Regency Masquerade

by Joan Smith

  “I fear that is impossible,” he said reluctantly. “We have everything arranged for tonight. I am not alone in this, Moira. I have to consider my partners.”

  A little thrill raced along her veins to hear him call her by her own name. “Perhaps I can talk him into giving me the money tonight,” she said doubtfully

  “No, that will only alert him to mischief. Let your plans rest as they are.”

  “But I may lose out entirely. You said yourself he would be doubly suspicious after being duped once.”

  “I shall handle it.”

  “How?”

  “Did he put the money in Bullion’s safe?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then I know how to get hold of it. Pack your trunk and be ready to flee when I come for you.”

  “I must know what you plan to do, Mr. Hartly.”

  A reckless grin flashed. “I plan to shear a sheep. A black sheep. And now you must return below and simper and smirk at your fiancé. But you need not let him hold your hand.”

  “He is not my fiancé! I did not say I would marry him. I would as lief marry a rat.”

  “Your maidenly modesty forbids a quick capitulation. I assure you the major considers you his own. And I, for one, wish him every success.”

  On this strange speech, he lifted her hand to his lips and placed a warm kiss on her fingers.

  “I assure you I have no intention of marrying Stanby!”

  “You misunderstand me, Moira. I did not mean that major!”

  He gave her a strange smile, then left. The door to Jonathon’s room opened with a suspicious alacrity the moment he was gone, and Jonafhon stepped into the sitting room.

  “I could not help overhearing what Hartly said. It looks as if our troubles are over, Moira. I shall begin packing. Cheer up, old girl. This is the last time you must endure March’s company.”

  Moira stared at him as if in a daze. Her fingers tingled where Mr. Hartly had placed his lips on them. Should she try to get the money from Stanby tonight? It seemed an impossible thing to suggest. What would she do with such a sum, except leave it in the safe, where it already sat? Stanby would be bound to suspect if she kept it in her room. Could she trust Mr. Hartly, who was not Mr. Hartly at all but a total stranger? Did she have any option?

  “You had best stay up here, Jonathon. You have got red ink smeared on your other hand as well. It looks nothing like blood.”

  Moira returned belowstairs, but she was so nervous that she soon claimed a headache and went back upstairs, to continue her worrying there.

  Chapter Twenty

  At a quarter to twelve, Jonathon tapped at Moira’s door and entered, to find her sitting on the edge of her bed with her trunk packed. She and Jonathon had discussed the matter fully. Having little choice, she had decided to go along with Mr. Hartly’s suggestion.

  “I am going to follow them when they leave the inn,” Jonathon said. “They are meeting at the cove by Marchbank’s place. I figure if there is any trouble with the Gentlemen, I can let Cousin John in on it, and he will help out.”

  “I have been thinking and thinking,” Moira said distractedly. “I have written to Cousin Vera, telling her of the change of plans, for she expects us tomorrow. Take her my note, Jon, and warn Lord Marchbank what is afoot. It was reckless of Mr. Hartly to use Marchbank’s cove.”

  “It lends an air of authenticity to the thing, though.”

  “I am so nervous. Do you think we can trust Mr. Hartly?”

  “He is a right one,” Jonathon said warmly. “With him and Mott at the helm, nothing will go wrong. They have seen stronger action than this in the Peninsula.”

  “What do you mean? You said nothing of the Peninsula. Was Mr. Hartly in the army?”

  “Of course he was. He was a major. Did he not tell you?”

  “No!” A major! “The major considers you his own.” “I did not mean that major!” Was it possible . . . Her cheeks felt warm.

  “And Mott an officer as well. A crack shot. Whoever would have thought that man milliner would know how to use a gun? Well, I am off. Where is the letter?”

  Moira handed him the letter. She considered going with Jonathon but felt someone ought to remain at the inn with the money and the jewelry, in case Stanby had some sly plan to return before the others and run off with the lot.

