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

by Brenda Hiatt

  Marcus grimaced. Pridwell spoke with the authority of one who had served a fashionable rake through all the vicissitudes and adventures of his amorous career. Marcus ought to be grateful that his valet, like all of Uncle Harold’s servants, would do anything to help him win Miss Hutton’s hand and secure all their futures.

  “Thank you, Pridwell,” he said, as he put on the hat and gloves held out to him. “I shall do my best not to disappoint you.”

  “My lord, you cannot but succeed. You are, after all, a Redwyck.”

  Marcus left the room, wishing he felt some of the same confidence. He descended the staircase to the marble-tiled entrance hall, and out the door toward his awaiting coach. It would not do to be late for his first meeting with the Huttons. Just as he started down the steps, he nearly collided with a young gentleman ascending them.

  “Hallo, Marcus! Good to see you.” The young gentleman’s round cheeks puffed out in a smile, and his eyes twinkled.

  “Hello, Jerry,” said Marcus, recognizing Mr. Jeremy Plumbrook, Lord Plumbrook’s only son. Although they had not spent much time together of late, it seemed Jerry had not forgotten their boyhood friendship.

  “Aren’t you slap up to the echo! I almost didn’t recognize you,” said Jerry, admiring Marcus’s attire. “M’father said you were coming to London. You should have called on me!”

  “I’m afraid I have been rather busy the past week.”

  “Getting ready to court the Hutton girl? Papa wrote as much.”

  Marcus nodded. “In fact, I was just setting out to call on her and her grandfather. Do you know Miss Hutton?”

  “Not particularly. You know I’m not much for the ton parties. Too many chits on the catch for husbands, and I’m just not ready to get caught in the parson’s mousetrap. Not yet anyway. There’s better fun to be had in town. A shame you’re to be leg-shackled yourself so soon. But that reminds me why I came here. I’ve invited some of m’friends to come to my lodging this evening. Just a little picnic, some wine and cards. You’re more than welcome to join us. All our pockets are to let, so don’t worry that we’ll play deep.”

  “Thank you, Jerry, but I can’t promise I’ll come. If the Huttons invite me to dine with them…”

  “Yes, I understand,” said Jerry, nodding sympathetically. “Come if you can. Good luck with the heiress!”

  As Uncle Harold’s glossy town coach took him away, Marcus reflected that he might need more than luck. Soon, he ascended the steps to the Huttons’ home in Russell Square. It was a respectable residence, decorated with elegance but without any vulgar ostentation.

  The butler conducted him to a richly furnished study, all gleaming mahogany against deep green striped hangings. From one of a pair of leather-upholstered armchairs, a thin, white-haired gentleman arose and bowed. Bright blue eyes gleamed from his pale, wrinkled face, looking Marcus over with keen interest, but there was a slight tension in the man’s demeanor.

  “Good day, my lord,” said Mr. Hutton, a slight quaver in his voice.

  “I am delighted to make your acquaintance, Mr. Hutton,” he said, extending his hand.

  Hutton shook his hand, his fingers bony but still firm in their grip, his gaze not wavering from Marcus’s face.

  “Please be seated, my lord. Do you care for some sherry? Or other refreshments?”

  Marcus declined the offer, and took a seat adjacent to the older gentleman’s. No doubt Hutton wished to acquaint himself with Marcus before introducing him to his granddaughter. It was an awkward situation. Marcus decided only a straightforward approach would do.

  “I believe Lord Plumbrook has acquainted you with my circumstances,” he began.

  “Yes, he has told me you must make an advantageous marriage, and quickly.”

  Marcus rather liked the man’s businesslike manner.

  “I appreciate your candor, sir,” he replied, meeting Hutton’s eyes. “I trust you will permit me to pay my addresses to your granddaughter. I promise you that if she accepts my suit, I will do everything in my power to ensure her happiness.”

  “Plumbrook did say you would make her a fine husband.”

  “Lord Plumbrook is very kind.”

  “I’ve found him to be a fair judge of character. As am I. I have to admit, I like the look of you. You do not appear the sort of man who would gamble away his fortune, or neglect his wife in pursuit of opera dancers.”

