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

by Brenda Hiatt

  “Would they dismiss a dancer for having a lover?”

  “You know as well as I do that they would not. She could not continue dancing while in the family way.”

  “And he abandoned her?”

  Juliana nodded. Seeing his expression, she could almost believe Dare was disgusted as he sounded.

  “I assure you, not all men are such blackguards.”

  “I must suppose you refer to yourself, my lord,” she said.

  His mouth twisted into a rueful smile. “I would never treat a lady so, but I am not in a position to take a mistress. I was only shocked to hear you speak so cynically. You seem so young.”

  “I have seen enough to make me wary of your sex.”

  “You may trust me.”

  They walked in silence for a few minutes. Juliana wondered what he would think if he knew the truth about her.

  “What do you wish from me then, if it is not to become your mistress?” she asked.

  He slowed, an arrested expression on his face, as if he had not considered the matter. Her curiosity mounted as she waited for him to reply.

  “What I wish is of no consequence. As I said, I am not free to take a mistress… however much I should wish to.”

  She should have been relieved; instead, the desire and regret in his voice struck a disturbing chord inside her.

  “Shall we see you again at the Opera House?”

  “I cannot say.”

  She swallowed, trying not to appear disappointed, telling herself it might be better not to see him again.

  “It is time for me to be on my way home,” she said, seeing that they were near the end of the path.

  “May I escort you home?”

  She considered this a moment. She did not wish to part from him; she even had a strong conviction that he would always behave in a gentlemanly manner. However, prudence dictated that it would be wise not to let him know where she lived.

  “Thank you, but that will not be necessary.”

  Before she could turn away, he possessed himself of her hand. He lifted it to his lips and pressed a lingering kiss to the narrow ribbon of skin exposed between her glove and her sleeve.

  “Au revoir, Juliette,” he said, bowing slightly.

  “Au revoir, milord Dare,” she replied softly, then turned to leave.

  As she walked away, she struggled to keep from turning back to see if he watched her. During the rest of the walk back to Half Moon Street, she could think of nothing else.

  What a mystery the man presented! His elegant attire bespoke a man of fashion and wealth, but he claimed not to be in a position to take a mistress. He had cleverly penetrated her disguise, but with real or feigned chivalry, he had chosen not to take advantage of his knowledge. Perhaps he was on the verge of leaving for the Continent again. But then, why had he sought her out this morning? It was all very intriguing. She enjoyed matching wits with him, and could not help wishing to see him again, but it was a dangerous game. He was too clever and too charming; if she was not careful he could be her undoing.

  Lost in thought, she nearly collided with a short, stocky man in a brown coat.

  “Sorry, miss,” he said gruffly, staring into her face.

  “Excusez-moi, monsieur,” she replied, on her guard.

  He passed on without further words, and she breathed a sigh of relief. She should not have allowed Dare to distract her so; a female walking the streets alone had to keep her wits about her. Moreover, the stocky man seemed somehow familiar. Had she seen him near the neighborhood of Half Moon Street before?

  She walked on, more alert now. As she turned from Picadilly onto Half Moon Street, she had the distinct impression that someone was following her. She risked a brief glance over her shoulder, and saw that she was indeed being pursued. It was not the man in the brown coat, however. It was Penelope, accompanied by her maid. What were they doing here?

  Juliana quickened her pace, but it was useless.

  “Mademoiselle Lamant!” she heard Pen call behind her.

  Reluctantly, she turned around. Penelope and the maid were close behind her. Despite the maid’s disapproving frown, Pen addressed Juliana again.

  “My apologies for detaining you, Mademoiselle Lamant,” she said, her eyes sparkling fiercely. “Perhaps you will be so kind as to tell us which of these houses is Madame Bouchard’s?”

  Apparently Pen had recognized her, but at least she was not going to give her away in front of her maid.

  “Why, this one, mademoiselle,” she replied. “I am so fortunate as to lodge here with Madame Bouchard. ’Ave you come to visit her?”