  Jonathon rode to Cove House. It was a nice, scary ride, with the dark water shimmering on one side of the road and black trees whispering their menace on the other. Cove House was in total darkness, but he knew the back door was always left on the latch in case of an emergency with the Gentlemen. He entered and crept up to Lady Marchbank’s chamber. She was a light sleeper. Her husband’s career involved so many strange doings that she was not at all surprised to see Jonathon appear at her bedside at close to midnight. With a blink of her eyes she was wide-awake. She snatched her spectacles from the bedside table, read the note through, and said, “Marchbank ought to know about this.”

  “Yes, I want to speak to him.”

  They went together, Lady Marchbank wrapped in a faded woolen housecoat, with a cap tied under her chin.

  Marchbank listened to what Jonathon had to say and read Moira’s letter. “So that is what is afoot,” he said, nodding. “Moira ought to have told me.”

  “She did not want to lead Hartly to you. He could still report you, even if he ain’t a Revenue inspector. Not that he would, but we did not know the whole until tonight.”

  “I have lost two nights’ work for no reason,” Marchbank said. “Speak to Jack Larkin, in the stable, Jonathon. He will see young Hartly is not disturbed. If any of the Gentlemen come at night, Jack deals with them. But they have been told to lie low until Hartly leaves. Not a Revenueman, eh? That is good news. I dislike to think London is taking an interest in me.”

  Jonathon went down to the stable, where he found Jack Larkin napping, fully dressed, mounted on a bay mare. Jonathon jostled him awake and gave him Marchbank’s message. Larkin nodded and was soon asleep again. It was said of Larkin that he could sleep standing up and ride sound asleep.

  By the time Jonathon reached the cove, the Black Ghost had already arrived. Jon was sorry he had missed the arrival. The cluster of men— Stanby, Ponsonby, Hartly, and his batman, posing as the Black Ghost in a black hat, mask, and domino, stood in a circle with their heads bent. They were limned in charcoal against the silver sky, with a dog-starred moon high above and the rippling ocean below. The sight gave the strange illusion of some medieval ritual. Jonathon could not hear their words, but he could hear the light clink of gold as the bags were handed to the Black Ghost, who shook hands with them all in turn before leaping astride a huge black stallion. The horse reared on its hind legs, whinnying. The Black Ghost emitted one eerie laugh, raised his arm in farewell, and disappeared into the black shadows of night, leaving only the ghostly echo of horse beats behind.

  The remaining gentlemen began to climb up the embankment to recover their mounts. Jonathon turned back to the inn, to avoid being seen on the road in front of them. He was soon rushing into Moira’s room.

  “He did it! Hartly pulled it off. I wish you could have seen it, Moira. It was better than a stage play. They are on their way back here now. It won’t be long. Are you all set to leave?”

  “We cannot leave yet. Hartly has got his own money, and Ponsonby’s. He has not got mine. Stanby was putting up only twenty-five thousand. My money is still in Bullion’s vault.”

  Jonathon, caught up in the thrill of the moonlight escapade, had not thought of this.

  “I begin to think it was all a ruse to keep us from disturbing his plan, Jon,” Moira said grimly. “All Mr. Hartly cared about was his own money. He will leave the inn as soon as Stanby retires, collect his ill-got gains from the man acting the Black Ghost, and never be seen again. We have been outwitted.”

  “You have had too much time to sit, fretting,” Jon said. “You mistrust every man because Stanby is such a rotter. I shall run downstairs and see what i
s afoot. I can hide behind the sideboard in the passage outside the Great Room.”

  Jonathon could hear the merry laughter coming from the Great Room even before he reached the bottom of the stairs. Bullion was pouring brandy; the gentlemen were making toasts to their success and their new venture. He listened but could hear no clue to Hartly’s plan to help Moira. Jonathon did not believe for a moment that Hartly meant to leave him and Moira out in the cold. He did not have to warn them he meant to move tonight. They would never have guessed it. Since he had told them, and warned them to have their trunks packed, then obviously he meant to look after them.

