Her mother looked her over with a small smile, so similar to Georgina’s own. “Do not listen to him. You look delightful.”
Lord Blackstone, the earl Mother married two years ago, murmured his agreement. Miranda gave the smile of an older sister. Even the blue mask tied across her face couldn’t hide the fact that Miranda was less than thrilled to be sharing this evening with her younger sister. Georgina lifted her chin a bit higher and strode across the hall.
Each step toward the coach made everything a bit more real. The roses on the hall table smelled stronger the closer she drew to the door. The night air felt sharper as it rushed through the open portal to meet them. Even the rattle of passing traffic had an edge to it this evening. Everything was louder, brighter, as if the magnitude of the evening lent the world more intensity.
Georgina climbed the carriage steps behind Miranda, trying to shake herself of any fanciful thoughts. It was an evening like any other. She had a plan, and as long as she didn’t allow emotion to cloud her thoughts as it had last year, she would execute her plan perfectly and all would be well.
Mother and Lord Blackstone settled onto the seat across from the sisters as Griffith shut the door and moved to his own carriage. Georgina would ride home with him, but Mother wanted to arrive with her youngest daughter. It was Georgina’s first ball, after all.
A prickling numbness crept through Georgina’s fingers and up her arms as she smoothed her skirts onto the seat beside her elder sister. The sharp contrast of Georgina’s stark white dress next to Miranda’s bright blue one gave Georgina pause. Was she doing the right thing? Did her penchant for white make her appear unapproachable instead of valuable?
“How do I look?” she blurted before she could stop herself.
Assurance that her dress was flattering and her hair immaculate came from her mother and Lord Blackstone, but Miranda simply turned to look out the window. Georgina’s eyes narrowed at her sister. It wasn’t Georgina’s fault Miranda was going into her fourth Season without a viable marriage prospect in sight. The woman was entirely too particular, turning away more than one perfectly acceptable proposal.
What if people assumed Georgina was of the same mind as Miranda? Would the gentlemen avoid her? Nerves tightened Georgina’s stomach until there was a very real chance she was going to need the carriage to pull over.
There had to be something she could think about that would keep her from worrying herself into a simpering miss who held up the wall in the back corner of the ballroom.
“What are you again?” Georgina ran a hand over the gauzy overlay on Miranda’s blue skirt. The color did wonders for Miranda’s complexion. Their complexions were similar but just enough different that Miranda had never really been able to wear white well. Another reason Georgina had gravitated to it. People would never think she wasn’t as good as her sister.
“The sky,” Miranda mumbled.
Mother frowned. “I thought you said you were a bird.”
Lord Blackstone laughed. “Told me she was the ocean.”
Miranda grinned. “I guess I shall be a woman of mystery, then.”
Her sister was a fool. How could Miranda leave so much up to chance? If she didn’t take control and guide people’s impressions of her, they might come up with anything. Confidence was an admirable trait, but not if it caused a woman to miss the many opportunities Miranda had.
Her foolish sister should have spent her time in Town last spring securing her future. Instead she’d poured her efforts into Griffith’s new ward, turning her into an acceptable match for the Marquis of Raebourne. If Miranda had done as she should have, Georgina would have been making her bow alone this evening, the marquis would still be available, and all of her carefully laid marital plans would still have been intact. But Miranda hadn’t done as she ought, and the whole situation had turned into a giant mess that threatened to topple Georgina’s success before she’d stepped into her first ballroom.
The tingling in Georgina’s fingers spread through her arms and down to her toes. What if she couldn’t guide people to the appropriate impression? She curled her hands into fists and tuned out the rest of the conversation. Distraction was not what she needed after all. She needed to remember who she was before she stepped out of this carriage.
She was Lady Georgina Hawthorne, sister of the Duke of Riverton.
Lady Georgina Hawthorne was not lacking in confidence.
Lady Georgina Hawthorne knew every conversational trick there was.
Lady Georgina Hawthorne could tell you the pertinent information about everyone who was anyone and could easily identify those who were, for her intentions, no one.
