Magical Masquerade: A Regency Masquerade (9 page)

They shook hands, and Minette had the opportunity
to see them side by side. Franklyn Clareville was a touch shorter than the Duke,
and his frame was more remarkable for grace than power. His eyes were blue, not
grey, and his smile was considerably more engaging. She knew that they were
much of an age, but there was no doubt the Duke looked markedly older than his
cousin.

There was a sudden squeal as Arabella cast down her
champagne glass and pushed eagerly to the front of the box where the two men
stood. ‘Frank! Frank! Oh, I am so happy to see you again.’

She stood in front of him, her face very flushed
and her big eyes starry. He smiled down at her. ‘Can this fashionable young
lady be my little cousin?’ He took her hand and bent to kiss one hot cheek. ‘I
would not have known you, little Bluebell.’

She blushed even more rosily. ‘Oh, you remember! No
one else calls me that. I’ve left school now, you know, and I’m to have new
clothes and be taken about.’ She stopped, lifted a worshipful countenance to
his, and said, ‘I hope we will see you at Camer this Christmas?’

Minette, watching, thought just for a moment that she
read calculation in his face
—
and it chilled her. Then he bent his head and said
in caressing accents, ‘Nothing could keep me away now.’

A few carefully casual questions put to Becky had armed Minette with the
knowledge that her fashionable twin patronised a certain mantua-maker in Bond
Street and, on the following morning, the two young ladies were conveyed
thither in Rochford’s town carriage. Arabella, conscious that she would be
entering a true temple of fashion, had insisted on arraying herself in the pink
pelisse she had acquired in Bath and the appalling bonnet that went with it.

They were not the first visitors to disturb the
almost religious hush of the elegant establishment that morning. Two ladies
were already there, the youngest of whom was standing in front of a long mirror
while a menial upon her knees was pinning up the flounce of a charming walking
dress. Her companion, a lady on the shady side of forty, turned and glanced towards
the door when the ringing of the little bell heralded the arrival of newcomers
into the shop. At the sight of this lady Bella gave a sharp little cry and came
to a sudden halt.

‘Oh!
My Goodness!’

‘What is it, my love?’ asked Minette, absently, as
she drank in the beauties of a ravishing ball gown displayed upon a stand.

‘Don’t look towards her now, but Lady Ashbury is
here.’

Despite Arabella’s adjuration, Minette could not
forbear to peek at Rochford’s mistress. The lady was not, and could never have
been, a beauty, but her countenance had an appealing sweetness. She was a tall
woman, slender and graceful. Her hair, which was of a soft brown under a very
stylish hat, was lightly streaked with silver. At the sight of Minette, she
started a little, but she quickly recovered herself, bowed, and gave her a tight,
little smile. Then she turned to her companion and said in a melodic voice, ‘My
love, we must be getting on.
Madame
,
you will send the gown home by the end of the day, will you not?’

‘Certainly, my lady.’
She called to an unseen menial in another room.
‘The puce taffeta must be sent home to Lady Ashbury today. See that it is.’

Then, catching sight of the new arrivals, the
haughty proprietress bustled forward to greet her newest and most profligate patroness.
She visibly blenched when she took in Arabella’s finery. However, when Minette
explained that she wished to purchase a whole wardrobe of clothes suitable,
with a very slight emphasis on the word ‘suitable’ for a young lady about to
appear in society, she nodded her complete comprehension. It said much for her
professional tact that she was able to persuade Arabella that the demure and
expensive gowns she recommended were both more modish and more becoming than
the dashing attire her heart yearned after.

The young lady who had been fitted for the new
walking dress had retired to change back into her own raiment and now emerged
at Lady Ashbury’s side. A horrid suspicion had dawned upon Minette upon
learning the tall lady’s identity, and she narrowly scrutinised the young girl
for any resemblance to Rochford. She found none and was suitably ashamed when
she heard Lady Ashbury casually refer to the young lady as her niece as she
took leave of
Madame
.

The four ladies exchanged bows, and Lady Ashbury
uttered, ‘Good day’ in a choked voice before brushing past them with more haste
than civility. Minette caught a glimpse of tears in the older woman’s eyes, and
wondered.

