An Elegant Façade (Hawthorne House Book #2) (5 page)

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.

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 least 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?”

Georgina sighed. “The man whose home you’re going to keep and all that.”

“Oh!” She smiled and laid her head in the nest of feathers decorating Georgina’s sleeve. “I don’t know. He had a mask on.”

“You don’t . . .” Georgina snapped her teeth shut and bopped Jane on the forehead, careful to avoid the artfully arranged coiffure. “You can’t marry him if you don’t know who he is.”

“I know. That’s why I invited him to my house.” Jane looked so proud of herself that Georgina hated to bring her down.

“Jane, after tonight, several men will be calling at your house.” Hopefully not the same ones that would be calling on Georgina, but some men were bound to prefer Lady Jane. And she would flourish nicely wherever she landed on the aristocratic scale. Even if she had to settle for a second son bound for the army, she would do well.

The prospect of not being able to identify her mystery suitor didn’t dim Jane’s smile. If anything, it broadened with personal pride. “I know. That’s why I invited him to our Friday salon next week.”

Jane had never been overly bright. Sadly, it was one of the things Georgina liked about her. Even if Georgina were to mess up in front of the other girl, it was likely Jane wouldn’t even notice that Georgina had revealed a life-changing secret. But this plan was too cork-brained for even Jane to think up. “You can’t invite a man to our Friday afternoon salon. It’s nothing but young ladies playing cards and pretending to gamble.”

The Friday salons had begun last year as a group of girls not quite out but wishing they were decided to practice their social skills on each other. They’d gambled for real once, but their mothers had a collective tizzy and threatened to refuse to let them gather anymore. The plan was for the gatherings to continue even though all the young ladies were now out in society. Jane couldn’t bring a man into their midst.

“Oh, but that’s the brilliance of it. I’ve decided we don’t need to play cards anymore since we’ll be invited to
real
card parties now.” Jane stood up tall and smoothed her green and blue skirt. “We’re going to be a book club.”

A book club. Georgina nearly dropped her glass of lemonade again. That was even worse. She could talk Jane out of it. She had to be able to talk Jane out of it. “You can’t do a book club.”

“Whyever not? They’re very popular. I heard even Lady Brattleby’s doing one.”

“But one man and a bunch of ladies discussing romantic novels?” Even Jane could see how that wouldn’t work. Couldn’t she?

Jane frowned.

Relief sagged Georgina’s shoulders, and she tipped the remainder of her lemonade into her mouth.

Jane shrugged. “I’ll think of something else and send word around.”

Georgina grunted a response. It was Jane’s worst habit, sending
letters to people she was going to see in a matter of hours. Who had time to do that?

Jane’s attention snapped from Georgina to the ballroom beyond the alcove. “Oh, who’s that? Do you think it’s your brother Trent?”

Georgina glanced at the man who’d caught Jane’s eye. As the man had brown hair it was most certainly not Trent, but it was very likely to be Lord Eversly, a man Jane would do well to dance with. Especially since Georgina had some misgivings about Jane’s fascination with an unknown man. Anything that would redirect her attention would be a good thing. “It might be. Stand near the pillar there and he’s sure to see you. Then you can find out if it’s him while you dance.”

Jane scurried out of the alcove to stand next to the pillar, her bright peacock-inspired dress making her difficult to miss. Sure enough, Lord Eversly asked her to dance.

Georgina stayed in the alcove until she spotted her own gentleman to target. Mr. Moreland, a younger son, popular with the
ton
. He was suitable to dance with and easily recognizable.

She stepped forward to stand near the pillar and catch his eye. As they stepped onto the dance floor, she saw more than one person look their way. Satisfaction made her smile as they stepped into the quadrille. This would be the dance people talked about when they discussed her mix of partners. No one would remember Mr. McCrae.

Especially not Georgina.

The dark front of Colin’s town house greeted him as he paid the hackney driver and stepped to the pavement. As the hired conveyance drove away, it passed another carriage, one that had been decorated with pomp and station in mind. The contrast of the two vehicles was difficult to miss, and normally Colin chose to ignore it. He didn’t see the point in owning his own carriage and horses. Though he could well afford it, the expense wasn’t worth
it for a single man who spent most of his time in London. This time, though, he found himself wishing no one had witnessed him arriving home from the ball in a hired hack.

The private carriage, gilded to the point of near gaudiness, rolled past Colin, the occupants’ loud laughter scraping over him, making him shudder. He rolled his shoulders and shifted his weight, hoping the movement would ease the restlessness creeping under his skin.

It didn’t.

He was accustomed to balls leaving him exhausted and tense, but tonight there was uneasiness in the fatigue. Instead of affording him a sense of accomplishment and a mental list of things to do the next day, his mind swirled with questions he hadn’t allowed himself to consider in a very long time, if ever. It was going to take more than his usual cup of evening tea to distract him from his internal musings so he could rest tonight.

