A Ravishing Beauty in Disguise: A Historical Regency Romance Book

by Emily Honeyfield

  “You think he’d really dare to walk amongst us?” Isaac asked, his voice catching. His eyes darted around the crowd, as though he could fully label the thief if he just looked hard enough.

  “In fact,” the Marquess continued, speaking directly to William, “the man I hired spotted the thief outside my home only a few weeks ago.”

  William snorted. “And how did he know it was the thief?”

  The Marquess took a dramatic step forward. “Dressed all in black robes? Lurking beneath the trees? Who else do you suppose it was, hmmm?”

  “Didn’t your man attempt to go after him?” William asked.

  “Of course he did,” the Marquess continued. He clucked his tongue, clearly growing bored of the interrogation. “But he lost him on the street. Wretched thing. It seems he escaped on horseback.”

  “How terribly tragic,” William murmured.

  “But as I said, tonight is the night,” the Marquess said, his voice booming. “For here I am, at the Duke’s party. And there my man will be, lying in wait—poised to strike the moment the thief attempts to break in. Marvellous, isn’t it?”

  “Absolutely,” William said. He drew his wine glass to his lips and sipped and sipped until he drank all of it, no longer bothering with breath. The bitter taste forced his mind into overdrive. Luckily, Isaac had inserted himself back in front of William, demanding more information about the Marquess’ goods and what had been stolen. It seemed that Isaac wanted to count the depth of the Marquess’ wealth, and the Marquess wanted little more than to do just that. As a result, William was able to slip from the throng around the Marquess unnoticed.

  He ducked through the crowd, his feet keeping time with the music from the orchestra. His heartbeat went wild, fully with a mind of its own, as he hunted for Harriet. Surely, she hadn’t yet escaped the party.

  Surely, she’d been trapped by her mother’s conversation, or else the needs of Renata, or else the surly gaze of Zelda. Surely, she’d found something to amuse her, rather than a chilly night, stretching herself across the cobblestones on horseback, falling into the Marquess’ trap …

  What would happen to her if she was discovered? Surely she would be given the utmost punishment.

  As William stood, shifting his weight, Thomas blundered up to him, half-drunk. He blinked at him, looking as though he was underwater.

  “I don’t think she wants this,” he muttered.

  William felt he existed several lifetimes away from Thomas, that they spoke different languages. He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry. What are you talking about?”

  “It’s only that … I don’t think she wants this. I don’t think she wants me. And I don’t know how to carry on with this information, William. I hung everything on this idea that we would be together one day. I felt sure of it.”

  Slowly, it dawned on William that Thomas was yet again referring to Tatiana. He stretched his hand across Thomas’s shoulder and directed his attention towards the mighty belly of the ballroom.

  Skirts swirled to and fro, showing off little feet as they cut through the various steps. Female torsos were wrapped tight in corsets, allowing porcelain white breasts to spill out. And the hair! The curls! They danced in the light from the chandeliers above with lives of their own. It was captivating, a living painting.

  “Thomas, if you spend this evening bemoaning the fact that Tatiana—a girl that, need I remind you, you ultimately dumped last year—doesn’t want you, then you are wasting your life away. Look out there. So many women, waiting to be danced with. So many women, waiting to speak with you. You’re quite a catch if you don’t mind me saying so. You have only to reach out and get what you want. The world will answer back.”

  At this, William removed his hand from Thomas’ shoulder. Thomas staggered back for a moment, a blank expression on his face. But in just a moment, he strode forward, seemingly routing himself towards the next available female. Having fully distracted him, William slipped through the crowd, darting towards the lofty two-storey doors. He had a lurching, horrendous feeling, one that told him he was needed elsewhere.

  He couldn’t let her do this alone. Not anymore.

  Chapter 29

  It had been far more difficult to slip out of her father’s party than Harriet had suspected. Her mother had latched onto her with the strength of a jungle monkey gripping a tree, gabbing to her with an adrenaline unmatched. Harriet bobbed her head along with whatever story her mother told, making eyes at Zelda. She mouthed, “Come save me,” but Zelda was in the midst of speaking with the man Harriet felt sure she’d fallen in love with. A bit older, a bit scrappier, the man gazed at Zelda as though she was the only creature in the world. It was the sort of thing she’d always deserved.

  “Mother! Mother,” Harriet said, her eyes nearly bulging from her skull. “I don’t mean to be rude. But I really do need to step away for a moment. Renata mentioned that she needs my assistance …”

  “What? Renata?” her mother asked, her brows meeting. “I just spotted her dancing with that young man of hers. Hayward. Well, he certainly ONCE was young, wasn’t he? I don’t suppose she thinks she can do any better, although …”

  “Mother …” Harriet said, her voice reproachful. “You know you’re being terribly judgemental.”