A rush of fresh air swept through the carriage, drawing her attention to the open door, a yawning hole of noise, color, and movement. Darkness crept into the corner of Georgina’s vision as she looked at the people cutting through the candlelight to enter the house.
She took a deep breath and admitted the truth, if only to herself.
Lady Georgina Hawthorne was scared.
“That is a brilliant shade of orange you’re wearing.” Colin tried and failed to keep the slight grin from gracing his face as he mocked Ryland’s costume. The Duke of Marshington, recently retired spy and knife expert, was dressed in the shockingly eye-catching costume of an eighteenth-century French courtier.
The result was even better than Colin had imagined when he’d given Jeffreys the idea.
The corners of Ryland’s mouth tightened below his mask as he adjusted the swaths of lace dripping from the sleeve of his garish orange brocade coat.
“The shoes are a nice touch.” Colin bumped Ryland’s clunky-heeled buckle shoe with his own more refined and considerably more comfortable-looking evening shoe.
“I’m glad you are enjoying yourself.” The low grumble in Ryland’s voice inflated Colin’s grin even more.
He was enjoying himself, even though he’d done nothing but stand in this corner since they arrived ten minutes prior. For the first time in recent memory, Colin was attending a social function with the simple intent of having fun. Such society events were almost always enjoyable, but his enjoyment typically came from bettering his business skills, which involved pursuing advantageous connections and insightful gossip the way a fresh-faced debutante pursued an eligible earl.
But tonight he wasn’t here on business. Tonight he was going to sit back and watch Ryland try to win the heart of the lady who had captured his attention.
Though nothing was going to happen if they lurked in the curtained alcove behind the refreshments all evening. Colin narrowed his eyes at his friend. Was it possible Ryland was nervous? Maybe he needed something other than the woman who had stolen his heart to focus on for a moment.
“You know what they say about you, don’t you?” Colin leaned one shoulder against the wall and crossed his ankles.
Ryland glanced at him. “Who?”
“Them.” Colin gave a sweeping nod, indicating the swirling crowd of London’s elite. “It’s one of their favorite games—trying to figure out where you’ve been.”
Ryland grunted.
“Some say you’re wasting away from some dread disease. Others assume you’ve a hideous disfigurement you’re trying to hide.” Colin pretended to brush some lint from Ryland’s shoulder. “My favorite, though, is the one about you running off to be a privateer. It’s grown rather elaborate. Did you know you’ve got an entire band of ruffians hiding out on a secluded island in the Orkneys? Some claim it’s the Caribbean, but I like the Orkneys story better. It’s more original.”
Ryland grunted again.
Colin glanced around, hoping for inspiration. Eventually someone was going to see them and make things even more awkward. The distraction he needed stepped up to the punch bowl only a few steps away from their hidden alcove. Who better to spur Ryland into action than the brother of the lady he was here to see? Not the eldest brother, granted, but Colin had met Lord Trent a time or two and knew the man would welcome the
conversation.
Ryland narrowed his gaze as Colin stepped to the punch bowl, but he followed without question.
“Do you remember Lord Trent?” Colin gestured toward the tall blond man while procuring his own glass of watered-down punch.
“Of course,” Ryland said.
Lord Trent’s eyebrows rose enough to cause wrinkles to appear above his black domino mask. His green gaze swept up and down Ryland’s garish outfit. “That’s an exceedingly bold choice of outfit. I applaud anyone daring enough to wear such an ensemble, but I can’t quite place you. Have we met?”
Colin took a sip of his drink, reminding himself not to wince at the weak, sour flavor. “The Duke of Marshington.”
Ryland sighed.
Colin grinned.
Lord Trent’s jaw went a bit slack. “In truth? Were it anyone but Mr. McCrae, I’d refuse to believe it, but I’ve never known him to jest about such a thing.”
