An Elegant Façade (Hawthorne House Book #2)

by Kristi Ann Hunter

  “I must apologize once more,” Riverton said.

  Colin waved a hand in dismissal. “It’s not a bother. Women usually ignore me at these events, unless they have the misfortune of being sat next to me at dinner.”

  Lord Trent grinned. “I’ve sat near you at dinner. You managed to use all the correct utensils and didn’t slurp the soup.”

  Colin smiled but didn’t respond as there was no need to answer. All three men were well aware of the social ladder and where Colin sat upon it. That the Hawthorne brothers chose to ignore the vast chasm between his status and their own was a boon, but not one he expected from most others of their echelon.

  “Have you been here long?” Riverton asked Lord Trent.

  “But a quarter hour at the most. Hadn’t time to do more than glance over the crush before I looked up and found Ryland looking ridiculous.”

  Colin grinned. “It looks even better than I’d hoped.”

  Riverton looked impressed. “You are responsible for that frippery?”

  “Only the idea.” Colin shook his head. “I’m afraid the brilliance of execution must be laid at Jeffreys’ feet.”

  Where was Lady Miranda? Colin looked over the crowd, though there was little chance he’d recognize her in a mask. She was there somewhere, though, and Ryland probably knew what she was wearing, which made Colin wonder once more what Ryland was doing dancing with Lady Georgina. Given her obvious intentions a few moments ago, future family gatherings were going to be a bit uncomfortable if Ryland had his way in courting Lady Miranda.

  “Will you be in Town for the Season, Colin?” Riverton asked, turning from the dance floor.

  “I don’t know yet. I may take a trip in a month or so to see some investments to the west.” Colin hadn’t planned on taking the trip until after summer, but a persistent itch had spread through him as the Season approached. Restlessness was not something he really knew what to do with. Despite the fact that London didn’t hold much in common with Glasgow, the Scottish port city he’d grown up in, when he’d all but run away from his family five years ago there hadn’t been much question of where he would go. He’d felt at home in the big city the first time he’d set foot in it.

  But five years was a long time. Part of him wondered if this craving to leave London had something to do with a hidden desire to venture north. If so, he was doomed to disappointment. There was little chance his father would welcome him home, even if he wanted to try.

  “They’ve greatly improved the road west in the past few years,” Riverton said.

  Lord Trent nodded. “Especially if you’re in a carriage with those new elliptical springs. I rode in one a few months ago. You can barely tell you’re moving.”

  Colin knew about the springs. He’d missed the opportunity to invest in them but was watching to see what other innovations might be inspired by the new springs. Before he could add to the conversation, movement in the crowd caught his eye.

  Several mothers were maneuvering their daughters closer to the refreshment table. The broad shoulders of the eligible Duke of Riverton had been spotted, and soon they were ensconced in polite conversation in which Colin was even more politely ignored.

  It was possible this constant invisibility was the true source of his insatiable disquiet. Lady Georgina might be the most striking woman he’d seen of late, but she wasn’t the only one he’d noticed. The urge to settle down, marry, pass on his faith to a new generation was growing.

  And he didn’t know what to do about it.

  It was interesting to circulate among the cream of society, but very disconcerting to know that none of the young ladies he saw on a regular basis would consider him an eligible match. The exotic green eyes of Lady Georgina flashed through his head again. Her brothers gave every indication of not caring about the social differences. Was there a chance she might feel the same way?

  Riverton and Lord Trent selected women from the surrounding crowd to take on the dance floor. The rest of the mingling ladies dispersed, none of them interested in attracting Colin’s hand.

  Unable to stop the habit, Colin took the circuitous route to the side of the dance floor. Men, deep in their cups, confident they were safe among peers, talked openly about issues and successes. A little bit here, a snatch of conversation there, and Colin could piece together a vision of what would succeed and what would fail. It sounded as if Mr. Martin’s plantation was finally starting to produce. Colin would pay the man a visit in a few days and see who was lined up to ship the goods.

