Ashleigh shook her head. “Unfortunately Nicholas is meeting with his new estate manager, Mr. Cummings, this morning and I promised Tiffany that I would accompany her to the dressmakers for her final costume fitting. Besides, I think Justin is looking forward to having you all to himself.”
“Costume fitting?”
“For the Richfield’s masquerade ball tomorrow night,” Ashleigh clarified.
“Ah.”
“You are going to attend, aren’t you?”
He cringed. “I hadn’t planned to, no.”
Ashleigh frowned. “Brendon, I know you tend to avoid Society gatherings, and for the most part I cannot say that I blame you, but the Richfield masquerade is the highlight of the Season. You simply must go,” she continued, “for absolutely everyone will be there.”
Everyone? His thoughts immediately turned to Daphne. If everyone would be there, then surely Daphne would be there too.
“Brendon?”
He blinked, refocusing his attention on Ashleigh. “Yes, of course. The Richfield masquerade, everyone will be there.”
Ashleigh grimaced at the obvious lack of interest in his tone.
“Well, perhaps not everyone,” he continued with a meaningful arch of his brow.
“Fine, suit yourself,” Ashleigh said, sighing dramatically. “I suppose I shall simply have to come up with a plausible excuse for your nonattendance then, for I am sure to be inundated with question after question regarding your absence. Not that anyone is likely to believe whatever excuse I put forward,” she continued with an exaggerated frown, “for I have been forced to make so many already.”
Brendon was tempted to chuckle at his sister-in-law’s blatant attempt to guilt him into attending, but wisely he held it in. “You know, as everyone will undoubtedly be in costume, you could just tell them that I am in attendance and surely none would be the wiser,” he said with a perfectly straight face.
“Brendon-”
He grinned, holding up his hand. “Alright, alright, I’ll consider it.”
The transformation on Ashleigh’s face was instantaneous. “Oh how wonderful! I knew you’d change your mind,” she replied cheerfully.
He shook his head, fighting the urge to simply throw up his hands in defeat. “Actually, I believe what I said was that I would consider it.”
Ashleigh continued on as if she hadn’t heard him. “You’ll need a costume, of course.”
Brendon groaned, but fortunately he was spared from further discussion as his nephew reentered the room with a tweed, flat-billed cap positioned dutifully atop his head.
“May we go now, Uncle Brendon?” Justin asked, hastening to his uncle’s side and reaching for his hand.
“Indeed, my boy, let’s be off,” Brendon responded, eager to shelve the conversation at hand as well as thoughts of Daphne and turn his attention to his and Justin’s upcoming adventure. And so, grinning, he allowed his energetic nephew to tug him in the direction of the door.
“Be on your best behavior, dearest, and be sure to mind your uncle,” Ashleigh advised her young son as the pair made their way from the room. “And don’t eat too many sweets,” she cautioned, calling out after them, “or you’re sure to get a stomachache.”
A few minutes later, once he and Justin were comfortably seated in his stylish, blue-lacquered curricle, they were off, the two matched greys harnessed to the front tossing their heads spiritedly as Brendon gently flicked the reins and steered them into the slow moving traffic.
Once they were free of the narrow, residential street the horses quickly picked up speed, much to Justin’s obvious delight. His youthful enthusiasm was thoroughly engaging and highly infectious, causing Brendon to laugh aloud as the boy called to the horses, urging the pair to an even faster pace. Feeling better than he had in days, Brendon’s spirits continued to rise as they moved steadily in the direction of the London zoo. For knowing that all he had to concern himself with for the next several hours was keeping his young nephew entertained, was a welcome and much needed relief.
Seated in one of the Warrene’s small upstairs sitting rooms just a few blocks from the Duke and Duchess of Sethe’s residence, Daphne struggled to pay attention as Amelia and Lizzie continued to chatter and giggle about their wonderful new beaus and their grand dreams for the future. Doing her best to disguise her own disconsolate emotions, she forced herself to smile and laugh along with them, when all she really wanted to do was curl into a ball and cry.
