An Elegant Façade (Hawthorne House Book #2) (3 page)

Only years of practice at remaining outwardly calm kept Colin in his seat. Ryland was not only returning to London but to society as well? Was this a new project? A new case that required he come out of hiding? Or was he truly following through on his intentions to stop spying?

Jeffreys extracted a small white card from his pocket and flipped it across the bed. Ryland snatched it out of midair, crumpling the corner a bit.

Colin strained to get a look at the card. It looked like an invitation. Who would have sent Ryland an invitation? Half of London thought he was dead.

“She’s going to be there?” Ryland ran a thumb along the edge of the card.

Jeffreys nodded. “The servants have been speaking constantly of the various costumes their lords and ladies have procured. That invitation was meant for your aunt. Price said it was a shame she never received it.”

Ryland looked over the card and grinned. Grinned. The jaded, world-weary spy grinned.

Colin rose and leaned over Ryland’s shoulder, his thoughts ticking through everything that had been said or done since he arrived. The invitation was for a masquerade ball, but that fact paled as the importance of Jeffreys’ statement became evident. There was a girl involved, and by the look on Ryland’s face, she wasn’t related to his work.

And since it was personal, Ryland wasn’t about to volunteer information. Colin turned instead to the valet. “There’s a she?”

“What is her costume going to be?” Ryland tapped the invitation
against his palm, probably hoping he could learn what he wanted without letting Colin ask any questions of his own. Which made Colin all the more determined to know who the
she
was.

Jeffreys continued packing as he spoke. “We aren’t sure, though we know it’s blue. She and her sister and mother were all seen at the modiste ordering dresses for that event. The sister was quite excited. The mother was less so.”

“Not surprising.” Ryland’s face turned thoughtful once more. He seemed to have forgotten Colin was in the room. “Masquerades are not known for keeping the faint blush of youth in a young lady’s cheeks. I wonder at Lady Blackstone letting that be Lady Georgina’s first society appearance.”

Colin had never met the Ladies Hawthorne or their recently remarried mother, Lady Blackstone, but he had done business with their eldest brother, the Duke of Riverton—whose estate Ryland had recently been spying on in the guise of the duke’s valet.

This was going to end badly.

Colin coughed. “Lady Georgina Hawthorne?”

Even though Colin hadn’t met the young lady, he’d certainly heard of her. And what he’d heard would have made her the last lady he’d have expected Ryland to become interested in.

“The hostess, Lady Yensworth, is a particular friend of Lady Blackstone’s—otherwise I’m sure they would be skipping the event.” Jeffreys pulled a pair of ruined-looking boots from the bottom of the closet. “Are we keeping these?”

Ryland raised a brow. “Why wouldn’t we?”

“Your Grace.” The valet tilted his head to the side.

Ryland’s brows drew together. “What?”

“Only reminding you that you are a duke. I don’t know a whole lot about the aristocracy, but I know they don’t wear boots that look like this.”

Normally Colin would have settled into the corner, content to gather as much information as possible from a personal conversation taking place in his presence. But this time he could not afford to misunderstand what was happening. It was simply too unbelievable.

He stood and grabbed Ryland’s shoulder, unable to keep the shock from his face. “You’ve intentions to court Lady Georgina Hawthorne?”

Colin couldn’t picture it. Ryland was a gentleman to the core, but he’d lived too long in the shadows for all of his edges to stay refined. He’d rip a delicate society flower to shreds.

“What? No.” Ryland shifted in his seat, looking as uncomfortable as Colin had ever seen.

Colin turned an inquiring look to Jeffreys. Something was disturbing the normally unflappable duke, and being the good friend that he was, Colin couldn’t wait to hold it over the other man’s head.

Jeffreys frowned at the old boots. “The older sister, sir.”

“Ah.” Colin relaxed considerably and grinned. He hadn’t heard as much about Lady Miranda, but he’d heard enough to know she’d be a much better fit for a man who’d spent the past nine years hiding in the shadows. Any woman willing to turn down multiple offers of marriage had to possess a considerable amount of courage. Something that could be necessary if danger decided to follow Ryland home.

Ryland glared at Jeffreys as the valet strode about the room gathering items. “Why are you telling Mr. McCrae my secrets, Jeffreys? Isn’t your loyalty supposed to be to me?”

“Of course, Your Grace. That’s why I didn’t tell Mr. McCrae that you’ve been brooding over the young lady since you left your position at her house several months ago.” Jeffreys threw the dilapidated boots into the trunk. “Only the least discreet of valets would reveal that you’ve actually paced the floor as you’ve contemplated what you’d do when she returned to London.”

Colin laughed so hard he fell back into his chair, holding his right hand to his side. Ryland had left Riverton’s house before Christmas, after sending the band of treasonists fleeing to hide in the large city. Spring was now nudging at London’s edges. The idea that he’d been pining for a woman that long was entertaining indeed.

