An Elegant Façade (Hawthorne House Book #2)

by Kristi Ann Hunter

  “There’s still one other duke, a marquis, and two earls on your list, though I do wish you would reconsider removing the Earl of Ashcombe. Your sister—”

  “My sister should have married him when she had the chance.” Georgina checked the reticule she’d had made for the upcoming ball, ensuring it was packed with everything from a spare pair of slippers to a needle and thread for urgent dress repairs. Nothing could be allowed to ruin her night. “Ashcombe is popular, wealthy, and conscious of the importance of reputation. He stays on the list.”

  Harriette said nothing as she laid a white velvet cloak on the shelf beside the white ball gown.

  A pang of guilt nudged the back of Georgina’s thoughts. Ashcombe had courted her sister during her first Season, but Miranda was embarking on her fourth turn through the ballrooms this year. She’d had plenty of chances to win the man’s hand. Now it was Georgina’s turn.

  The fact that she thought the man a supreme bore placed him a bit lower on her list, but she’d rather be bored than ruined.

  Not for the first time, Georgina wished Miranda had gotten married last year. The threat of Miranda’s impending spinsterhood might make Georgina’s quest to be the Season’s Incomparable a little more difficult. Association carried its own form of guilt, after all.

  She pressed her hand to her chest, as if she could reach through and force the nerves into submission.

  “Everything is ready, my lady.” Harriette fluffed the skirt on the dress until the white-on-white embroidery was shown to perfection.

  Georgina’s heart calmed as she looked over the ensemble she would wear as she took her first turn in society as an adult. It was the epitome of everything she’d been working to build. Entering on the arm of her brother, the powerful Duke of Riverton, would seal her as one the most popular girls of the evening.

  The masquerade was going to be the best event of her life.

  This was one the ugliest places he’d ever been in his life.

  Colin McCrae glanced over his shoulder at the rickety stairs he’d carefully picked his way up. They looked even worse from the top than they had from the bottom, which meant he’d be holding his breath when it came time to travel back down them.

  Assuming he lived that long. Calling on his friend Ryland without warning wasn’t the safest thing to do. Spies for the Crown tended to be a little wary of things like that. Fortunately, the man was inclined to look first and shoot second, a politeness that could probably be attributed to the fact that the man was also the Duke of Marshington. He may have dropped out of society for the past nine years, but he’d had eighteen years before that to learn gentlemanly behavior.

  The passage at the top of the stairs looked as if someone had at least considered doing some maintenance in the past decade. In truth, it wasn’t the worst place Colin had visited Ryland in the five years they’d known each other, but it was close.

  He took care to keep his greatcoat away from some of the grimier-looking shadows. Just because Ryland chose to eschew the finer things in life to pursue English justice didn’t mean Colin had to.

  After three strong knocks on the grey wooden door, Colin stepped back, positioning himself so that whoever cracked open the door would be able to see him.

  The door opened enough to reveal the face and shoulder of Jeffreys. The man was Ryland’s valet, though his duties included far more clandestine activities than simply shining the duke’s shoes. This was probably the only set of rooms in the entire building that could boast a manservant of any kind.

  Colin grinned at the thin man. “Please don’t shoot me, Jeffreys. I’m quite fond of this coat.”

  Jeffreys laughed as he opened the door wider and allowed Colin in. Sure enough, Jeffreys had been hiding a pistol behind his back as he answered the door.

  Another, deeper, laugh came from the next room, and Colin followed it to find Ryland sprawled in a chair that could be called upholstered if one was feeling charitable. There were a series of threads covering whatever remained of the chair’s cushioning.

  Ryland waved an arm toward the only other chair in the room, a plain wooden chair that looked old but sturdy. “What brings you by?”

  Colin sat, crossed his booted feet at the ankles, and placed his hat in his lap. “Other than the joy of welcoming you back to Town, you mean?”

