Timeless Regency Collection: Autumn Masquerade

by Josi S. Kilpack

  Mr. Hill took the cue and stood as well. All the guests said their good-byes, leaving Hannah alone with Alicia and Cole. Tension left her as quickly as the guests. If only she could skip tonight’s masque.

  Leaning back against the seat, Hannah folded her arms and addressed her brother-in-law. “Did you enjoy balls when you were a bachelor?”

  Cole nodded thoughtfully. “I did back when I was young and green and eager to meet girls. Especially because it meant shore leave and time away from the war, however brief. But balls and society games grew tiresome soon enough. Until I met your sister, of course.” He put an arm around Alicia.

  “The only time I stopped enjoying balls was when I had to hurry up and find a husband to save us from debtor’s prison.” She cast a pained expression toward Cole.

  Hannah nodded. “But that worked out all right, in the end.”

  “And so it will tonight,” Alicia said. “It will be magical. Just be yourself and let your costume lend you confidence.”

  If costumes could magically summon wit and grace and poise, tonight would be perfect.

  Chapter Two

  Bennett Arthur Partridge, the Fifteenth Duke of Suttenberg, bid farewell to the Earl of Tarrington, someone whom he would have called friend if he dared let down his guard enough to actually have friends, and rode to his brother’s house. As the afternoon sun waned, he arrived at his younger brother’s prosperous manor house. A flock of children playing on the lawn scampered up to him.

  “Uncle!” shouted his three-year-old nephew.

  Suttenberg dismounted and scooped up the child, swinging him into the air. Suttenberg groaned and staggered as if the child had suddenly grown too heavy to manage. “Good heavens,” he teased. “Have you grown overnight? I do believe you are two stone heavier than yesterday!”

  The lad squealed a laugh. “I big boy.”

  “Yes, I do believe you have promise of becoming a big boy someday.”

  “I big boy!”

  “As you wish.” Arguing with a child always proved pointless.

  The other children danced around him, making more noise than a gaggle of geese. His nephew wiggled to get down. Suttenberg grinned at the happy cacophony around him. His nephew raced off with the other children, scattering a flock of chickens and splashing through an unsuspecting mud puddle.

  “Be sure to get as dirty as possible!” Suttenberg called after them.

  “I heard that,” said a feminine voice.

  Suttenberg grinned at his sister-in-law, Meredith, as she smiled at him through an open window to her parlor.

  He strode in through the front door, handed his gloves, hat, and coat to the butler, and proceeded to the parlor where his grandmother, mother, and sister-in-law sat. Meredith bounced her baby, her second son, on her lap—the picture of maternal joy.

  From where she sat on a settee, his mother, the Duchess of Suttenberg, looked up from a letter she held. Her lace cap set off dark hair and a pair of gray-green eyes exactly the color of his own.

  “Good afternoon, Mother.” He kissed her cheek tilted up to receive him.

  “Is that my Bennett?” Grandmother called as if she were from across the room instead of in the next chair.

  All attempts to encourage the dear old lady to call him by his title had, obviously, failed. Her use of his Christian name reduced him to a boy in danger of either getting a whipping or being drawn into her arms and kissed repeatedly. But it lent an intimacy that Your Grace and Suttenberg—titles that had replaced his name twenty-five years ago—never did. Those titles represented all he must do as a duke, including controlling the weakness in his bloodline; the name Bennett reminded him of who he was as a person.

  “Yes, Mama, he’s back,” Suttenberg’s mother said. Smiling, she glanced at Suttenberg. “How was your visit with Tarrington?”

  “Satisfying.” Suttenberg took a seat next to her near the window. “We found a solution to his drainage problem, and he seemed pleased. He challenged me to a fencing match Tuesday next.”

  He drew a contented breath. Helping a fellow peer solve a problem for what would probably become one of his most prosperous areas of farmland provided a satisfaction that serving in Parliament never quite provided. Oh, he did his duty, as always, but there was something truly meaningful about finding resolutions to complicated problems. And being the person with the answers, someone to whom others turned, added another layer to his present sense of pleasure.

