Magical Masquerade: A Regency Masquerade (7 page)

‘Oh, I shall go upstairs and change in a moment.’
She popped a little pink iced cake whole into her mouth and said rather
thickly, ‘You have been ill. I’m
sorry,
I forgot to
ask how you are recovered. Philip said it was a very bad attack.’

‘Philip?’ murmured Minette, inattentive and
preoccupied.

Arabella’s eyes widened. ‘Why, Rochford, I mean of
course.’

‘Oh, of course.
I was not attending.’ She smiled. ‘My head is still a little woolly,
I’m afraid. But I am well on the way to being recovered.’ Privately, she was
thanking God that she had not ventured to address him as George. Eugénie had never
thought to mention that in the family he was known as Philip.

She watched as Arabella hesitated with her hand
outstretched over the plate of cakes. Then she made her choice and pounced upon
the largest of the remaining fancies like a fox onto a rabbit. Grandmère would
have been appalled at such a display of greed and, had either of her
granddaughters been guilty of it, the consequences would have been severe.
Minette, fascinated by the way the flimsy muslin strained over her young
visitor’s ample bosom, resolved to let Mrs Pritchard know that, from
thenceforward, only wafer thin slices of bread with the merest dab of butter
should be served with tea.

She glanced out of the window and saw that the sun
had broken through the clouds. The snow had melted into slush, but the gravel
pathways through the home woods had been cleared and were reasonably dry.
‘Shall we walk a little in the gardens? You must be stiff and cramped after
your journey.’

‘Oh no.
I thought I would lie down for a while and read. I have the most
exciting book on the go at the moment. It is called
The Monk
. Have you read it?’

‘No, I have not!
Nor should you.
It is a most unsuitable work for an unmarried girl.’

‘How do you know if you haven’t read it?’ asked
Arabella reasonably.

Minette was rather nonplussed by this. ‘Grandmère
says—’

‘I daresay. But you can hardly expect me to
regulate my conduct by your grandmother’s ideas of what is proper. Now can
you?’

‘No—no—I suppose not.’ It was quite a new idea to
Minette that Grandmere’s decrees were not all powerful outside the family.

‘Besides, Philip knows I am reading it, and all he
said was that all the good characters were so boring that it made one cheer for
the wicked ones.’

Minette laughed. ‘Well, if he does not object—’ She
smiled coaxingly and said, ‘I am going to walk, for I feel quite dull shut up
in the house all day. Will you not give me your company?’

‘Oh, very well.
I must change first, however.’

‘Indeed, you should. And put on some serviceable
boots.’

Both ladies retired to their chambers to change
their clothes into raiment more suitable for the outdoors and presently
emerged, Minette in a midnight-blue woollen cloak trimmed with ermine and
Arabella in a drab pelisse that reduced her immediately to schoolroom status.
Minette, feeling that this compliance deserved a reward, insisted on lending
her supposed sister-in-law her sables, which were accepted with acclaim.

They walked in the extensive grounds for over an
hour and, when Arabella at last returned to her bedchamber, it was to indulge
in a sound nap, not a salacious novel.

Minette, also lying down but not sleepy, gave
herself up to serious thought. The masquerade she had undertaken remained quite
unforgivable in her own mind, but she thought she might claim some mitigation for
her sins if she were to be of use to Arabella. Much as she loved Eugénie, she
knew her sister would not make the smallest push to influence or care for the
child. But Minette could see that she might give Arabella the guidance of which
she stood in need. She was a girl of hearty appetites, unaccustomed to
restraint. Having spent an afternoon with her, Minette understood why the Duke
was worried about inappropriate flirtations. She shrewdly judged that there had
already been some indiscretions. Well, she thought she could see how to
influence the girl. Marriage, and early marriage at that, must be their goal. Arabella
must, therefore, be convinced that the way to win a husband was to behave and
dress like a lady. After marriage, she could give free rein to her passions
and, presumably, surprise her delighted husband very much. Tact would be needed,
of course. Minette could not even hint that the attire purchased with such delighted
expectations from the Bath modiste was vulgar in the extreme. But she thought that
a proposal to visit a more exclusive establishment in Bond Street would not be
met with any resistance, and she could, she was sure, rely upon any of the
proprietors of these emporia to provide a wardrobe for a debutante as demure as
it was expensive. She would write to the Duke with the proposition and—she sat
up suddenly as a fresh bugbear entered her head. Her own neat handwriting was
nothing like Eugénie’s dashing scrawl. How was she ever to avoid putting pen to
paper for months on end?