  A single dark eyebrow lifted in an expression of condescension, the aristocratic arrogance of the duke showing through, despite the fact that Ryland looked considerably more like a dockside worker. “I haven’t officially returned.”

  “And I’m not officially here.” Ryland worked for the War Office. Colin didn’t. At least not in any capacity that anyone would recognize as official. He had been known, on occasion, to use his business contacts and observation skills to assist them in one project or another. Though he made sure to say no often enough to keep the War Office from taking advantage, he never turned down a request from Ryland.

  It was the developments from just such a request that had brought him to this decrepit building.

  Ryland sat up a little straighter. “You have news?”

  Colin nodded. Ryland had recently disguised himself as a valet on the Duke of Riverton’s estate. As the two were old school friends, Riverton was, of course, in on the plan and had agreed to engage in false correspondence in order to trap the group of Napoleonic spies operating on the estate. Colin’s contribution had been business letters about a doomed mining venture.

  The decoy information, originally intended to be little more than fluff to fill out the fake correspondence, was actually being used. As only the people selling secrets to France had access to that information, the interest in the mine was certainly suspect.

  While Colin filled Ryland in on the details, Jeffreys went about his business, moving quietly around the room.

  A glaze of deep thought covered Ryland’s grey eyes. Colin settled into his wooden chair as best he could, knowing the other man could contemplate the ramifications of Colin’s news for five minutes or five hours, and he would expect Colin to be there when he was done.

  “All the more reason to come out of hiding, Your Grace.” Jeffreys hauled a small trunk from under the bed and began folding clothes into it.

  Colin sat up a bit, mild curiosity replaced with genuine surprise. Was Ryland truly planning to come out of hiding? It would be a good time for it, with the social Season prepared to start within the week.

  Instead of berating the other man for interrupting his thought process, Ryland turned his intense gaze to the valet. Clearly there was a hidden meaning to Jeffreys’ proclamation. “And have you also planned where I shall make my debut?”

  Only years of practice at remaining outwardly calm kept Colin in his seat. Ryland was not only returning to London but to society as well? Was this a new project? A new case that required he come out of hiding? Or was he truly following through on his intentions to stop spying?

  Jeffreys extracted a small white card from his pocket and flipped it across the bed. Ryland snatched it out of midair, crumpling the corner a bit.

  Colin strained to get a look at the card. It looked like an invitation. Who would have sent Ryland an invitation? Half of London thought he was dead.

  “She’s going to be there?” Ryland ran a thumb along the edge of the card.

  Jeffreys nodded. “The servants have been speaking constantly of the various costumes their lords and ladies have procured. That invitation was meant for your aunt. Price said it was a shame she never received it.”

  Ryland looked over the card and grinned. Grinned. The jaded, world-weary spy grinned.

  Colin rose and leaned over Ryland’s shoulder, his thoughts ticking through everything that had been said or done since he arrived. The invitation was for a masquerade ball, but that fact paled as the importance of Jeffreys’ statement became evident. There was a girl involved, and by the look on Ryland’s face, she wasn’t related to his work.

  And since it was personal, Ryland wasn’t about
to volunteer information. Colin turned instead to the valet. “There’s a she?”

  “What is her costume going to be?” Ryland tapped the invitation against his palm, probably hoping he could learn what he wanted without letting Colin ask any questions of his own. Which made Colin all the more determined to know who the she was.

  Jeffreys continued packing as he spoke. “We aren’t sure, though we know it’s blue. She and her sister and mother were all seen at the modiste ordering dresses for that event. The sister was quite excited. The mother was less so.”

  “Not surprising.” Ryland’s face turned thoughtful once more. He seemed to have forgotten Colin was in the room. “Masquerades are not known for keeping the faint blush of youth in a young lady’s cheeks. I wonder at Lady Blackstone letting that be Lady Georgina’s first society appearance.”

  Colin had never met the Ladies Hawthorne or their recently remarried mother, Lady Blackstone, but he had done business with their eldest brother, the Duke of Riverton—whose estate Ryland had recently been spying on in the guise of the duke’s valet.

