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

by Brenda Hiatt

  “The ring is lovely though,” Gwen observed. “Just a single sapphire and only a dozen or so diamonds.”

  Dorie smiled at her husband. “I’ve all the treasure I need, and Max has already given me the only ring I’ll ever want to wear.”

  Max took the tiara, bracelet, and earbobs from her hands and held them out. “Yours by default, Lynton.”

  Robin’s eyes shone again as the fortune dropped into his open palms. “I shan’t lose this by gambling, I promise. In fact, I’ll sell every last piece and buy a bit of land. I’ve always wanted to raise horses.” When Dorie and Vayle looked surprised, he grinned. “Well, it will keep me out of trouble, at any rate. And I do like the nags. From now on I’ll breed ’em instead of losing blunt at the races.”

  Vayle clapped him on the back. “Capital notion. You’ll have income and respectability as a country squire, and will always be welcome at our home when you visit London.”

  Suddenly Robin wrenched the ring from his finger and gave it to Vayle. “Here. You’ll need this for your wedding.”

  When Vayle tried to give it back, Gwen seized his arm. “That’s a lovely gesture, Robin.” She lifted her hand, and Vayle obediently fitted the ring on her finger.

  “It feels as if it belongs there,” she said thoughtfully. “Almost as if Valerian Caine, wherever he is, meant for me to wear it. This is a symbol, don’t you think? The feud is ended, our families united, and each one of us is wonderfully happy.”

  Then, with a sigh, she returned the ring to Vayle.

  Dorie patted her hand. “Tomorrow he will give it to you again, when you take your vows. Now come, gentlemen. Let us permit these two some privacy. Robin, you can clean the dirt from your treasure while Max helps me wash the breakfast dishes.”

  When they were gone, Vayle took Gwen in his arms. “By the rood, tomorrow seems an eternity away. And you know I am an impatient rascal. Could I persuade you, dear lady, to become mine on this miraculous Christmas day?”

  “You know I wish it above all things, but as Dorie has pointed out, we cannot possibly get a license. And besides, it would be unkind to pluck a vicar from his Christmas goose.”

  “Even more unkind, to consign me to a bed without you to share it.” The corners of his mouth turned down. “What’s more, you cannot begin to imagine the noises that boy can make with his nose and throat. Robin’s snoring would drown out a cannon barrage.”

  “Max might relent,” she said. “He’s in a very good mood.”

  “Let us not put it to the test. I have in mind another solution, and wonder that none of us have thought of it ere now.” He smiled at the puzzled look on her face. “’Tis perfectly obvious, my love. Handfasting!”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  His heart sank. “Don’t they do that anymore? Lord, sometimes I despise this modern age. So much of value has been tossed aside. Patches, for example. And now handfasting, too?”

  “I can’t say I’d care for patches,” she admitted, “but tell me about the other. What is handfasting?”

  “A simple way for a man and woman to plight their troth when vicars and the like are not to be found. Hand in hand, they affirm their love in front of witnesses. ’Struth, marriage is naught but promises made one to t’other, before God. All the rest is legal claptrap.”

  When she was silent, he stepped back and folded his arms. “But perhaps you wish a formal wedding, in a church, and of course you must have it. I can endure Robin’s snoring one more night. ’Tis not as if I will sleep anyway, for wanting you in my arms.”

  “Gudgeon.” She ran her fingers down his whiskered cheek. “As if I’d give up even one night with you for a silly wedding. But we must have one eventually, because nowadays a vicar and our signatures on the marriage lines are needed to make the union lawful and our children legitimate. For now, though, a handfasting sounds absolutely lovely. Our own vows, spoken privately, with our family standing witness? It’s just what I would like.”

  When he was done kissing her, she took his hand and led him toward the kitchen. “We’ll tell the others and get on with it. Max is weakening, I think, and will likely seize the excuse to let us share a room tonight.”

  Or maybe this afternoon, he was thinking as Gwen announced their plans. He’d a century of abstinence to make up for, a woman he both desired and loved, and the memory of last night’s passion to spur him on.

