The Black Mask

by Cynthia Bailey Pratt

  Some sixth sense told her she wasn’t alone. ‘Thank you for ...” she began. Then she opened her eyes and recoiled slightly. “Oh, it’s you.”

  Sir Niles bowed. “At your service again.” He offered her one of the champagne flutes he held.

  ‘Thank you, Sir Niles. But Mr. Dickson has offered to bring me refreshment.”

  “When his dowager grandmother called him to her side, he delegated the delightful task to me.”

  She couldn’t leave him standing there like a servant proffering a glass. She took it, strangely glad she wore gloves so their fingers did not actually touch. Rose remembered the strange sensation she’d had when he’d taken her hand in Mr. Crenshaw’s office.

  “You’re not wearing your ruby,” Sir Niles commented. “I thought you’d be eager to show it off.”

  “I hope I have better taste than that.”

  “I hope so too,” he said under his breath.

  Rose wasn’t sure she’d heard him correctly. It wasn’t like the punctilious Sir Niles to mutter.

  Politeness bade her ask him to sit down. He accepted and sat beside her in silence, also most unlike him. Surely etiquette demanded he make some comment on the weather.

  “A charming notion of Lady Fitzmonroe’s,” she said, doing her duty. She sipped the champagne and managed not to make a face. Accustomed by now to the bubbles and the drying effect on her mouth, she was still striving to get used to the taste.

  “All this?” he asked, pushing aside a stray sprig of jasmine that seemed to want to tickle his face. “It seems a lot of effort for something that will fade by tomorrow afternoon.”

  “But surely any effort is worthwhile if it creates such beauty. It reminds me of the late queen of France’s Petite Trianon. Not that I ever saw it. But my father did, a few years before the Revolution.”

  “So did mine. A pretty piece of make-believe. Lady Fitzmonroe has done very well, considering she hasn’t the entire resources of France at her disposal. We might be deep in the middle of the country, no one around for miles.”

  “Except for the orchestra,” Rose reminded him. She had never seen Sir Niles in a sportive mood. She wondered if anyone ever had. She also wondered if that was his first glass of champagne. But surely so famed a gamester couldn’t be fuddled by any amount of champagne.

  “Played by talented sheep, perhaps? Bows held in their little black hooves?”

  “And harps plucked by their curly little horns,” Rose said, entranced by the image.

  “With a dog for conductor.”

  “Using a shepherd’s crook to beat the time!”

  Rose smiled into Sir Niles’s eyes. But his expression did not match the lightness of his tone. On the contrary, his gaze seemed to burn with an intensity of purpose, in strange contrast to his usual languid manner. Deliberately, he took the cold champagne flute from her hand and put it, together with his, on the floor.

  Rose felt a peculiar jumpy sensation in her breast, as though all the champagne bubbles had gathered in one spot and were lifting her heart.

  He turned more fully toward her, his hand falling to the seat of the rustic bench they shared. Had he moved it even slightly, he could have touched her knee. She was aware of it as she might be aware of a box of poisoned bonbons. It would be fatally easy to be tempted into doing what would only rebound poorly tomorrow. “Miss Spenser ... Rose. I wonder if you have ever felt...”

  Rose opened her eyes wide. “Ever felt... what?” she prompted.

  But his former cool manner returned. He straightened his back and looked past her ear. Then Rose heard what his quicker senses had already caught.

  The sound of feminine laughter, laughter Rose recognized, though with an added flirtatious lilt.

  “La, General! How you military men ever have time for battles!”

  With a whisk and whirl of her sheer silk scarf, Aunt Paige arrived at the bench and slid to a stop, surprise lifting her eyebrows as she spied her niece. “Rose?”

  A large, middle-aged officer, his thinning rust-colored, hair out of harmony with his scarlet uniform, peered at her through slightly protuberant eyes. ‘This your little niece, eh? A pleasure.” Then he saw Sir Miles. “Alardyce, isn’t it?”

  “How do you do, sir?”

  “By Saint Pat, it’s good to see you again, my boy.” The general let a hint of Irish brogue slip into his otherwise cultured tone. He was shaking Sir Niles’s hand as though assuring himself it was securely attached.

