Masked Love (A Christmas Regency Novella) (7 page)

Lady Theodosia whipped around. “What are you trying to do?” she demanded, her voice shrill, her volume far too loud.

Without touching her, he managed to back her into the study. Their location was not lost on him. He closed his eyes and could swear he smelled Isabelle’s essence—soap and woodsy and floral.

“What are you trying to do?” she repeated. Although quieter than before, her tone was just as sharp, if not harsher.

“I want you to be happy.” Her happiness equaled his. And Isabelle’s.

“Then stop. All of this.” Lady Theodosia waved her hand around in a circle. She walked away to the great oak desk and picked up a stack of papers her father had left there. “And sign your name.”

His jaw lowered. Had Isabelle been mistaken in her assumption?

“I meant you no impudence.”

She made a sound like a cross between a sigh, a snort, and a sob. “You and Isabelle … ”

“Have done nothing to disrespect you.”

Lady Theodosia repeated the noise.

“Allow me to assure you.” Adrian held out his hands.

After a moment, she placed hers in his. Her blue eyes were as cold as before, and two tears ran down her right cheek.

He could wipe them away; he should. But he couldn’t. Holding her hands felt like a betrayal to Isabelle as it was.

“Does someone else play the piano?” he asked.

“My mother knows a few songs.”

“Then come. We did not get a chance to dance last night, so we shall now.” He held out his arm, and she took it. Before she faced forward, another tear ran down her cheek.

There was more to the story of the mysterious red-haired man that he did not know. The man was the key to everyone’s happiness, but without Lady Theodosia’s help, this Christmas was going to be the worst one ever.

Isabelle’s arms were tired. Between all of the decorating and making countless trips from the kitchen to the Yule log gathering, her legs were ready to collapse. A fresh pie balanced in one hand, a cheese tray in the other, she entered the room and promptly dropped the tray with a loud clatter.

Lady Haywood stopped playing the piano.

Lord Haywood looked up. He’d been standing behind his wife, turning the pages of her music book.

Lord Adrian and Lady Theodosia halted their dance.

“Forgive me.” Despite her trembling hands, Isabelle managed to lower the pie onto a clear spot on the food table before cleaning up the cheese. Once done, she ran out of the room and back into the kitchen. She tossed the tray onto the counter.

“What’s wrong?” Olga the cook asked.

“I need more cheese. Don’t worry; I’ll cut it.”

“What happened?”

Isabelle busied herself with her task. It felt refreshing to do a chore she hadn’t done in years. The swift flicking of her wrist, the glistening gleam of light reflecting off the blade, the repetitive movement all served as a barrier, a wall to keep her pent-up emotions inside.

What had she expected? For Adrian to locate the mysterious redhead so Isabelle could be with him, freeing her to have a lord? The idea was ludicrous. Even if Isabelle and her masked man were to get together, the Wingraves would never allow their son to marry a simple maid.

“I think that’s enough.” Olga eased the knife from her vicious grip.

Isabelle had cut far more cheese than was needed, perhaps even enough for tomorrow’s feast. She plated a good deal, then pivoted on her heel, and sauntered to the Yule gathering. Her gaze was firmly on the tray the entire time, and she did not linger but immediately turned out.

Adam caught her elbow. “I have too many duties to attend to so you’ll have to do it. Take Hector and go to the market. You won’t have much time. We’ll need—”

“Do what?” Her heart sank. More work? She was hoping her lady would retire soon, so she could cower in her bed the rest of the night, trying to forget every memory of Adrian, every glance, every touch, the desire to kiss his sensual lips …

“You have not heard? Lord Haywood has decided against having a fox hunt on Boxing Day. Instead, he’s going to invite everyone here, to celebrate the engagement.”

“Oh.” Isabelle tightened her jaw.

“Apparently it was Lord Wingrave’s idea, or so I’m told.” He rattled off a list of ingredients they would need for the party for more food would be required than they had anticipated for the hunt.

Ten minutes later, Isabelle was sitting in the carriage with the servant Hector driving. She had never been inside one prior to yesterday, and today already was her second ride. They would never reach the market before it closed without it.

Her hair blew in the breeze from the open window, and she readjusted her white bonnet. She never cared for her appearance before, but today especially, her plain gray dress had never looked drearier compared to the soft tones of even the simplest of Lady Theodosia’s dresses.

Adrian—she really must stop thinking of him like that—Lord Adrian’s decision to have a celebration instead of fox hunting was most curious. Was he doing so in an act of solidarity since he knew his future wife’s opinion on the sport? Or, as her heart longed to believe, was he hoping a certain brown-eyed man would make his appearance sans his mask?

