Her gown was emerald green, and shot through with shimmering golden threads that also captured and reflected the light as she moved about the room. The skirt was divided into two wide panniers that stood out stiffly on each side, while displaying an underskirt of delicate gold tissue. The bodice was snug and the tight corset she wore pushed the tops of her breasts high above the square-cut neckline. The gown had long tight sleeves that were puffed at the top, and then tapered down to fit tightly at her wrists. Her shoes were high-heeled gold slippers and she wore sheer, white silk stockings which were embroidered with tiny gold fleur-de-leis. She also wore a diamond and emerald necklace borrowed from Madeline around her neck, a complete circle of interwoven diamonds with one large pear-shaped emerald that rested in the valley of her breasts. To complete the ensemble, she attached the diamond and emerald rose broach that Madeline had given her to her bodice.
At first, Ashleigh had worried that she wouldn’t be able to carry off the grandiose fashion of the earlier era. However, when she looked in the mirror she could scarcely believe her eyes. She looked as if she had stepped directly from one of the many aged canvases that lined the Sethe family portrait gallery. The white powder that covered her hair and the thin dusting on her cheeks gave her an ethereal quality and the high swept hairstyle accentuated her striking profile. Like the woman she portrayed, she had to admit that she did indeed look like a queen. Although not vain by nature, Ashleigh wanted to look her absolute best that evening. If she was going to be in the same room with Nicholas’ paramour, she needed all the confidence she could get.
Once she, Madeline and Brendon had all arrived in the downstairs foyer, Ashleigh was delighted to see that Brendon had chosen to don the costume of a seventeenth century pirate. He looked incredibly dashing in his billowing, white silk shirt, tight black breeches and knee high, black leather boots. He also wore a scabbard and jewel handled sword strapped to his left thigh and a wicked looking black eye patch covered his right eye. She knew without a doubt that Brendon would leave a trail of dreamy-eyed, lovesick females in his wake before the evening was through.
Madeline however, had chosen not to wear a costume, declaring that she was much too old for such frivolous behavior, insisting that masquerades were intended for the younger set rather than for women of her advanced years. Ashleigh thought that Madeline looked quite elegant in her royal purple gown of French watered silk and assured her that she scarcely looked a day over forty-five.
Once they had donned their winter cloaks, they made their way to the front drive and were soon comfortably seated in one of the Sethe’s luxurious coaches, embossed on each side with the Sethe ducal coat of arms, two gold lions, rearing up against a black and silver shield. Due to the width of Ashleigh's skirts, she occupied the seat facing the rear of the coach, while Madeline and Brendon sat together on the opposite seat as they drove to the Taryton residence. Nicholas had sent word earlier that he would be meeting them at the masquerade.
When they arrived at the countess’ home, they were quickly bustled into the heated foyer and divested of their cloaks by a bevy of helpful servants before making their way toward the ballroom. As they neared, the rippling waves of conversation and laughter grew louder, battling with the efforts of the musician’s instruments.
Entering through the archway of the brilliantly lit ballroom, Ashleigh was instantly dazzled by the vast array of brightly colored costumes and elaborate disguises that met her eye. She saw knights in highly polished silver armor, medieval princesses, sorcerers, monarchs of past eras, mythical gods and goddesses, court jesters, highwaymen and dozens of other characters. Almost everyone, aside from a handful of aged gentlemen and a few elderly matrons wore masks to disguise their features, some adorned with jewels, feathers, ribbons, and colored beads, while others were devoid of all decoration, simple dominos held in place with velvet ribbons. Hers was made of delicate gold tissue to match her gown and anchored to a thin narrow rod wrapped in gold ribbon that she held in her hand.
Ashleigh hastily scanned the crowd for any sign of Nicholas, but she failed to spot him amongst the revelers. She did see Lady Taryton however. The Countess of Dragmore was garbed in the flowing white and silver Grecian robes of the goddess Venus, the filmy material clinging provocatively to her every curve. The gown was fastened over one shoulder with a sparkling diamond broach, which left the other shoulder tantalizingly bare. She wore delicate clusters of flowers in her hair and several more were pinned within the folds of her gown. She looked incredibly beautiful and Ashleigh felt a moment of unease. She didn't know how she was going to bear being in the home of the woman who might very well be Nicholas’ mistress, when she herself carried his child.
As the dowager had chosen not to don a costume, they were recognized immediately and several people quickly made their way over to greet them, including their hostess. Ashleigh managed to murmur a polite greeting to the countess, though inwardly she seethed.
Brendon was obviously a popular figure, for he was immediately surrounded by several of his friends and acquaintances as they made their way into the room. Having been at sea for several months, it was obvious that the members of the ton were delighted to have him once again within their midst. Before long, nearly a dozen women were flirting unabashedly with him, much to Ashleigh’s amusement and his obvious delight. Unlike his older brother, Brendon clearly enjoyed the attention and he emanated a charm and exuberance that other people were naturally drawn to.
Ashleigh too, seemed quite popular with the exalted members of the ton. Those individuals who had not met her during the Sethe's hunting weekend or at the theater in London, seemed eager to meet the Earl of Dexter's granddaughter, and those who had met her appeared eager to further their acquaintances.