  “And you, sir,” Sir Niles said, but his voice was swallowed up by the general’s emphatic announcement.

  “I haven’t seen Alardyce since ... let me see. You rode up, gave us the order to advance, and rode off. I made sure you were lost in the next volley.”

  “Not lost, sir. Temporarily mislaid.”

  “Eh? Oh, Frenchies got you?”

  “Only for half a day, sir. When they were routed, they left their prisoners behind.”

  “Ah, yes. In all m’life, I’ve never seen a prettier sight than the knapsacks of my enemies, as what’s-his-name said.”

  “Napoleon, sir?”

  “Was it?”

  Perhaps feeling it had been long enough since her swain had noticed her, Aunt Paige rapped his arm slightly with her fan. “The prettiest sight you’ve ever seen? I declare I feel insulted. What about you, Rose?”

  “I believe we must make excuses for military men,” Rose said, letting her curious eyes rest on Sir Niles. “Living as they do among men alone, they lose the knack for compliments.”

  “Not entirely,” Sir Niles said. “We have our dreams to keep us in practice.” He looked at Rose with an ember of his former intensity in his expression. “We must cling to our dreams, no matter how long it takes to achieve them.” Taking Aunt Paige’s hand in his, he bowed over it. “I shall beat the retreat, Lady Marlton.” In his usual unhurried way, he left them.

  “I’ll find you later, Alardyce,” the general said.

  “Go now,” Aunt Paige said, flicking her fan in his direction. “I know better than to come between a man and his Army acquaintances.”

  “But, er ... um.” He rolled his eyes toward the bench. “Don’t like to leave you alone, m’dear.”

  “I have my niece to bear me company. You may call on me tomorrow between the hours of eleven and twelve. You will find me quite alone then.”

  After he’d gone, Aunt Paige sank onto the bench. Rose, laughing a little, joined her. “Who was that extraordinary man?”

  “General Sir Augustus O’Banyon, if you please. Quite the most fascinatingly active man. Within ten minutes, he’d routed my most favored friends, danced a gavotte without actually injuring anyone— though one gentleman only saved himself with a leap worthy of a mountain goat—and swept me off to this secluded corner, undoubtedly reconnoitered in advance. It’s a lucky chance for me you should have found it already, or heaven knows in what condition I might be at this moment.” She sighed ecstatically. “There’s really nothing like the army for organization.”

  “I hadn’t realized Sir Niles had been in the army,” Rose said slowly.

  “He is of the proper age to have served. I shall ask the general about him, if you wish. Tell me, what were you and he speaking of just now? He seemed terribly intent.”

  “I was ... we were ...”

  “I trust you weren’t warning him of the evils of the way he lives. It’s none of your affair; you are too innocent, and heaven forbid you should ever be anything else.”

  “Isn’t it my affair when he embroils my brother in his activities?”

  “Alas, no,” Aunt Paige said. “Besides, it isn’t as though anyone is forcing Rupert into playing so high. Of course, as his aunt, I’m appalled by his extravagance. On the other hand, many men play for great stakes and lose without losing one jot of their consequence. Look at Mr. Brummel.”

  “Considering, ma’am, that Mr. Brummel was forced, thanks to his debts, into going into exile, I hardly think he is a model for Rupert’s behavior.�
��

  “But think how long he was the arbiter of all that was fashionable, and one always heard he’d lost prodigious sums. I must say, I wish we could see his like again. Men were so neat then. Now they turn themselves into such figures of fun with their wasp waists and chimney-pot hats.”

  “Sir Niles always looks like a bandbox figure.” Saying his name was the equivalent of prodding a sore tooth to learn if it still hurt.

  “Oh, Sir Niles stands alone. Such elegance, such taste, such a restful man. The Countess of Brayle claims he redecorated her drawing room so neatly she never knew workmen were in the house. It was as if the genie of the ring had appeared and arranged the whole matter.”

  “I didn’t know he lent his talents to things other than the design of new cravats and other fripperies.”

  “Well, the countess is his sister’s husband’s cousin. Sir Niles only gives his help to relations. I don’t believe he cares a flip of his fingers for anyone outside his family. How the man ever hopes to marry ...”

  “Perhaps he doesn’t. Not all men marry.”