  The sound of merriment rose higher. Ponsonby was singing now, a ribald song. His voice began to peter out. Jonathon peered into the room and saw that Ponsonby had passed out. Bullion was still filling the other gentlemen’s glasses. They were all putting it away at a great rate. Major Stanby began to weave to and fro, then sat on a chair with a jerky motion that suggested he had fallen rather than sat voluntarily.

  Within a minute, his head fell forward onto the table. Ponsonby rose from the floor like Lazarus rising from the dead.

  “Is he out?” he asked Hartly.

  Hartly put his finger to his lips to hush Ponsonby. He shook Stanby’s shoulder and said in a heavy voice, “Come now, Major, a toast to His Majesty.” The head on the table did not stir. The doctored brandy had done the job.

  Ponsonby took hold of Stanby’s hair and lifted his head, looked at his closed eyes, and let the head bounce unceremoniously onto the table. “Right, he’s out. Let’s go,” he said.

  Hartly grinned. He handed Bullion a jingling leather bag. “Bullion, you did well. If you would care to get the money out of the safe, I shall alert Lady Crieff we are ready to depart.”

  “I have something I want to put in the safe for Stanby,” Ponsonby said, and darted from the room.

  Jonathon ran quickly upstairs before he was seen. He did not tap on Moira’s door but just stuck his head in and said, “You was dead wrong, Moira. Hartly is getting your blunt now. He will be here in a minute. Now, ain’t you ashamed of yourself, not trusting him? I told you he was a right one.” Then he ran to his own room to call a servant to take down the trunks.

  Moira just stood, frozen to the spot. He was coming? He had told her the truth! Her ordeal was over. The two or three minutes until he came seemed an eternity. When the tap sounded at her door, she walked as one in a trance and opened it. Mr. Hartly came in and handed her a leather valise.

  “The money is there. Twenty-five thousand,” he said, opening the case to show her.

  She just looked at it. “Oh,” she said. After a moment she added, “Thank you, Mr. Hartly,” in a very small voice.

  “My pleasure, Miss Trevithick.” They stood, gazing at each other in the silent room.

  “It was very good of you,” she said stiffly. Her silvery eyes continued gazing uncertainly into his.

  A slow smile began at his lips and spread over his face. “Do you know, I have a feeling Lady Crieff would have been more forthcoming in her thanks,” he said, setting aside the valise and seizing her hand.

  “You must think I am horrid,” she said, blushing at the memory of past indiscretions.

  “Yes indeed. It was unspeakably vile of you to wish to recover what was stolen from you, to say nothing of your cowardice in tackling one of the greatest villains who ever blotted the face of England. We shall not even mention your wretched ingenuity in impersonating Lady Crieff, and doing it well enough to fool us all.”

  She smiled uncertainly at these ambiguous compliments. “Where will you go now?” she asked.

  “I had planned to return to Hanover Square when things are settled with Stanby.”

  “To Lord Daniel’s house?”

  ‘“Actually, to his father’s house. Lord Daniel is only a younger son of Lord Tremaine. The elder son does not usually enter the army.”

  “Lord Daniel was in the army?” she asked, as realization dawned. He nodded. “Was he, by any chance, a major?”

  “Just so.”

  “You?”

  “Guilty as charged. Will you go to Cove House, or home to Surrey?”

  “Do you think it would be safe to go home?”

  “Bow Street will be here by morning to take Stanby into custody. He is wanted in connection with dozens of crimes, including bigamy. He never was legally married to your mama, Moira, so you need not fear he has any claim to your money. We would have called Bow Street in earlier, except that some of his crimes are difficult to prove. The fifteen thousand he got from my cousin Robbie Sinclair, for instance, at a rigged game of cards. That is what brought me down to Blaxstead. Ponsonby’s family—his real name is Lord Everly, by the by—was fleeced by being sold shares in a nonexistent gold mine. The family gave up on recovering their blunt. Everly was told that if he could recover it, it was his. Stanby had never met him, so when he discovered that Stanby was here, he came after him, using a different name. He plans to leave the shares Stanby sold his papa in Bullion’s safe, along with the Crieff jewels. We would not want the major to be left empty-handed.”

