“Actually, my friend is a much better tracker than I am, but we managed to find a fox trail. We followed it all the way to its cave.”
“Oh my! Were you scared?” Lady Pamela asked. “I would have been terrified!”
Adrian lowered his head to hide his smirk. He couldn’t have been scared; the event hadn’t actually happened. “My friend ran inside first. He fired his gun, and I rushed ahead, not wanting to miss all of the fun.”
Lady Theodosia winced at his word choice. He should have worded it better. Too late now.
“My friend had shot the fox in the leg. For some reason, he had his rifle turned around to butt the creature in the head. The fox reached for the rifle to bat it away, and the rifle went off again. Thankfully, I had shoved my stupid friend out of the way, so neither of us was injured by the blast.”
“Oh,” Lady Pamela breathed.
“I killed the fox, and that was that. It was also the last time that friend went hunting.”
They all laughed.
The ladies began to converse amongst themselves, and Adrian nodded and smiled. Thankfully, the other ladies left shortly thereafter. He didn’t bother to look at them as he said his adieus; then he sat back in the chair.
Lady Theodosia patted the seat beside her on the couch. “Sit here, please.”
“What game are you playing?”
“Pardon?” Her blue eyes grew wide, but her nose twitched slightly and a faint color painted her cheeks.
If she wouldn’t be forthcoming, perhaps he could trick her into sharing the truth. “You went to the masquerade ball yesterday. By yourself?”
“N-no.” Her eyes widened even more. “Of course not,” she added smoothly. “What lady would go to a ball without a chaperone? Why, did someone say otherwise?” Now her eyes narrowed, and she turned to face the door.
“Did you enjoy yourself?”
“I had a pleasant evening, yes. What is this all about?”
He leaned forward and placed his elbows on his knees. “Did you—”
“Lady Pamela went as well. You should have seen her. She’s a far better dancer than I am, I must admit.”
“Lady Pamela is not the one I am to spend the rest of my years dancing with,” he said pointedly.
Lady Theodosia’s lips twisted downward, and she stared at his shoes.
“Tell me why you want me to know so much about your friend instead of yourself.”
She lowered her eyelashes several times then smiled. “Of course I want my friends to get to know you.”
“So you would not be jealous in the least bit to know I danced with a friend of yours all night last night?”
Friend was a stretch, but he never heard of a lady sneaking a maid into a ball before, so their relationship had to be somewhat close.
“You did?” Her voice rose an octave.
“Yes. I’m sure that you can’t blame me.”
“No, no, certainly not.”
“And I’m sure you spent a great deal of time dancing yourself.”
Lady Theodosia stood. “I’m not feeling well myself. If you will excuse me … ” She hurried out of the room.
Adrian leaned back in the comfortable chair, his fingers tracing along the intricate design on the fabric. Lady Theodosia was hiding something. He was certain of it. Perhaps her secret, whatever it was, could help to null their pledge. Since she was most obviously pawning him off on her friend, she evidently wanted nothing to do with him. That she was playing games instead of speaking plainly was most infuriating. The next time he got the lady alone, he would demand answers.
Not ten minutes later, several servants struggled to bring in the Yule log. Adrian almost didn’t want it to be burned. He would have so few memories of Isabelle to hold him over for a lifetime without her. That one should be burned in front of him killed his hope, not that he had much to begin with.
He had followed the servants over to the grand fireplace and spied Isabelle lurking in a corner. When she saw him, her cheeks at first paled before blossoming to a precious rose color. She ducked out of the room.
Lady Theodosia approached, but Adrian excused himself and followed Isabelle. “Are you ill?” he whispered. He didn’t think she was, but he wanted to make certain. First his mother, now Isabelle …
She jumped and whirled around, her hand to her throat. “I’m quite fine, my lord. I have to fetch more food. You can go and relax. Enjoy the fire. I’m sure Lord Haywood will grant you the honor of lighting it with a lump of charcoal from last year’s Yule log. Have fun.”
