A Noble Masquerade

by Kristi Ann Hunter

  “But Griffith—”

  “Pardon me, my lady,” the butler interrupted, maintaining his perfect posture despite the water spotting the front of his attire. “Mr. Gregory Montgomery is here.”

  Mother straightened her spine and slid her book under the pillow behind her. “Is this a farce, Gibson? No one would be out in this weather.”

  “He is drying himself off in the kitchen at the moment, my lady. I apologize, but it was the only fire lit today.”

  “Of course, of course.” Mother gestured to her daughters. “Sit, sit. Mr. Montgomery will be up soon.”

  Georgina smirked at Miranda. “It would seem that someone is overly eager to discuss the theater.”

  A sigh escaped Miranda’s lips as she folded her embroidery and stored it in her sewing box. She should be feeling flattered that the man had braved the forces of nature to see her, but all she could drum up was a slight amount of gratitude that she no longer had to listen to Georgina’s complaints about the weather or her admiration for Lord Ashcombe.

  Gibson entered the room with a steaming tea service, Mr. Montgomery on his heels. The rough weather had ruined what was once a quite appealing ensemble. The cravat alone managed to escape dishevelment. The boots were likely beyond repair, and his hair was matted to his head and beginning to curl at the edges.

  If Miranda looked closely, she could still see the family resemblance between Ryland and his cousin, but the bedraggled condition of Mr. Montgomery had a very different effect. She had seen Ryland looking rumpled and grubby, but he had still managed to exude confidence and power. Mr. Montgomery gave the impression of a sick puppy.

  Disgusted that she was once again casting Ryland in a favorable light, Miranda directed Mr. Montgomery to a seat—none of the upholstered ones, of course—and began to pour his tea. “Whatever possessed you to venture forth in this deluge, Mr. Montgomery?”

  “I make it my business to never back down from a promise. And I did assure you last evening that I would come calling today.” He wrapped his hands around the cup of tea and breathed in the steam.

  Mother cleared her throat with a delicate cough. “Under the circumstances, we would have understood your delay.”

  A considerably more tactful statement than the one Miranda was thinking. Honor was all well and good, but good sense was valuable as well.

  He shook his head, water droplets slinging to the carpet. “I wouldn’t hear of it.”

  Moments passed. Did her sister’s and mother’s thoughts mirror her own? Were they trying to calculate how long they had to entertain Mr. Montgomery before they could make their excuses and send him back into the rain?

  Even Mother, Lady Caroline, the epitome of everything a lady should be, looked a bit flustered. There were rules for unwanted company. Piles of them. Did they not apply because of the weather? Miranda choked on air. Were they to be compelled to invite him to dinner?

  Georgina glared at Miranda, tilting her head in Mr. Montgomery’s direction. Miranda suspected that if they had been sitting on the same couch, kicks would have been involved. “Did you, um, enjoy the rest of the play last evening, Mr. Montgomery?”

  “Of course. Such masterful writing is sure to be enjoyable.”

  “Er, yes. I agree.”

  More silence.

  Perturbed green eyes stared at Miranda over the edge of a teacup. She wasn’t Mother at the moment, she was Lady Caroline and she had an amazingly awkward situation in her drawing room. One she blamed Miranda for.

  Miranda shrugged, trying to rid herself of the guilt of encouraging this man to visit.

  Thunder shook the windows.

  Finally Mother took pity on Miranda and broke the silence. “And how are you and your mother adjusting to the return of your cousin? I must have heard a dozen tales about where he’s been. Would you care to enlighten us with the truth?”

  Miranda sat forward. Did her mother know? Of course she did. There was the small matter of hauling Ryland’s unconscious body out of the house. She would have demanded some small explanation from her sons. Was the topic of Ryland supposed to be Miranda’s punishment? She would take it. As much as she hated to admit it, this was a subject she could readily engage in.

