"Nigel, I'm sorry if I disturbed you," she said softly, and when the puppy barked loudly and scampered over to him, she admonished, "Quiet, Duke!"
Nigel chuckled as he bent down to pet the puppy. "Duke? You've named your puppy after a noble title?" he said with a grin.
"Actually, since he is Wellington's brother, or sister—I still haven't really checked yet—I thought that since Wellington is a duke, that it was, well, a proper sort of name. And he— or she—seems to like it," she finished, watching Duke rolling on the floor as Nigel patted her stomach.
"I rather think that Duke is a dutchess, but I don't think she'll care," he said, picking up the puppy in his arms and walking over to the chair nearest to Emily.
As Duke continued to lick Nigel, Emily had no choice but to smile. Duke, the smallest of the litter, was by far the most affectionate puppy she had ever encountered. "Duke appears to have taken to you," she commented, watching how his large, gentle hands caressed the puppy.
"Yes, Duke is the charmer," he said, and added, "as is his mistress."
Emily blushed and looked at the ivory keys, completely contused.
"I do hope you're not vexed with me, Emily. I rather thought that if I paid you any more attention, Lady Markston would have made something scandalous out of it," he exclaimed calmly, his eyes never leaving her slim form.
Emily shrugged. "It doesn't signify. I'll be leaving Harriet's after the Twelfth Night celebrations, and I doubt that we'll really ever have any contact after that," she said in a rush, suddenly very depressed that she would very likely never see Nigel again.
"You have very little faith, Emily. I hardly think I would entrust a puppy to your care if I didn't think I'd be around to see that she was being taken care of properly," he said lightly.
"Duke will be taken care of properly," she said, staring at her hands. She was certain that Nigel was trifling with her affections.
Nigel gently put Duke on the floor, and she immediately scurried under the pianoforte. "You really must learn to take people more seriously, my dear Emily," he said softly, coming to stand next to her seat.
Emily looked up into his dark, golden eyes and said nothing.
Nigel reached down and took her hand in his, and lightly kissed it, his lips lingering on her fingers. "I suppose I should bid you good night before I kiss you and convince you even more that I'm toying with you," he said huskily, his eyes never leaving her face.
Emily blushed. "Good night, Nigel," she said softly, every fiber in her body willing him to lean over and kiss her properly.
Nigel stared at her for a very long time, and finally said, "Be sure to save all of your waltzes for me at Blackmore's masquerade."
"I'm a dreadful dancer," she reminded him, looking away from his intense gaze.
He continued to hold her hand. "You could have the grace of a milk cow and I'd still want to waltz with you."
"All right," she said softly, and felt bereft when her hand left the warm security of his.
"Good night, dearest Emily," he said, and she sighed as his tall, muscular frame disappeared into the darkness.
"Good night, Nigel," she almost whispered, her mind whirling in confusion.
Twelve
"Lady Susan? You want me to leave your silk nightdress out for you tonight?" Jane, Susan's abigail, asked, confusion written on her young face.
The nightdress in question was a frothy silk confection that was supposed to be for Lady Susan's wedding night. Jane didn't expect her to even try it on until that fateful event.
"Yes, Jane, the silk nightdress," she said, and added with a self-satisfied smirk, "and tomorrow you may offer me congratulations, since I'll undoubtedly be engaged."
Jane's jaw dropped to the floor. "Engaged? To Lord Langely?" she asked, completely surprised. The entire staff knew that Aubrey had developed a tendre for Susan, but thought that it was just because of the holiday season. No one actually expected him to offer for her.
"Not Aubrey—Nigel. You can be such a flat," Susan said, adjusting the bodice of her practically indecent masquerade costume.
"Really? Lord Stratford is going to offer for you?"
Susan smiled, and forgot about discretion. "Well, when he finds me in his bedroom tomorrow morning, he will be obligated, won't he?"
Horror was now etched on Jane's features. Her mistress was planning to force poor Lord Stratford into marriage, when everyone knew he was in love with the very nice Miss Winterhaven. Clearly something had to be done.