  This was going to end badly.

  Colin coughed. “Lady Georgina Hawthorne?”

  Even though Colin hadn’t met the young lady, he’d certainly heard of her. And what he’d heard would have made her the last lady he’d have expected Ryland to become interested in.

  “The hostess, Lady Yensworth, is a particular friend of Lady Blackstone’s—otherwise I’m sure they would be skipping the event.” Jeffreys pulled a pair of ruined-looking boots from the bottom of the closet. “Are we keeping these?”

  Ryland raised a brow. “Why wouldn’t we?”

  “Your Grace.” The valet tilted his head to the side.

  Ryland’s brows drew together. “What?”

  “Only reminding you that you are a duke. I don’t know a whole lot about the aristocracy, but I know they don’t wear boots that look like this.”

  Normally Colin would have settled into the corner, content to gather as much information as possible from a personal conversation taking place in his presence. But this time he could not afford to misunderstand what was happening. It was simply too unbelievable.

  He stood and grabbed Ryland’s shoulder, unable to keep the shock from his face. “You’ve intentions to court Lady Georgina Hawthorne?”

  Colin couldn’t picture it. Ryland was a gentleman to the core, but he’d lived too long in the shadows for all of his edges to stay refined. He’d rip a delicate society flower to shreds.

  “What? No.” Ryland shifted in his seat, looking as uncomfortable as Colin had ever seen.

  Colin turned an inquiring look to Jeffreys. Something was disturbing the normally unflappable duke, and being the good friend that he was, Colin couldn’t wait to hold it over the other man’s head.

  Jeffreys frowned at the old boots. “The older sister, sir.”

  “Ah.” Colin relaxed considerably and grinned. He hadn’t heard as much about Lady Miranda, but he’d heard enough to know she’d be a much better fit for a man who’d spent the past nine years hiding in the shadows. Any woman willing to turn down multiple offers of marriage had to possess a considerable amount of courage. Something that could be necessary if danger decided to follow Ryland home.

  Ryland glared at Jeffreys as the valet strode about the room gathering items. “Why are you telling Mr. McCrae my secrets, Jeffreys? Isn’t your loyalty supposed to be to me?”

  “Of course, Your Grace. That’s why I didn’t tell Mr. McCrae that you’ve been brooding over the young lady since you left your position at her house several months ago.” Jeffreys threw the dilapidated boots into the trunk. “Only the least discreet of valets would reveal that you’ve actually paced the floor as you’ve contemplated what you’d do when she returned to London.”

  Colin laughed so hard he fell back into his chair, holding his right hand to his side. Ryland had left Riverton’s house before Christmas, after sending the band of treasonists fleeing to hide in the large city. Spring was now nudging at London’s edges. The idea that he’d been pining for a woman that long was entertaining indeed.

  Ryland turned his glare from the valet to send a calculating look at Colin. “I don’t suppose you received an invitation to this dance?”

  Colin swallowed his laughter and nodded. He should have known he wouldn’t escape being pulled into whatever scheme Ryland and his valet had concocted. In all honesty, if it included watching Ryland dangle on a hook, Colin didn’t want to miss it. “I have. I hadn’t intended to go, but if you’re going to be there, I’ll have to change my plans. The ton won’t know what to do with such an interesting piece of gossip.”

  Ryland tapped the card into his palm. “I think a masquerade will do nicely. I can ease her into the idea of my being in Town without her recognizing me.”

  A groan trapped itself in Colin’s throat. Lady Miranda had already met Ryland, only not in the form of a duke. She knew Ryland as her brother’s valet, the role he’d played while he investigated the French spies in Hertfordshire. Obviously the woman had made a considerable impression on Ryland, and it was possible he’d made an impression on her as well, despite his posing as a servant. No amount of esteem was going to make a woman happy that she’d been deceived for months, though.

  And there was no easing someone into a revelation of that magnitude.