Although he admired her backside, it was growing quite wearisome that she constantly turned away from him. Knowing better than to dare touch her, he maneuvered himself to block her path. “How can I have fun when I know you’re off serving others?”
Isabelle scoffed and brushed past him. “You have servants at home, I’m sure. You have no problem ordering them around,” she called over her shoulder.
True enough, her point was valid. He could deny her claim all he wanted, but they both knew it would be an untruth.
He heard footsteps behind him, and he relaxed his shoulders, having tightened up at his fight with Isabelle. The lady who claimed his heart seized the chance to run away.
Lady Theodosia reached toward his arm but lowered her hand without touching him. “Come, we’re going to light the Yule log in a few minutes.”
“A word please?”
“Everyone will be waiting.” She turned to retreat back toward the fireplace.
Why were ladies so insistent on leaving his side? Just two months ago, he had been surrounded by lady admirers at a ball. Now none wanted to talk to him, not the one he was engaged to, not the one he wished to be engaged to.
He applied light pressure on her back and forced her to enter her father’s empty study. “You don’t want to marry me.”
“Oh!”
“Is there another man?” he asked.
“I don’t … Where is this coming from?” Shock and sadness flashed across her features, quickly replaced with rage. She stepped away from him, around the large wooden desk, and slapped her hand on it. “Isabelle. The ‘friend’ you danced with. You fell for her!”
That she had pieced everything together stunned him into silence. Her nose in the air, she sauntered past him, and he made no move to stop her.
Well, that talk hadn’t gone as planned. Not at all.
Stumped as to what to do next, Adrian paced the floor, around the desk and the two chairs in front of it. A gentle knock halted him mid-circle.
“Lord Haywood sent me to fetch you,” Isabelle said, her spine so straight it had to pain her.
“Lady Theodosia doesn’t want to marry me.” Desperation bled into his voice.
“And what does that matter to me?”
“Stop being so cold.” Two long strides had him standing before her, inches separating them. “You know as well as I do that you care for me, and I you.”
“We hardly know each other.”
“Our hearts do.”
“You fell for a mysterious lady in a mask. That mask is gone now. All that remains is a simple maid with nothing to offer the world but fixing hair and dressing ladies and fetching food. And a surly groomsman who knows nothing of love.” Her chest heaved with each accusation she stated, her words carving into his heart like icicles. “You do not love me.”
“Ah, but you’re wrong.” Adrian lifted his hand to her face. She did not move to stop him or back away, so he touched her neck, then her cheek. Her eyes closed, and a soft sigh escaped her pouty lips. He longed to kiss them, but his honor forbade him to. Instead, he traced them with his finger. She could deny it all she wanted, until air failed her, but she would be lying. They belonged together. He knew it. She knew it too. “I do love you.”
Her eyes opened, and the depth of the pain he saw in those coffee orbs took his breath away. “No.”
“Yes. You challenge me like no other. You deserve so much more than a servant’s life. I want t
o know all about you, and your mother, what presents she gave you. I want to take you on a fox hunt—”
She had seemed to melt at his words until the last when she backed up into the hallway. “The Yule log.”
Curse him for reminding her of the differences between them, the only difference that mattered in the ever watchful eyes of society. But he wasn’t about to allow this talk to end poorly. Normally he was an excellent conversationalist. At least, that’s what his father claimed. Said Adrian could talk his way out of any trouble.
And trouble was exactly what he was in right now.
“The log isn’t big enough to burn for the entire twelve days; a few more minutes won’t be remiss.”
She pursed her lips.
“Look at me.” He was careful to keep the statement light, and not a command.
Isabelle did. She stared at him as if trying to memorize his face. “You have beautiful eyes,” she whispered.
He grinned at the compliment but figured it would be in his best interest not to return it. “You did not deny that Lady Theodosia does not wish to marry me,” he pointed out.