She sank back against her pillows. For the present,
her illness could be her excuse. Arabella could write on her behalf as she had
not yet the strength to hold a pen. She could only hope that Arabella would not
think it strange that a woman who could walk briskly for an hour on a winter’s
afternoon was unable to inscribe a short note.

She need not have been concerned. This leap of mind
was far beyond Arabella’s capabilities. She greeted the suggestion with acclaim
and willingly penned a note to her brother.

‘Pray, dictate to me. I shall tell him I am
inscribing it on your behalf.’ She sat down at the walnut bureau in a little
bustle of importance, picked up a quill, mended the nib quite unnecessarily,
and said, ‘I am quite ready, Eugénie.’

Minette dictated a short note, cool but polite. In
it, she informed the Duke that she proposed to bring her sister-in-law to Town the
following week and spend two nights in Curzon Street.

‘And end it
Yours
, etc., Minette,
if you please.’

Arabella glanced up, puzzled.
‘Minette?’

Minette felt her cheeks burn fiery red. ‘No, no
sign it
Eugénie
, of course.’

‘But why did you say Minette at first?’

Feeling that she was sinking ever deeper into a
slough of deception and trickery, Minette answered quickly, ‘It is a name used
for me since childhood by my family. I forgot for a moment that your brother
has never heard it.’ She managed a natural-sounding laugh. ‘Conceive of his
astonishment if an unknown lady wrote and proposed to stay with him.’

‘Minette is very pretty though.
Prettier
than Eugénie, I think.’

‘I think so, too,’ acknowledged Minette. Then,
impulsively, she said, ‘Why do not you use it instead. It would be so
comfortable for me. Almost like being at home.’

Arabella blushed. ‘I should like that. It would be
as though we were really sisters.’

Rochford was not at home when the two ladies
arrived in Curzon Street in a carriage liberally splashed with mud and dripping
from a downpour that had caught them in the area of Dartford. Fortunately, the Duke’s
carriage was of such excellent manufacture that the ladies had been warm and
dry inside while the unfortunate coachman on the box was drenched to the skin.

They scurried indoors and, despite being sheltered under
an umbrella held by a stalwart footman, their shoes and petticoats were soaked.
Minette, glancing at her companion, saw that she was staring at the extremely
handsome young manservant with a gleam of decided interest.

Minette then encountered the housekeeper of the
town house who had bustled forward to meet them in a rustle of starched linen.
Arabella, who, whatever her shortcomings, had not the least height in her
manner, greeted the elderly lady with acclaim. ‘Dear Mrs Mason, how happy I am
to see you.’

‘And it’s a treat to see you, Miss, looking fine as
fivepence, too.’ She turned to Minette, the indulgent smile was replaced by a
cool civility, and she dropped a slight curtsy. ‘Very pleased to see you
looking so well,
your
Grace, I’m sure.’

Minette briefly wondered what her sister had done
to upset her housekeeper, but she merely nodded and said, ‘Thank you.’

At that moment, the front door opened, and Rochford
appeared in the entrance hall. Arabella gave a most unladylike shriek, ran to
her brother, and flung her arms around his neck.
‘Philip, oh
Philip.’

He laughed and lightly kissed her cheek. ‘Do not be
such a hoyden, Bella. What have I done to deserve this welcome?’