  Mr. Montgomery didn’t look quite so eager. “We are, of course, overjoyed at his return to civilized society. He had been . . . Well, I’m afraid the subject isn’t fit for tender ears, my lady. With all due respect, I must decline to answer your question.”

  Miranda frowned. If the man’s aim was to elude the potential scandal Ryland’s profession would cause, he was doing a very poor job of it. The innuendo implied something much worse than clandestine service to England.

  Mother nodded. “I suppose we shouldn’t speak of it, then. Perhaps there is another topic more to your liking?”

  Georgina plunked her cup in the saucer. “The weather is dismal. You’ve spent some time in France, haven’t you? Is the weather better there?”

  So much for not listening to Georgina complain about the rain.

  “Yes, France is wonderful. Such a shame that current inconveniences prevent you from seeing it yourself.”

  “A man trying to infiltrate England is hardly a mere inconvenience, Mr. Montgomery.” Miranda’s fingers clenched around her teacup. Like many women of her station, she was unaware of the details in the scuffle with Napoleon, but she was not delusional enough to think the war that had dragged on for years and taken life and limb of many men was a mere inconvenience.

  “My apologies, Lady Miranda.” His eyes narrowed in her direction. “I did not wish to bring the unpleasantness of the battle into your drawing room. Please excuse me for offending you.”

  Mother waved her arm in the air. “Oh no, she is merely out of sorts because of the rain. Such a downpour brings out her maudlin side.”

  Miranda huffed. She had obviously not paid enough attention to Mother’s lessons in discreet and socially acceptable verbal punches. Maybe she should pull her embroidery back out. This was going to be a very long visit.

  Chapter 29

  Ryland strode toward the drawing room, ignoring the cluster of servants at the other end of the front hall. His valet had been goading him about avoiding his aunt, so he’d decided to appease him and take tea with her. Only pride kept him from retreating.

  Gregory was away, having departed early this morning for his club. The rain had started soon after he left and the downpour had likely kept him there all day. But it was early evening now, and Gregory had yet to return to dress for the evening’s festivities.

  The rain had made the arrest of Baron Listwist an absolute mess. The man had nearly gotten away with a well-planned escape route. Ryland had tackled him, and they’d both slid down the muddy embankment to land in the Thames.

  It had felt good to finally be doing something instead of waiting around.

  Unfortunately the rain also kept him from making amends with Miranda. Now that the threat was over, he wanted to look his best when he asked her to allow him to court her.

  Fortunately, the precipitation would also keep the horde of curious callers away from Ryland’s door. There would never be a better time to extend the proverbial olive branch to his aunt.

  Ryland strode into the room, forcing himself to appear relaxed. The smile on his face was fake, but he dared anyone but his closest companions to figure that out.

  His aunt was sitting near the window, reading. Even when she thought herself alone, she didn’t appear relaxed. Her posture would please the strictest of governesses, and she was dressed in the first stare of fashion from head to toe.

  “May I join you for tea, Aunt Marguerite?”

  She looked up, unable to keep the surprise entirely off her face. “Of course. I suppose I should ring for additional refreshments, then.”

  “I already informed Price I would be joining you.”

  “Since you mentioned him, could we discuss some of your staffing choices?” She toyed with the corner of her book, riffling the pages bef
ore setting the volume on the table next to her. “You must admit that your upbringing was not one that would necessarily prepare you for domestic management.”

  Ryland pinched his leg as he settled onto the wide couch across from his lone female relation. “Father never thought it an important part of my education, I admit. Perhaps he thought you would teach me. That would have been something for a mother to do, after all.”

  Marguerite patted her hair. “It was a failing on my part, I suppose, but I was busy raising my Gregory. All the more reason for me to guide you now.”

  He couldn’t keep all of the skepticism off of his face. Hopefully she would misinterpret it as insecurity. A handful of nurses had raised Gregory. Marguerite had been too busy trying to act like his father’s wife. She’d kept house for them, acted as his hostess at parties, even saw to some of his correspondence.