Moments later, when Susan dismissed her, Jane hurried down to the kitchen in search of Hughes, Lord Stratford's valet. He was unavailable, and Jane thought she was at the end of her rope. Until she bumped into Gable, Lord Langely's man.
As they sat down to a very civilized tea, Jane explained the situation.
Gable checked his watch fob. "Lord Langely is due to leave for the masquerade in less than a quarter of an hour. Which gives us more than enough time to solve the problem at hand," he said reassuringly.
Jane prayed he was right.
On the other side of the house, Emily was preparing for the Blackmore masquerade. Actually, "preparation" was a harsh word. It took Eliza a scant minute to help Emily put on the severe monk's robe, complete with a voluminous hood.
"What do you think, Eliza?" she asked curiously, twirling in a circle for her maid.
"Begging your pardon, Miss Emily, but you don't look like a lady at all."
Emily giggled slightly. "That's the idea, Eliza. How can I even attempt to look proper with someone like Lady Susan attending the same rout dressed as Aphrodite? At least dressed like a monk I'll be able to be… inconspicuous," she concluded, peering through the hood.
Eliza frowned and finally said, "Why don't you wear your mermaid pendant? Then at least people will know you're a lady."
Emily took the sparkling pendant from Eliza and fastened it around her neck. The mermaid looked up at her, a rather tasteless medieval ornament against the dark brown wool. "It certainly looks interesting, doesn't it?" Emily asked, not too certain that she should wear the mermaid.
"It looks capital, Miss Emily," Eliza said cheerfully.
Emily shrugged slightly. "I suppose I should wear it," she acquiesced with a shrug.
The mermaid glittered merrily against the somber wool, and as Emily stared at it, she could have sworn the eyes were winking at her.
"My lord? Is something amiss?" Hughes, Nigel's valet, asked with a very definite frown.
Nigel sat on the bed, staring at his Hessians, starting to put one on his left foot. He was humming and appeared to be in the most unusual mood.
"Amiss? Not at all," Nigel replied with a smile, sliding the gleaming black boot onto his foot.
Hughes continued to frown and ran his hand through his thick brown hair. "Pardon me for mentioning it, my lord, but you do seem to be in an… unusual humor this evening. You usually don't appear to enjoy any evenings spent at a formal rout," Hughes commented.
Nigel stood up and casually walked over to the cheval glass mirror that rested in the corner, studying his appearance. "I'm particularly looking forward to this masquerade. Have you met Miss Winterhaven?"
"Miss Winterhaven?"
Nigel smiled broadly at his valet. "Yes, Miss Winterhaven. You found her to be… amiable, haven't you?"
Hughes smiled softly. "Miss Winterhaven is the kindest of ladies. I've spoken with her a number of times in the past few days. She's been trying to train her puppy, and I offered to help her. Miss Winterhaven doesn't put on any airs, and treats me with the same consideration as she treats you or Lord Ashton," he concluded quickly.
Nigel just grinned. "So you 're the one who has taken Duke in hand? I didn't think Emily had any experience with dogs," he said, then added, "What does her abigail say about her?"
"Eliza? She adores Miss Winterhaven. Her father is as rich as Croesus, and his staff is paid as well as any of the gentry in their district."
"I'm going to offer for her. This e
vening, in fact, if I can have some time alone with her," Nigel confided with a sly smile.
"Capital! Miss Winterhaven will be a grand wife, my lord, mark my words," Hughes said eagerly, now grinning himself.
"Yes, I believe she will. I plan to whisk her off into the library at the first opportunity," Nigel said, getting up and pacing about the room.
In his haste to propose, he conveniently forgot about the Manning Mermaid and Emily's prior connection with his rakish brother Roger. All he could think of was Emily and his dashed good luck at finding her.
"Emily, don't be nervous," Harriet whispered as they entered the magnificent hallway of Lord Blackmore's country estate.
As the party waited to be greeted by Lord Blackmore, Emily could feel every bone in her body cringing. She detested these large Society gatherings, and felt incredibly conspicuous.
And they reminded her of that rogue, Roger Manning. She attended her first Society masquerade with Roger, and it was there that he first told her of his eternal devotion. And many, many more lies that she had believed completely.
