by Amanda Scott
Gillian allowed herself to be overborn, particularly since her uncle also declared that costumes were a nuisance. “Take my word for it, girl,” he said the next day in the morning room when she raised the subject, “the men who wear costumes won’t be gents, and you won’t want to make a figure of yourself if the other ladies in your party don’t mean to wear them. Your stepmama won’t wear one, surely, and nor will the duchess.”
“Oh, is the duchess going to be there?”
“Oh, aye, so Dawlish tells me, and his grace as well, I don’t doubt,” he added with a smile.
Gillian laughed. “Coming it too strong, sir. The duke does not look like a man who would enjoy a masquerade.”
“No, but since the news that the duchess would be there put that smile on your face, I thought I’d add the duke. He would enjoy the concert, for Ashley means to play a bassoon solo, and he is accounted to be the very best there is. And surely, no one will object if Langshire don’t wear a domino.”
She left him chuckling at his own wit, and went to her father’s library to see if the post had come yet. The earl had already left the house, but Dorinda was there, apparently reading a letter. She turned with a gasp, clutched the missive to her breast, then turned away again, her cheeks scarlet.
“Good heavens, Dorinda,” Gillian said, “have you been indulging in a clandestine correspondence, that you must needs hide it from me?”
“Oh, no,” Dorinda said quickly, “nothing of that sort. ’Tis only the invitation to—to ... the Countess of Leicester’s fete next week in honor of all her son’s friends who were at Eton with him. You have already seen it, I’m sure.”
She was speaking too quickly, and Gillian knew she was not speaking the truth, for the countess’s invitation had come the previous day and must surely be in the silver basket in Estrid’s boudoir with others requiring acceptance or regret, but Gillian could see no good to be gained by pressing the matter, so she let it drop. There was little that Dorinda could do on the sly, after all, for Estrid kept a sharp eye on her.
Dorinda said abruptly, “Where is Clemmie? I have not seen her yet this morning.”
Gillian shrugged. “No doubt she is with Miss Casey. They went to see the royal circus at St. George’s Fields yesterday, you know. She has seen more sights of London than all the rest of us together, I believe.”
“Well, yes, but I do not think she meant to go anywhere in particular today. I think I will just go and see if she is still abed. She will not want to miss her breakfast.”
Gillian thought that Dorinda was more anxious to get out of the room with her letter than she was to see whether her younger sister was still abed, but she knew, too, that Dorinda had a soft place in her selfish heart for her little sister. They all did. Clementina was the one good thing, in Gillian’s opinion, to have come out of her father’s second marriage.
After conferring with Meggie, Gillian decided that if she was going to wear a domino, it must be a becoming one, so changing to a yellow muslin half dress made high in the neck with a collar trimmed with fawn-colored velvet, she ordered out a carriage to take her to the shops. In the entrance hall, she encountered Dorinda, just coming from the parlor anteroom.
“Oh, what a pretty hat,” Dorinda said. Her manner was a trifle forced, but it was evident that she meant to be pleasant.
“Thank you,” Gillian said, drawing on a pair of yellow kid gloves. “Did you find Clemmie?”
“Yes, she had already had her breakfast and was in the midst of a French lesson with Miss Casey. Are you going out?”
“I am going to Leicester Square to purchase silk for a domino,” Gillian said. “Meggie assures me that there can be no reason to visit a modiste, since she can sew it for me, but I want to find just the right color.”
“What an excellent idea,” Dorinda said. “I shall go with you if you can wait a minute or two for me to fetch my cloak and bonnet, and my indispensable.”
Though she wondered what had brought on this excess of affability, Gillian agreed, and the two young women spent a few pleasant hours visiting the linen drapers in Leicester Square. They examined numerous bolts of cloth and ended at last by purchasing enough for their dominoes. Dorinda selected a pale-blue silk to match her eyes, and Gillian chose a bright rose pink that she knew would make her eyes look stone gray.
“I like that color,” Dorinda said, stroking the material with one slim, ungloved hand. “I think I will take some of it and have a pelisse made to go with my pink Etruscan robe. A bit of fur ’round the hem will be just the thing, or perhaps a row or two of Naples lace. What do you think, Gillian?”