  Robin and Max responded with enthusiasm, but to everyone’s surprise, Dorie put down her foot.

  “This is an auspicious occasion,” she declared, “and we’ll not go one step farther in this havey-cavey fashion.” Max lifted his brow at the cant and she fired back a haughty glare. “Don’t be missish. It’s perfectly obvious a suitable place must be made ready for the ceremony.”

  Vayle watched, bemused, as his gentle great-great-grand-niece issued crisp orders and implied dire punishment for laggards. Dorie the Hun, he thought as they all marched dutifully to the parlor.

  Max, no stranger to autocratic superiors, did not complain as she pointed an imperious finger toward the furniture in the center of the room. At her direction, he shoved the oak table against the wall and carried the wing chair to a spot beside the couch. Then he paced the expanse of threadbare carpet and back again, frowned his way through some mental calculations, and reported to his commanding officer. “Plenty of room now for the vow-taking, ma’am.”

  The field marshal turned her attention from the room to its occupants. “You are a disgrace, the lot of you. Mr. Vayle, you need a shave. Robin, did you sleep in those clothes? Upstairs, and don’t come back until you are properly dressed. That includes you, Max, but not until you’ve finished helping me here. Gwen, I’ll join you shortly to help with your hair.”

  Everyone stared at her, not sure she was through. She clapped her hands. “Move!”

  They moved, Max to her side for his next instructions while the others scampered to the staircase.

  “My heavens,” Gwen said just before she left Vayle at the door to his room. “I rather think my brother has met his match.”

  “And then some,” Vayle agreed, seizing one last, swift kiss. “Do you know, this will be the first time I’ve shaved myself in a hundred years?”

  “Take care then,” she advised over her shoulder as she moved away. “I couldn’t bear to lose you now.”

  A half hour later, Vayle stood in front of the hall mirror, admiring his reflection. His reflection—clear and sharp, without a shimmer of insubstantiality. He had even managed to tie the starched white cravat over the blue-and-gold-striped waistcoat that was, unfortunately, the only bright note in his wedding garb.

  “What a coxcomb!” Max said from the parlor door. “Always primping in front of a mirror.”

  Vayle grinned at him. “I don’t want to disappoint your sister. And I rather feared you’d cast me in the shade with your splendid scarlet regimentals. ’Tis a relief you chose a plain blue coat.”

  “Dorie chose it,” Max confessed. “She would rather I leave the army behind me, although I fear in that one regard I’m likely to disappoint her. After ten years, it’s in my blood.”

  Vayle understood exactly. After a hundred years, Valerian Caine was in his own blood. Why else would he have just been mourning his drab gray coat and, most of all, the absence of his long hair? Gwen might disapprove of patches, high-heeled shoes, and rings on every finger, but she’d have liked his hair.

  He turned back to the mirror, wondering how he’d look in a crimson uniform. “Any chance I could get a commission in your regiment?” he asked impulsively.

  Max opened his mouth, apparently thought better of what he was about to say, and closed it again. “A commission?” he said finally. “Well, the 52nd hasn’t many spots for officers, since the war’s ended. And you are rather old to be a subaltern, you know.”

  Vayle nodded. At one hundred and twenty-seven years, it was somewhat late to enlist. And while he’d have liked the fighting, and certainly the uniform, taking orders was n
ot in his character. A legitimate profession, though, had some appeal.

  The notion was so astonishing he turned it over in his mind. Valerian Caine would not, in his wildest dreams, have entertained such a thought. Perhaps he was more Jocelyn Vayle than he realized, if he was considering some way to be more than an ornament at Gwen’s side and a lover in her bed.

  Max patted his shoulder. “If you’re worried about running through Gwen’s income, you needn’t be. It’s substantial as is, and as I won’t be supporting Lynton after all, you can apply to me. Without hesitation, Vayle. Don’t let pride stand in your way. I love my sister and she deserves the best of everything.”