“I cannot speak for my lady.” Again, her back was stiff, and she stared at his chest, not his face.
He bent his knees so she was looking at his eyes. Her lips twitched upward before she lowered her gaze to his shoes.
“Oh, but I think you can.”
She glanced around the hallway before reentering the study. “She also enjoyed dancing with a man last night.”
“See, I knew you enjoyed dancing with me. Admit it—I was the best dancer you ever danced with.”
“That’s not saying much considering you’re the only male I ever danced with. Sabrina, another maid, taught me the cotillion. If not for her, we wouldn’t have been able to dance at all.”
“Then I should thank this Sabrina.”
“We don’t have time for this,” she hissed. “The problem lies with the man. Lady Theodosia knows not his name. I don’t even know if she would recognize his face. All we have to go on is his red hair and brown eyes. She’s besotted with him—“
“As you are me.”
“As you are me, but I don’t see what good can come of this knowledge. Are not the two of you to be wed on New Year’s Day?”
He shrugged. “I see no need for two people to be forced into marriage because their parents insist upon it when both parties have already found happiness elsewhere.” Adrian leaned forward. “You are my happiness.”
Then he strolled out of the study and to the fireplace, the image of the delight in Isabelle’s exquisite brown eyes enough to burn the fire of hope within his chest.
Despite his words, Adrian could not avoid Lady Theodosia any longer, and for now at least, he had to continue the charade of being her betrothed. But even she seemed to know it was an act, or merely showed subtle signs of it. She sat farther away from him than she had to. She would barely smile or laugh when he cracked a joke while her mother and father chuckled appreciably. When she did look his way, her blue eyes were cold.
Only then did it sink in that she had given up on optimism, resigned to their fate, pledged to his side via a shackle not yet broken.
He would uncover a means to destroy it, or else his eyes would be as frozen as hers.
The heat of the fire blasted toward him, yet he shivered, half convinced his body would never be warm again unless Isabelle was at his side. The notion of never being with her again suffocated him, and he coughed.
“Are you all right?” Lady Theodosia asked, her tone sardonic.
“Does my lady care?” he muttered.
“I most certainly do!” She sat up straight and stared her nose down at him, looking like a peacock he had once seen strutting across a grassy meadow, her neck the same as the colored bird’s.
Her parents glanced over. Before they could pick up on the tension growing quite palpable between them, Adrian held out his hand. “It’s lovely out. Would you care to join me for another walk outdoors? I would love to see more of the property.”
Lady Theodosia jutted out her chin. “I must have twisted my ankle earlier.” She bent down and rubbed her right shoe. “I’m afraid I must decline.”
Frustrating girl! She knew he wanted to talk to her, and she was not going to allow him to do so privately.
Well, then, he’d just have to do it in public.
Adrian stood, stretched, then sat back down, a fair amount closer to her, although not close enough to be deemed improper. “The fire is a wonder to watch. The heat, the roar … the flames. Why, it’s almost like a dance.”
Lady Theodosia’s face and neck tinged pink. “Not at all. It’s too unpredictable to be a dance.”
“Spontaneity is not evil,” he countered, referring to her invitation to Isabelle.
Her cheeks now deepened to a bright red; she knew exactly what he was referring to. Her eyes looked wet, which upset him. He had not intended to make her sorrowful, merely to get her to understand that he was on her side, whether she wanted him to be or not. Christmas equaled happiness, and he wasn’t going to make a lifelong pledge he wasn’t the least bit happy about, not if he could help it. Why she wouldn’t help, though, was beyond maddening.
“But let’s not talk about anything evil right now,” he added.
“Oh, good.” She did not relax her posture.
She didn’t trust him. He inwardly laughed. Lady Theodosia was a smart one. At times.
“What is your favorite color?” he asked.