Privately, Gillian thought the color too bright for her stepsister, who looked much better in pastels than in more brilliant colors, but she could see that Dorinda had her heart set on the pink silk, so she agreed that it would look very dashing with the robe in question. She did point out, however, that Naples lace would create an effect rather more dashing than Dorinda might wish.
“Black with that shade of pink is much too bold,” she said.
“Did you say Meggie has a pattern for your domino?” Dorinda asked, evidently accepting the stricture. “My maid is handy with a needle and thread, but I am not at all certain that she will know what is expected. May I send her to ask Meggie?”
“By all means,” Gillian said, glad she had not offended Dorinda, as she so frequently seemed to do. She was beginning to think that when her stepsister exerted herself to be agreeable, she could be very pleasant company.
They met Lord Corbin on the point of being admitted to the house when they returned to Park Street. As always, he was dressed in the extreme of fashion, and his shirt points seemed to prevent his head from turning at all. Gillian hid a smile, reminding herself that he had an excellent seat on a horse and had proved to be a very good friend. Commanding her footman to remain with the carriage, she greeted his lordship warmly. “How very nice to see you, sir,” she said. “I collect that you have been out of town. We missed you at the Langshire ball.”
“Glad I was missed,” he said, smiling at Dorinda, whose attention seemed suddenly to have been diverted by a carriage passing by in the street. “Been visiting friends in Kent, but I was in Bruton Street just now with a few feathers of my wing—friends, you know—and when they decided to stroll on to a coffeehouse, I decided I’d better use for my shillings and wandered along till I found myself in Park Street. I was sorry to have missed the ball,” he added. “I trust it was a success.”
His gaze was penetrating, and she knew he was not merely inquiring about the company in general, but Blalock opened the door just then, so she was able to smile at Corbin and say, “It was indeed, sir, a very pleasant affair. Do come in, won’t you?”
“Thank you. Miss Ponderby, do allow me to take that parcel from you. Where the devil is your footman?”
“He has gone round to the stables with the carriage,” Gillian said when Dorinda did not answer. “We had a good many parcels. He will bring them in the back way.”
“But why did you not give him this one?” Corbin asked.
His question was clearly directed at Dorinda, and just as clearly Dorinda was determined to ignore him. Gillian watched them with interest, thinking that if her sister were as indifferent as she would have Corbin believe, she would not take nearly such pains to convince him of it. Gillian wondered suddenly if there was more to their relationship than she had thought—if, in fact, Dorinda’s secret letter had come from Corbin. To break the silence, she said calmly, “Dorinda preferred to keep that one by her, sir. Blalock,” she added, “take his lordship up to the third drawing room, if you please, and tell Lady Marrick that he is here.”
“Yes, m’lady. Her ladyship is already in the drawing room, and lords Dawlish and Crawley are with her. Her ladyship has ordered tea. Will you take a glass of wine, sir?”
“I will,” Corbin said. “And do take that parcel from Miss Ponderby, Blalock. It don’t suit her to be carrying things.”
“
No, sir. Where shall I have it taken, miss?”
“Oh, to my bedchamber, I suppose,” Dorinda said casually. “I cannot think why it makes any difference if I carry it or don’t carry it. I shall be going up myself, after all, to tidy my hair and smooth my gown.”
“In my opinion, you look perfectly splendid,” Corbin said. “Lady Gillian don’t mean to desert me, so why should you?”
Gillian chuckled. “I did intend to do the same, sir, but if you object, I see no good reason for us not to go up with you.”
“Just what I thought,” he murmured, looking at Dorinda.
She tossed her head. “I cannot think what you mean. You talk in riddles. You have neglected us shamefully for days, and did not see fit to attend the ball, so if we have found means of entertaining ourselves in your absence, you cannot be surprised.”
“Oh, I should not be surprised at all,” he said. “I don’t doubt you’ve had a host of mooncalves swooning at your feet. Is that the way of it, Miss Ponderby?”
