by Ella Edon
He looked round for the proprietor, indicating that he was about to leave. He had an account here – most fashionable people did. The fellow nodded back to him and he headed out of the coffee-house, shrugging on his coat as he went out.
It was windy outside, so he buttoned up his coat as he walked, wondering why it was he’d left, instead of going to join the women.
I suppose it would be too hard to explain how we know each other so well.
He didn’t want to put Lady Emilia in an awkward position.
But…if we met at a masked ball! If we danced, and talked, it would be natural to be bold and indiscreet! Everybody is! It’s the whole point! Mayhap, I could even kiss her.
He surprised himself by how much he wished for that. Feeling a strange, tingling tightness in his loins, he headed down the street, hailing a Hansom coach. The driver rolled to a halt beside the sidewalk, horses snorting in impatience. They were a fine team of matched black horses, and Luke was glad – he was planning to go far.
“Rumsgate House, if you please,” he called up to the driver.
“That’s far, sir,” the man protested.
“Yes, and I’ll make sure the fee matches the distance,” Luke assured him with a grim smile.
“Grand, sir! Let’s get you in.”
“I can manage,” Luke said lightly, vaulting up into the coach. They headed off to the outskirts of the town.
The countryside was sunny and warm – an unusual day. Luke watched the oak-trees and fields pull away from the coach as they rumbled down the road from the main gate, heading towards his friend’s estate.
“Luke, old boy! Capital!” Canmure greeted him on the steps of his fine residence. “This is a surprise! Are you going to join us for dinner?”
Luke shrugged. “Why not? Since you’re thoughtful enough to invite me, that is.”
“Capital, old boy!” Canmure shook his hand, wincing as he came down the steps. “Come on! Join me! We’re in the parlor. My sister will be pleased you’re back – she asked me why you’d left so soon. She was worried for your recuperation.”
Luke raised a brow in surprise. “That’s thoughtful of her.”
“We like you, Luke,” Canmure grinned, brown eyes showing a hint of concern. “You should know that…You’re like family.”
Luke, feeling surprisingly touched, followed him upstairs to the drawing-room. He was met by the sound of talking voices.
“…and so, I said to him…Oh! Lord Westmore!” Lady Raymonde raised a brow as he entered. “We were just thinking you were lost at sea!”
“No, still on my ship, milady,” he said, bowing low. Her brother made a derisive snort. He ignored him.
I only visited here to find out about this ball. Though it is good to see some friends again.
It surprised him how much he’d missed Canmure and Exfield, and even Lady Raphaella. He even felt sorry for Lady Raymonde. Her brother was what his father would have called a piece of work.
“A drink, Luke?” Canmure asked him. “We have tea, of course. Unless you’d care for something stronger?”
“Tea will do me well, thanks.” Luke made it a personal rule never to drink before five o’ clock in the evening – except at celebratory lunches.
He accepted the cup of tea from Canmure, then went across the room to the place he usually sat. Lady Raymonde came to join him by the window as he stood there, sipping it.
“You look lost in thought,” she commented.
“I am.”
“I won’t inquire as to the nature of your musings,” she said softly.
“I would not wish to bore you with them,” he replied cheek lifting in a smile. “We have few enough diversions, here in London.”
“Few enough!” Lady Raymonde let out a giggle. “Oh, Lord Westmore! How can you say that? Few diversions? In London?” She laughed as if this was the funniest thing she’d heard in ages.
Luke felt a little put-out. As it was, he wanted an opportunity to find out if anyone else knew about the masque, so he took it.
“Well, for example: Are you going anywhere on Friday?” he inquired. “Is there anything to go to, this Friday?”
“Oh, Lord Westmore!” She looked even more disbelieving. “Surely you know! Please, tell me you do. Or I declare! I shall die of terror.”
“I don’t know the reason for this terror, milady?”
“Somebody!” Lady Raymonde said, making a gesture at Luke. “Please! Inform Lord Westmore of the most important society event that’s happening this week? Or I shall die of fright.”
“Sister…” Lord Osburne said warningly. “Do stop making a scene!”
“It’s the masked ball!” Lady Ettie said. Luke had barely noticed she was there. She and Canmure were ensconced by the other window, talking together in low voices, playing Cribbage.
“I see,” Luke said, trying to conceal the relieved expression on his face. His plan to gain information had finally won him something! He pretended to frown. “Which masked ball?” His question caused the entire room to burst into mass outcry.
“Luke!”
“Lord Westmore. I declare!”
“Man, where have you been?”
Luke bore their scorn tolerantly, batting a hand at the noise. “I’ve been ill,” he said, by way of an excuse. “I take it you’re all going?”
