by Gayle Buck
"Roland! Have you never had an irresistible urge to do something outrageous or—or dangerous? Just to feel alive and free?" asked Belle, trying to express something of the staggering emotions that were bottled up inside her. She thought if she didn't do something she was going to explode.
Comprehension dawned on Roland's face. He slid an earnest glance al her. "Now, Belle, just because Angus and I have been tossing around the notion of finding out how fireworks are made doesn't mean that we are actually going to build some! How did you find out, anyway?"
Belle shook her head impatiently. "I don't care about any silly fireworks! In fact, I detest them!"
"You do?" He regarded her in amazement. "Why, everyone tikes fireworks!"
Belle was recalling that humiliating night at Vauxhall Gardens. Suddenly an idea came to her. She could return to Vauxhall, the scene of that terrible terror she had felt, and regain her self-respect by doing something that others of her social class would not dare. She rounded on her companion. "Roland, I want to go to the public masquerade at Vauxhall Gardens."
"Well, of course you do. So does Clarice, and so do Angus and I," said Roland with a shrug. "But that doesn't mean that you can go."
"I am going," declared Belle.
His jaw dropped slightly and he shook his head. "You can't possibly. Your aunt will never allow it."
Belle turned back to the view of the boulevard ahead of her. "I shan't tell her, of course. I mean to sneak away, Roland."
"You can't!" he exclaimed with horror. At Belle's sideways glance and curling smile, he amended hastily, "What I mean to say is, you shouldn't! What if you were caught, alone and unescorted? It might ruin you, Belle."
"I don't care for such paltry stuff!" said Belle, the memory of a certain gentleman's warm smile in her mind's eye, while her heart felt as though it was being squeezed. "I'm going!"
Roland reached out and took hold of her bridle, pulling her mount to a stop. Belle looked at him in surprise, for never before had he taken such a liberty. She was equally astonished by the set look of his mouth.
Resolutely, he said, "If you're set on it, Belle. I'll go with you. I won't let you risk yourself alone."
"Thank you, Roland! You are the best of friends!" exclaimed Belle, catching up her reins again.
"No, I am not!" retorted Roland irritably. "I am drunk!"
* * * *
Belle surveyed the crowd through the slits of her mask. A smile trembled on her lips. The masquerade was just as exciting as she had thought it would be. A thousand lamps had been lit in the gardens, making the grounds a mysterious fairyland. Entrance was costlier than a dinner would have been, Roland had informed her, grumbling. She had not heeded her reluctant escort but merely drew him onward. She had been hesitant at first, but when no one seemed to recognize her or Roland through their disguising silk dominoes, Belle had felt nothing but anticipation for the evening.
Music was a mere backdrop to the din of laughter, the buzz of conversation, and the glittering pageantry of costumes and obscuring dominoes. The supper boxes were filled with various parties, many obviously of a lower social class than Belle was used to. She noticed how her escort eyed those around them with a distinct air of disapproval, but she thought he was being priggish.
She turned to watch masked couples whirling about in lively dance. "Oh, how marvelous!" she exclaimed. "How I would like to join them!"
"Will you dance, ma'am?" asked Roland, reluctant but game.
"Yes, let's!" As her partner squired her into the midst of the milling couples, Belle said, "Oh, Roland, I am so glad that we came!"
Her escort hissed in warning and looked around quickly to see if her words had garnered any interest. He was relieved that no one seemed to be paying attention to them. "No names, ma'am! We don't wish to be recognized!"
Belle laughed as he twirled her into the intricate step. "I am sorry! I forgot for a moment in all of the excitement."
"Well, no harm done," he said comfortably. He grinned suddenly. "It is rather amusing, isn't it?"
Suddenly a large hand came down on his shoulder, making him jump and glance hastily around. He and Miss Weatherstone stopped in the midst of the swirling couples to stare at the unknown gentleman swathed in a domino. "Yes?" inquired Roland haughtily.
"Greetings, cousin."
He looked closely at the masked gentleman who had accosted them. "Adam! By all that's wonderful, what are you doing here?"