  His mother, whom he still often thought of as the duchess, indicated the letter in her hand. “Your sister has suffered yet another heartbreak.”

  “Oh dear,” he murmured. Poor girl fell in love too quickly and never seemed to give her heart to the right fellow.

  His mother’s brow furrowed. “Apparently, he said he couldn’t possibly live up to the Suttenberg standards, what with you as her brother.”

  Suttenberg paused, his contentment scattering like dry leaves in the wind. “Her favorite suitor dislikes the prospect of me as a brother-in-law?”

  The duchess gave him a patently patient smile, as if he’d missed something painfully obvious. “He believes himself unworthy of you and a family connection to you.”

  Suttenberg winced. “Am I so insufferable?”

  “No, son, but you have a rather unimpeachable reputation, you know.”

  “Good heavens. That’s doing it rather too brown. I’m simply trying to live up to the family honor, not frighten off my sister’s suitors.”

  “It nearly frightened me away,” Meredith said from her corner of the room. She shrugged apologetically. “I’m sure you can’t help it that everyone looks to you as the standard in dress and behavior, and, well, everything. People just naturally feel inferior in the face of such perfection.”

  Before Suttenberg could think of a reply to such a horrifyingly daunting and exaggerated statement, his grandmother cut in. “Did you find a wife yet, Bennett?” She looked in his direction, although her milky white eyes had gone blind years ago.

  Suttenberg coughed. “No, Grandmama, I have not yet found a wife.”

  “A life?” She frowned. “I didn’t ask about your life, boy; I asked about your wife!”

  He chuckled. At thirty-two, he was hardly a boy. He replied more loudly, “I have not found a wife, Grandmama.”

  She thumped her cane on the floor. “Humph! You’re dragging your feet, Bennett. Your brother already has two boys, and you aren’t even married yet.”

  “Phillip was remarkably fortunate. It’s not that simple for me. I have other—”

  “Eh? Speak up.”

  He cleared his throat and enunciated, “It’s not that simple.”

  “Pish.” Grandmother waved her cane. “It’s not so hard. Go find a suitable girl, and ask her father’s permission.”

  He cast off all other possible retorts and settled with, “Yes, ma’am.”

  Smiling, the duchess nodded. “She’s right, you know. You should spend more time actually seeking a wife. Of course, that might prove difficult for a man of your station and reputation.”

  Suttenberg cringed. He’d only tried to step into his father’s shoes, but instead he seemed to have created a reputation that even he would never be able to uphold. If people really knew him, knew the passions that heated his blood and were the source of a fierce temper, they wouldn’t believe this so-called image.

  Still, perhaps his mother and grandmother were right; he should actively seek a wife instead of relying on chance meetings at balls and dinner parties. But finding a lady strong enough to take on the responsibilities and social pressures of a duchess, not to mention someone whose family, background, and accomplishments fit his family’s definition of “suitable,” created a herculean task. It would be truly refreshing to find someone genuine, someone who might truly love him, hidden flaws and all.

  He cast a sideways glance at his sister-in-law. His brother had been fortunate indeed to have found a lady whom he loved. But love shouldn’t figure into Suttenberg’s need
s for a wife. The pressures of maintaining the image of superior accomplishments, which taxed him heavily, now expanded to the area of family and progeny, which raised the stakes. Sometimes the weight threatened to crush him.

  His brother, Phillip, strode in. “Is tea ready? I’m starved.” He kissed Meredith and rubbed the fuzz on his youngest son’s head.

  As if on cue, the head housekeeper entered with the tea service, followed by a maid carrying a second tray of scones, Devonshire cream, lemon curd, and cheese. The nurse took the baby from Meredith and carried him away so the young mother could more fully enjoy her tea.

  “Is your costume for tonight’s ball ready, Meredith?” the duchess asked.

  “It is.” Meredith’s eyes glowed. “I’m going as Queen Eleanor of Aquitaine.”

  “Should I be worried you’ll plot an uprising with my sons against me?” Phillip teased.

  She cocked her head to one side mischievously. “Only if you become a tyrannical king.”