‘Well, I must say,’ remarked Bella in an aggrieved
voice, ‘I do think it is outside of enough. One would think that
she
was Rochford’s wife and
you
his mistress from the way she
behaves.’

‘She resents his marriage, I suppose.’

‘Then she is a great fool. She must have known he
would marry eventually. After all, he must have an heir and, even if she were
free to marry him, she is far too old for that. Would you not think?’

‘Perhaps,’ said Minette lightly, ‘she does not
think I make him a very good wife.’

‘What does she know about it?’

‘Only what Rochford has told her, I imagine.’

‘Don’t be such a simpleton, Minette. Philip would
never discuss you with her.’

Minette laughed. ‘You know him better than I. Now,
let us forget her and choose you some new gowns.’

After a delightful morning, during which the ladies
agreed upon the purchase of several morning gowns of figured, sprigged, and
sheer white muslin; three walking dresses of olive-green merino, soft peach
kerseymere, and celestial blue velvet, respectively; an evening dress of ice-blue
silk with elbow-length sleeves, a modest décolletage to set off the diamond
necklace, and a triple flounce around the hem; a pelisse of slate-grey kerseymere,
trimmed with silver fox; and an opera cloak of heavy, pale-gold velvet, lined
with silk.

After a visit to Gunter’s Tea Shop to recruit their
flagging energies, the ladies returned to the fray to visit an even more
expensive millinery establishment. By this time, even Arabella understood that
the bonnets she had bought so recklessly would not do with her new clothes, and
she was perfectly amenable to buying a number of very pretty new ones ornamented
only with a wreath of silk flowers, a knot of ribbon, or a bunch of cherries.

Feeling that, if she did nothing else during her
tenure as Duchess of Rochford, she had at least done something for the credit
of the Duke’s sister, Minette returned to Curzon Street in a more cheerful mood
than she had experienced since the imposture began.

A young lady of one-and-twenty in the enjoyment of excellent
health is not prostrated by a day of shopping. Nevertheless, the strain of
appearing familiar with persons and places of which she had no knowledge had
told on Minette, and she was thankful to lie down upon her bed for a few
minutes before it became necessary to change for dinner.

She had slipped into a flimsy robe, for the fire in
her bedchamber made the room quite oppressively hot despite the cold wind
howling outside, and she now leant back against her banked pillows endeavouring
to keep her heavy lids from falling while she perused the increasingly tedious
Julie ou la Nouvelle Heloise
. There was
a peremptory knock upon the door and, before she could respond, it opened and
Rochford walked into the room.

‘I—I—missed seeing you at breakfast,’ he said with
an awkwardness quite unlike his usual cool manner. ‘I hope you passed an
agreeable morning. Did you break the bank quite?’

She dimpled. ‘I think you still have a few pennies
to rub together.
A very few.’

‘If you have succeeded in getting her to discard
that atrocious bonnet, I will be satisfied.’

‘I have, but only at the cost of a half-dozen more
very pretty ones.’

‘Good.’ He stood, seemingly at a loss to continue.
‘I trust you purchased a few for yourself? You deserve a reward.’

She laughed. ‘I have so many already that I do not
know when I shall wear the half of them. Is that all you came to see me about?’
She gestured to a chair that stood by the side of the bed. ‘Will you not be
seated?’

He looked at the chair, and then at the bed. A
shiver went through her. She thought it was of apprehension yet, when he took
the chair, she was conscious of a faint pang of disappointment.

‘No. I have been thinking of the list I gave you.
Of our guests for Christmas.’

‘Yes?’

‘Have you, in fact, sent out the invitations yet?’

‘No, I am sorry I—’

‘There is nothing to apologise for. I just wish to
make a change. Could you cross Lord and Lady Ashbury from the list? I believe
they are otherwise engaged.’

‘Oh!’ She cast her mind back to the meeting in the
shop. His words explained Lady Ashbury’s tears. He must have broken with her! She
wondered why her heart should sing at this news. How could it affect her?’ Her
eyes, when she raised them to his face, were shining.
‘If
that is your wish.’