  “Thank you for the dance, Lady Georgina.”

  Ryland’s voice drew Colin’s attention away from the conversation behind him. His eyes narrowed as Ryland walked Lady Georgina to the pillar where Colin was standing. He was not gathering information for his friend. Not here. Not about this.

  “It was my pleasure, Duke.” Lady Georgina looked a touch confused as she looked around. No wonder. Her brothers and her mother—typical people for a gentleman to leave his dancing partner with—were nowhere to be found. Despite her confusion, she turned an adoring look on the duke. “I do love to dance with such a graceful partner.”

  “Have you met my friend, Mr. McCrae?”

  Colin was going to kill Ryland. Well, not kill. They’d saved each other’s necks too often for Colin to even jokingly consider harming him. But there was definitely retribution in Ryland’s future.

  “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure.” A small frown line appeared at the top of the lady’s mask. Surely she remembered him from a few moments ago. Her gaze narrowed slightly, weakening Colin’s slight hope that she would be as welcoming as her brothers.

  “My lady.” Colin bowed and accepted her hand from Ryland.

  Ryland grinned. “I see someone with whom I must speak.”

  Colin glared. The black domino mask probably dampened the impact of it, not that he had much chance of intimidating a man of Ryland’s experience even if he deserved the icy glare. The scoundrel was leaving him standing in the corner of the ballroom holding the hand of the woman everyone expected to be the Season’s Diamond.

  There was only one acceptable thing to do.

  There was a science to being popular. One had to have the right connections and be seen with the right people, of course, but there was a great deal more to it than that. Too much time spent with the less worthy would diminish your status, but too little gave a person an air of snobbishness instead of discretion. It was all about the proper balance.

  Which presented Georgina with quite a conundrum, because she and Harriette had studied Debrett’s Peerage in detail, and not a single McCrae had been listed that she could recall. Three years of poring over every society column in reach hadn’t revealed his name either.

  She resisted the urge to pull her hand from the man’s grasp. He was certainly handsome—from what could be seen around the mask, at least. Chestnut brown hair with just a hint of red in it swept back from his forehead, a nearby candle flame revealed the clear blue eyes behind his mask. And though his smile looked a bit tight, it gave the impression that the man was friendly—a rarity in a London ballroom.

  Not that any of that mattered. Good looks and personality were only advantageous if the man also possessed popularity. Dwelling in a corner with someone so far beneath her that he was practically off the ladder made the balance very precarious.

  “May I have the honor of this dance?” He inclined his head toward the crowd of dancers.

  “The honor is mine.” She smiled her kind-but-disinterested smile and let him lead her to the floor. What else could she do? The Duke of Marshington obviously thought well of this man, as did her brothers. She couldn’t risk offending him.

  Unfortunately, they joined one of the simpler dances, which allowed adequate time for conversation between the couples. Why couldn’t she and the duke have danced this one instead of such a physically exhausting one? Their dance had been much too rushed to do anything more than smile at each other.

  “Have you known
the duke long?” Georgina asked. She might as well utilize this time as best she could.

  “Which one?” Mr. McCrae’s grip was firm but gentle as they joined hands to circle another couple.

  “Either. Both.” His closeness to her brothers was nearly as important as his closeness to Marshington.

  “I’ve known your brother for about three years.”

  They split and allowed another couple to pass between them. Georgina waited until they came back together to speak again. “And Marshington?”

  “Longer.”

  Longer? That told her nothing. Marshington had been absent from society for the past nine years. How did this man factor in to that absence? “How interesting. You are not from London, then?”

  She winced as one corner of Mr. McCrae’s mouth tilted up. While she couldn’t quite place the light accent that coated his words, it was very obvious he’d spent his formative years away from London.

  “No. I spend a great deal of time here though. It is a convenient place to do business from, after all.”