  Not to mention the fact that Ryland was still, as far as Colin knew, actively seeking the Napoleonic spy who had gotten away. “What about the case?”

  The other man shrugged. “Every lead but one is stone-cold. Another agent of the War Office can follow Lambert as easily as I can.”

  Colin looked at Jeffreys, who shook his head, silently agreeing with Colin that there was nothing to be done to change Ryland’s mind. Clearly, the duke wasn’t thinking straight.

  Ryland’s life was about to get very complicated. And Colin planned to be right in the middle of it.

  After all, watching Ryland muddle his way through such a revelation was going to be too much fun to miss.

  Chapter 2

  “I think I pulled the mask too tight.” Harriette frowned as she slid a finger along Georgina’s forehead, tracing the edge of the white jeweled mask.

  “Leave it.” Georgina put up a hand to stop Harriette from loosening the white silk ribbon. In truth, the edges were biting into her skin, but she didn’t want to lose the benefit of the hours spent making the mask frame her eyes and hair to perfection.

  “Very well.” Harriette adjusted a curl on Georgina’s coiffure as she frowned.

  Georgina turned her head, making sure that the artful blond curls fell behind the mask in such a way that it hid the fact her ears weren’t exactly even. Nothing could be left open to criticism tonight. She had only one chance to create the right first impression.

  She rose to prance across the room, ensuring that her dress wouldn’t bind or scratch during the dancing. The silken skirts swished pleasantly against her legs, but the bodice was going to take some getting used to. The structured front panel and dropped waist were very striking but also very restrictive to a woman who’d grown up with her skirts flowing freely about her middle.

  The white-on-white embroidery that decorated the bodice felt stiff under her fingers as she ran a hand over the structured panels. Thank goodness she didn’t have to strap herself into a dress like this every day.

  Georgina shook her head before turning to the mirror to check the fit of the mask once more. She tried smiling, laughing, and even pantomimed the act of drinking. Yes, the mask had been designed very well.

  “This night is going to be perfect, Harriette. Everything is going to go according to plan.”

  Harriette said nothing as she helped Georgina arrange the white velvet cloak around her shoulders.

  Curving her lips into the coy-yet-innocent smile she’d been practicing for the past year, Georgina curtsied before the maid. “How do I look?”

  “Like an angel.” Harriette’s smile was as genuine as G
eorgina’s was fake, but they were the only ones who knew that. Anyone who saw the maid wrap Georgina in a light hug, carefully avoiding the elaborately curled hair, would think both women were happy about the night’s potential. “Good luck, my lady.”

  Georgina returned the hug. “I have a plan, dear Harriette. I don’t need luck.” She’d used up all her luck the day she met Harriette. Life hadn’t seen fit to grant her any more since then, and it wasn’t likely to start now.

  The corridor was empty as she stepped out of her room and took a final, fortifying breath before moving to the stairs. Anxiety jumped around her middle, threatening to make her ill.

  As her hand wrapped around the newel post and her foot landed on the top stair, her frazzled nerves were joined by heady anticipation. Three years of practice and planning were coming to fruition. The past year had thrown an obstacle or two in her path, but now everything was in place. All she had to do was execute the plan and all of London would fall at her feet.

  Then her only task would be to keep them there.

  Griffith, Duke of Riverton, Georgina’s elder brother, was the first to greet her at the bottom of the stairs. “An angel in white. What a departure from your normal appearance.”

  Georgina tipped her head to the side, trying to appear bored by his sardonic statement. She’d worn nothing but white for the past two years. It was flattering on her, left a dramatic impression, and was easily altered so that she never appeared to wear the same dress twice. Exhausting, yes, but it only added to the impression of legendary elegance. At least she hoped it did.

  He offered her his arm, and Georgina was grateful that she’d practiced this as well. Her brother was tall, broad, and imposing. An asset when dealing with ducal business, but incredibly awkward when a woman was trying to find a flattering way to take his arm, even if she was a bit taller than average.