“They are not mooncalves,” she said, lifting her chin. “I am sure I must have been solicited by at least three gentlemen for each dance at the ball and also at Lady Chard’s rout last night.”
“I did not know people danced at routs,” he said, twinkling.
She glared at him. “They did last night!”
Gillian chuckled again. “They did indeed, sir. Several gentlemen rather the worse for wine got up an impromptu cotillion, but Lord Chard quickly put a stop to it.”
They had reached the landing when Corbin said, “I am told that Mongrel expects me to make one of his party for the masked ball at Ranelagh. I hope you do not mind if I join you.”
Before Gillian could reply, Dorinda said airily, “I am sure we have nothing to say about that, sir, though tickets cost ten shillings, sixpence, I believe, which may be beyond your means.”
“Do not heed her, sir,” Gillian said quickly. “We shall be delighted to have you in our party.”
Corbin nodded, smiling at her, but in the half hour that followed before the gentlemen took their leave, she became certain that he was trying to fix his interest with Dorinda and just as certain that Dorinda meant to ignore him. When Gillian demanded later to know why she was so determined to keep him at arm’s length, Dorinda stared at her in surprise.
“Good gracious, Gillian, you cannot expect me to encourage Corbin! From all I can tell, he is the merest nobody. He’s only a baron and certainly does not own a country house. Why, I’d not be surprised to learn that he’s as poor as Crawley. Mama says it is as easy to fall in love with a rich man as a poor one—indeed, that it’s much more sensible—so that is just what I mean to do.”
In the days that passed before the masquerade, Gillian tried to determine exactly what her stepsister meant to do, but she had no luck whatever, although she was certain that Dorinda received at least one more secret letter. There were parties and dances, and an assembly at Almack’s, but of their particular friends, only Corbin and Crawley attended the latter, and though Dorinda allowed each to claim her hand for a single dance, she did not allow any more. Gillian thought the entire evening was insipid.
She was looking forward—more than she would have admitted to anyone else—to the masked ball. She heard about Thorne frequently, because his friends seemed only too willing now to talk about him, but he had not seen fit to grace a single one of the parties she had attended, and she missed his company. She had realized now for some time that he was no mere masculine acquaintance but a friend whose company she truly enjoyed—at least, she told herself, she did when he did not scold her.
The day of the masquerade dawned at last but was gray and gloomy, and for a time everyone feared that a storm would put an end to the plan, but the rain held off, and Lady Marrick did not object when Clementina informed her that she and Miss Casey were venturing to the Tower of London to visit the armor collection there. Estrid said only that she thought Clementina was looking a little pale and perhaps needed to slow her pace a bit.
Clementina agreed at once. “When we return, I shall rest. Nurse told me little John is fretful this morning, so I promised to play with him later, so she can have her cup of tea with Mrs. Parish as she likes to do, without being in a fret about him.”
“John is sick?” Lady Marrick looked concerned. “I thought that this new nurse was very good. I must look in on them this morning, though, for I did think he looked a bit pale yesterday.”
She seemed truly worried, and that evening when everyone else was preparing to depart, she came downstairs and said with a frown, “I do not like to go away and leave him like this. He is feverish and I think he might really be sick.”
“Oh, Mama,” Dorinda cried, “you cannot mean that we are not to go, after all!”
“Oh, no, my pet, for what could I do that Nurse cannot? I have told her to send for the doctor if she is at all concerned, and so she will. I believe it must be something Clementina has brought home to him from her ramblings, for she is not feeling at all the thing this evening either. But there can be no reason to make you forgo your pleasure. None at all.”
Gillian thought Dorinda’s relief was excessive, but she did not give it much thought, believing that as usual her stepsister was thinking only of her own pleasure. She thought Dorinda was looking particularly fetching in her domino, and to her surprise, she discovered that her stepsister had used the rose silk she had purchased to line the pale blue. The contrast was arresting and most becoming to her golden beauty.
“What an excellent notion,” Gillian said. “I wish I had thought of doing something like that, perhaps with a pearl gray or cream silk to line the rose.”