  Georgina gritted her teeth as the tinge of accent thickened into a recognizable Scottish brogue. An unpopular Scottish businessman. Thank goodness this was a masquerade and still early in the evening. Anyone who did happen to recognize who she was dancing with would probably forget it by the end of the night. There was nothing to do but get through the dance. At least the orchestra was one of the good ones. She allowed the music to flow through her, finding enjoyment in the dance if not the company.

  “He’s made his choice already.”

  Georgina blinked. He couldn’t mean . . . “Who?”

  “Ry . . . er, Marshington. His interest was already drawn before he returned to London. ’Tis the reason he returned.”

  Thankfully the dance parted them again for a few moments. Georgina bit her cheek to keep from grinning. She had joked with her sister that she wanted to be amazing enough to lure Marshington from hiding, but she never thought she would truly be able to do it.

  Mr. McCrae was talking about her, wasn’t he? He had to be. The duke was here, at this masquerade, where very few girls were making their first bows in society. Lady Elizabeth Ferrington was here, but she was practically betrothed already. Besides, Georgina was the first person the duke had danced with. Her plan was going to work. She was going to be saved from the ruin she’d been hiding from since childhood.

  It was enough to make her want to praise God like her brother so often did.

  The comfort of success made her feel a bit more charitable toward her dancing partner. “The costumes this evening are most interesting.”

  He didn’t pause as he circled behind her. “Yes, though I’ve had difficulty determining what some of them are.”

  Georgina tried to stifle her admiration of the man’s dancing, but it really was superb. Even with the simpler steps, his grace and ease was evident. He might be on the fringes of society, but he seemed to be comfortable moving in it.

  She envied anyone with that sort of confidence. Who was he that the normal pressures of society didn’t affect him? He hadn’t even altered his clothing to fit in with the evening. “What are you supposed to be?”

  “An interloper.” He leaned in and whispered the words with a sly grin.

  She stumbled. The dratted man had made her stumble. She never stumbled. His hand shot out to hold her elbow and steady her.

  “You . . . you were not invited?”

  He laughed. A pleasant, rich laugh. So many men had irritating laughs that grated the eardrums or prickled along the skin. Mr. McCrae’s was engaging, captivating, making her want to join in on a joke she wasn’t sure she understood.

  Was this how he’d gotten himself included in the gatherings of London’s elite? Whatever charity she had managed to muster faded into a bitter sludge in the pit of her stomach. How unfair that such self-assurance and poise was wasted on a man with enough humor, looks, and likely intellect to circulate in high society. Mr. McCrae’s smile showed an ease she’d never been able to attain no matter how often she practiced in the mirror.

  “Have no fear, little angel, I am an official guest. Though I believe I am supposed to be dancing with the wallflowers, not the Diamonds.”

  How forward this conversation was getting. Georgina cast a glance at her fellow dancers to see if any of them had heard Mr. McCrae’s statement. No one looked at them. She glanced back at Mr. McCrae, whose head was tilted to the side as he stepped around the formation, eyes wide as he waited for her response.

  Not that she could make one. There was nothing she could respond. If she agreed with his assessment of her status, she showed an abominable amount of conceit. If she denied his claim, she would seem insecure or as if she expected him to fawn over her with compliments.

  “I particularly like the Queen Elizabeth costume over there.” She didn’t; actually, the dress was entirely wrong, but it was the first costume that caught her eye. While her own dress only nodded at the fashions of the era, she wasn’t claiming to be the monarch herself. If one were going to be a historic figure, she should get it right.

  “I don’t think it is very accurate.”

  Georgina cut her eyes to him. He could tell the distinctions? Had he too studied the portraits and paintings of the time period?

  He continued before she could question him further. “What do you think the young lady in blue is supposed to be? There, on the edge of the dance area.”

  Georgina turned her head as they walked down the line of dancers. Miranda stood at the edge of the dancers, looking almost desperate as she searched the crowd for someone. “That is my sister.”