"I could ask you the same. This is not the sort of entertainment I thought would appeal to you," said Lord Ashdon. He spared a glance at his cousin's partner, and his tone became biting. "Nor would I ever have believed you so lost to propriety."
A flush mounted to Roland's cheeks, merging with the bottom of his satin mask. He stood his ground, however, and stepped to the side so that he partially shielded his partner from the viscount's wrathful gaze. "You are right, of course. It was poor judgment on my part."
Belle was angered by the viscount's manner. "It wasn't Rol—your cousin's fault, my lord. I made him escort me here tonight. I haven't been to a masquerade before."
"And has it measured up to your expectations. Miss— ma'am?" asked Lord Ashdon.
Belle tossed her head. "Up until this moment, it has indeed!"
"Then you are a sad romp, ma'am!"
As Belle gasped indignantly, Roland leaped into the breach. "We shall leave at once, of course."
"I am not leaving! Not just yet!" exclaimed Belle wrathfully. She could scarcely believe the viscount's arrogance. He had practically ignored her for a fortnight and now suddenly he appeared, like some avenging guardian, and had the audacity to quite ruin her evening.
"You will no doubt agree with me, cousin, that I can better handle a recalcitrant trooper than yourself," said Lord Ashdon.
"Well, of course! There can be no doubt of that," stammered Roland, somewhat confused.
"Then you will understand why I shall escort the lady home," said Lord Ashdon shortly.
"I don't wish to go anywhere with you!" exclaimed Belle furiously.
Roland met his cousin's hard glance, then turned an apologetic look to Belle. "I am sorry. It's best this way, I think. Good night, ma'am." He lifted her fingers to his lips in a polite salute.
Belle clung to his hand and whispered urgently, "You can't leave me like this!" She couldn't believe it when he merely smiled again and shrugged, before walking away to be swallowed up by the crowd.
She felt the viscount's hand close on her elbow and she turned on him, shaking free. "How dare you, sir!"
"Are you in need of help, my lady?" A rather heavyset gentleman appeared, eyeing the couple through his mask.
"Yes!" exclaimed Belle recklessly. "I don't wish to go with this gentleman."
"Don't make things worse than they already are, Belle," murmured Lord Ashdon in her ear. He had taken her elbow again, and this time she could not pull free. "Look carefully at your knight, my dear."
"Unhand the pretty little thing, you," drawled the other gentleman.
Belle, startled by the viscount's words, looked quickly at the gentleman. He was attired in a black domino, which had fallen carelessly open to reveal a disordered shirtfront and an outrageously striped waistcoat. The gentleman was masked, but there was a cut on his upper lip and he was absently sucking on a bloodied knuckle. There was a boldness in his eyes, besides, that Belle disliked. He certainly did not engender confidence in her.
"Er—on second thought, I should like to go with you, my lord," Belle said to Ashdon, halting her efforts to pull away from the viscount.
"My lord, is it? Well, pretty one, lord or no, you've called on my services, and by Jove, you'll have 'em. And then we'll find somewhere to be cozy together. How does that sound?" said the gentleman, with a definite leer.
Belle stepped a little closer to Lord Ashdon. "No, thank you," she said politely. "I prefer my present escort."
The gentleman's face flushed abruptly. "Turning me away, pretty one? We'll see abou
t that!" He reached out and grabbed at Belle's shoulder.
She cried out as she felt the weight of the stranger's clutching fingers. Then Lord Ashdon stepped past her, a blur flew from him, and the stranger staggered back, crying out in pain. His hands covered his nose. "You broke my nose, you bastard! You broke my nose!"
"Come along. Miss Weatherstone," said Lord Ashdon softly.
Belle did not need any urging. She hurried along beside him as he wove their way through the crowd. The angry cries followed in their wake for a few seconds, making Belle nervous that the stranger would catch up with them. She threw a couple of anxious glances over her shoulder, but she did not see the stranger and she was relieved when his voice receded.
As she and Lord Ashdon emerged from the gardens, she said earnestly, "Thank you, my lord. That was very well done."
"It would not have needed doing if you hadn't been so foolish," said Lord Ashdon.
Belle bit back the instant retort that came to her lips. After a moment, she said meekly, "Quite right, my lord. It was my fault entirely."