The door opened behind him, drawing him out of his reverie.

“Good evening, sir.” Taggert, who acted as both Colin’s butler and valet, held out his hands for Colin’s hat and greatcoat. “Cook is preparing your tea tray. I shall bring it up directly.”

Colin ran a hand through his hair. It was late and the financial world didn’t keep
ton
hours. He would have to be awake and alert early tomorrow. He should go directly to bed.

But he simply couldn’t.

“Bring the tea to the study. If there are any biscuits left, add those.”

Taggert nodded. “Of course, sir.”

Colin jogged up the stairs toward his study. The town home was narrow and modest, but still a ridiculous amount of space for a single man of his station. His first year in London, he’d taken rooms at the Albany, like many other gentlemen in his situation, but confining his life to two small rooms when he’d grown up with the sea as his backyard had slowly driven him to the brink of Bedlam. The terrace house gave him room to spread out, to walk, to not spend every moment at home staring at the same four walls. The fact that he never used two entire floors of the place
meant little. He liked knowing they were there and he could use them if he wished.

If he were to marry, the extra space would be useful indeed.

He stumbled on the last stair. Marriage had entered his mind more this evening than the previous five years put together. Was that notion causing him such distress? It shouldn’t. Plenty of men weren’t going to get married this year, and there was no reason Colin should be ashamed to be one of them.

Two quick jerks loosened his cravat. The dishevelment was usually enough to indicate to his subconscious that his day was complete and it was time to relax. There would be no more guests this evening, no business associates claiming a sudden need for his attention. He could stop weighing his every word and deed to make sure they presented him in the way he wanted to be seen.

His body normally recognized this release and sleep would tug at him soon after. But tonight the freedom made him even more restless.

What was different this evening? Why was he in his study, eyeing the stack of correspondence he’d yet to go through instead of resting his head on his pillow?

Ryland had returned to society, and that had certainly changed Colin’s evening. Perhaps his friend’s intent to make a change in his life had affected Colin more than he thought. Even though the duke had left after dancing with Lady Miranda, Colin hadn’t reverted to his normal evening routine. Instead he’d made every attempt to simply enjoy the evening, another significant difference.

He even danced a few more times, though with ladies considerably closer to his social class than the conniving Lady Georgina. His invitations had been better received than he had hoped. The idea of taking a wife, settling down, had niggled at the corners of his brain.

Taking a wife meant starting a family, though, and he wasn’t sure he was ready to do that. He knew business, but families? He wasn’t any good at those. His dealings with his own family certainly hadn’t shown any marked skills in that area.

He wrote to them faithfully every three months, or at least he
wrote to his mother and sister. They always wrote back, alternating between telling him the latest news and begging him to come home. More than once he’d considered it, but things had been tense between him and his father for years, even before he’d left Glasgow. That final argument had nearly destroyed the family’s reputation around town. He couldn’t risk the damage his return might do to his mother and sister. Bronwyn had come out this year and was hoping to find a husband soon. The last thing she needed was the gossip Colin’s return would bring.

That was, of course, assuming his father would even let him into the house. Not once in the past five years had the man taken time to write him. Even when Colin sent inquiries about the family shipping business, Celestial Shipping, his father’s office manager handled the reply.

If Colin were being honest, he’d have to admit that he hadn’t written to Jaime McCrae during those five years either. At least not anything that had actually made it to the post.

The wild scent of Colin’s favorite tea preceded Taggert into the room. He left the tea tray on the edge of the desk before gathering Colin’s discarded jacket and cravat and leaving the room. Silent, efficient, and exactly what Colin normally wanted.

Tonight he wished he’d hired one of those chatty fellows as a butler. One of the nosy ones who pretended to be all stoic but was actually invested in his employer’s life. Those butlers tended to gossip a lot though, which was the last thing a businessman such as Colin needed.

Since he certainly wasn’t replacing his butler in the middle of the night, Colin would have to find a distraction elsewhere.

The pile of papers on his desk was the most likely location to find one.

He fixed his tea and dropped into the chair before selecting the
London Gazette
from the top of the pile. Perfect. His unusual mood was no doubt due to the increase in personal involvement this evening. He needed to get his mind back on business, and then everything would go back to normal.

With a steaming cup of tea at the ready and a large bite of cinnamon biscuit filling his mouth, he flipped to the paper’s agricultural report. The Corn Returns, as the grain report was called, had brought him good news for the past two years. Last year he’d been able to live off the profits from his grain investments alone. Of course, if the war ever ended and France and Britain began trading again, grain would cease to be such a lucrative investment. He was more than willing to give up the influx of money if it meant an end to the fighting.