But she did manage to greet Lord Blackmore without incident. Their host was a dark-haired gentleman of average height wearing an outrageous red velvet jacket trimmed with white fur as his Lord of Misrule costume. As she walked toward the crush of dancers in the ballroom, she heard Lord Blackmore greet Nigel as if he were a long-lost friend, which was surprising. But then, every peer knows every other peer, Emily thought cynically, hiding in her wonderfully drab monk's robe, never straying from beside Harriet and Henry.
Harriet and Henry, who quite enjoyed dressing as Antony and Cleopatra, would have been quite unrecognizable in London. Harriet sported a long, black wig, and Henry, clad in a Roman soldier-type garb, looked dramatically different. But since they usually wore those costumes to Blackmore's yearly New Year's Eve rout, they didn't fool anyone.
Lady Susan was making quite a stir, and Emily inwardly wondered if the lady in question could make it through the evening without catching some dreadful malady. Although the snow had stopped, it was still dreadfully cold, and Lady Susan was wearing next to nothing. Which meant that the local bucks were clamoring for some sort of introduction, while Aubrey stood guard at her side.
Aubrey was clad in a regimental uniform, and looked rather dashing. He was getting more than his share of attention from the single ladies present, but considered himself Lady Susan's escort and was never far from her side.
Lord Blackmore's enormous ballroom was quite beyond Emily's expectations; in fact, it surpassed anything she had ever seen in London. Three blown-glass chandeliers hung from the vaulted ceiling, and hothouse roses intertwined with holly and mistletoe could be found in every available nook and cranny. The floor was done in the most magnificent marble Emily had ever seen, and scattered through the impressive room were a variety of partially clothed bronze sculptures. As Emily scanned the room filled with merrymakers, she noted that Greek history seemed to be a predominant theme, and that Lady Susan wasn't the only Aphrodite present at Blackmore's rout. But she is undoubtedly the most attractive, Emily conceded, following Harriet and Henry to the refreshment table.
"Quite a crush again, isn't it?" Henry commented, scanning the crowd of merrymakers.
"It always is, dear," Harriet said, then turned to Emily. "So, what do you think of Blackmore's New Year's masquerade?"
Emily smiled slightly. "It is quite overwhelming for a country rout. It seems like half of London is here!" she exclaimed.
"Yes, Blackmore spares no expense. In fact, the members of his house party usually spend the rest of the holiday resting. Until the Twelfth Night, when they all go mumming. It's quite a spectacle," Harriet replied, trying to follow Emily's gaze. "I think Nigel is still having a coze with Blackmore."
A blush stained Emily's almost-hidden cheeks. "Oh," she replied, and fingered the mermaid dangling on her breast nervously.
"Aubrey certainly has taken quite a liking to Lady Susan. Much to the annoyance of her mother," Henry observed, handing each lady a glass of ratafia.
Harriet chuckled. "It would serve Lady Markston right if Aubrey offered for her. Everyone knows she's only after Nigel for his blunt," she observed, adjusting her long, black wig slightly.
Henry smiled warmly at her and had the audacity to wink. "Remember to save me the waltz at midnight," he said mysteriously.
"What's so special about the waltz at midnight?" Emily asked innocently, failing to notice that Nigel, looking spectacularly dashing in his black domino and half-mask, was walking toward their party from the other side of the immense ballroom.
A brilliant smile lit up Harriet's face. "Emily! You mean you forgot one of Miss Haversham's old wives' tales?" she said merrily.
"Yes. There's one about waltzing at midnight?"
"Miss Haversham always said that on the eve of the new year you will marry the person you're dancing with at midnight," Harriet said breathlessly, trying to adjust her wig more.
"I don't remember that," Emily protested, noting how Henry kept his arm possessively around Harriet.
"Well, Harriet and I have been waltzing together at midnight every New Year's Eve since we've been together, and look at us!" Henry said with a wide smile, and Emily couldn't help but grin.
"But you're already married," Emily protested, so engrossed in their conversation that she momentarily forgot about feeling ill at ease.