  Pen nodded, and they all entered the house together. Knowing Pen would wish to speak to her alone, Juliana summoned one of Madame Bouchard’s housemaids to conduct Lady Talcott’s maid to the small servants’ parlor in the back of the house, while she herself offered to take Pen upstairs to Madame Bouchard’s sitting room.

  “Juliana, I cannot believe you—”

  “Hush. Madame Bouchard’s servants don’t know about me,” she whispered, leading the way up the stairs to the apartment she shared with Jenny Church, the opera dancer she had told Dare about. Jenny would most likely be in their sitting room, busily sewing, if she was not lying down in the bedroom. At the current stage of her pregnancy, her morning-sickness prevented her going about much. Briefly, Juliana wondered what Pen, the vicar’s daughter, would make of young Jenny.

  They entered, and saw not only Jenny sitting on the sofa, but also Madame Bouchard. Blonde, sweet-faced Jenny looked a little pale, as Madame Bouchard coaxed her to consume some tea and toast. They looked up as Juliana and Penelope entered.

  After Penelope and Madame Bouchard exchanged greetings, Juliana introduced Jenny. Pen’s eyes strayed briefly toward Jenny’s middle, but she smiled kindly in response to the girl’s soft-voiced welcome.

  “Jenny knows all about me, Pen, so you may speak freely now,” said Juliana, going to fetch two more teacups.

  “Thank you,” said Pen, seating herself in one of the two spindly chairs the sitting room boasted. “Perhaps you will tell me why you have entered into such a wild masquerade.”

  Juliana poured their tea before replying. “I think you know already. I wished to find a way to convince Grandpapa I can take care of myself, so I needed both a disguise and gainful occupation. I have few accomplishments besides foreign languages and dancing, so when Madame Bouchard told me Monsieur Léon was desperately seeking dancers to replace Jenny and another who has sprained her ankle, it seemed like the perfect answer.”

  “Have you thought about what would happen to your reputation if anyone found out what you have been doing?”

  “That is why I have taken such pains to disguise myself. I know it would upset Grandpapa if there was a scandal. But as for myself, I do not care a whit. If I am no longer accepted in polite society it will be just that much easier for me to pursue the life I truly wish for.”

  “But your grandfather must be so dreadfully worried!”

  “I write to him almost every day, to let him know that I am well. I will return as soon as he inserts a notice in the Times to let me know he has given up his plans for my future.”

  “What if he does not?”

  “He must do so, eventually.”

  “Oh, you are both so stubborn!” Pen sighed, then looked at Madame Bouchard. “How could you allow her to do this, Madame?”

  “Mon petit, your friend was being coerced into a marriage she did not wish for. What could I do but help her?” Madame raised her hands in a fatalistic gesture.

  “I can see you meant well, but can you not see how dangerous this is? I have been to the King’s Theatre. It is a popular haunt for every sort of rake and scoundrel. There’s no telling what could happen to Juliana there—”

  Pen looked at Jenny, then broke off, flushing brightly, while Jenny’s already wan complexion paled even further.

  “Oh, I am so sorry,” said Pen. “I did not mean to imply—I meant no insult—
”

  “I know you did not,” said Jenny, her expression sad but resigned. “I have already warned your friend to beware of the—the gentlemen who come to see the dancers in the Green Room. Now you must excuse me, for I wish to lie down.”

  She arose to go to the bedroom, Madame Bouchard going along clucking at her like a concerned hen, and reassuring her that the sickly phase of her pregnancy would soon pass.

  As soon as they were out of earshot, Pen asked, “I hope I did not offend her. She seems like a sweet girl.”

  “She is. I thought you would not judge her too harshly. Things have not been easy for her; she was not born to live the life of an opera dancer. She is far too naïve and trusting; in fact, she still insists that her lover had plans to marry her.”

  Pen looked pensive. Juliana reached a hand over and took Pen’s smaller one in her own.

  “I know you are concerned for me, dear, but you know I am not sentimental. I would not be so easily taken in.”

  “Has anyone asked you—I mean, has anyone offered you—”

  “A carte blanche?” asked Juliana, understanding Pen’s embarrassment.

