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

by Brenda Hiatt

  “Yes, this is my trunk—it truly is,” she whispered excitedly as she knelt down beside it and opened it. “My clothes…”

  But Jeremy, squatting beside her, noticed that she gave the clothing only a cursory glance, delving quickly to the bottom of the trunk. Yes, he thought, that is where the important items are. Tell me your secrets, lady from Spain.

  She leaned over the trunk, feeling for the items underneath the clothes, her face a mixed study in anticipation and concentration. Then with a sudden cry of “oh, botheration!” she gathered a huge armful of clothing and dumped it unceremoniously onto the floor. The items at the bottom of the trunk lay revealed.

  Jeremy knew that she would find everything there. Which item would she seek out first? The purse of banknotes? The Bible? Which item meant the most to her? She seemed to have forgotten that he was there with her, which suited him very well for the moment.

  “Yes,” she whispered, “Oh, yes.” She touched the Bible, the box of rosary beads, even the packet of letters he had so carefully replaced. But it was the other box, the one with the jewels, that she lifted out reverently. “Oh, I cannot believe that they left me this!” She hugged the box, then set it down and opened it. “There they are.”

  The pearl and emerald jewelry lay nestled in the box, but it was the miniatures she took out, cradling them in her hand. The look of longing and loss on her face moved him profoundly.

  “My parents,” she said so softly that he almost didn’t catch her words.

  Her parents. Her father was the British officer. Not her husband, or anyone else. And the woman who looked so much like her was not her at all, but her mother. It made so much sense. But what small sense of triumph he might have felt at beginning to learn some answers was completely overwhelmed by his realization of the heartache he had caused her by stealing the trunk.

  “What about the other items?” he asked gently. He wanted answers now more for himself than for his job, simply for the sake of knowing her. He looked at her closely and saw the unshed tears lurking in those beautiful green eyes.

  “My mother’s Bible, my mother’s rosaries, my letters, my purse, thanks to God,” she recited. She replaced the portraits of her parents in the wooden box and touched the pearls. “My father bought these for my mother when they married. She always hoped I would someday pass them along to a daughter.”

  The tears spilled over, but Jeremy was ready. Standing up, he raised her by the hand and then took her into his arms. He did nothing but hold her, wishing for once only to offer comfort. He pressed his handkerchief into her hand.

  “It is all right now,” he said, relishing the feel of her in his arms. “You have them all back. Someday you can give those to a daughter after all.”

  He was surprised when she shook her head vehemently. He held her a little tighter, inhaling her faint scent. “Now, no one can know what the future holds. For the immediate future at hand, I suggest we pack this back up and have it taken to your lodgings. St. George’s Church seems a very unlikely place for a lady to be unpacking her luggage!”

  He released her and stepped back, studying her as she dried her eyes. He was gratified when she answered his slight attempt at humor with a small, brave smile. “I will summon the others and go outside to find our coachman,” he said hurriedly, before the urge to take her back into his arms could become too strong.

  It was only later, after he had delivered her and her trunk to Charles Street, that he thought any more about what she had said. Her mother’s Bible and rosaries—her mother had been the Catholic. But she had claimed the letters as her own. That did not begin to explain why they were all addressed to Señorita Alvez Bonastre.

  “‘Buenos días’ means ‘good morning or good day’,” Falcon instructed Tobey several hours later. Lord Danebridge had set them up comfortably in his study at Fitzharding Street, and she and the boy were proceeding with his first lesson. “‘Buenas tardes’ means ‘good afternoon or good evening’.”

  “Buenas tardes, señora,” Tobey said dutifully, looking at the beginner phrases Falcon had inscribed on paper for him. “But why aren’t the ‘buenos-es’ the same? One has an ‘o’ and one has an ‘a’.”

  “That is right, Tobey, they are different, and you are very smart to notice it. It is the same as in Latin—certain words, the nouns, are masculine or feminine. The other words that describe them, the adjectives, have to match.”

  The child seemed to positively glow whenever she praised him, and he seemed eager for her attention and company. He is lonely, she realized. Perhaps Lord Danebridge had shown greater wisdom than she had credited to him when he asked her to undertake this task. Teaching his son gave her experience, possibly a good reference, and at the same time it provided Tobey with both diversion and social contact. Now that she had recovered the banknotes Don Andrés had given her, she should not need to pursue this course, but she had not wanted to disappoint the boy.

  “Do you remember which one of those means, ‘pleased to meet you’? It is what I said to you the other day when we first met.”

  Tobey found it almost immediately. “Encantada de conocerte.”

  She laughed delightedly. “Excellent! Oh, I can see that you have a natural talent for languages, young sir! No wonder your father wished you to have lessons.”

  They were interrupted by the arrival of tea, which included a platter of tempting small pastries among the delicate cups, pots and silver canisters. Falcon indicated that the lesson could be stopped while they refreshed themselves. She poured the tea while Tobey helped himself to a plate of biscuits. In between mouthfuls, he plied Falcon with questions.