“I simply cannot wait to see Maxwell in his Viking costume tomorrow night,” Amelia exclaimed. “You were so clever to suggest it, Daphne.”
Daphne blinked, the sound of her name immediately bringing her focus back to the conversation at hand. They were discussing the Richfield masquerade ball, the much-anticipated Society event being held the following evening. “With his coloring and large physique he will surely portray the part of the noble savage to perfection,” Daphne responded with an amused smile. “However, as he is such a pleasant sort by nature, you shall likely have to remind him to glower and scowl upon occasion.”
“Daphne’s quite right,” Lizzie said laughingly to her sister, “for I don’t know that I have ever seen Lord Haywood without a smile upon his handsome face.”
“Yes, I suppose I shall,” Amelia agreed with a grin, “but only from time to time, for I confess that I have become quite partial to his smile,” she continued, the comment causing the other girls to grin as well.
“And what of Lord Palmerston?” Daphne queried a moment later, turning to Lizzie. “Has he given you any hints as to the costume he’s chosen?” She knew from a previous conversation that Lizzie and Lord Palmerston had playfully challenged one another to see which of them could identify the other first at the masquerade, and considering the hundreds of costumed guests who would surely be milling about the Richfield’s ballroom it wouldn’t be an easy task.
“Not a one,” Lizzie replied with an overly-dramatic frown.
“Not that she truly wants one,” Amelia whispered to Daphne in an overly dramatic tone, “for she intends to let Lord Palmerston win, as he has requested a kiss be her forfeit if she should lose the challenge.”
“Amelia,” Lizzie gasped, her cheeks blushing scarlet.
“Oh hush silly. It’s only Daphne and she won’t tell anyone.”
“No, of course I won’t.”
“Well alright then, tis true,” Lizzie admitted with a small, secretive smile. “I do intend to let him win.”
“Good for you,” Daphne replied with an answering grin. Grasping Lizzie’s hand she gave it an encouraging squeeze. She was happy for her, she truly was.
“You don’t think me terribly wicked?” Lizzie asked a touch bashfully.
“Of course not,” Daphne assured her.
“Don’t be a ninnyhammer, Lizzie,” Amelia said laughingly. “If Lord Haywood had suggested a similar challenge I would likely be doing very the same thing,” she asserted with an impish grin.
“Alright then, I suppose I’m not too terrible. But that’s enough talk about that,” Lizzie said a little laugh and a dismissive wave of her hand. “I think there is something else we need to discuss,” she continued, turning to Daphne with a pointed expression.
“Involving me?”
“Yes, you.”
Daphne shrugged. “What about me?”
“While Amelia and I have been going on about Lord Haywood and Lord Palmerston for weeks now, you haven’t expressed the slightest interest in any of the gentlemen of our acquaintance,” she stated in a matter of fact tone. “Isn’t there anyone to whom you’ve taken a liking?”
“Daphne, the Season is nearly halfway through and you haven’t expressed a genuine interest in any of your suitors,” Amelia added. “Is there really no one who’s caught your fancy?”
“I…well,” she faltered, the question catching her off guard.
“Surely someone must have caught your eye by now,” Lizzie asserted.
In that moment Daphne
wished more than anything that she could tell her friends about her engagement to the Earl of Blackburn and about the charade she’d been acting out for the past weeks, for she desperately needed someone to confide in. But even so, she didn’t dare. Amelia and Lizzie would want to help in any way they could, but there was no point, for there was nothing that either of them could do. Besides, the truth would only elicit their pity, and undoubtedly cast a pall over their happiness, neither of which she wanted. And she certainly couldn’t tell them about Brendon. So instead, she played their questions off with a pretense that she was becoming far too good at enacting.
“Regrettably no,” she dissembled with a heavy, melodramatic sigh, “but I haven’t given up hope. Perhaps I shall find him at tomorrow night’s masquerade,” she continued, forcing a lightness to her voice and an overly bright smile to her face, “in the guise of a king, or a poet, or mayhap a chivalrous knight.”