  “Oh, I know. It’s the wine.” Her mother sighed. “Your father always says I get this way when I … over imbibe. Perhaps I had better take a break in the kitchen. Have a glass of water. I don’t suppose you wish to come with me, do you? I would so love the company. Your father, he hasn’t stopped talking to his—friends, or whatever they are—all evening. I really can’t get him to give me a single dance.”

  “Why don’t you dance with someone else?” Harriet asked.

  Her mother echoed an eye roll that Harriet felt sure was precisely hers, just twenty years in the future. “You know no one will want to dance with the likes of me,” she said. “Oh! Look. It’s Zelda! I must tell her how I admire her dress. You’ll come with me?”

  “I really need to step out for a moment,” Harriet said, hopeful her mother had forgotten her initial excuse about Renata. “I’ll come and find you very soon.”

  Before her mother could rip out another insistent, half-drunken comment, Harriet spun towards the enormous doors. Her little feet flew beneath her. She gripped her skirts, pulling them towards her knees. And within just a minute, she’d flung herself all the way to the horse stables.

  Due to the earliness of the hour, the stable hand was still awake. Fortunately, however, it seemed he’d nipped some wine from the party. He sat at the edge of the top of one of the stables, his feet kicking the boards beneath him.

  “There she is!” he coughed. “The young lady of the house.”

  Harriet froze for a moment, wondering what to do. She twirled her brown curls with a lost-looking finger. “I don’t suppose I could take my horse out for a bit?”

  “And miss out on your daddy’s party?” the stable hand asked. “Why on earth would you want to do such a thing?”

  “It’s only for a brief time,” Harriet said, stretching out her smile. How painful her cheeks felt in doing this. She wished she could grab the man’s ankles and shake them, telling him just how important it was that she discover what was occurring at the home of the Marquess. Oliver—how could she ever describe how deeply she cared for Oliver?

  “It would really mean a great deal to me,” she murmured, her brow furrowed. “And also … it’s a surprise. I’m meant to fetch something from my cousins’ estate. A present for my father. I do pray that you won’t give away the secret.”

  At this, the stable hand smacked his hands together. Its motion nearly toppled him backwards. At the last moment, he gripped the top of the stables, quivering back and forth. He winked drunkenly at Harriet, adding, “Of course, darling. Your secret is safe with me.”

  Harriet could hardly hear her own motions as she prepared the horse, so wild was her heartbeat. She felt the stable hand was far too drunk to d
o it himself, and she was worried his volatile words would attract attention.

  Within minutes, she stretched her leg over the saddle and whipped from the back of the stables, creating a wide curve around the mansion. As she raced, she could still hear the orchestra within. One small animal part of her still wished she was inside, wrapped in the arms of William Abernale.

  How difficult it was to live a double life.

  Harriet fell into a kind of meditation as she rode towards the Marquess’ estate. Once there, she tied her horse up to the side of the house, feeling far less fear than she might have ordinarily. She knew the Marquess remained at her father’s mansion, surely boasting about one horrific business partnership or another, without regarding for how much he allowed anyone else to speak.

  Harriet snuck towards the east side of the home, darting past the enormous back door. She felt certain that one would be locked; perhaps all of them would be. However, as she crept along the side, she noted that the cellar door had been left wide open, flapping in the evening breeze. What luck! Harriet gripped the door to stop its aimless batting, blinking into the darkness.

  Was this strange? she thought then, hesitating. A door left completely and totally open, at one of the richest estates in all of London?

  But of course, Harriet had to believe in the fallibility of all humans, even maids and cooks and the like at the home of the Marquess. She imagined that working there was a bit like being in war. Surely the maids were continually on their tiptoes, trying—and surely failing frequently—to ensure that they didn’t irritate the Marquess and his wife.

  She remembered the butler from that long-ago ball, when she’d pestered him about how the Marquess had treated him. Now, she resolved that one day, she would restore that butler’s faith in the world, hopefully giving him a substantial sum of the money she would steal from the Marquess. It was owed to him, after all.

  Harriet snuck through the cellar, making sure to keep the back door ajar for an easy exit. The cellar was quite clean, with all the stored items tucked on either side, leaving a clear path towards the kitchen.

  Once there, she pressed her hand gently against the door, making it creak slightly. Then, she took a delicate step into the moonlight-filled kitchen, which looked like something out of a dream. The place shone clean and bright, its floors and cabinets and counters glowing. She took a heavy breath then directed herself down the hall, with a single thing in mind: she had to find where the Marquess kept the money he stole from Oliver and the others.

  But how?