  They exchanged loving glances that seemed too intimate for tea. Or maybe Suttenberg’s desire for such simple joy as theirs tainted his judgment. He looked away.

  Very well. He’d seek a wife. It might help stave off the brief moments of loneliness that had reared up lately. It would also have the additional advantage of getting his grandmother to stop harping on him to marry and produce an heir. While his family discussed the ball and their costumes, Suttenberg mulled over his newly realized goal.

  How does one go about such an important task? Asking for his family’s help was out of the question; they’d introduce him to a blinding array of ladies with practiced smiles designed to snare a peer. Chance meetings at balls and parties only cemented his fears that most women were calculating and insincere. He couldn’t exactly place an advertisement in the paper the way he’d found his secretary. His parents’ marriage had been arranged. Phillip met Meredith by capsizing her boat outside Vauxhall Gardens—not, obviously, something Suttenberg would do intentionally.

  Hmm. This wife-hunting business presented a problem. Cole Amesbury, the Earl of Tarrington, had a famously happy marriage. Perhaps he would be a helpful resource. All Suttenberg had to do was find a way of asking for his help while not appearing to do so. Giving advice to others came easier than asking.

  If only he could find a lady with a kind heart and a healthy dose of wit, plus all the other requirements for a duchess, of course. It would be just too easy to find such a lady tonight while wearing a mask. His thoughts stuttered to a halt. Tonight presented a unique situation. No one would know he was the Duke of Suttenberg. He could be his true self. And maybe, just maybe, he could find a lady who would see him as a man, rather than the Duke of Suttenberg, and treat him accordingly.

  But if she saw the real him, would the flaws he so carefully hid from others deny him such a pure love?

  Chapter Three

  Hannah examined her Grecian-style white gown trimmed in gold. The flowing fabric draped around her in soft folds and caressed her skin. The gold, multi-chained necklace lay heavily against her collarbones, the perfect finishing touch. It was a lovely costume, but surely wouldn’t save her from disaster. The front of her hair, swept up into an elaborate braid piled on top of her head and woven with gold threads, appeared ready to topple, and the long curls down her back would probably go limp before the evening’s end. And worse, she’d no doubt trip or step on her partner’s toes, despite hours with her dance master. With her stomach so twisted up in nerves, she surely wouldn’t manage to utter an intelligent sentence. Oh, why did she let Alicia talk her into this ball?

  She pushed back her fears. Tonight she was Aphrodite, the confident, provocative goddess of love—above reproach. She touched the mask concealing the upper half of her face, drew a bracing breath, and entered the ballroom. Though secretly Alicia had thrown this ball in Hannah’s honor as a birthday celebration, they’d chosen to make tonight a masquerade, so masks would stay on all night, unless guests chose to remove them for dinner. Hannah would leave hers firmly in place. Normally, Hannah would help Alicia and Cole greet their guests, but that would give away her identity, so she arrived in the ballroom like an invitee.

  Fighting the urge to hang back, she stood with head high near the dance floor to watch the guests mingle. A man wearing the blue and silver tabard of a French Musketeer, complete with a plumed hat, stepped into her line of sight. His commanding bearing and the air of confidence enshrouded his lean form so completely that he might have been the prince Regent. In Hannah’s limited experience with society, only Cole and the Duke of Suttenberg bore such wordless self-possession. But all lords probably had such a stance. He stood perfectly still, his masked face turned toward the dance floor. Hannah followed his line of sight. Cole and Alicia, dressed as beautifully as a duke and duchess from the Elizabethan Era, complete with white wigs, took the floor as head couple. Other dancers lined up behind them. The Musketeer next to Hannah appeared to search the crowd as if seeking someone. Perhaps the lady of his choice had revealed to him her costume and he desired to begin the evening with her.

  The Musketeer’s gaze made a wide circuit, turning her direction, and Hannah quickly looked away lest he catch her staring at him. She made a point of admiring the painting sweeping across the ceiling as if she’d never seen it. She was Aphrodite—confident and in control. She straightened her posture.

  “My lady,” the Musketeer said in a soft, husky voice.

  She turned to him slowly, queenly, with all the confidence and poise of Aphrodite. “Sir?”