A torrent of derision, even louder than the first one, made its way around the room. Luke stood, taking it with stoic forbearance.
“Well?” he asked, when all the noise had died down.
“Come on,” Canmure said, waving him to a seat by the fire. “Let’s make plans. You’re coming with us. Raphaella and I insist on it.”
“Thank you,” he said. He meant it. It was the best thing that could have happened.
He would be going to the masked ball at the baron’s residence. He relaxed into his chair, folding his hands in his lap.
* * *
Later, as the afternoon wore on to dinnertime, the conversation came back round to the masked ball. Costumes were discussed.
“Raphaella and I are going as Pierrot and Harlequin,” Canmure confided. “An obvious choice.”
“Indeed, yes,” Luke agreed. Half of London was probably going to go as Pierrot or Harlequin, famous figures from French theater. He tilted his head to the side, considering.
“A captain!” Raymonde said from across the room. Her brother, who sat beside her on the chaise-lounge, winced as if he was embarrassed for her. Luke looked through him.
“A captain?” he asked, turning his full attention to Raymonde.
“Yes!” Raymonde, encouraged, gushed enthusiastically. “You would make a perfect ship’s captain! With a big hat and leather boots and braided coat!”
Luke felt his brow lift in surprise. “Thank you for the idea,” he said. “I might just use that.”
“I’m glad,” she gushed happily. “Isn’t this fun?”
“Yes,” Luke admitted, surprised at himself. “It, surprisingly, is fun.”
Everybody laughed. Luke hadn’t realized it, but he appeared to have a reputation as something of a stick-in-the-mud. His attendance at the masque was going to change that.
Lady Emilia is going to be there.
The thought made his heart soar. He couldn’t wait to surprise her.
The next morning, he called his manservant, Mr. Parker.
“Parker…?” he asked as the older man came in to dress him, a lugubrious expression on his mustached face. “Can you engage a tailor for me? The best in town, would you say?”
“Why, sir?” Parker looked upset. “I can take in trousers as fine as any tailor might.”
Luke, sitting at his table while waiting to have his cravat done, rolled his eyes. “I’m aware of that, Parker. Far is it from the day that I’d insult your adjusting skills. What I need now, though, is a costume.”
“A costume?” his manservant raised a bushy brow. He looked at Luke as if he’d asked for green cheese at a Palace dinner.
“It’s Tuesday, sir!”
“I’m well aware of that.”
Luke met with the tailor that morning. Unlike his man, he took the tight time-requirement as a challenge. He drew flamboyant sketches, making Lady Raymonde’s idea come alive for him. Finally, Luke nodded.
“That’s it. Can you do it?”
“I can try.”
At the final fitting, on Thursday, Luke stood in his dressing-room, staring at the figure in the mirror. With a broad hat, a coat with wide lapels and turned-up cuffs, richly decorated in gold trim, he looked like a pantomime captain. With his back straight and an added pencil mustache and obligatory eye-mask, he had to admit to himself the effect was…rather striking.
“I’m looking forward to the ball on Friday.”
Chapter Sixteen
Of Ballgowns and Disguises
“Oh, Hestony!” Emilia stared at herself, speechless with delight. “It’s…it’s remarkable.”
Hestony, standing behind her in the big bedroom at her home, just beamed gently. Emilia stared at herself.
She was wearing a dress in green and white, the skirt wide and barred in alternating stripes, the front divided to show an underskirt of white silk. The bodice was low-cut and made of green silk, with puffed sleeves. The green of the dress was close to the color of sage-leaves, which brought out the green of her blue-green eyes.
She swirled, letting the full, wide skirt whisper about her ankles. The waist was fitted and becoming, and the pale green softened the contours of her face, making her look gentle and lovely.
“Is that really me?” she wondered aloud.
“Cousin…of course it is!” Hestony chuckled. “You’re beautiful. Didn’t you know that before?”
Emilia just turned to look at her cousin, overcome.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
“You’re welcome.”
Hestony was wearing a dress in pink and white, the sleeves very puffed, the waist a low “v”. The skirt was slashed, showing a petticoat decorated in diamond panes, as had been the fashion three hundred years ago. To keep with the style, her hair was frizzed and ringleted, the fashion of that aeon.
“You look so pretty.”
Hestony just smiled. “I think we make a fine pair,” she declared.
Emilia nodded and looked at them, standing side by side in the mirror together. Her hair was done in soft ringlets that framed her face, the back pinned up. She wore a silver chain, while her cousin had pearls.
“We’re the best Queen of Hearts and Queen of Diamonds that ever there were!” Hestony announced.