Lord Ashdon glanced down at her without expression. "My carriage is over here, ma'am." He helped her up into the carriage and told the driver the direction before settling onto the seat and closing the door.
Belle had been doing some thinking, and now she asked her most pressing question. "How did you know I was here, my lord?"
"Roland told me, of course," said Lord Ashdon.
"Roland!" Belle was confounded. "But I don't understand—
"There can be little doubt of that, Miss Weatherstone," said Lord Ashdon with some bite. "My cousin is a gentleman of conscience. He was very bothered by the prospect of this night's entertainment, and he came to me to ask my advice. Naturally he named no names and, in fact, pretended that it was someone else who was contemplating this madcap escapade, but I was well able to read between the lines. I went by his place earlier, and when I did not find him home, as he had said that he would be, I suspected that I would find him here. What I did not expect was to find you here as well, Miss Weatherstone!"
Belle blinked back angry tears as she heard the amazed contempt in his voice. "Oh, my lord? And why was that?" she asked with a semblance of dignity.
Lord Ashdon was silent a moment. Then he sighed. "I had thought you to be quite otherwise, Miss Weatherstone. I had thought you were a well-bred, proper young lady, with whom I had enjoyed many hours of pleasant conversation. I thought that the enjoyment had been mutual. You may imagine my disillusionment when I learned differently! And now, to discover that you are a sad romp into the bargain!"
Belle did not reply. She turned her head and stared out the window, too upset to make sense of her tumbling thoughts and emotions. Her hands were clasped tightly in her lap.
When the carriage stopped, Lord Ashdon opened the door and got out. He held out his hand to help her down, but Belle gathered her skirt and stepped down without his help. She did not think that she could bear any gesture of civility from him, not when she knew what hypocrisy it really was. Lord Ashdon thought her beneath contempt. Very well, then, let him! She hurried up the steps and entered the town house.
Lord Ashdon did not leave immediately. After ushering her into the sitting room, he held a low-voiced conversation with the manservant who had opened the door. He came back into the sitting room and shut the door behind him. "I have sent word up to your aunt that you were indisposed and so I escorted you home from your party," he said.
Belle turned away from him. "I see. I am grateful that you have spared me embarrassment with the servants, my lord."
"Rather, I have spared your guardians," corrected Lord Ashdon.
Belle felt his clipped words cut to the heart. She said nothing, but moved away to stare into the fireplace, her head bowed as she looked into the flames.
It was not a minute or two before Mrs. Weatherstone swept into the sitting room. She glanced at Lord Ashdon and then toward her niece as she closed the door behind her. "I received your message, my lord. I am profoundly grateful to you for your discretion."
"I suspected that you were unaware of Miss Weatherstone's absence from the house, but I did not want to say so to the servant," said Lord Ashdon.
"My lord, what happened?"
Lord Ashdon gave a brief account of what had transpired, leaving out the incident with the stranger who had challenged him. Mrs. Weatherstone thanked him profusely, then the viscount took his leave. Belle said not a word the entire time and only turned toward her aunt once the door had closed behind Lord Ashdon.
"My word, Belle! What were you thinking?" exclaimed Mrs. Weatherstone, staring at her niece in great dismay. "Your reputation! The whole Season has been jeopardized!"
"I know how wrong it was of me, Aunt. And indeed, I am very sorry," said Belle, holding on to her temper and fighting back tears. She was still smarting from Lord Ashdon's biting stricture, and it was difficult to show her aunt a contrite attitude.
Mrs. Weatherstone paid scarce attention to her niece's apology. She paced back and forth, her face and movements agitated. "I am extremely grateful to Lord Ashdon. He acted just as he should have. I don't know what we would have done otherwise. I trust that his lordship will keep his promise and that no word of this deplorable affair will be cast abroad."
"Lord Ashdon will not say anything," said Belle, fully confident of it. She instinctively knew that the viscount was a man of his word. However much she had resented his highhandedness while she was with him, she could now appreciate that Lord Ashdon had had only her best interests at heart. She was grateful to him for that much, at least.