  Pen nodded.

  “Well, there have been several gentlemen who have expressed an interest,” she said, smiling as she thought of Jerry Plumbrook and his friends.

  “But no one in particular?”

  She hesitated, wondering how much to tell Pen about Lord Dare. She certainly could not admit how she had learned that Pen was right about the pleasures of kissing.

  “Jule, there is something you are not telling me.”

  “Well, there is a gentleman who—who I have found rather charming, but he has not asked me to be his mistress. Nor do I wish to prejudice my plans by becoming entangled with him. And I do understand that it is the woman who must suffer the consequences of yielding to passion.” She glanced toward the door of the bedroom in oblique reference to Jenny’s plight.

  Pen still looked worried. Juliana decided it was time to change the subject.

  “So how did you find me out?” she asked.

  “I started to suspect when they said you were ailing. I know you are hardly ever ill. Then Aunt Mary took me to the opera last night. I thought you looked familiar. At first I was sure I was mistaken, then I remembered how we had talked about Madame Bouchard. I decided to pay her a visit and find out, but it was only when I saw you more closely that I knew for sure. I don’t think anyone who does not know you well would guess.”

  “I hope not. So you will not tell anyone?”

  “You should have told me,” said Pen.

  “I would have, but I did not want to worry you, or put you in this uncomfortable position. You will keep my secret for me, won’t you?”

  “Oh, very well,” said Pen reluctantly. “But not if I suspect you are in any trouble.”

  “I promise you faithfully that I will avoid all advances from suspicious gentlemen.”

  A worried frown still troubled Pen’s wide forehead. During the rest of the visit, Juliana continued to try to reassure her friend, but with mixed success. Clearly, Pen was shocked by her masquerade, and by the knowledge that Juliana was in a position to receive less than respectable offers from numerous London bucks. Which led Juliana to wonder later why Lord Dare’s advances did not offend her as they should have. Perhaps it was the way he seemed to enjoy looking at her, and how he spoke to her, as if to an equal. Or perhaps it was the fact that he wanted her, and not her grandfather’s fortune. Yes, perhaps that was it. He had made her feel desired. It was a pleasant sensation.

  One she had best not indulge in, or she would indeed find herself in trouble, as Pen feared.

  Marcus took a hack home. His bad leg had not bothered him during his walk with Mademoiselle Juliette, or whatever her name was. Now it ached, a tangible reminder of his responsibilities.

  He’d acted on impulse this morning, which was not like him. Somehow the determination to make her take back her dismissive words had overcome all his good sense. Even though they hadn’t kissed again, he had enjoyed their encounter. Wine and candlelight had not befuddled his senses as much as he’d feared. Juliette was just as lovely and appealing by daylight, despite the excessive rouge that she wore. It was a disguise that accorded well with the false accent she had assumed. But a few times she had smiled at him openly, when she had admitted her shortcomings as a dancer, and when she had said she had enjoyed his kiss. He’d caught glimpses of what must be aspects of her true nature: honesty, a sense of humor, even a lively sense of adventure behind her flirtatious facade.

  He wondered about her life, how many lovers she had had, and what had happened to make her so suspicious of men. But was he any better than them? He had hardly been able to restrain himself from clasping her to his chest again and tasting her lips, right there in St. James’s Park for all to see. Perhaps he had inherited his share of the Redwyck rakishness, after all.

  He reminded himself that tempting though it was, he could not continue to play at being a rake. He could not afford to see Mademoiselle Juliette again. It would be an intolerable insult to the Huttons if word got around that he had consorted with opera dancers. More importantly, it would be unfair to Miss Hutton, and hellish for him, if they entered into marriage while he obsessed about another woman. Although he had only met her twice, Mademoiselle Juliette already played havoc with his good resolutions. Further encounters would just make matters worse.

  With this noble resolve, Marcus bent himself to the tedious task of cataloguing the contents of the townhouse. Uncle Harold had not yet sold the paintings or objets d’art that adorned the place, and if Marcus’s plan to marry Miss Hutton failed, their sale would at least contribute to Mama and Lucy’s comfort.