  Moira listened, waiting to hear what crime Stanby had perpetrated on Hartly. “And you? Had you no personal interest in catching Stanby? I mean—Mott and Ponsonby and I all recovered our money. What do you get for all your work?”

  “I hope I get the girl?” he said questioningly, drawing her into his arms. Moira did not resist.

  As his lips found hers, she had the strange sensation that, while her head was spinning, her heart had stopped beating altogether. The embrace began as a light, tentative touching of the lips but soon escalated to scalding passion. His lips firmed as his arms tightened inexorably around her in a vicelike grip, nearly suffocating her. A wave of golden exultation unlike anything she had experienced before washed through her. It felt as though a big golden sun were shining, warming her to her very core.

  Hartly lifted his head and gazed at her with dark eyes. Then he lowered his head, and she felt a trail of fiery kisses over her eyes and ears. His palm brushed her fevered cheek and moved to cup her chin, tilting her head upward. She saw the tenderness of love glowing softly on her. “Do I get the girl?” he asked, in a ragged voice.

  A smile trembled on her lips. “Yes, if you want me. I cannot imagine what you would want with such a depraved creature.”

  His matching smile stretched to a grin. “You are sadly lacking in imagination, milady. I want—this,” he said, and kissed her again.

  Wrapped up in their love, they did not hear the door open. “I say!” Jonathon exclaimed joyously. “Does this mean he has asked you to marry him?”

  Moira drew away in embarrassment. “Certainly not!” she said. “I was just ... just thanking Mr. Hartly . . . that is, Major—I mean Lord Daniel. Oh, what should I call you?” she asked in confusion.

  “Call me ‘my fiancé,’ until we are married. That will solve the question.” When she opened her lips to object, he raised a finger. “No welshing on a bargain. You said I got the girl!”

  Jonathon rushed forward to pump Daniel’s hand. “I shall call you Daniel. Are you coming home with us, or are we going to your place?”

  “That will be up to my fiancée,” Daniel replied. “Eventually, we shall remove to Oakdene, my place in Sussex, when you are a little older, Jon.”

  “Oh, do come home with us first,” Jonathon said. “Moira is always saying we need a man around the place, and now that we have our blunt back, we can begin doing all the things that need doing. The roof needs releading, and there is that pasture Papa meant to tile, and—”

  Daniel nodded. “As I have an excellent bailiff, perhaps it would be a good idea to go to your place first. But before those decisions are made, I would like to take Moira to Cove House. There will be a certain amount of unpleasantness here tomorrow. We can leave for the Elms in a few days. Moira, does that suit you?”

  Moira did not care where she went, as long as she was with Daniel. “That will be fine,�
�� she answered in a daze.

  “Excellent. I want to take a couple of barrels of your cousin’s brandy back with me. I shall deliver you to Cove House now. Ring for someone to take down your trunks, Jon.”

  “I have already done it, but I do not want to go to Cove House with Moira. I should like to stay here,” he said. “I have never seen a Bow Street Officer. I daresay he will be carrying a gun. You shan’t forget to take me for a ride in your curricle, Daniel? You promised. You will let me take the ribbons when we get home, won’t you? Moira, you have not forgotten you promised I could have a curricle if we got our blunt back from March.”

  “For goodness’ sake, Jonathon,” Moira exclaimed. “Stop chattering. You make my head ache.”

  “But you will let me stay here with Daniel?”

  Daniel said, “If you are in the next room and very quiet, I daresay we shall forget you are there when Moira leaves.”

  Jon gave a cheeky grin. “Oh, you mean you want me to leave so you two can snuggle some more.”

  “Just so,” Daniel replied blandly.

  Jonathon left, and Daniel resumed his interrupted lovemaking.

  Copyright © 1994 by Joan Smith

  Originally published by Fawcett Crest (0449222764)

  Electronically published in 2008 by Belgrave House/Regency

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