‘It is.’ He reached out his hand, and she thought
for a moment that he would take hers in his clasp. But, instead, he picked up
the book she had laid aside and flicked through the pages. ‘Still reading this
dreary drivel?’

‘As you see.’

‘Last night—did you notice—? Did it seem to you
that Bella seemed
very
taken with—?’

‘With your cousin Franklyn?
Yes, it did.’

‘She always adored him, even as a baby, but I do
not trust him.’

‘You told me she is an heiress. Is he in need of
money?’

‘He is always in need of money.’

‘Enough to tempt him into marriage with a
schoolgirl?’

‘More than enough.
When Arabella comes of age, she will be in possession of over one
hundred thousand pounds.’

‘Good Heavens! I had no idea. No wonder you wish to
keep her safe.’

‘Safe from Franklyn, yes certainly, I will go to
any lengths to stop him.’

‘Because,’ she faltered a little and then said,
‘because of what he did to you?
Your face?’

He turned to her, an arrested expression upon his
countenance. ‘No. It was near twenty years ago when we were both hot-headed
boys. That I can forgive. But since then, Franklyn has proved over and over
that he is cut from the same cloth as my late, revered father, and I will not
let Bella’s life be made a burden to her as my mother’s was.’

‘That afternoon, when the tree was struck, I spent
some time in the Long Gallery. I saw a portrait of your Mama, and I
wondered—she looked so sad. Was her life very bad?’

‘She married a man she adored and discovered that
she meant less to him than the woman who starched her laces.’ His voice was
light, but he could not disguise the bitterness beneath. ‘He was a man who took
his gratification where and when he fancied, flaunting his women in her face,
bringing them into the Castle, or bedding those already there.’

‘Poor lady.’
She glanced at him, and her voice was very soft as she said, ‘It must
have been hard for you to witness her pain.’

‘I swore I would never give a woman cause to curse
me as he did. I do not know if I have succeeded, but at least I have tried.’

She smiled. ‘Most gentlemen do not even do that, as
I understand their nature. But how are we to thwart your cousin?’

‘I do not see my way clear at all. If she goes into
Society, I cannot stop her from meeting him at every ton party she attends. If
I do not let her go into Society, I may well force her into the arms of some
even less eligible suitor. Should I, do you think, exclude him from Camer
Castle this Christmas?’

She gave it her consideration, wrinkling her smooth
brow and twisting one of her dark ringlets around her finger. ‘No, I think not,’
she said eventually. ‘She cannot come to harm with you and me watching over her
and a house full of guests. You must not turn him into forbidden fruit, you
know.’

His gaze lingered on her face and then moved slowly
over her form, temptingly revealed by the gauzy robe. ‘Forbidden fruit is the
sweetest,’ he agreed with a wry smile.

She felt suddenly breathless and, almost without
knowing what she said, she spoke. ‘The good God does not forbid a wife to her
husband.’

His one eye narrowed. ‘I wish I knew why you are so
changed.’

Recollection suddenly flooded over her. This was Eugénie’s
husband. She could not, must not, allow
herself
to
feel, to care. The misery it would cause her was nothing, but for him—the
difference when Eugénie returned would be too cruel. ‘I am not changed, Sir,’
she said carefully. ‘I have always been prepared to do my duty.’

‘Your duty!
To the devil with duty.’
He reached for her,
half-dragging her across the bed, and she found herself a helpless captive in
his arms as he claimed her lips in a kiss that bruised her soft mouth and set her
senses aflame with an aching hunger that came to her for the first time in a
life of maiden innocence. His hands were skilful, masterful, caressing the
smooth ivory of her bare arms, the swell of her breasts beneath the flimsy
gauze of her robe, the graceful curve of her neck, bringing every inch of her
flesh singing to triumphant life. Yet she lay quiescent in his arms, too
unschooled in passion to let him feel her response to the new and frightening
sensations he had aroused in her
—
until the moment when he lifted his mouth from hers
and pressed his lips into the enticing hollow at the base of her throat. When
she felt his warm breath upon her skin and the touch of his lips in a place where
no man had ever touched her before, she felt as though her heart and nerves
were melting into one another, a flood of desire overwhelmed her, and she
trembled in his arms.