  “Are you going to make your home in London now, señora?”

  “Well, no. I came here on some business, and when it is finished I shall have no reason to stay.”

  “But London is so jolly! Do you not like it?”

  “London is without question a splendid city. Certainly I like many things about it.” Sitting, she sipped her tea but found it too hot. Quite improperly, she fanned it with her hand.

  “Will you stay in England when your business is done? What kind of business is it?”

  She tried to respond very casually. “Oh, I came here to find some people. Once I have done that, I expect I shall return to Spain, even though it can be very hot there in summer. Tell me what you like about London.”

  This prompting released a flood of information about Mrs. Salmon’s Waxworks and Burford’s Panorama and Mr. Bullock’s incredible Egyptian Hall in Piccadilly. Falcon was grateful that her effort to change the direction of the conversation had worked so well.

  “Grandmama has promised to take me to Astley’s to see the horses perform—have you ever been there? Perhaps you could go with us!”

  Tobey was truly an endearing child. Something about the eagerness in those gray eyes so like his father’s touched her deeply. What would it be like to be the mother of such a child? What had Tobey’s mother been like? Thinking of the late Lady Danebridge led Falcon further, to thoughts of the baron and forbidden imaginings of what it might be like to have a child with him.

  “Perhaps Papa could come with us, too.”

  “I beg your pardon? Where?” Falcon was embarrassed by her momentary lapse of attention and grateful to be brought back to reality.

  “To Astley’s,” Tobey said with admirable patience.

  “Of course. I am sorry.”

  “How did your husband die?”

  Falcon took a deep breath. Ah, the dangers of changing direction with a child! One never knew where they might go next. She knew Tobey was merely curious and meant no harm.

  She tried to avoid lying to him. “My family were all killed very early in the war. In wartime, things can become very confused—things happen that are hard to explain or understand. I miss them very much, as you must miss your mother.”

  “My mother is with the angels, Papa says.”

  “I am certain that he is right.” He must have loved her, she thought,
pleased by the idea. Sometimes love seemed a very rare and precious gift in the world. Her parents had had that gift. “Your papa must have loved your mother very much, as he loves you.”

  “And I love Papa. Do you love him, too?”

  ¡Cielos! What a question! Falcon realized that she did not even know the answer. But at Tobey’s age, innocence was blinding. As she searched her mind for a suitable reply, Falcon also realized that just as he saw nothing wrong in the questions he posed to her, Tobey would see nothing wrong in anything she might ask him. She smiled. Turnabout could be fair play.

  Listening in the next room, Jeremy was as startled by Tobey’s question as he suspected Doña Alomar was, judging by her momentary silence. Children! He suppressed a chuckle, lest he accidentally reveal himself. How would the señora answer this? He was more than a little interested to know.

  He had drawn one of the library chairs close to the connecting door to the study and settled there, leaving the door ajar just the tiniest crack. He had been able to follow the progress of the lesson and the ensuing conversation quite well.

  So far, the teacher had not been as open with her answers as he had hoped she might be. He had noticed one thing, however. She had answered Tobey’s question about her husband with almost exactly the same reply that she had given him the night he had asked about her husband at Drury Lane. Not “my husband” was killed, but “my family”. She had no mementos of her husband in her belongings—no miniature of him, no letters from him, no trace that he had ever existed. There was only evidence of her parents and other people.

  “Your father is a fine man, young sir, very kind and generous. He has done a great deal to help me,” Doña Alomar said diplomatically. Jeremy smiled, remembering the saying that those who listened behind doors seldom heard good of themselves. But the señora was not finished.

  “Now, it is my turn to ask questions,” she added. “You said the other day that this is not your father’s house. Has he not a house of his own in London? Why does he not use it?”

  This was not in Jeremy’s plan at all.

  “Somebody rented our London house,” Tobey answered. “Papa has been away traveling. He was supposed to come home—to Hazelworth, that is—but instead he had to come here. Business, he said.”

  “And what sort of business do you think that might that be?”

  Jeremy left his chair abruptly, heading for the door of the library that opened onto the passage. It would not do to barge directly into the study, but it was definitely time for the Spanish lesson to resume, or the visit to end.

  He rapped briskly on the study door in the passage and entered without waiting for a reply, smiling brightly. “And how is the lesson going in here? Ah, I see that hard work has earned you both an appetite.”

  Tobey and Doña Alomar both rose at his entrance. Did he see a quick flash of annoyance cross the lady’s features? He helped himself to a pastry from the platter on the tray. “How is my young man doing, señora?”

  “I am very impressed with him, Lord Danebridge.”

  If she was annoyed, she hid it well. But then, hadn’t he thought from the beginning that she was a talented actress? He believed that the emotions he had seen her display this morning in St. George’s were genuine, however. And in the carriage last night?

  “He’s a bright lad. Perhaps he has had enough now for the first session, however. Run along, Tobey, and find Grandmama. Ask her to tell you what delights she has planned for you tomorrow.”