  Several days passed, and still there was no word from the Huttons. Marcus wondered if he ought to send Miss Hutton some flowers, but decided that their lack of acquaintance made it inappropriate. He was glad, for it would have felt like a lie, when thoughts of Mademoiselle Juliette’s smile, voice, and graceful figure intruded into his thoughts at unexpected moments throughout each day.

  He arranged yet another appointment with the family man of business, to discuss the possibility that Miss Hutton would refuse his suit. Mr. Willett was surprisingly sanguine, refusing to enter into Marcus’s fears. He left Marcus wondering how such a practical, levelheaded man could be just like Barnes and Pridwell and the rest of them, convinced that the curst Redwyck charm would save them all.

  That evening Marcus invited Jerry and his friends to dine with him. Uncle Harold’s excellent Burgundy flowed freely, as did the nonsense. Marcus found himself cheered by the company, though he was careful not to enter into the discussion of Mademoiselle Juliette. Apparently they had already begun to take French lessons, and at least George and Oswald were hopeful that this might win their goddess’s approval.

  On impulse, Marcus asked them about the wronged dancer that Mademoiselle Juliette had mentioned. Jerry and his friends readily supplied the details, and Marcus was happy to see they disapproved of the gentleman’s shabby behavior.

  Resolutely, he declined their suggestion that he accompany them to another performance at the King’s Theatre, on the following night. Instead, he spent a dreary evening alone in his uncle’s study, reading and drinking brandy, although thoughts of his flame-haired dancer distracted him from his book.

  Playing the part of a rake had been much more fun.

  Juliana looked about the Green Room. It was Saturday night, bringing a larger crowd of patrons than attended the Tuesday night performance. She smiled and waved to one of her admirers before continuing to practice before the tall mirror; it would not do to let anyone notice that her gaze was secretly roving through the throng, seeking a certain tall, dark-clad figure.

  A minute later, Jeremy Plumbrook, Oswald Babbinswood and George Dudley came in the door. Dare was not with them. Juliana swallowed her disappointment. He had said they might not meet again; why had she expected anything else?

  She
smiled at Plumbrook and his friends, determined not to betray herself.

  “Bon soir, mademoiselle,” they all intoned, bowing in time with each other.

  Juliana nearly lost her composure at their earnest, hopeful expressions.

  “Bon soir, monsieurs,” she replied, sweeping them a courtesy. “C’est merveilleux! Vous avez appris a parler Francais.”

  The threesome exchanged puzzled looks, clearly unwilling to admit they had not understood her. Juliana had to bite her lip to keep from laughing.

  “I said it was marvelous that you ’ave learned French,” she translated. “I can see you ’ave been studying, but perhaps you need a little practice, n’est ce pas?”

  They nodded eagerly, and Mr. Babbinswood stepped forward.

  “Vos oeufs sont comme les sapphires,” he essayed.

  “My eggs are like sapphires?” she asked. Seeing his crestfallen expression, she continued, “Do not despair, Mr. Babbinswood. It was a lovely thought. Have you something you wish to say, Mr. Dudley?”

  “Je mariné une mille morts pour vous,” he intoned grandly.

  “Perhaps it is you who are mariné, Mr. Dudley,” she said, smiling at him. “I do not wish anyone to die for me, not even once. But truly, I am touched that you have all gone to so much trouble for my sake.”

  “I’m afraid none of us have Dare’s way with languages,” said Plumbrook.

  “Where is your friend this evening?” she asked, trying not to seem too eager.

  “He has had much to occupy him of late—” began Plumbrook.

  “Perhaps there is some plot against the Regent—” said Babbinswood, cutting off as Dudley cuffed him.

  “Oswald! You know you are not to speak of it!” Dudley whispered, so that Juliana could barely make out his words.

  She looked around the threesome, wondering why they were all suddenly tongue-tied.

  “Are you saying milord Dare is occupied with secret matters of state?” she asked.

  “We cannot tell you that,” said Plumbrook, an unusually guarded expression on his round, cherubic face.