  Yes, Vayle thought. But he wanted to be the one to give it to her. He could teach fencing, he supposed. Or game, in moderation, and only for the money. With a goal, and Gwen depending on him, he could well earn a fortune at the tables. But he would discuss it with her first. She’d not like him bankrupting callow boys or addicted dicers like Robin. Still, guided by principles of fair play—

  His planning was cut short when she came down the stairs, a slip of lace on her hair and a red mum in her hand. Dorie was right behind, beaming as if she had crafted the bride as she did an exquisite bonnet.

  “Doesn’t she look lovely, Mr. Vayle?”

  Eyes fixed on Gwen’s, he made an elaborate leg. “Like a sunrise.”

  Robin arrived, somewhat breathless, and Dorie led them all into the parlor. It had been transformed.

  With the furniture out of the way, the little room was intimate instead of cramped. The curtains were open, offering a glimpse of the golden meadow outside, and from the hearth a fire warmed the rays of the winter sun streaming through the glass.

  Dorie must have collected every potted plant in the house. Red ribbons adorned each ceramic pot, and she had crafted an arbor of evergreen branches and holly near the window, just high enough for the bride and groom to stand underneath.

  “’Tis splendid,” Vayle said as he led Gwen to the spot Dorie indicated. “Thank you.”

  Blushing, Dorie took her husband’s hand and beckoned Robin to join them. She held her left hand to her brother and he grasped it, clearly grateful to be included in the close family circle.

  Vayle paused a moment, took a deep breath, and put his hands on Gwen’s shoulders. Looking deeply into her eyes, he spoke from his heart. “Beloved, it was my destiny to love you. Across time, lonely and without purpose or hope, my soul searched for yours. You are my saving grace, and from this moment and forever, I swear to prove myself worthy. All that I am, I give to you.”

  Tears shone in her eyes, but her voice was steady. “Beloved, you come as a gift from Heaven. I never thought to share such love, but you have found your way home to me and I welcome you to my heart. From now until forever, I swear to be a true and faithful wife. All I am, I give to you.”

  The sun seemed to brighten then, a new light gilding the man and woman who stood, silent and wholly absorbed in each other.

  Then Vayle drew Gwen into his arms, her head against his chest, her soft breath warm against his throat. “Thank you, Francis,” he murmured into her soft hair. “Thank you, God.” He barely managed to stop himself from thanking Proctor.

  “Aren’t they supposed to kiss?” Robin piped.

  “Perhaps not, with handfasting,” Dorie replied doubtfully. “Come to think of it, Max, we didn’t kiss either, did we?”

  “Not then, but we’ve made up for it since. Don’t forget, we were practically strangers when we wed. These two know each other all too well.”

  Vayle lifted Gwen’s chin with his thumb. “Shall we?”

  Gwen smiled, mischief dancing in her eyes. “I expect so. It appears the audience is getting restless.”

  “Do we care?” He bent his head and whispered against her lips, “This is for us, my precious, beautiful wife.”

  After a minute, or an hour, because he couldn’t let go the kiss that sealed them for all time, the sound of a shot nearly sent him diving for cover.

  “What the devil?” He jumped in front of Gwen, eyes searching the room for an assassin.

  “Good reflexes.” With his handkerchief, Max wiped the steaming lip of a dusty bottle. “My apologies, Vayle, but we were all growing old waiting for you to break off that kiss. This is champagne, by the way. Found it in the priest hole.” He poured it into the glasses on the sideboard. “Well, it may be vinegar by now, but at least it’s bubbling.”

  Dorie took her glass and raised it. When she had everyone’s attention, she said, “To the miracle of love.” She sipped her champagne, nodded approval, and stood on tiptoe to kiss Max.

  Vayle and Gwen touched glasses, and looking deep into each other’s eyes, drank to love.

  “And to the miracle of the season,” Robin put in. He lifted his glass in toast, but set it down without tasting it. “Think of it. Just last month”—he glanced at Max—“we hated one another.”

  “And we’d never met,” Dorie said, smiling up at her husband.

  “And Vayle was—well, we don’t know where Vayle was,” Max said. “Nowhere worth remembering, I expect.”