Shaking back the lace, Ryland displayed the signet ring on his right hand. Everyone in England knew Ryland kept a tight hold on that ring. His cousin, Gregory Montgomery, had been trying to claim the title since Ryland disappeared, but it was hard to declare a man dead when he kept sending letters sealed with his crest. It was dangerous for the man to carry such a personal article on missions, but he hadn’t been a day without it since he inherited the title as a child.
Lord Trent grinned as he clapped a hand on Ryland’s shoulder. “It’s been an age. I haven’t seen you since Eton.”
Colin sipped as the two men caught up on old times and school memories. At twenty-six, Colin was a year younger than Ryland and two or three years older than Lord Trent. The two men couldn’t have spent much time together in school, though Ryland’s close friendship with Lord Trent’s elder brother probably allowed them to interact more than other students of that age difference.
Despite his personal vow for a business-free evening, Colin found himself looking over the ballroom with an assessing eye. Nearly all the ladies were in costume, as were most of the men. A few, including Colin himself, had simply added a domino mask to their normal evening attire. Lord Trent had put a bit more effort into the evening, donning a black medieval-styled tunic over tight breeches.
There were three men in the corner, no doubt talking horse races. Mr. Townsend rarely talked of anything else.
Lady Elizabeth, distinctly short and round even in her Grecian costume, was dancing with Mr. Burnside. That would make his father, Lord Trotham, very happy. And when Lord Trotham was happy, he tended to ignore some of his holdings.
Colin made a mental note to contact Trotham’s estate manager to ensure Trotham’s sawmill in Essex was being properly managed. The rest of the viscount’s holdings were none of Colin’s business, but he’d taken an interest in the sawmill last year. It had been a sound investment so far, but Trotham had been concerned about his son settling down for the past two years.
Mention of Gentleman Jack’s boxing facility pulled Colin’s attention back to the men in front of him. Lord Trent had always been an exceptional athlete, but Colin didn’t know he’d been training with the legendary boxer. If Ryland’s confession to Lord Trent’s sister didn’t go well, those skills could cause a problem for Ryland. The cup of punch wasn’t wide enough to hide the grin that split Colin’s face, but the sour smell and the weak taste were enough to help him control it.
The conversation lulled, and Colin opened his mouth to ask Lord Trent about his plans for the Season, but a blinding swirl of white entered their circle, robbing the words from his tongue.
“Good evening.” A feminine voice rolled into his ears like the soft waves on the beach of a sheltered cove. He couldn’t stop the accompanying shiver as he turned his eyes to the source.
The white blur settled into the most beautiful creature Colin had ever seen. Golden curls spilled over her head, woven through with a string of pearls. The mask covered a good portion of her face, but delightful green eyes were easily visible, the slight tilt to the corners making him curious to discover her secrets.
His gaze swept down, taking in the Elizabethan-styled white gown, trimmed with feathers in such a way that she appeared to be floating. God was certainly having a good day when He made this angel.
Lord Trent nodded to the lady and then smiled at someone over her shoulder. “Griffith, you won’t believe who I’ve found.”
Colin dragged his eyes from the vision in white to the enormous man standing next to her. The Duke of Riverton was dressed much as Colin was, though not for the same reason. As the man who handled a good bit of Riverton’s investments, Colin knew the duke needn’t be concerned about the cost of an outfit intended for a single evening. For that matter, neither did Colin, but the fear of destitution was hard to move past, even all these years later.
“What a splendid coat.” Riverton looked over Ryland’s outfit and didn’t even try to hide his amused grin. “I was wondering if you would make an appearance tonight.”
Ryland reached a hand to smooth the ruffles marching down his chest. The signet ring caught the light from a nearby candle, causing it to glint amongst the lacy frills.
A quick gasp parted the lips of the beauty at Lord Trent’s side. Her eyes widened, and she briefly snagged her bottom lip between her teeth as she stared at Ryland’s hand. Obviously she recognized the ring.
Ryland seemed oblivious as he answered Riverton. “I told you that I would see you in London.”
Colin lifted the cup of punch to his lips to hide his smile as the lady’s face and body melted into a position that flattered every curve and curl she possessed. He didn’t dare drink any of the unpleasant liquid for fear the laughter he was holding back would escape.