Mrs. Weatherstone rounded on her niece. Her blue eyes sparkled with worry and anger. "Let us hope that Lord Ashdon will be able to enforce silence upon his cousin, Mr. White, as well! Really, Belle, how could you have behaved so thoughtlessly, so reprehensibly? I don't know how I am to trust you again."
"I have learned my lesson, Aunt Margaret," said Belle in a tense voice, her hands tightly clasped.
"So I should hope! I don't know what your uncle will say when I inform him of this. We have never been faced with this sort of contretemps before," said Mrs. Weatherstone. She looked over at Belle as though she had never really seen her before. "Perhaps it was a mistake to bring you to London so soon. Perhaps we should have waited until you had spent more time with us, until we had grown to know one another better."
Belle felt that her already wounded heart could bear no more. She knew that her aunt was not only expressing regret for ever accepting responsibility for her but also comparing her to her sister, Cassandra. Belle's throat closed tight as she fought back tears. In a choked voice, she said, "I am sorry, Aunt. May I be excused now? I should like to go up to my room."
Mrs. Weatherstone gestured her helplessness. "Yes, we shall do better to discuss this matter in the morning," she said in a tired, resigned voice. She walked over to her niece and kissed her. Without looking at Belle's face, she turned away. "Sleep well, Belle."
Belle fled, the hot tears beginning to course down her face. Fear was a knot in her stomach. She didn't know what the final outcome of her folly would be. Her aunt seemed to have come to a place where she questioned the wisdom of continuing with the Season and actually seemed to be on the verge of washing her hands of her.
Belle's thoughts tumbled on as she gained the sanctuary of her bedroom. Perhaps her aunt and uncle would decide to send her packing back to the Hall and her grandfather. That would be humiliation indeed, for she had been determined to make a successful come-out. Now, through her own thoughtlessness and rebellion, her entire status had been placed in question.
Lord Ashdon would not miss her, thought Belle. His lordship had been noncommittal toward her once he had finished lecturing her. No doubt he would be relieved to hear that she had been sent home. The viscount detested her, and she had no one but herself to blame.
Belle threw herself across the bed, fully clothed, and wept miserably.
Chapter 13
L
ord Ashdon was not surprised when his cousin came to call on him the following morning. Since he was an early riser and did not spend a great deal of time on his wardrobe, he was nearly fully attired, in a white shirt, waistcoat, and pantaloons, before Roland sent in his card. The viscount was in the process of pulling on his gleaming Hessians when his guest was shown in.
Lord Ashdon stood up, stamping his stockinged feet firmly into his boots, and looked unsmilingly at his cousin. "Well, Roland? You surprise me."
Roland blinked at the trim, well-muscled figure before him. "My word, Adam. You would display to advantage at Jackson's."
Lord Ashdon took the blue frock coat that his valet was holding out and shrugged into it. "No doubt. You have not stirred yourself at such an early hour to discuss pugilistics with me, though, have you?"
"No, I—" Roland was so appalled by his cousin's ability to get into his coat without assistance that his thoughts were entirely diverted from his purpose. "I say, Adam, you really should have your coats cut by Weston."
"Spare me, Roland. Your aunt has been telling me ever since I set foot in the house that I should stop using Schultz," said Lord Ashdon with a small smile. He gestured for the valet to leave them.
Roland showed a tinge of alarm. "I had hoped not to disturb my dear aunt with my visit," he said hastily, throwing a glance at the retreating valet.
"Rest easy, cousin. I am not sending word of your arrival to her ladyship. My mother is still abed and will be until noon," said Lord Ashdon. His smile grew a little wider. "Now that I think about it, Roland, you are very much like her."
Roland was momentarily bereft of speech. He cleared his throat. "I see what it is, Ashdon. You are punishing me a little with these barbs. Well, I deserve it, and probably worse."
Lord Ashdon leaned a shoulder against one of the massive bedposts and crossed his arms over his wide chest. He was no longer smiling as he looked steadily at his cousin. "I am delighted that you are aware of that fact," he said.
Under that unblinking, considering regard, Roland felt that his neckcloth was becoming too tight and put up one finger to loosen its folds. "You must be aware why I have come, Ashdon."