  He extended a hand. “Would you do me the honor of standing up with me for the first dance?”

  She inclined her head and placed her gloved hand in his. He led her to the line of dancers. Emboldened by her mask and the goddess attributes her costume lent her, she looked him in the face. Tall, lean, dark-haired, and with full lips, he arrested her gaze. Little else of his features were visible enough to reveal his identity to her, thanks to his costume, gold mask, and wide-brimmed hat. He returned her stare, but for once such focus did not leave her flustered and tongue-tied.

  Cole and Alicia stood at the head of the line. The music began, an old-fashioned minuet. For a second, Hannah faltered. Did she remember the steps? Lessons with her dance master seemed long ago, and they hadn’t spent much time on dances from a bygone era.

  As she curtsied, her mind raced. What came next? Her partner took her hand and led her without hesitation, his touch firm and sure. As she moved with him, following his lead and bowing again, her panic faded. She could do this. Down the line a lady’s steps faltered, and Hannah’s heart went out to her. None of the dancers gave any indication they noticed the lady’s misstep. Perhaps they all concentrated so hard on remembering such an outdated dance that no one noticed.

  As the stately dance continued, her partner radiated supreme equanimity. There. He almost missed a step, but only the briefest tightening of his mouth betrayed the crack in his aplomb.

  As he led her around in a little circle, she murmured, “I can’t remember the last time I performed a minuet.”

  “It has been a while for me, as well,” he admitted softly.

  The sequence took them apart, and Hannah danced with the lady diagonal from her before the steps took her back to her partner. Next she curtsied to the gentleman across from her and danced with him, counting the beat silently. As she returned to her partner, he again took her hand, leading her through the next portion, careful to keep the rapier at his side from getting in the way. She wondered if it were a real weapon or merely decorative.

  He turned his head toward her. “I am trying to identify your costume. Are you a goddess?”

  “I am.”

  “Which one?”

  Uncharacteristically pert, thanks to her costume, no doubt, she tilted her head. “I believe I’ll let you guess.”

  One corner of his mouth lifted. “A Greek or Roman goddess?”

  “Greek.”

  He left her to the lady across from him, s
tepping in perfect time. When the steps brought him back to her side, they bowed and exchanged only the briefest glances before it was her turn to dance with the gentleman across from her. Clearly an older man, wearing the black-and-white domino of the previous century, he led her with ease through that portion of the sequence, no doubt comfortable with a minuet popular in his youth.

  The ladies in their group of four began their promenade. One of them muttered, “Oh dear, oh dear,” and waited to get her cues from the others. Hannah tried to give clues as to what came next to help the lady, and her features relaxed as she fell into step.

  The minuet came to a close. They completed the final steps and bowed. As Hannah straightened, she lifted her gaze to her partner, who stared directly at her.

  “I have narrowed down who you are,” he stated.

  “You have?” Alarmed that he might already have determined her name, she barely controlled the rising fear that threatened to strip away all her false confidence.

  “You aren’t Athena or Artemis because you have nothing of a warrior about you.”

  Relief left her almost weak in the knees. She scolded herself. He was, of course, speaking of her costume’s identity. “No, not Athena nor Artemis.”

  “And you don’t have anything earthy about you, so you aren’t Rhea or Demeter. You are beautiful and regal, so unless you are one of the lesser goddesses, I believe you are Ernos, the goddess of dawn, or Aphrodite, goddess of love and beauty, or Hera, goddess of them all.”

  She studied him more closely, intrigued by his perceptiveness. “Which do you believe I am?”

  As the dancers dispersed, he offered a hand again to lead her off the dance floor. “If I were to place a wager, it would be on Aphrodite.”

  “What if I remove my mask to reveal I’m not beautiful?”

  He lowered his voice to a volume as to only be heard by her. “Of what I can see of you at this moment, you are beautiful—kind to your fellow dancers, you dance with uncommon grace, and comport yourself like a queen. Your skin, what I can see of it, is flawless, and your lips are shaped like a rose bud. Yes, you are beautiful. I have no doubt.”