As the three aristocratic gentlemen continued to talk about the effects of Ryland’s return, Colin took in the increasingly agitated woman in their midst. Her smile never faltered, but her glare was becoming quite pointed as no one saw fit to introduce her to Ryland.
Brilliant green eyes. Golden blond hair. Her hand on the arm of the unmarried Duke of Riverton, but paying him little or no attention. This had to be Lady Georgina, the duke’s youngest sister. A woman completely out of Colin’s reach, not that such a quality gave her much distinction in this room. Colin rarely encountered a woman who would consider his station and position an acceptable match.
He’d rarely encountered a woman of this much beauty either. Even with the mask and the abundance of feathers, she was as magnificent as the rumors claimed.
And the rumors had claimed quite a lot. The woman was nearly legend. He’d never seen society anticipate a lady’s first bow as much as they had Lady Georgina’s. Given that the young lady had a sister out in the ballrooms already, he’d never understood the fascination.
Until now.
Chapter 3
Colin struggled to contain his amusement as the lady gave a dainty cough and glared at her brothers. No doubt their continued inane conversation about Ryland’s unexpected attendance was intended to annoy Lady Georgina. It appeared to be working.
Colin took a few steps to his left to reach for a fresh glass of punch. He slid around behind Lord Trent and offered the cup to Lady Georgina. “Might I offer you some refreshment?”
Her eyes widened as they went from the cup to his face. Was she trying to place him? Wondering if they’d met? In all the times he’d visited Hawthorne House to see Riverton, Colin had never met the sisters, had only seen Lady Miranda twice. And since he took great care to keep himself out of the local gossip papers, she was unlikely to have even heard of him. Let her wonder. Maybe that would give Ryland time to escape and find Lady Miranda.
A glance at the trio of men now working to hide their own grins showed that Ryland had no intention of slipping off. Colin nodded toward the punch cup once more. “Terribly forward of me, I know, seeing as we’ve not been introduced, but I can’t bear to see a lady ignored.”
“Yes, of course.” She took the punch as if she’d never seen a drink in her life. “Than
k you.”
Riverton patted Lady Georgina on the hand. “My apologies. Are we supposed to perform introductions? This is a masquerade, after all.”
Lady Georgina tilted her head, managing to look at Riverton but smile at Ryland in the same motion. Most impressive. “I can hardly dance with a gentleman I don’t know.”
Riverton tilted his head. “That is true. Gentlemen, may I present my sister, Lady Georgina. Georgina, this is His Grace, the Duke of Marshington, and Mr. Col—”
Lady Georgina’s gasp cut off the introduction of Colin. “Duke, is it truly you? I’ve heard about you for years, of course. What brings you back to London?”
Cheeky girl, but charming. Colin was, fortunately, well accustomed to being on the ignored fringes of society. He wasn’t aristocratic, wasn’t even gentry. What he was, was very, very good with money. He had an eye for investments, a good head for business, and a golden touch with new ventures. For a group of people who required a lot of money to maintain their preferred lifestyle, that made him a sought-after commodity.
That didn’t make him popular.
Ryland set his punch down and reached for Lady Georgina’s hand. “Might I have the next dance?”
Experience in restraint kept Colin’s eyebrows from flying up. Ryland was here for the elder Hawthorne sister. What was he doing asking the younger one to dance?
Colin’s gaze cut from his friend to the woman in white. There was more smiling and head tilting. Did she practice in a mirror? This had to be only Lady Georgina’s first or second time out in society. That kind of confidence and skill usually came with experience.
“I would be delighted, Your Grace.”
Within moments they were lost among the blur of other couples in the intricate steps of a quadrille. It was a fairly new one. When had Ryland had time to learn it?
Colin shrugged and finished his punch. Ryland never did anything without a plan, so there was a reason he’d asked Lady Georgina to dance. Even if Colin was fairly certain it meant the plan was a bad one, there was nothing he could do about it.
An Elegant Façade (Hawthorne House Book #2) Page 3