  “Of course not,” said Marcus, wondering a little at the undertone of anxiety he heard in Hutton’s voice. Had the old gentleman heard reports of the rakishness that was the trademark of the Redwycks?

  “Sorry if I’ve offended you, my lord. Earl or not, I have to think of my granddaughter’s happiness.”

  “Quite understandable,” he replied, relaxing slightly. It appeared he had crossed the first hurdle. Although there was still a shade of unease in Hutton’s voice, apparently he approved Marcus’s suit.

  Hearing a slight cough from the doorway, Marcus turned his head, and saw that the butler had returned.

  “I thought you would wish to receive this, sir.”

  Hutton nodded quickly to the butler, who advanced into the room to hand Hutton a folded slip of paper before bowing himself out again.

  “Please forgive this interruption, my lord,” said Hutton, sounding genuinely distressed. “I have been awaiting some important news.”

  Marcus nodded, while wondering what could be important enough to interrupt their discussion. Hutton’s hands trembled slightly as he opened the letter. As he quickly perused it, the lines in his face softened, and he relaxed slightly in his chair.

  “I hope all is well?” Marcus asked as the older gentleman refolded the letter and tucked it into his waistcoat.

  “As well as I had expected.”

  Hutton sounded relieved, but there was still an undercurrent of annoyance in his manner. Perhaps some matter of business was not progressing quite as well as the man wished. However, Hutton’s tone did not invite further questioning. It was time to return to the purpose of their meeting.

  “Is Miss Hutton at home? I should very much like to make her acquaintance,” said Marcus, gathering his resolution.

  Hutton hesitated before replying. “I regret to say, my lord, my granddaughter is indisposed.”

  Indisposed? Or just indisposed to see him?

  “Nothing serious, I trust?” he asked, aloud.

  “Just a touch of the influenza. I expect she will be better in a week or so.”

  Marcus observed Hutton’s tight jaw, and the deepening anxiety in his eyes, and wondered if Miss Hutton’s illness was more serious than her grandfather implied. Did she have a frail constitution? Or was she merely avoiding this meeting?

  “I trust Miss Hutton is not suffering from aversion to my suit,” he said.

  “I am not coercing her into marriage,” said Hutton, not quite meeting Marcus’s eyes. “You shall meet her, and soon.”

  “I wish her a speedy recovery, then,” said Marcus, rising up to take his leave.

  Hutton escorted him to the hall, and they made their farewells. As Marcus rode back to Amberley House, he mentally reviewed his brief meeting with Hutton. He had liked him; Hutton seemed both honest and scrupulous, and sincerely concerned with his granddaughter’s welfare. However, it was clear he was hiding something. Marcus could not rid himself of the suspicion that for some reason, Miss Hutton wished to avoid meeting him. If so, all his plans might be in vain.

  He wished there were more he could do while he waited for Miss Hutton to recover from her indisposition, whatever it was. Time was passing quickly; in another month Bentwood would gleefully demand the next payment of the mortgage. Marcus cursed the fate that put his future, and the future of all those who depended on him, in the hands of a temperamental heiress.

  By the time the coach reached Grosvenor Square, Marcus’s mood reflected the cloudy skies overhead. Once inside the house, he was surprised to see Barnes, Uncle Harold’s butler, coming forward to relieve him of his
cane, instead of the footman.

  “My lord, we were not expecting you home so soon.”

  A note of anxiety threaded through Barnes’s usually expressionless voice. Marcus realized that Barnes, as head of the London staff, wanted to be the first to learn how he had fared with the Huttons. The butler was undoubtedly disappointed to learn that Marcus had not stayed long, let alone been invited to dine with them.

  “Miss Hutton is suffering from the influenza. I could not stay long under such circumstances,” Marcus replied, hoping his voice sounded reassuring. “I trust I shall be able to make her acquaintance next week.”

  The butler’s brow cleared. “Yes, there has been much influenza about lately. Once the young lady has recovered she cannot help but rejoice in making your acquaintance, my lord.”

  Marcus winced inwardly. Poor Barnes and the rest of them, so certain that one smile from him and the heiress would fall into his arms!

  “When will your lordship desire dinner?”

  The butler’s question drew Marcus back into the present. The prospect of a solitary dinner held little appeal.

  Then he remembered Jerry’s careless invitation.