"That's a mere technicality, Emily!" Henry protested, and kissed Harriet gingerly on her very painted cheek.
Emily giggled as a deep, masculine voice behind her said, "Then I must make sure I'm dancing at midnight with the right person."
She turned and looked into Nigel's golden-green eyes, once again momentarily confused. Why does he keep pretending he has a tendre for me? she wondered, grateful that she was practically hidden in her monk's robe.
"I should say so. I wouldn't want you leg-shackled to the wrong chit," Henry said casually, glancing across the crowded room at Lady Susan. Aubrey was gallantly at her side, and Lady Markston was a few feet away, frowning furiously. "Of course, I doubt that Lady Markston holds the same opinion that I do," he added with a smile.
The orchestra struck up a waltz, and Nigel gazed down at the female clad in the utterly ridiculous monk's garb at his side. "May I see your dance card, Emily? Is this waltz free?" he asked in all seriousness.
Emily stared down at her hands. "I… misplaced my dance card," she said simply, and stared at him in abject horror as he took her hand and practically dragged her toward the dance floor. "I'm really an awful dancer," she murmured in complete embarrassment.
As he swept her into his arms, Nigel brought her hooded figure far too close for propriety and whispered, "I think not."
Emily could feel her heart beating a tattoo as he held her next to his firm, muscular body. Her rapid heartbeat, combined with the crowd on the dance floor and the heat of Blackmore's ballroom, began to make her feel slightly light-headed. So she swayed into Nigel, who was now close to making a spectacle of himself.
"Are you feeling all right, Emily?" he whispered into her ear, his breath warm against her skin.
They continued waltzing around the dance floor, and Emily was quite unsure of how to answer. She felt slightly dizzy, yet it wasn't an unpleasant sensation. So in the end, she simply replied, "I think I should have something to drink once our dance is over."
"Your wish is my command my dear," he said, then added, "You look delightful tonight."
A faint chuckle floated out from under the gloomy monk's robe. "Lord Stratford, you're an addlepate. I most certainly don't look delightful dressed as a monk," she declared, a smile appearing on her masked face.
"I hate to disagree with a lady, but I fear I must," he said smoothly. "You do look enchanting tonight, but then you always look charming, Emily," Nigel said in all sincerity.
"Once again you're offering me Spanish coin, my lord. And I must admit that I suspect your motives, since the last gentleman who offered me
as much flummery ended up embroiling me in quite the scandal," she admitted, wincing at the thought of Roger Manning.
"The cur should be shot," he declared, bringing her body closer to his.
"I couldn't agree more," Emily said in a voice that was barely audible.
"I want another glass of wassail, Aubrey," Susan commanded, waving her hand toward the refreshment table.
Aubrey glanced at the table, then back at Susan. It was obvious that Susan had drunk more than her share of wassail, and was on the verge of becoming bosky. Very bosky. So he calmly replied, "I don't think so."
Susan's blue eyes lit up in anger. "You will procure another glass of wassail for me or I'll have one of my many admirers do it for me, Lord Langely," she replied haughtily, glancing around the room. They were, for the moment, alone.
"If you drink any more wassail, you're going to disgrace yourself, Susan. Come and dance with me," he ordered, and all but dragged her onto the dance floor.
As they went through the movements of the country dance, she managed to hiss at him, "You'll be sorry. I'm going to be married to Nigel and you'll rue the day you crossed someone of my standing."
Luckily, she didn't hear him mutter under his breath, "Nigel isn't the one you're going to end up marrying."
The country dance did seem to calm Susan, and, as the set ended, a pox-faced young man appeared, begging to lead Susan out. Susan stared at her dance card and realized, to her horror, that she was free.
So the pox-faced young man got his dance with Aphrodite, who in turn glared angrily at Aubrey.
Aubrey smiled at her benignly, and glanced across the room. Lady Markston was staring at Nigel and Emily with a look of disdain. Aubrey checked his jeweled pocket watch, noting that it was approaching midnight. I must speak with Nigel about the sleeping arrangements tonight, he reminded himself with a smile. Susan's plan was going to have consequences that she never imagined.
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