Their dominoes were exactly alike otherwise, for Dorinda’s maid had copied the pattern Meggie had given her. They wore their hair powdered, and the full-cut hooded silk cloaks covered them from head to toe. Loo masks fashioned from matching materials completed their costumes.
The gardens were alive with merrymakers, most of whom were dressed in a similar way. Festoons of lamps adorned with artificial flowers were hung from the trees and around the canal, and in the Rotunda the chandeliers were ornamented with natural flowers. The curtains that hung over the lower boxes had already been drawn to reveal supper tables, decorated with more candles and baskets of flowers.
Their party gathered by supper boxes previously reserved to their use by lords Dawlish and Crawley, and Gillian saw at once that Thorne was not there. Crawley, stepping forward with Corbin to greet them, said, “Thorne agreed to bring my mama and sister so that I could come on ahead. His parents mean to join us later too.” He grinned. “His grace declined the honor of attending the masque, but he was willing to attend Mr. Ashley’s concert.”
Gillian returned his smile. The thought of Langshire carrying a loo mask was ridiculous. “It was kind of his lordship to offer his services to your mama,” she said.
“It was.” He grimaced. “My idiotic sister invited Dacres to accompany them and told him to come a half hour later than I’d instructed. However, perhaps something will come of that.”
“I have seen her with him a number of times, sir,” Gillian said. “They make a charming couple.”
“I hope they may. He is worth forty thousand a year!”
Gillian chuckled. “You do not fool me, sir. You pretend you care only for money, but I doubt that you would encourage your sister to wed a man she did not like, just for his income.”
“It is to be hoped she likes him, then. I had hoped for a time that Corbin might cast a glance her way, but he’s been blind to every other chit since he first clapped eyes on the fair Dorinda. I only hope she does not disappoint him.”
Gillian feared his hope was misplaced, but on the whole his words reassured her. If he had wanted his sister to marry his friend despite Corbin’s lack of fortune, she had been right about him all along. A moment later, she saw the duchess strolling toward them, on the arm of her imperious husband.
Behind them, clad in biscuit-colored, tigh
t-fitting knee breeches, Hessian boots, and a dark blue coat under a black domino, came their son with Crawley’s mama and sister, and Lord Dacres. Thorne looked at her a bit searchingly, she thought, but turned away at once when Dorinda spoke his name. With a sigh Gillian moved forward to make her curtsy to the duke and duchess.
11
THORNE BENT HIS HEAD to hear what Dorinda was saying to him, but his attention was still fixed upon Gillian. She was looking particularly fetching, for she had put down her loo mask and in the golden glow of the myriad candles that lit the Rotunda, the deep rose color of the domino emphasized the color in her cheeks. He wanted to see her eyes, to see what color they were tonight, but she had scarcely paid any heed to his arrival. Clearly she was still at outs with him, despite the fact that she had finally condescended to reply to one of his notes of apology.
“My lord, you are not attending,” Dorinda said, teasing him.
He straightened and smiled, collecting his wits. “Forgive me, Miss Ponderby. Something distracted me. It is an unacceptable excuse, I know. What was it you were saying?”
“Only that the night is already far more pleasant than the day has been, sir,” she said demurely. “’Twas a pity to have to come inside the Rotunda, though it is indeed a marvelous place, is it not? Oh, look! There are the queen and four of the princesses yonder in that box covered in scarlet fringed with gold.”
“Did you have an unpleasant day?” he asked, looking dutifully in the direction she indicated and wishing at the same time that she weren’t such a prattlebox. She was more beautiful than Gillian, but somehow Gillian had much more countenance.
Dorinda said, “I was referring only to the weather, my lord. It has been a prodigiously gloomy day, has it not?”
“It has,” he agreed, glancing over to where Gillian was deep in conversation with Crawley and wondering what the devil Crawley could have said to her to make her eyes twinkle so. Whatever it was, her stepmother seemed not to have heard it. Lady Marrick was watching the crowd almost as if she searched for someone in particular, and Thorne wondered if Marrick had expressed the intent to abandon his gaming tables for the night to join them.