  She turned in her chair to fully face him. “For instance, this stipulation you have that keeps me from maintaining the staff of my home—”

  Ryland cleared his throat.

  “Our home,” she corrected with a frown. “As your aunt, I should be seeing to the staff instead of your steward. What does he know about maintaining a staff? His choices are abysmal.”

  “Before you continue, aunt, I should tell you that I have hand selected every member of this house’s staff. They were hired at my discretion.”

  “My poor nephew, how inattentive I’ve been.”

  Price entered the room, his shoulders filling the doorway, arms bulging as he held the laden tea tray in front of him. He positioned the tray on the table and set about filling plates for the room’s occupants. Despite the size of his hands, he managed to handle the delicate china with grace and elegance. Not a clink was heard as he shifted cups and plates.

  “I believe we’ll serve ourselves, Price, since it is only my nephew and myself.” Marguerite’s smile was thin and sickly looking. It didn’t really deserve to be called a smile.

  “Of course, madam.” Price bowed and left the room.

  Ryland marveled at the man’s patience. He’d been faced with this derision for the past eight years? How had he managed to avoid strangling the woman?

  “Preposterous man for a butler,” Marguerite mumbled as she poured tea.

  Ryland mentally jerked at the words that so closely mirrored the ones from the note. His aunt couldn’t be threatening him, could she? Was he wrong about the notes being from the baron?

  He cleared his throat, suddenly interested in this interlude with his only female relation. “Price is a good man.”

  Marguerite passed Ryland a cup of tea. He took a sip and frowned. Sugar. Lots of it. He had always taken his tea with milk and no sugar. He thought he recalled Gregory always spooning the sweetener into his tea though.

  “He is not a proper butler. The man doesn’t have a neck, Ryland.”

  Ryland shrugged. “No one will be able to choke him to gain entrance. The staff isn’t going to change, aunt. I have my reasons for hiring them. If you don’t care for them, you’re welcome to spend time at Marshington Abbey.”

  He’d left the country estate entirely in the care of his trusted steward. Memories of a torturous childhood were all that waited for him in its hallowed halls. It would take a miracle for him to enter its doors and not hear the awkwardness of Aunt Marguerite trying to pretend the four of them were one happy family. No, Ryland wasn’t ready to set foot in Marshington Abbey, so he was more than willing to let his aunt live there.

  “And miss the Season? You remember that everyone who is anyone is in London right now, don’t you?” His aunt’s voice brought him back to the London drawing room.

  “Yes, aunt, I timed my return to coincide with it. It is time for me to see about extending the line, after all.”

  “Gregory has set his eyes on a prime candidate. Should you decide not to marry, he will be glad to continue the line.”

  Ryland grunted and watched the rain cascade down the window. He took a large bite of one of the sandwiches Price had left. If his mouth was full he couldn’t make disparaging comments about his cousin’s ability to handle the responsibilities of the title.

  This tea had been a horrible idea. The next time Jeffreys admonished him for ignoring the remains of his family, he’d deliberately rend his trousers. If the valet was kept busy he couldn’t stick his nose into Ryland’s personal life.

  The visit plagued her long after Mr. Montgomery departed. Was it the man or the situation that had made it so terribly awkward? It was obvious that Mr. Montgomery was interested in courting her, but the very idea made her feel ill. Was there no possibility of her moving on from Ryland?

  She was doomed to settle for lonely spinsterhood.

  Which was what she’d already told God she was prepared to accept.

  Apparently she’d lied.

  With a nervous glance at the storm raging outside, she took a few steps away from the window. There was no reason to tempt God to strike her with lightning. His aim was sure to be better than Mother’s.

  Maybe her siblings would produce lots of nieces and nephews for her to cherish. She could make Georgina’s wedding present pillow say something about her children having England’s best aunt.

  A horrible thought flitted through her mind of her having to suffer the company of the Earl of Ashcombe in order to visit Georgina’s children. He sat at the head of the table, counting his money while Georgina huddled at the foot, a pale ghost of her former vibrancy, worn down by his constant statements about how worthless she’d be if she hadn’t brought money and land into the marriage.