“Oh yes,” Lizzie exclaimed excitedly. “Perhaps you will find the man of your dreams there, a masked stranger who will woo you first with his words and then overpower your senses with his devilish good-looks when he removes his mask and reveals his true identity.”
“Wouldn’t that be simply marvelous,” Amelia breathed, her eyes wide with excitement.
Daphne merely nodded her head, for what Lizzie and Amelia didn’t know was that she had already found the man of her dreams, a man whose touch set her afire, a man she loved with all of her heart, but alas, a man who would never be hers.
Chapter 11
With Charlotte’s urging, Daphne had chosen to dress as Queen Guinevere for the Richfield’s masquerade ball. Now, having donned the costume just moments ago, she stood before the tall cheval mirror in her bedchamber, critically studying her reflection. Her gown was beautiful, simple but elegant. It was made of emerald-green velvet, had an embroidered square-cut bodice, long flowing sleeves and a burgundy-colored underskirt, all of which were trimmed with an abundance of lustrous gold braid that sparkled and shimmered when the light hit it just right. Atop her head she wore a golden crown that Charlotte had helped to adorn with paste jewels of varying shapes and colors and her hair fell in a mass of loose curls down the middle of her back. All in all, she had to admit that her appearance was quite regal-looking and seemed to fit the part nicely.
“What do you think?” she asked, turning from the mirror to face her sister.
Sitting upon the edge of Daphne’s bed, Charlotte clapped her hands gleefully. “Oh Daphne, you look magnificent, just how I imagined Queen Guinevere would look in real life.”
“Indeed, my lady, you look perfect,” Sarah agreed.
“Thank you both,” Daphne said, smiling graciously as she moved to retrieve her gold embroidered mask from atop the vanity table, “for the kind compliments as well as the assistance with my costume.”
“I cannot wait until I am old enough to attend a masquerade ball,” Charlotte exclaimed, her eyes wide with excitement as she watched Daphne lift the mask to her face.
“And which character will you choose to go as when the time comes?” she asked as Sarah stepped toward her, reaching up to tie the gold satin ribbons together at the back of Daphne’s head.
“Why Snow-White of course,” Charlotte replied after only a second’s hesitation. “Or perhaps Rose-Red.”
Daphne grinned. “I should have known.”
“There you are, my lady, all set,” Sarah said as she finished securing Daphne’s mask.
“Thank you, Sarah,” she said, before turning back to her sister. “Shall we go and see if Thomas has finished donning his costume,” she asked, casting one last glance toward the mirror as Charlotte hopped down from the bed.
They found him in the hallway. Having just exited his bedchamber, he walked toward them with a disgruntled expression upon his handsome face. Dressed as Shakespeare’s Romeo, he wore a feathered hat upon his head, a starched white ruff around his neck, a red-velvet doublet with long puffed sleeves and adorned with lavish gold embroidery, and a pair of short velvet breeches that fell to a point just above his knees, lined and stuffed so that they flared out around his hips and thighs. In addition, a pair of tight-fitting, gold-colored tights encased his legs and a pair of gold-buckled shoes adorned his feet.
“God’s teeth, how any man could stand to dress like this is beyond me,” he grumbled as he made his way toward them, raising his hand to tug ineffectually at the pleated ruff.
Daphne was tempted to chuckle at her brother’s obvious discomfort, for she knew that it was Prudence Flemming’s decision to attend the masquerade as Juliet that had prompted Thomas’ choice of costume, but wisely she refrained from expressing her amusement aloud.
“I think you look splendid,” Charlotte stated, smiling with artless conviction as she gazed admiringly upon Thomas’ extravagant attire.
“Yes, I’m sure Miss Flemming will be duly impressed,” Daphne agreed with a perfectly composed expression.
“Indeed,” Charlotte seconded.
Looking slightly mollified, Thomas finally dropped his hand from the bothersome ruff. “Do you think so?”
“Oh yes, I’m quite certain of it.” With Prudence’s decided lack of suitors, Thomas was well on his way to securing the young lady’s hand, his only competition a handful of dissolute fortune hunters like himself, none of whom possessed both his persuasive charm and winning good-looks, however.