  “But, Papa…”

  “No. A longer lesson next time, if the señora is willing. I wish to speak with her.”

  Tobey went, casting a backwards glance at Doña Alomar that would have melted a heart of stone. Since Jeremy now suspected her heart was fire, he could only imagine the effect of Tobey’s silent appeal on her.

  “Sir, it was a rather abbreviated lesson,” she began.

  “I know. But it is growing late, and we have no right to impose upon you. However, I would like to invite you to stay and dine with us, if it pleases you.” Suddenly they were alone together in the study, and all he could think of was what had happened between them the last time. Was she thinking of it, too?

  “Thank you, no. The others will be expecting me back. I made no plans…”

  “That is easily remedied by sending a note.”

  “Thank you. You are very kind, but I think not.” She turned hastily to gather up her shawl from the chair behind her.

  She is nervous, he thought. By George, she is thinking of last time! She does not trust me in the least.

  He had given her no reason to trust him, of course, and well he knew it, especially after last night. But why had she been asking Tobey questions about him? He wondered what other questions she would have asked if he had let them go on. He had not dared to, not knowing what sort of answers Tobey might give. He was determined this time to behave with the utmost decorum and propriety.

  “There is one thing I need to ask you,” she said in a rather apologetic tone. “The purse that was in my trunk is full of bank notes drawn on a Spanish bank. Can you advise me as to which bank I should go to tomorrow to try to have them converted? I know I may have some difficulty just because the war has left things in Spain so unstable.”

  If he told her that she would have difficulty for more reasons than that, would she believe him? It was perfectly true. Most respectable London ladies would send their man of business or have their husbands do their banking for them, if they were so positioned to have any financial transactions of their own. The señora, unknown in London and without a man to represent her, would be at a decided disadvantage.

  “The Old Lady of Threadneedle Street—the Bank of England—is the best choice for what you want, Doña Alomar. However, might I suggest that you consider allowing me to represent you, or at least accompany you? It is not the custom here for women to handle such matters. At the very least I could vouch for you.”

  He could see plainly that she was reluctant. She did not reply at once, but took a moment to drape her shawl gracefully about her shoulders. Then she looked up at him, her face earnest.

  “I believe I have already accepted far more help from you than may be wise, Lord Danebridge. You have been kind and generous well beyond what I am in a position to repay. I do thank you, more than you can know, especially after what you did for me today. But I also fear misunderstanding may be growing between us. I think perhaps that I should face the bank without you.”

  Had he overplayed his hand? He had made the offer to help quite sincerely, out of his concern for her. She thought he only wanted to bed her and she was telling him no.

  At least she understood that he wanted her. But what was the truth? Was it all still a game? At his end the stakes seemed to have gone considerably higher.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Madam, I believe you must not have seen this morning’s newspapers,” the man at the Bank of England told Falcon the following morning. He was a pink-faced older man whose bushy white eyebrows moved expressively as he talked.

  “No, I have not, that is true,” Falcon responded with sudden apprehension. What could have happened?

  She had bravely ventured forth to Threadneedle Street with both Maggie and Triss to escort her, marveling not only at the handsome, massive structure that housed the bank but also at the busy intersection where it stood and the equally impressive Mansion House across from it. Lost at first among the throng of money dealers, merchants, stockbrokers and jobbers crowding the bank’s columned courtyards and Rotunda, they had eventually found their way to the hall where banknotes were issued and exchanged.

  “It is reported that Spain is in a terrible state of upheaval,” the man said. “Your King Fernando has returned, but he has suspended the constitution your countrymen enacted in his absence and has arrested hundreds of people as traitors against the Crown. You are asking me to honor banknotes drawn against a bank in a country tottering on the verge of chaos. Would you think this wise, if you were
in my place?”

  Falcon paled at the implication behind his words. To have recovered the notes only to find they were worthless was disaster enough, but she feared greatly for Don Andrés and his family. The don had been an open supporter of many of the reforms put in place by the Cortes and the new constitution. Had he been among those arrested? What of Ramon Alonso, his son, who had shown such interest in her? And if they had been thrown in prison, what would become of Doña Luisa and Carmen?

  “I am sorry, I can see that I have upset you,” the man said, not unkindly.

  “It is a shock. Forgive me.” Falcon tried to pull herself together, but she felt dizzy, as if she had been spinning in circles and suddenly stopped. Her adopted world had just suddenly crumbled from beneath her as surely as if an earthquake had shaken it to bits.

  “Oh, dear me. Oh, dear.” The man looked around, as if seeking some remedy for her. She realized that he thought she was about to faint.

  She, faint? She was made of stronger stuff than that. With a Herculean effort she straightened up in her chair. “I am all right.”

  The man regarded her thoughtfully. “It is too soon to know how these events in Spain will affect our foreign banking interests, I must admit. Have you any resources that we might consider as a guarantee against the funds should we run into difficulties? You understand I must protect the interests of the bank.”

  “I have some jewelry that belonged to my mother. Pearls and emeralds.”

  “Anyone who could serve as a reference for you?”