  Very well, that statement had actually been made to Miranda when she’d confronted him about asking Griffith for the land, but she imagined he viewed Georgina in a similar fashion.

  No. Miranda might be forced at some point to contemplate a marriage of convenience, but Georgina’s heart was not yet given, not truly. She’d suffered childhood infatuations but never looked into the eyes of someone and seen her own soul. Miranda was positive about that. Georgina was still too animated about her marriage prospects to have loved and lost.

  A rush of sisterly affection sent her on a search through the house.

  Miranda found Georgina painting in the solarium.

  “Don’t marry Ashcombe.” The words were strangled, escaping as little more than a whisper. It was imperative that she make Georgina see the impossibility of that choice.

  The paintbrush didn’t pause. “Whyever not? He’s extremely eligible. I would of course prefer a marquis or a duke or even one of those foreign princes, but they seem to be out of town. If I must settle for an earl, let him be a rich and popular one.”

  “But he’s awful.”

  Georgina stopped painting and cast a scathing look at Miranda. “Because he didn’t want you? There are a hundred reasons why he might not have offered for—”

  “He did.”

  “No, he didn’t.”

  Miranda sat on a stool beside Georgina. “Yes, he did. He went to Griffith to work out the details.”

  Georgina turned back to her painting but didn’t apply the brush to the canvas. “What happened? Obviously you didn’t marry him.”

  “He wanted . . .” Miranda braced herself for the fresh pain of remembered rejection. It didn’t come. Had she finally after all these years moved on? Let go of that torment? Relieved laughter threatened, but she held it back. She had indeed moved past the hurt. It wasn’t only because of Ryland, but also because of the realization that she was important.

  She was loved.

  God had created her the way she was for a reason. And if there wasn’t a man who could appreciate that, then what other reason did she have to marry? That was why she couldn’t encourage Mr. Montgomery or Colin or anyone else who might never appreciate her underlying passion.

  The same underlying passion Ryland had praised in one of his letters last fall.

  She looked at Georgina. Could she teach her younger sister the same truth? “He wanted land. It
was his condition. If the estate from Papa’s mother wasn’t included in the dowry, he would rescind his attentions.”

  Georgina set about mixing a dollop of white into a small pot of red paint.

  “He didn’t care about me. All that mattered was what he could gain from Griffith through the match.”

  Silence.

  Miranda’s shoulders slumped. There was nothing more she could do.

  “He must have cared a bit. He was willing to marry you.” The words were so quiet Miranda almost missed them.

  “He was willing to marry Griffith’s connections.” Miranda licked her lips. “He’s still willing to marry for them.”

  Moments passed. Neither moved for a long time. Then Georgina picked up her paintbrush and stabbed it angrily at the canvas. “Get out.”

  Her heart heavy, Miranda returned to her room, prepared to spend a quiet night with a novel. When had she and Georgina grown so far apart? Sadness at the distance weighed on her shoulders, but it wasn’t enough to temper the joy at finally feeling free even in the face of spinsterhood.

  Back in her room she rang for tea. The room wasn’t chilled, but the constant rain made it dreary. Mrs. Brantley kept tea trays at the ready when the weather was like this, so no more than five minutes passed before a maid carried the tea service into the room.

  “I’ll serve myself. Thank you.” Miranda smiled at the young girl.

  After a slight curtsy, the maid backed out of the room.

  Miranda blew her ringlets out of her face as she poured tea into the waiting cup. What was she going to do now? As much as she wanted to consider Ryland a lost cause, she couldn’t. If he came back, asking her forgiveness, would she give it?

  A roll of thunder made her jump as she replaced the teapot, sending a splash of tea across the tray.

  His words about apologies had stayed with her since that afternoon in Trent’s study. Apologies implied the desire for things to turn out differently. If he did indeed apologize for missing their ride, she would forgive him. He would never lower himself to apologize unless he meant it.