“Well, I suppose I can bear it for one evening.”
Not surprisingly, Thomas made no mention of Daphne’s appearance as they continued along the hall, made their way downstairs and prepared to take their leave, for as usual his entire focus was upon himself.
Bidding farewell to Charlotte a few minutes later, Daphne assured her that she would tell her all about the masquerade the following morning, before sending her back upstairs to ready herself for bed.
When the Hewitt coach neared the Richfield residence some twenty minutes later, the line of carriages waiting to discharge their occupants stretched in a long, slow-moving column that circled around the entire block. As such, by the time their conveyance reached the front of the queue, Thomas was in a fine fettle. Daphne, however, didn’t mind the delay as it only served to shorten the time she would have to spend performing her act under Blackburn’s ever watchful eye.
Once they were finally deposited at the front steps, though, Daphne had to admit to feeling just a tiny bit excited. It was her first masquerade ball after all, and gazing upon the sheer number of costumed guests, as well as the extraordinarily wide variety of characters and curiosities represented as they made their way inside was actually quite remarkable. In addition, the inherent challenge of attempting to discern which individual’s features were hidden behind the various masks seemed a rather enlivening undertaking, as did the task of keeping her own identity a secret.
“How the devil am I supposed to locate Miss Flemming in the midst of all this?” Thomas groused when they made their way into the ballroom a few minutes later, frowning as he scanned the hundreds of costumed guests circulating throughout the room.
“Perhaps you should begin your search near the refreshment table,” Daphne suggested, for that was usually where Miss Flemming’s mother preferred to station herself.
Thomas immediately turned his head in that direction. “Yes, that is probably the most logical place to start,” he agreed. “Are you coming?” he asked then, glancing back at her.
“Why don’t you go on ahead, I think I may have spotted Lizzie and Amelia just over there,” she fibbed, motioning to an indiscriminate area off to her right.
He nodded and then quickly moved off in search of his quarry, leaving Daphne to her own devices. Not surprisingly, playing the dutiful chaperone had never been a role to which he aspired.
Surveying the masses, it didn’t take her long to spot the Earl of Blackburn, despite the denseness of the crowd, for he had positioned himself just a short distance from the ballroom’s entrance. He was garbed as King Henry VIII as he appeared
in one of his latter portraits, his lavish costume replicating the king’s opulent attire in striking detail. Unfortunately, however, he spotted her as well, nodding his head in recognition, for per his request she had provided him with a detailed description of the garments she would be wearing. Having little doubt that he’d been watching for her arrival, the trifling bit of enthusiasm she’d felt just moments ago abruptly diminished, knowing as she did that she would be forced to bear the oppressive weight of his vigilant gaze from that moment on. Tipping her head in return, she could only hope that the sheer size of the assemblage would offer her an occasional reprieve from his weighty stare.
Entering the Richfield’s ballroom long after the festivities had already begun, Brendon was able to make his way into the crowd relatively unnoticed, just as he’d hoped. The costume he’d chosen was a simple one and perfectly suited to his needs. Attired in the guise of a highwayman, he was dressed in black from head to toe. Wearing a long, concealing cloak over his dark jacket and trousers, tall leather boots, a hat pulled low over his head and a simple, yet rather sinister looking mask to conceal his features he was well-nigh unrecognizable.
Moving slowly through the throng, he immediately began his search for any sign of his brother and sister-in-law, for the sooner as he was able to prove to Ashleigh that he had in fact made an appearance, the sooner he would be able to leave. But even so, as he progressed through the multitude of costumed guests he quickly realized that he was looking for someone else as well. For eyeing each young lady he passed by, he found himself scrutinizing their height, build, hair and eye color, invariably searching for that one particular combination that only Daphne possessed. Damn, he shouldn’t have come. But he had. He should leave, before it was too late. Unfortunately, however, the desire to see her, knowing she was there somewhere amongst the hundreds of masked individuals was like an irresistible lure, a temptation far too powerful to ignore. And so he stayed.
When Only a Rake Will Do Page 14