She was instantly besieged with dance requests and before she knew it she was swept out into the midst of a waltz by none other than Julius Caesar. Her partner was actually Lord Montville, an older gentlemen whom she learned was a friend and close neighbor of the Sethes.
The viscount was a friendly fellow who had been widowed three years earlier. He had four children, all girls, the eldest just sixteen and he spoke of little else as they danced. He was obviously a loving and devoted father and she liked him immensely. Although, as he spoke so fondly of his daughters, Ashleigh couldn't help but wonder about the future of her unborn child. Would her baby grow up without the love and affection of his or her father, without Nicholas? It was a disheartening thought.
From what she had observed herself, and from the information she had gained from others, Ashleigh knew that Nicholas had a fondness for children. Shortly after her arrival at Sethe Manor she had watched from an upstairs window as he had lead the butler’s young grandson, four-year old Timmy, around the front drive seated atop his prize thoroughbred. The child had been shrieking in delight as Nicholas had led him about, smiling indulgently the entire time. He’d clearly been enjoying himself almost as much as young Timmy.
Lost in the memory, Ashleigh had not heard Lord Montville's last comment and she looked up guiltily as he repeated the question.
“I merely asked if you were enjoying yourself, Lady St. John.”
“Oh, I am terribly sorry, Lord Montville,” Ashleigh began with an apologetic smile. “Please excuse my inattention, I am afraid that this is my first masquerade and I must admit to being a bit overwhelmed,” she lied prettily. “And my yes, I am enjoying myself immensely.” She then forced herself to concentrate on her partner, once again engaging in polite conversation as he spun her about the room.
Nicholas wasn’t surprised to see that the masquerade was already in full swing when he entered the crowded ballroom. The air was filled with a combination of music, laughter and lively conversation, yet he dreaded the upcoming hours, for he knew that he would have to contend with Isabelle's amorous advances, as well as the overabundance of feminine attention that he generally garnered at events such as this. However, with his handsome and charming younger brother in attendance, the
eligible young ladies would have a much more willing target to focus their attentions upon he realized, which in turn caused his spirits to lift slightly.
As he stood watching the dancers gliding across the floor, he caught sight of Ashleigh as she twirled by in the arms of Roger Lyndwich, smiling brightly as she gazed at her partner in rapt attention. He hadn't seen her since Christmas morning, the morning she had given him the incredible pocket watch. Even now the watch rested in the inside pocket of his black evening jacket. At first, he’d been stunned by the thoughtfulness and generosity of her gift, but then his cynical and suspicious mind had once again taken over, causing him to wonder if it had been just another desperate attempt to capture his attention. Although he still didn't know the depth of the relationship between Ashleigh and his brother, he couldn’t forget the intimate scene he had witnessed firsthand. It was driving him mad, for as always, she still had his emotions rioting in a vexing tumult.
Turning away, intending to locate his grandmother and brother, Isabelle suddenly appeared at his side.
“Nicholas, you are here at last,” she said, smiling widely. “Come, dance with me,” she commanded boldly, grasping his arm and pulling him toward the dance floor. He assumed that she was still miffed that he’d avoided her in London, but she didn’t allow it to show.
Disguising his irritation behind an agreeable smile, he took her in his arms and swept her into the midst of the dancers. As they turned about the floor, he couldn't keep his eyes from straying toward Ashleigh and Montville. He was distracted however, when Isabelle pouted and asked him why he hadn't commented on her costume. Making a suitably gallant reply, he kept his true thoughts carefully hidden behind an amiable façade; that the white of her gown made her skin appear pasty and sallow and that the petulant pout on her lips made her look like a spoiled child deprived of a sweetmeat. Instead, he assured her that she was the most beautiful woman present, as always. She accepted the complement with a seductive smile and pressed her body more tightly against his, yet another blatant invitation.
Ashleigh was doing an admirable job of focusing her attention on the viscount, or rather; she had been until she caught sight of Nicholas holding Isabelle Taryton in his arms. He wasn't wearing a costume, only a black domino that covered the upper part of his face. Much to Ashleigh's dismay, she immediately trod upon Lord Montville's foot and felt a rush of color flood her cheeks. She only managed to finish the waltz without further incident by keeping her eyes firmly locked upon the viscount's kind face.
As the evening progressed, Ashleigh chatted with several young ladies close to her own age. Most were friendly and courteous, but a few cast resentful and malicious glances in her direction and whispered about her behind their fans. She obviously colors her hair said one, while another professed that her maid must have spent hours yanking on her corset strings in order to make her waist appear so deceptively narrow. Whenever Ashleigh chanced to overhear such unkind remarks directed at her, she simply lifted her head a little higher and smiled a little brighter to hide her inner feelings. Becoming the latest member of the ton wasn't entirely a bed of roses, she thought with a sigh. She knew that no matter how long she associated with her exalted peers, she would always feel more comfortable living in the country and donning her breeches for an early morning ride than waltzing the night away at one ball or another with a group of self-important bluebloods.