  “Lady Miranda?” Mr. McCrae grinned. “I didn’t recognize her. Quite lovely. What is her costume?”

  Annoying. Georgina was truly starting to dislike how flattering the brilliant blue dress was on Miranda. Normally, her sister looked pale and colorless wearing the light colors of the fresh-faced debutantes. If Mother allowed her to add more color to her wardrobe, Miranda would provide Georgina some considerable competition.

  Mr. McCrae’s eyebrow hitched up above his mask as they turned at the end of the line.

  What had he asked? Oh yes, Miranda’s costume. What had she said in the carriage? “A woman of mystery.”

  More of that intriguing laughter floated across the expanse as they once more allowed a couple to pass between them. “I would have thought that a costume that called for black, not blue.”

  Georgina sighed inwardly. If Miranda didn’t have the decency to have married by now, couldn’t she have at least continued to maintain her unassuming, near-spinster status? “I believe that adds to the mystique, Mr. McCrae.”

  The music drew to a close and he bowed. She curtsied. Had a longer dancing set ever existed?

  “Where should I escort you? I fear our previous location would do you little good.”

  “My mother is over there.” Georgina gestured toward a group of people containing several gentlemen she had danced with at her first assembly in the country. She truly had no idea where her mother was, but if she got close enough to those other gentlemen, she could entice one of them to ask for the next dance. Then she would be free of Mr. McCrae, his laugh, and his admiration of Miranda.

  As they left the floor, she saw a familiar orange brocade out of the corner of her eye. It would be scandalous to dance with the duke again so soon after dancing with him before, but she was willing to risk it if . . .

  He couldn’t be.

  He was leading Miranda onto the dance floor.

  And Mr. McCrae was smiling.

  Chapter 4

  Georgina took a deep breath as she slipped into the alcove behind the punch bowl, allowing herself to relax for the first time all evening. The drink she held was probably supposed to be lemonade but tasted more like sour apples. Not that it mattered. It could be actual sour apples and she’d still drink it. Popularity was all well and good, but it did a lady little advantage if she were too parched to speak. She had partnered at l
east seven popular men on the dance floor, eight if one counted her brother, Lord Trent. Three of those men were considered extremely eligible bachelors. That had to be enough for anyone to forget she’d taken a turn around the floor with Mr. McCrae.

  “Have you danced with anyone interesting this evening?”

  Georgina bobbled the glass of lemonade. That enthusiasm was easy to recognize, and Georgina turned a genuine smile to the young woman beside her. “Several. My step into society is looking bright indeed. I didn’t think your mother was going to let you come.”

  The slightly shorter woman clasped her green-gloved hands in front of her and leaned forward as if imparting a secret. Her tight, black curls dangled over the edge of her thin, black mask that did little to conceal her identity as Lady Jane, the eldest daughter of the Earl of Prendwick. She flicked her fan open and cast her pale blue-grey eyes to the ceiling. “I simply told Mother you were coming and that settled it. And I’m so very glad that it did, because I’ve met him.”

  Georgina was thankful for the mask as she couldn’t prevent the surprise that flashed across her face. Had Jane danced with the duke as well? Georgina had been positive he’d danced only with her and her sister before leaving the party entirely. At the very least, that horrible orange coat had disappeared. “Who?”

  “Him. The man whose home I shall keep, whose social engagements I shall manage, and whose title I shall sign on my letters.” Jane swung her arms wide and twirled about on her heel, nearly knocking Georgina, a servant, and a potted lemon tree to the floor.

  Georgina slid her arm through Jane’s to stop the spinning and bring control to the situation. While she was certainly excited that her closest friend—other than Harriette—was already planning marital bliss, her past experience with Jane told her she should hold her rejoicing until she learned more particulars about the situation. “Who is he?”

  Jane blinked and then craned her neck to look around the crowded ballroom. “Who is who?”