Ryland turned his glare from the valet to send a calculating look at Colin. “I don’t suppose you received an invitation to this dance?”

Colin swallowed his laughter and nodded. He should have known he wouldn’t escape being pulled into whatever scheme Ryland and his valet had concocted. In all honesty, if it included watching Ryland dangle on a hook, Colin didn’t want to miss it. “I have. I hadn’t intended to go, but if you’re going to be there, I’ll have to change my plans. The
ton
won’t know what to do with such an interesting piece of gossip.”

Ryland tapped the card into his palm. “I think a masquerade will do nicely. I can ease her into the idea of my being in Town without her recognizing me.”

A groan trapped itself in Colin’s throat. Lady Miranda had already met Ryland, only not in the form of a duke. She knew Ryland as her brother’s valet, the role he’d played while he investigated the French spies in Hertfordshire. Obviously the woman had made a considerable impression on Ryland, and it was possible he’d made an impression on her as well, despite his posing as a servant. No amount of esteem was going to make a woman happy that she’d been deceived for months, though.

And there was no easing someone into a revelation of that magnitude.

Not to mention the fact that Ryland was still, as far as Colin knew, actively seeking the Napoleonic spy who had gotten away. “What about the case?”

The other man shrugged. “Every lead but one is stone-cold. Another agent of the War Office can follow Lambert as easily as I can.”

Colin looked at Jeffreys, who shook his head, silently agreeing with Colin that there was nothing to be done to change Ryland’s mind. Clearly, the duke wasn’t thinking straight.

Ryland’s life was about to get very complicated. And Colin planned to be right in the middle of it.

After all, watching Ryland muddle his way through such a revelation was going to be too much fun to miss.

“I think I pulled the mask too tight.” Harriette frowned as she slid a finger along Georgina’s forehead, tracing the edge of the white jeweled mask.

“Leave it.” Georgina put up a hand to stop Harriette from loosening the white silk ribbon. In truth, the edges were biting into her skin, but she didn’t want to lose the benefit of the hours spent making the mask frame her eyes and hair to perfection.

“Very well.” Harriette adjusted a curl on Georgina’s coiffure as she frowned.

Georgina turned her head, making sure that the artful blond curls fell behind the mask in such a way that it hid the fact her ears weren’t exactly even. Nothing could be left open to criticism tonight. She had only one chance to create the right first impression.

She rose to prance across the room, ensuring that her dress wouldn’t bind or scratch during the dancing. The silken skirts swished pleasantly against her legs, but the bodice was going to take some getting used to. The structured front panel and dropped waist were very striking but also very restrictive to a woman who’d grown up with her skirts flowing freely about her middle.

The white-on-white embroidery that decorated the bodice felt stiff under her fingers as she ran a hand over the structured panels.
Thank goodness she didn’t have to strap herself into a dress like this every day.

Georgina shook her head before turning to the mirror to check the fit of the mask once more. She tried smiling, laughing, and even pantomimed the act of drinking. Yes, the mask had been designed very well.

“This night is going to be perfect, Harriette. Everything is going to go according to plan.”

Harriette said nothing as she helped Georgina arrange the white velvet cloak around her shoulders.

Curving her lips into the coy-yet-innocent smile she’d been practicing for the past year, Georgina curtsied before the maid. “How do I look?”

“Like an angel.” Harriette’s smile was as genuine as Georgina’s was fake, but they were the only ones who knew that. Anyone who saw the maid wrap Georgina in a light hug, carefully avoiding the elaborately curled hair, would think both women were happy about the night’s potential. “Good luck, my lady.”

Georgina returned the hug. “I have a plan, dear Harriette. I don’t need luck.” She’d used up all her luck the day she met Harriette. Life hadn’t seen fit to grant her any more since then, and it wasn’t likely to start now.

The corridor was empty as she stepped out of her room and took a final, fortifying breath before moving to the stairs. Anxiety jumped around her middle, threatening to make her ill.

As her hand wrapped around the newel post and her foot landed on the top stair, her frazzled nerves were joined by heady anticipation. Three years of practice and planning were coming to fruition. The past year had thrown an obstacle or two in her path, but now everything was in place. All she had to do was execute the plan and all of London would fall at her feet.

Then her only task would be to keep them there.

Griffith, Duke of Riverton, Georgina’s elder brother, was the first to greet her at the bottom of the stairs. “An angel in white. What a departure from your normal appearance.”

Georgina tipped her head to the side, trying to appear bored by his sardonic statement. She’d worn nothing but white for the past two years. It was flattering on her, left a dramatic impression, and was easily altered so that she never appeared to wear the same dress twice. Exhausting, yes, but it only added to the impression of legendary elegance. At least she hoped it did.

He offered her his arm, and Georgina was grateful that she’d practiced this as well. Her brother was tall, broad, and imposing. An asset when dealing with ducal business, but incredibly awkward when a woman was trying to find a flattering way to take his arm, even if she was a bit taller than average.

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.