As Ashleigh accepted yet another glass of punch from one of her ardent suitors, she forced herself to remain focused on the conversation around her, but it was difficult. She was beginning to feel ill and her feet ached from dancing nearly every dance that evening. She suddenly longed to flee the perpetual hum of conversation and the crush of the overrun ballroom. After a few more minutes had passed, she began to plan her escape. Madeline had adjourned to one of the anterooms where several of the older guests were engaging in games of whist and she briefly considered joining them.
It was then that Brendon appeared at her side and requested his second dance of the evening. She hadn't seen much of him during the masquerade and readily went into his outstretched arms. She temporarily forgot about her aching feet as she looked into Brendon's smiling face. The orchestra was playing a lively country dance and Brendon spun Ashleigh wildly about the floor, keeping pace with the other merry couples. The dance didn't allow much time for conversation, but Ashleigh couldn't resist teasing him about his popularity with the ladies whenever the tempo slowed. As the dance brought them to the far side of the room, Ashleigh noticed in silent frustration that Nicholas was once again partnered with the countess.
“Brendon, do you think we could step outside for a moment?" Ashleigh asked, as Brendon escorted her from the dance floor several minutes later. She was feeling a bit light-headed after the vigorous dance and for a frightening moment she feared she might faint, and immediately laid her hand on Brendon's arm for support.
Brendon apparently noted her pallor, even under the light dusting of powder she wore on her face, and obviously felt the tight, almost desperate hold she suddenly had on his arm. Clearly worried, he quickly guided her toward the nearest set of French doors and out onto the terrace.
“Thank you, Brendon,” Ashleigh said, breathing deeply as she leaned against the marble railing that ran along the length of the terrace. “I just need to catch my breath.” The air was frigid, but it felt marvelous after the stifling confines of the crowded ballroom.
“I never should have let you spend so much time on the dance floor, not in your condition,” he declared, running his fingers through his hair in an agitated gesture as he studied her face.
The action reminded her so much of Nicholas. The two brothers had so much in common, not only in physical appearance, but in their mannerisms as well. “Brendon, don't be ridiculous, I'm fine. It was just so crowded in there and I am afraid the heat got to me a bit,” she said, as she gradually began to regain her composure.
Brendon continued to look closely at Ashleigh's face. “Are you certain you are alright?”
“Brendon, I am fine, honestly,” she insisted, giving him a reassuring smile, despite the fact that she was still feeling slightly unwell. Ever since she’d told him about the baby he had been as overprotective as a mother hen, and she didn’t want him to worry.
Nicholas, who had been forced out onto the stone terrace by Isabelle's claim of being overheated, which indeed she was he thought sardonically, had been about to rebuff the persistent countess, when he caught sight of Ashleigh and Brendon out of the corner of his eye. They were standing close together, too close it seemed. Damn it to hell, he thought irritably. A moment later, instead of repelling Isabelle's advances as he had intended, he reached out and drew her nearer to him. When she lifted her lips for his kiss, he bent his head and accommodated her with feigned eagerness.
When Ashleigh turned to reenter the ballroom she noticed a movement to her right, deep within the shadows of the house. She turned her head to see what had caught her attention and regretted it instantly. Two people stood on the far side of the terrace, nearly hidden by a large marble pillar, but she could still see them. Isabelle Taryton had her arms wrapped around Nicholas' neck, and the two of them were locked in an intimate embrace. Unable to tear her gaze from the pair, Ashleigh felt the blood drain from her face, and in the next instant her body seemed to go completely numb.
Brendon watched in dismay as Ashleigh's features once again lost all color, her eyes fixed somewhere over his right shoulder. He turned to see what she was looking at, anger and disgust crossing his features as he saw the Countess of Dragmore clinging wantonly to his brother.
It was all too much. Ashleigh saw blackness closing in around her, and then she saw nothing at all.
Fortunately, Brendon reached out and caught her just as she sank to the terrace floor amongst a profusion of emerald and gold skirts.
Nicholas lifted his head from Isabelle's demanding lips just in time to see his brother catch Ashleigh as she sank into a heap at his feet. Sw
earing profusely, Nicholas untangled himself from Isabelle's clinging arms and pushed her aside, much to her obvious displeasure. By the time he’d completely freed himself from her determined grasp and strode to the opposite end of the terrace, Ashleigh had apparently regained her senses. Had her faint been a pretense for his benefit, he wondered? She was extremely pale though, he noted, and leaning heavily on Brendon's arm as he walked her toward the open French doors.
When Ashleigh saw Nicholas approaching, she summoned her strength and released Brendon's arm. Picking up her skirts, she immediately fled into the ballroom. She never wanted to see Nicholas Leighton’s face ever again, she thought angrily.
Brendon stood helplessly in the doorway, watching as Ashleigh made her way across the crowded room to his grandmother's side. Sensing his brother's presence behind him, he turned, fury evident in his hostile gaze.
“Is she alright?” Nicholas asked, looking over Brendon's shoulder and into the crowd.
“What the hell do you care?” Brendon demanded belligerently. When Nicholas remained silent, Brendon nodded his head in the direction of the countess, who was angrily approaching from the opposite side of the terrace. “I think your whore is upset with you brother, why don't you concern yourself with her.”
Until You Page 18