“Except I don’t have any hearts on me!” Emilia smiled.
“You do,” Hestony said, and touched her gently on the chest. “You have a big heart. Right there.”
Emilia just swallowed hard. “Thank you, cousin,” she whispered.
Blinking back tears, she headed down the steps and into the front hallway.
“Hie along!” the driver called to his horses. They shot off.
The coach rattled through the darkened streets of London’s fashionable district. Emilia, leaning back as the blue haze rushed past the window, felt her tummy tighten in a knot of excitement. She was going to the most fashionable event in London!
“Will there be many people?” she inquired with interest. She held her purse in one hand – it matched her gown’s green-and-white stripes – and her pass for the ball. In the other hand, darkening with perspiration at the edge, she clutched a black velvet mask.
“Only a few, I believe,” her cousin said. “The baron issued no more than eighty invitations. You know he likes to keep things intimate.”
“Eighty!” Emilia’s brows shot up. In her experience, a guest-list of eighty was a huge event! Besides at Almack’s, where they often had more, of course. In her own home, they never hosted more than twelve at a time for a party.
I hadn’t noticed my father’s finances were that bad.
She swallowed hard. How long had it been like this? Probably, since she’d grown up with him struggling, she had simply accepted it as normal.
“It’s a good number, eh?” Hestony grinned. “Mama won’t possibly be able to have any reports of our bad behavior.”
“Hestony!” Emilia giggled. “That’s shocking!”
“It’s a masked ball,” Her cousin smiled wickedly. “We are allowed to be a little lax.”
That, after all, was what it was all about.
After what seemed like an age, the coach drew up in front of the baron’s residence. Emilia stared out, feeling her heart start to thrum with excitement. The terrace in the front of Mullway House was lit up with torchlight. Against the backdrop of the blue London dusk, it looked like an enchanted palace.
Emilia drifted up the steps towards the summit, Hestony close behind. She stared in amazement at the guests. Clad in dresses of velvet and silk, lace and brocade, the ladies in fine jeweled masks, or velvet ones, the gentlemen sporting hats of all descriptions, and masks – some elegant, some grotesque – the place was transformed to something from another world. She clung to her cousin’s hand, feeling excited and a little scared.
This was just what I needed. It’s like time out of reality.
She felt like she had stepped into a dream. A strange, exciting and somewhat-scary dream, but a dream nonetheless. Taking in a nervous breath, she stepped into the hall.
The room was lit by big four-hour candles, set into chandeliers that glittered as they swayed – ever so slightly – in the gust from the open doors. The light was bright, dazzling. The noise was loud – eighty people, talking, laughing and exclaiming made a sound like the loudest beehive in all of Creation. Emilia felt her forehead break out in perspiration – from nerves as much as from the heat.
“It’s warm in here.”
“It is indeed,” her cousin replied, raising her voice to speak over the cacophony. “Is there a terrace anywhere? I want some air.”
“Yes,” Emilia whispered, pointing to the other side of the room.
Together they navigated the edge of the ballroom, heading out onto the terrace.
Outside, it was much quieter. Others had found the quiet refuge, but oddly-enough, not many. Emilia went to lean against the railing, looking out over the tranquil night scene. She could listen to the sounds of creatures rustling about in the grass. Here, the noise about as loud as that from the hall.
“Here is quieter,” she commented to Hestony, keeping her voice low.
“It is,” her cousin agreed. “And cooler. But I want to join the fun!”
Emilia nodded, seeing her friend’s visible impatience. “You go in when you’re ready, Hestony,” she said gently. “I just want to take the air a bit longer.”
Hestony grinned. “Thanks, cousin!” she said. “You know I want to go in and dance!”
Emilia smiled, but said nothing. Leaning on the rails, she stared out over the darkened grounds.
After a minute, Hestony went inside. It sounded as if things were quieting down a little. Once or twice, she heard a violin, tuning up to get ready for the night’s music. She knew Hestony was fairly bursting to join the dances.
“I would like to, as well,” she said to herself. “If I thought there was anyone to dance with.”
She felt her cheek lift in a smile. She knew there was someone with whom she would have liked to dance. But she had no illusions that he might be here. Of the little she knew of Luke Preston, it was enough to know he wouldn’t attend anything like this.
“He’s far too serious.”
She heard footsteps cross the terrace behind her. Bold footsteps, striking the marble cladding, which drew her interest. She turned around as a figure came to join her by the rail.
“Good evening, milady,” a low voice said.
Emilia shivered, making herself look away from the
handsome stranger and back down into the grounds. There was something about his voice she recognized.