  The mansion was certainly enormous. When she’d initially stolen the jewellery, it had been difficult to find the bedroom of the Marquess’ wife, with many twists and turns on the upper floors. However, the Marquess certainly hid the money he stole in a specific, far more hidden room. Perhaps there were locks.

  For whatever reason, Harriet hadn’t yet considered this. She paused in the foyer, her shoes squeaking a bit. Then, she stretched her fingers across the staircase railing and strode up. She felt she was walking a kind of pirate ship plank. There was no other way to go but forward.

  As Harriet walked up the semi-creaky staircase, she had a sudden wish that she’d asked William to come with her. Sure: it could have produced a scandal, both of them dipping out for the night. But now, wearing her ball gown, darting up the steps of the Marquess’ mansion, she felt alien and afraid, wishing for the sort of partnership that would provide the safety she craved.

  But there wasn’t time to think of that just then. If she hurried on her mission, she could return to William’s arms within an hour or two, tell him everything she’d discovered, and ask him for assistance, then. Surely, to fight against the Marquess fully, she would need a second-in-command.

  Of course, William would have to be her second. She could never allow anyone to be her boss after all of this. She’d fought too hard.

  Once on the second floor, Harriet walked quietly through the halls, tapping open each door to inspect. First, there was a selection of guest rooms, all of them decorated with vintage furnishings. Harriet half-admired them, yet felt a wave of disgust rising within her.

  Although she came from a home of fine things, this seemed to elevate finery to an infinite level. She felt the dirty money behind it, knew fully that the Marquess had surely patted himself on the back after each of his thievings, knowing he could supply even more riches for his wife and guests.

  Harriet wandered the second floor and then the third, tiptoeing her way. She was surprised and grateful that she didn’t encounter any maids or butlers or other members of staff on the way—although she’d cultivated a kind of scheme if this did occur.

  As she’d dressed up still in her ball gown, she would say simply that the Marquess’ wife had sent her from the ball to retrieve something incredibly secretive, something she didn’t wish her husband to learn about. At that point, she would ask the servant to direct her to the wife’s toiletries. She knew that nothing would be enquired about, given this storyline.

  She felt more or less safe.

  After scouting the second and third floors, Harriet found herself at an attic door. An open lock hung from it, with the key inside. It was as though someone had forgotten to clip it closed, thinking no one would come up to the top level of the mansion.

  Harriet lifted her quivering hands to the lock and slipped it off, then brought the clunky door open. She blinked into the darkness and inhaled a strange, damp stench. All attics had their smell—this was something she understood very well. But this smell was something other. Something more.

  She took a tentative step into the attic. From there, she spotted a selection of tiny windows towards the far end of the room, which looked out onto the roof of the rest of the lower part of the house. Moonlight crept in, casting its light across the room, which was no more than six feet by nine feet. After another blink more, she could finally see the forms held within the attic—enormous black bags, all of which looked exactly like the ones those enormous men had taken from Oliver.

  Harriet began to shake. She hated this automatic, bodily response, as it made her feel utterly feminine and foolish. She clenched her eyes shut, gripping her gown, and whispered to herself. “Get it together. Look inside the bags. You won’t know if you’ve found the right thing unless you look.”

  Harriet knelt in front of the first bag and parted it at the top, peering in. She felt similar to how she had when she’d been just a girl, opening her gifts over the holidays. Of course, she knew now that whatever she found would ultimately destroy her heart.

  Just as she’d suspected, the bag held piles and piles of money—all of which was stained with soiled hands. The stench of it was horrendous. She coughed, drawing her hand over her lips. Her body erupted slightly as she coughed, her abs spasming.

  The other bags revealed the same sort of story. They were filled to the brim—nearly bursting, in some cases—with other people’s money. Harriet sat in the centre of all of them, gazing down at her shoes.

  Her eyes filled with images of the Marquess, only from that evening, surrounded by grandeur and dressed in his finest suit. How could he live with himself, standing on the backs of poor people? Why did he even think he needed their money when it was so clear he was apt at stealing from his own peers?

  The best Harriet could decipher was that he deemed it a sort of game. He looked out across the Thames, noting the scuttling children, their dirty faces, and saw them as little more than insects. He probably didn’t think about the bags of money in the attic all that often, which was why it still hadn’t been organised and cleaned. Besides. What on earth did he have to spend it on when he had everything he could possibly want in the world?

  Harriet stood and placed her hands on her hips, staring in the direction of the windows. She waited for a moment, wondering what to do. She couldn’t fully take all these bags along with her that night. Certainly, she needed to cultivate a better plan—even bringing William along with her to carry the bags to the neighbourh
ood from which they’d been stolen.