  “Oh, I’m confident he’s the marrying kind. And of the proper age, now that I think of it. He can’t be thirty yet, and that is the age a man starts to plan setting up his nursery.”

  Aunt Paige sized up her niece with a long slow appraisal that left Rose certain either her hair was coming down or her petticoat was dragging on the floor.

  “What is it?” she demanded.

  “What were you and he talking of? I couldn’t tell because he moved away so quickly, but it almost looked as though I interrupted either an assignation or a proposal. Had you meant to meet him here?”

  “Not at all. He brought me champagne, that’s all.”

  “When I saw you last, you were dancing with Mr. Dickson. What became of him?”

  “His grandmother wanted him. When I opened my eyes, there stood Sir Niles.”

  “What were you doing with your eyes closed?”

  “I was resting them.” They felt like two hot ammunition balls now. “Sir Niles was kind enough to fulfill Mr. Dickson’s commission for me. I was very grateful.”

  At that moment, an incautious movement by Aunt Paige knocked the two forgotten champagne flutes over. One shattered on impact with the gleaming marble floor. The other only fell over, setting up a sweep of echoes as the crystal’s ring resonated through the ballroom. It seemed to Rose everyone must come running to see what the commotion was. It must have made less noise that it had seemed to her sitting beside it. The room quickly ceased to chime with echoes.

  “My dear Rose,” Aunt Paige said, when she’d stopped patting her heart. “I take it Sir Niles laid aside your glasses in this informal manner.”

  ‘Yes, he did.”

  The older woman sighed happily. “In my experience, a man only takes a glass from a woman under two circumstances—both romantic. Either he wants to kiss her or to propose, which in your case comes to the same thing. Tell me at once. Is Sir Niles in love with you?”

  Rose thought of the intent, almost hungry, look Sir Niles had turned upon her. Surely that was not the expression of a man on the brink of offering his hand and heart? Yet the burning intensity of his gaze had struck her with more force than any poetic phrase or infatuated compliment ever had.

  “I don’t think so,” she said, weighing her words. “No one would be more surprised than I if he were. Except perhaps Sir Niles himself.”

  “Whatever do you mean by that?”

  “Well, I’m not precisely the sort of girl a man like that marries.”

  “I hope you are not the sort of girl he doesn’t marry, if you follow me.”

  Rose only shook her head slightly. “I mean, I’m presentable, I hope, but not dernier cri. I follow fashion; I don’t set it. Nor do I care to. Sir Niles could be happy only, I’m sure, with a woman who lives at the forefront of the mode. Someone very elegant and accomplished. My dearest friends could not call me that.”

  “You paint very prettily,” Aunt Paige said, with the air of one saving one spark of hope from a tidal wave. “And your music has improved very much since Monsieur Quarter main has taken you in hand.”

  “But I have not a shred of talent, only application. No, the woman Sir Niles marries must be so confident in herself and her abilities that she commands even his respect and admiration. I could never marry a man so far above me in talents. I would diminish and disappear in his shadow.”

  Aunt Paige brushed her gloved hands together as though disposing of the subject. “Very well. When he proposes, you will turn him down and lose the marriage of the Season.” She softened and smiled. “But I wouldn’t have you marry any man if you didn’t feel he is right for you.”

  Though she’d made her position as clear as she possibly could to her aunt, Rose found herself pondering Sir Niles’s attitude even as she took to the floor again with the charming Colonel Wapton. He was talking pleasantly of the last time they’d met. Rose lent him only part of her attention, nodding and smiling in the right places, when she caught sight of Rupert just entering the ball. His face was so blandly expressionless that Rose knew at once something must be wrong. He wore that look only when in great trouble.

  “There’s my brother,” she said, interrupting the colonel and the dance. “Would you mind very much taking me to him?”

  “Certainly not, ma’am. A privilege,” he said at once, as she had all but forced him to do.

  As they crossed the floor, he mentioned he’d called on her earlier in the day. “I was so sorry to have missed you, Colonel Wapton. Morning callers are always acceptable to my aunt. Oh, except between the hours of eleven o’clock and noon,” she added with a mischievous smile.

  “I will obey her implicitly, if you’ll explain the reason for that charming smile,” he said.

