paneled doors and let down the steps for Sir Basil. Unfinished business, he thought, but it would have to wait for a suitable opportunity. He couldn’t very well call out a flunky.

  “A moment of your time, sir?”

  Turning, Kit saw the Runner approach him from the other direction, leading a saddled horse. “By all means.” He produced his sunniest smile. “Mr. Pugg, is it?”

  “Pugg will do. Sir Basil has informed you that he is on his way to London?”

  “So he did, although I cannot imagine why his whereabouts should interest me. You are in his employ, I believe?”

  “At one time, but no longer. I can tell you, sir, that it’s a sad day when a Runner elects to leave a job unfinished. But so I have done. Sir Basil will learn that I am off the case when I choose to tell him, which will not be in the near future. Meantime he won’t be hiring anybody else, if you take my drift.”

  “As a matter of fact, I’ve haven’t the foggiest clue what you are blathering about.”

  Pugg grinned, revealing a set of spiky teeth. “If you say so. My regards to the young ladies, sir.”

  “Which young ladies would those be?” Kit inquired blandly. Pugg mounted his horse with considerable grace. “Oh, the one what sometimes call herself Mrs. Presto
n when she ain’t dancing with you at a ball, and the one what are at the pig farm.” He lifted his hat and bowed from the saddle. “If ever you be in need of a Runner, sir, you c’n find me at Bow Street.”

  Well, well, Kit thought as Pugg nudged his horse to a canter and sped away. Who would have guessed it? The Runner had found them out and jumped over to their side.

  In a reflective mood, Kit rested his shoulders against the pillar once again and turned the glass of wine in his hand, watching the deep red liquid swirl around. One day he would seek out the honorable Mr. Pugg, invite him to a pub house, and ply him with enough ale to loosen his tongue. If he ever lost guard of it, to be sure. There was a good chance Kit would never discover exactly what Pugg had learned and how he’d come by his information, but he wanted to buy the man a drink anyway.

  Ought he to tell the others about this? he wondered. Not Diana, certainly. She should never know how close they had come to disaster. His brother, yes, and Celia, no. As for Lucy, he would have to think on it. From here on out he wanted no more secrets between them, but a few matters might do better to wait until his ring was on her finger.

  Meantime he was supposed to be witnessing the events going on in the parlor so that he could give her a full report. Quickly finishing off his wine, Kit returned to the house, steeling himself to endure an hour or two of lawyerly gibberish.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “I cannot bear this another moment!” Lucy looked again at the clock on the mantelpiece in Lady Kendal’s private parlor. The hands appeared to have frozen in place. “Why is it taking so long?”

  “One must allow for posturing and long speeches, I expect. You must have observed at table this week that Mr. Bilbottom admires the sound of his own voice. The other solicitors will attempt to match him, if only to justify their fees, but there can be no doubt of the outcome. Kendal has everything well in hand.”