  “I shall dine with Mr. Plumbrook, Barnes.”

  “Very well, my lord. At what hour will you wish the carriage to be brought round?”

  “There is no need. I shall walk.”

  Barnes looked shocked. “You would not so demean yourself, my lord.”

  “I’m not a cripple, Barnes. I shall be surprised if it takes more than ten minutes to get there. I shall walk.”

  “Very well, my lord. You will at least change your attire?”

  Marcus yielded to the pleading note in Barnes’s voice, and nodded. He didn’t wish to offend Barnes, or Pridwell either, since both of them had his interests so closely to heart. Up in his uncle’s bedroom, he repeated the story of his visit to the Huttons to the anxious valet. Having exchanged his coat for another that Pridwell insisted was more suitable for evening, his gray pantaloons for an equally tight-fitting black pair, and his gleaming Hessian boots for shoes, he finally set off for Jeremy’s apartments, breathing a sigh of relief at his escape from overly solicitous servants.

  Ten minutes later, a slovenly manservant admitted Marcus into Jerry’s sitting room. Marcus looked about curiously, noting several umbrellas and riding whips leaning against the wall near the door, stacks of newspapers and sporting periodicals on every chair and the sofa, and a jumble of quills, ink bottles, a snuffbox, a decanter of wine and a half-empty glass on the round table in the center of the room. So this was how Jerry lived in London, thought Marcus, feeling envious of the cheerful chaos.

  “That you, Marcus?” Jerry sauntered out of his bedchamber, wearing a bright blue dressing gown over his shirt and trousers.

  “Have I mistaken the evening?” Marcus asked.

  “No, not at all. You’re just a trifle early. I forgot you’re used to country hours. George and Oswald are coming in another hour or so. Hickman, you lazy lout! Clear us some room and pour us some wine.”

  The grinning manservant cleared some chairs by moving their contents to the sofa, poured wine into two dusty glasses and then left, sped on his way by further insults from his master.

  Marcus sat down and sipped the burgundy. It was not so fine as Uncle Harold’s stock, but potent enough to soften the edges of his depression, as did Jerry’s unquestioning welcome.

  “So how’d you fare with the Huttons?” asked his friend.

  Marcus took another sip of the wine before replying bluntly.

  “Miss Hutton was indisposed.”

  “You don’t think she’s trying to avoid you?” asked Jerry, with a flash of his father’s shrewdness.

  “I can’t rid myself of the suspicion.”

  Jerry looked at him sympathetically. “I’ve heard she’s refused a lot of fellows. It seems the chit don’t want to marry. Odd, ain’t it? I thought that’s all females want. But who’s to guess what’s in their pretty heads?”

  “Not I, more’s the pity.”

  “Perhaps she’ll come round,” said Jerry in a consoling tone. “Still, it’s no wonder you look blue-deviled. We’ll have to think of something to cheer you up. Maybe after dinner we’ll go to the Opera House. Just the thing!”

  “I didn’t know you were fond of music.”

  Jerry looked appalled. “Good God, no! Who wants to listen to all that screeching and caterwauling?”

  “Then why do you go?”

  “Lord, Marcus, you’re such a greenhead!” Jerry laughed. “We go to see the ballet, of course. Actually, the dancers. Give you my word, you won’t see more ravishing women anywhere. There’s a new one you must see: Mademoiselle Juliette Lamant. The loveliest, sauciest creature you could imagine!”

  “You… consort with an opera dancer?” Marcus did not know whether to be shocked or envious. The latter, he thought.

  “Lord, no! I’m not nearly wealthy enough to afford such a high-flier. She flirts with me—with all of us—but it’s only a matter of time before some rich lord snaps her up,” said Jerry philosophically. “Still, it’s grand sport to go to the Green Room and watch her and the others practice their steps. Say you’ll come with us. One look at the divine Juliette and you’ll forget the Hutton chit. For an evening, at least.”

  “Thank you, Jerry. I wish I could come, but… I cannot,” said Marcus. He did not even want to think about such things. There was no use imagining he could live like Jerry or his friends, or indulge in the same amusements.

  “Oh, don’t be such a sobersides! What’s the harm in it?”