Lady Theodosia blinked. “I know you want to get to know me, my lord, but my favorite color? You can’t come up with a more interesting question than that?” She managed to pull off a teasing tone, and to his relief, her parents began to converse amongst themselves, essentially ignoring them.
“I’m afraid not. Won’t you please enlighten me? Is it red?” He ran a hand through his brown hair. “Or brown?” He blinked once, then again, slowly, deliberately.
She jumped to her feet. “It’s too hot in here for me.”
“Are you all right?” Lady Haywood asked. Her small hands gripped the arms of her chair, ready to rush to her daughter’s aid.
“I’ll go,” Adrian offered, and hurried after his future wife.
The house was unfamiliar to him, but he found her easily. Catching up to her was also effortlessly accomplished. She was just passing her father’s study when he nudged her elbow.
Lady Theodosia whipped around. “What are you trying to do?” she demanded, her voice shrill, her volume far too loud.
Without touching her, he managed to back her into the study. Their location was not lost on him. He closed his eyes and could swear he smelled Isabelle’s essence—soap and woodsy and floral.
“What are you trying to do?” she repeated. Although quieter than before, her tone was just as sharp, if not harsher.
“I want you to be happy.” Her happiness equaled his. And Isabelle’s.
“Then stop. All of this.” Lady Theodosia waved her hand around in a circle. She walked away to the great oak desk and picked up a stack of papers her father had left there. “And sign your name.”
His jaw lowered. Had Isabelle been mistaken in her assumption?
“I meant you no impudence.”
She made a sound like a cross between a sigh, a snort, and a sob. “You and Isabelle … ”
“Have done nothing to disrespect you.”
Lady Theodosia repeated the noise.
“Allow me to assure you.” Adrian held out his hands.
After a moment, she placed hers in his. Her blue eyes were as cold as before, and two tears ran down her right cheek.
He could wipe them away; he should. But he couldn’t. Holding her hands felt like a betrayal to Isabelle as it was.
“Does someone else play the piano?” he asked.
“My mother knows a few songs.”
“Then come. We did not get a chance to dance last night, so we shall now.” He held out his arm, and she took it. Before she
faced forward, another tear ran down her cheek.
There was more to the story of the mysterious red-haired man that he did not know. The man was the key to everyone’s happiness, but without Lady Theodosia’s help, this Christmas was going to be the worst one ever.
Isabelle’s arms were tired. Between all of the decorating and making countless trips from the kitchen to the Yule log gathering, her legs were ready to collapse. A fresh pie balanced in one hand, a cheese tray in the other, she entered the room and promptly dropped the tray with a loud clatter.
Lady Haywood stopped playing the piano.
Lord Haywood looked up. He’d been standing behind his wife, turning the pages of her music book.
Lord Adrian and Lady Theodosia halted their dance.
“Forgive me.” Despite her trembling hands, Isabelle managed to lower the pie onto a clear spot on the food table before cleaning up the cheese. Once done, she ran out of the room and back into the kitchen. She tossed the tray onto the counter.
“What’s wrong?” Olga the cook asked.
“I need more cheese. Don’t worry; I’ll cut it.”
“What happened?”
Isabelle busied herself with her task. It felt refreshing to do a chore she hadn’t done in years. The swift flicking of her wrist, the glistening gleam of light reflecting off the blade, the repetitive movement all served as a barrier, a wall to keep her pent-up emotions inside.
What had she expected? For Adrian to locate the mysterious redhead so Isabelle could be with him, freeing her to have a lord? The idea was ludicrous. Even if Isabelle and her masked man were to get together, the Wingraves would never allow their son to marry a simple maid.
“I think that’s enough.” Olga eased the knife from her vicious grip.
Isabelle had cut far more cheese than was needed, perhaps even enough for tomorrow’s feast. She plated a good deal, then pivoted on her heel, and sauntered to the Yule gathering. Her gaze was firmly on the tray the entire time, and she did not linger but immediately turned out.
Masked Love (A Christmas Regency Novella) Page 4