‘As if you didn’t know!
I should have died if I had stayed another hour in
that horrid school. You were an angel to take me away. And even more of an
angel to let me come to town with Minette.’

Minette, watching Rochford with his sister, thought
how well the softened expression on his face became him. Then he lifted his gaze
and looked at her over Arabella’s curly head. His expression changed to one of
involuntary welcome, which he quickly covered with indifference. He bowed to
his Duchess, and she smiled politely in acknowledgment.

‘Minette?’
The Duke’s voice was puzzled.

Minette gave a little shrug. ‘It is a pet name of
mine, used only in the family. I have asked Arabella to use it. It feels
strange and lonely never to hear it used anymore.’

‘Minette,’ he said thoughtfully, savouring the
name. ‘It suits you.’

She smiled. ‘Thank you. I must go and take off
these wet things. Bella, dear, I’m sure your shoes are soaked.’

Regrettably, Arabella lifted her skirt a good six
inches and regarded her silly little satin slippers, which were indeed darkened
with damp. ‘You were quite right; I should have worn my kid half-boots. These
are ruined.’

Rochford patted his sister’s arm dismissively and
said, ‘I have ordered dinner for seven o’clock. I thought we might attend the
play afterwards. Would you like that, Bella?’

‘Yes, indeed! At least—it is not Shakespeare, is it?
Because if it is—’

‘No, no, do not be afraid. It is the latest farce,
and I can vouch for it that it is very funny.’

The Duke turned to Minette and said, ‘Do you feel
well enough to accompany us, my love?’

The endearment burned in her ears. It was warmly
spoken, and she knew without a shadow of a doubt that he had never addressed
Génie in just that tone. There was danger here; he must be checked. She was
about to decline the invitation when Arabella interposed loudly. ‘Of course,
she will. You are quite recovered, are you not, dearest?’

There was no help for it, particularly as she
wished above all things to go.
‘Certainly.
I should
like to go to the play.’

She allowed Arabella to link arms with her and
escort
her to her bedchamber. They parted at her door.
Minette had taken a few steps into the room before she noticed a man’s brocade
dressing gown flung upon the bed and a shaving-stand in the corner and realised
that, whether from innocence or ignorance, Arabella had conducted her to
Rochford’s bedchamber. She whirled around, pale and breathless with fear of
discovery, but it was too late. The door opened once more, and Rochford stood on
the threshold.

Even in her confusion, she could not help noting
how commanding his tall, elegant figure appeared framed in the doorway. The
ruin of his face was nothing when set beside the power she acknowledged in his
gaze and the virility he seemed always to hold in check as though not to
frighten his young bride. Suddenly, she fancied she glimpsed the truth. What if
the Duke had not turned from Eugénie as her foolish sister had thought? What if
he was simply giving her time to know and trust him before— Ah!
Bon Dieu
! What was she to do?

‘To what do I owe this wholly delightful visit?’ he
asked in a voice of courteous enquiry.

She pulled herself together. ‘I wished to speak to
you privately.’

‘I am enchanted. But, had you summoned me, I should
have been pleased to wait upon you in your own chamber. But perhaps you thought
your invitation might be misinterpreted. I am not sure you were wise to choose
this alternative, however. It is even more liable to—er—misapprehension.’ He
was watching her with a lurking smile at odds with his formal words.

She forced a little laugh. ‘Oh, I do not fear that,
Sir. I do not think you are very apt to misread a situation.’

‘You flatter me.’ He smiled and left the doorway,
walking forward with a hand held out. ‘I am pleased to see you looking so
blooming, my love. You are quite recovered?’

Reluctantly, she laid her hand in his and, lifting
it, he just brushed it with his lips. The slight touch set her heart beating
faster, and an exquisite colour suffused her cheeks. She could not doubt that
he noted it, but he said nothing, merely conducting her to a chair by the fire
and settling her there before taking up a stance beside the fireplace, resting
his shoulders against the wainscoted wall.