  “It’s nothing, only... well, you wouldn’t want to discommode a senior officer.”

  “Who?” the colonel said in a teasing undertone.

  “Do you know a General O’Banyon?”

  “Only by reputation; we are not in the same regiment. Is he courting your aunt?”

  “Shouldn’t he?”

  “He was notorious with the ladies in Spain. They seemed fascinated by his red hair.” He passed his hand over his own undoubtedly ginger-colored hair. “But that won’t weigh with Lady Marlton, I hope.”

  “She seemed charmed, I think.” Rose realized such gossip could only harm her aunt, no matter how amusing she found such tales against others. “Here’s my brother,” she said, poking Rupert in the back. “Rupert, let me present Colonel Wapton. Colonel Wapton, my brother, Rupert Spenser.”

  The two men bowed. Then Rupert’s eye lighted upon the colonel’s dark green uniform facings. “I say, weren’t the lot of you at Salamanca?”

  “Yes, we were. Not me, though. I was laid up in the hospital with a broken thigh.”

  Rupert’s momentary animation drained away, leaving the signs of his misery plain even to a stranger’s eyes. “Care for some punch, Rose?” he asked. “Know you don’t like champagne.” He drained his glass of the delicate straw-colored wine. “Dashed thin stuff.”

  ‘Thank you; I should love some punch.”

  The colonel stayed by her side while Rupert stalked away. “Army mad, I perceive?”

  “Since infancy. My late uncle made the mistake of sending him a toy rifle and real forage cap when Rupert was only six or seven. I remember how he’d pore over every newspaper my father received, desperately following the news of every battle. He’s been wild to join ... ah, well.”

  “He should buy his commission. He’s the sort we need in the army now that the war is at an end. Someone who loves the service, not just the profits to be made from it.”

  “Someone like you, Colonel?” Rose asked gently.

  Colonel Wapton colored and cleared his throat. “Not at all. I’m an opportunist. I care for nothing but my pay and my perquisites.”

  “Seriously...”

  “We are at a ball, Miss Spe
nser. Being serious is against the law. But come, tell me why your brother isn’t in uniform at this moment, hotheaded youngster that he is.”

  “There speaks the voice of a man who is what-— thirty?”

  “You flatter me,” he said, bowing. Rose had been, just a little. “I received my present rank at the age of thirty-five. I’m now not quite forty.”

  “A sensible age.”

  “Not too sensible,” he admitted with a flirtatious gleam in his amber eyes. Rose only waved her fan and smiled. “Is there some physical reason for your brother’s remaining a civilian?”

  ‘Yes, very definitely. My father.”

  “I don’t follow.”

  “My father is adamantly against Rupert serving in any capacity in the army, navy, or horse marines. He is terrified Rupert will be killed. He had a younger brother, you see, who died a very few months after taking his commission. My father recalls very clearly that Uncle Rupert was as excited as a schoolboy over putting on his uniform.”

  “And having named his son for his brother, he is afraid the same fate will befall the boy. Superstitious, but intelligible.”

  “Unfortunately, Rupert can’t see it that way.” Rose caught herself. She shouldn’t be so frank with a stranger. “Forgive me for rattling on so, Colonel. I’m sure you wish to be amusing yourself.”

  “I can think of nothing I wish to do just now, Miss Spenser, except to offer you whatever help lies in my power should your brother choose to take up the service upon his majority. He’s almost old enough now, isn’t he?”

  “Yes, he is. And thank you for your kind offer, but until my father relents, Rupert will not act against his wishes.”

  “Every word you say convinces me more that he’s good officer material. But I can see you wish to talk to him alone, so I’ll leave you with him.” He bowed to Rose, smartly including Rupert with a click of his heels.

  Rupert handed Rose a glass of pink punch, and she lost her sense of being in the ballroom as she recalled Sir Niles’s taking her glass away. Had his fingers trembled the merest bit as he touched her hand? Drat her gloves! Now she couldn’t be certain.

  As though a flame passed over her skin, Rose suddenly found herself breathless and shaken and much, much too warm. What if Sir Niles could have fallen in love with her? Wouldn’t she then be forced to ask herself whether she really despised him or whether there were some deeper feelings at work?