  “And the treasure was still missing.” Robin reached in his pocket and pulled out the necklace. He let it sift from hand to hand and laughed quietly. Then he looked at Vayle. “It must have been the angel of Christmas that sent you into our lives, to solve a mystery that kept Caines and Sevarics at each other’s throats for a century.”

  Vayle lifted his glass again. “To Francis,” he said so only Gwen could hear.

  Robin shook his head with wonderment. “No doubt about it, my friend. You are a godsend.”

  Gwen took her husband’s hand and brought it to her lips. “Sent from God indeed,” she whispered. “And I do love you, Valerian Caine. ’Struth.”

  THE END

  Books by Alicia Rasley

  If you enjoyed this book, please consider posting a review at your favorite online bookstore or book discussion site, so like-minded readers can find it, too.

  Here are more books by Alicia Rasley for you to enjoy.

  Full Length Traditional Regencies

  Poetic Justice

  The Reluctant Lady

  Charity Begins at Home

  Royal Renegade

  Traditional Regency Novellas

  The Drewe Sisters: Allegra and Maggie

  (Novellas by Alicia Rasley and Lynn Kerstan)

  The Wilder Heart

  A Regency Holiday

  (Novellas by Lynn Kerstan, Allison Lane, Rebecca Hagan Lee and Alicia Rasley)

  Other Fiction

  The Year She Fell

  (a family drama)

  Until Death

  (a mystery novel)

  Craft of Writing

  The Story Within Plot Guide for Novelists

  The Power of Point of View: Make Your Story Come to Life

  Booklets

  Motivate Your Characters

  The Heroic Alphabet

  The Character Interview

  Activate Your Story

  Click here for a list of books by Lynn Kerstan, co-author of Gwen’s Ghost

  Excerpt from Allegra’s Song, a Regency novella

  “I never imagined that, not in all those years away from you. I couldn’t, of course, couldn’t think of it, or I wouldn’t have been able to go on. But to hear it said, by two men not fit to—” Nicholas shook his head and didn’t finish.

  “And you believed them?” she cried. “Gossip overheard in a taproom? Accusing me of—” She couldn’t say the words betraying you.

  “No. They weren’t describing, only predicting, and in some detail.“ With a savage, smooth motion, he pulled out his sword. Instinctively she stepped back from the rush of wind as the blade slashed an inch from her leg. She heard a splash of water, and saw the tip of the sword flash silver, deftly beheading a waterscorpion at the lip of the fountain.

  The two pieces held together for an improbable moment, then Nicholas swung up his sword and they fell separat
ely into the water. Allegra gasped as drops splashed on her skirt, and shrank back from the tainted pool.

  Automatically, Nicholas wiped the blade of his sword on his breeches and sheathed it. As if nothing had happened, he said, “So tell me, wife, tell me. Where were they wrong? What shouldn’t I believe? That you left your home to come to London to see him? That you sent your son away? That Keverne was a frequent visitor to our house—our house—in London? That he got you invited here, and your sisters too as some sort of blind? That the other men at the party are wagering on the night of your succumbing?”

  She gazed down at the dead thing in the water and couldn’t speak. His recital was such a knot of half-truths she couldn’t begin to undo it anyway. Finally she whispered fiercely, “If you won’t believe me, I have nothing more to say.”

  “I don’t know what to believe.” For just a moment, the anguish rang clear in his voice, then he got control of it. “If you haven’t betrayed me—if he isn’t your lover, then why are you here? Why are you with him? No.” With a sharp gesture, he cut off her protest. “Don’t tell me you aren’t with him. I have seen you with him, twice now. Oh, nothing compromising, no. But Allegra—”

  He put his hand beside her, palm against the wall, his full white sleeve caressing her bare arm. He leaned closer, speaking softly, so that his words brushed her temple. “Tell me. If you knew there was talk of your connection to him, if you knew I would object—and you knew that, don’t tell me you didn’t, I saw it in your eyes tonight—then why did you persist? Why dance with him tonight, when you knew it would be the talk of the evening, you with that half-dressed rake?”

  She didn’t look up at him, instead watching the rise and fall of his chest under the white shirt as he took a breath and held it and let it go. “I will not let gossip determine who will be my friend.”