  “More than you can imagine. If the Huttons learn that I’ve so much as talked to an opera dancer, it would be the end of all my chances.”

  “You may be right. Cits are so devilishly straitlaced.” Jerry paused, looking thoughtful, then his eyes twinkled. “I have it! Just go by a different name. No one here knows you, and we won’t even tell George or Oswald who you are.”

  Marcus hesitated, not wanting to get caught up in Jerry’s excitement. It was a ludicrous scheme, of course, but…

  “Come on, Marcus. It’ll probably be at least a week before you can see the Hutton chit again. What’s the harm in having some fun in the meantime?”

  Jerry refilled Marcus’s glass, and Marcus tossed it down recklessly, letting the warmth of the wine steal through him as he pondered Jerry’s suggestion. After all, what could be the harm in just going to see this famous Juliette? It was not as if he would do more than look.

  “Come on, Marcus. I dare you to do it,” said Jerry.

  Marcus smiled at the echo from their boyhood. He had never been as impulsive as Jerry, but where had all his discretion gotten him?

  “Oh, very well,” he said, setting down his wineglass. “I’ll go along.”

  “Splendid!” Jerry grinned, and refilled both their glasses. “Hmmm… Now we must think of a new name for you. Something dashing, and not too common-sounding. I have it! You shall be Lord Dare.”

  “Would I not attract less attention as a mister?”

  “No. If we’re going to do this, why do it by halves? Lord Dare you shall be. You are new to the London scene, just having returned from several years on the Continent,” said Jerry, holding a hand to his head as if to aid his imagination.

  “Who’s going to believe such a tale? I—”

  Marcus paused, hearing a knock on the door.

  “Ah, they’re here,” said Jerry, jumping up from his seat.

  Marcus stood up and blinked as Jerry let his friends in. There could be no stronger contrast between two young gentlemen. The first sauntered in, tall and thin, wearing a brown coat that was already out at the elbows, and a cravat that seemed intentionally askew, as if he wished to proclaim to the world his total indifference to fashion and propriety. He was followed by an even odder apparition, wearing baggy trousers, a green coat and a waistcoat in a startling shade of salmon.

  “Marcus, this is George Dudley, and Oswald Babbi
nswood,” said Jerry. “George, Oswald, this is my friend Lord Dare. He’s just arrived in London. We used to hunt together before he went off to the Continent for a few years. Diplomatic affairs, the Congress of Vienna, and all that. You must not expect him to talk of it too much, though.” Jerry winked at Marcus.

  “I am delighted to make both your acquaintances,” he said, obediently falling in with Jerry’s tale. He took several steps forward and bowed, wondering who could be gullible enough to believe he had actually played a covert role in the intrigues surrounding the Congress of Vienna. Then he saw the awed expressions on the faces of Jerry’s friends.

  “I assure you, my part in the Congress was of the very slightest nature,” he said, unnerved by their blatant belief in the story.

  “Ah, we understand,” said Oswald, nodding his head wisely. “We won’t breathe a word to anyone, we promise!”

  “No, really—” Marcus began, only to be interrupted by the thin one called George.

  “Don’t worry, Dare. We will keep your secret, even under torture,” he said, gazing down at Marcus’s limbs with what was clearly intended to be a brooding look. “I see you have been wounded. I myself am no stranger to pain, having taken part in any number of duels. Just last month—”

  “Well, now that’s settled,” interrupted Jerry briskly. “Lads, Dare don’t fancy cards tonight. I thought maybe after dinner we’ll go to the opera.”

  “A famous notion!” said Oswald, his protruding eyes shining in anticipation as he looked up at Marcus. “Has Jerry told you about Mademoiselle Juliette? Or have you already seen her, on the Parisian stage?”

  “I cannot say I have had that pleasure,” said Marcus.

  “Then you’re in for a treat. What a face! What a figure! And what a dancer she is!”

  Jerry chuckled. “What a dancer indeed!”

  “Do you dare to disparage the Incomparable Juliette?” demanded George, rounding on his friend. “She is perfection itself, and I will challenge anyone who thinks otherwise!”

  “Give it up, George. I’m not going to fight you,” said Jerry. “But I will wager either of you five Yellow Boys she makes her first mistake before she’s been on the stage for as many minutes.”