All but one shop had closed for the upcoming holiday, and even they were in the act of taking down their wares as Isabelle and Hector approached. They weren’t able to purchase every item on Adam’s list, but they got what they could and returned to the Haywood Manor.

At one time, Isabelle had loved the white house. Now the sight growing closer every passing second brought her nothing but misery. She had a feeling Lady Theodosia would rescind her offer and certainly would not be offering a recommendation. But if, for some reason, Lady Theodosia still wanted Isabelle to come with her, she would decline. The cheese tray had clearly demonstrated she could not be in the same room as Lord Adrian and Lady Theodosia. As much as she wanted them to be happy, their happiness meant a lifetime of misery for her.

The temperature was colder than normal. Were her eyes playing tricks or was that a speck of snow? She captured the flake in her palm. Her mother had once told her no two flakes looked exactly alike, but the snowflake melted before she could see its design.

Hector carried in most of their packages; she brought in only two. As she placed them on the kitchen counter, Olga informed her that another handmaid had helped Lady Theodosia into bed, so Isabelle retired for the night. She climbed into bed and expected tears to come. Instead, a song stirred within her heart, and she sang so softly her voice was hardly audible. She sang of love and hope and life. Tomorrow was Christmas and no matter the circumstances, she would not allow herself to become a shell of her former self. She was proud of her position. She was grateful to have a job. She might not have riches or gowns or a carriage, or a lord, but she had air to breathe and food to eat and hope that tomorrow would be a better day.

Christmas service had come and gone, and still Adrian had not seen Isabelle. His heart ached. As much as he tried not to think of her, his thoughts were drawn to her all the more.

Lady Theodosia seemed to be in slightly improved spirits this day, more likely as a result of the day rather than his company. Still, he enjoyed her much more when she was smiling and talking instead of pouting and refusing to answer his coded questions. An unspoken truce had been made.

His betrothed’s hair was styled in a different arrangement. Perhaps because a maid other than Isabelle had styled it? If Isabelle and Lady Theodosia had indeed crossed paths, he was not sure it would have been a pleasant meeting.

As they walked side-by-side to the carriage, her parents behind them, one thought troubled him the most. Isabelle had been so certain of Lady Theodosia’s affections for the man, but now, the lady appeared to no longer want him. What could have changed her opinion?

He had spotted Lady Pamela lurking outside after he had thought she and the other lady had left. Could she have told Theodosia something that made her reconsider her allegiance?

The man—he must be the source of a scandal then. Adrian wracked his brain and nearly forgot to help Theodosia into the carriage. Once he was settled across from her and next to her father, he realized who the man had to be. None other than Baron Malcolm Thrush. Thrush’d had an affair with a servant girl two or three years prior and threw her out onto the streets. And rumor had it he had squandered most of his family’s properties to gambling debts. No wonder Theodosia wanted nothing to do with her masked man.

For Adrian could not cast her aside nor could he hand her over to her love, not when her love was a man who used women and money as if they were meaningless objects. Adrian was honor bound to his future wife.

Honor came above love.

“You seem to be deep in thought,” Lady Theodosia said.

He could hardly share his mind’s churnings with her. Instead he asked, “Are you pleased with my suggestion? For the party?”

“Of course. I’m so glad you proposed it.”

Adrian gave her a tiny smile. This year would be the first time in a decade in which he did not hunt fox on Boxing Day.

“I hope we have a good turnout,” he said.

“Oh, I’m sure we shall. All those who were planning on coming for the hunt will already be coming. Lady Pamela has ways to spread news faster than anyone. She knows so the entire country probably does by now.” She laughed and glanced out the window.

“Good. The more, the livelier it will be. But for right now, I can’t wait until the feast.”

***

Christmas dinner was most exquisite. The pig’s head, the gingerbread, and his personal favorite march pane, all melted in his mouth. The roast beef was tender; the Brussels sprouts cooked to perfection. Their Christmas pudding was rather different than what he was used to. Heavy on the currants and citron, not enough brown sugar, but all in all, the pudding was still pleasant.

He ate and ate and ate. Lady Theodosia sat across from him. Three or four of her small mouthfuls were equal to his one.

She patted a napkin to her mouth and stood. “Please excuse me.”

Adrian stood, as did her father. “Happy Christmas,” he called to her.

The lady held up her hand to acknowledge him but did not turn around.

“Nerves,” her mother said. “I had originally promised to take her out shopping for the wedding tomorrow since I thought you would be out fox hunting, but we’ll go the day after. I must say I am very excited about us hosting a party to celebrate your engagement. What a wonderful idea.”

“Any chance your parents will be able to attend?” Lord Haywood asked before reaching for more gingerbread.

“I’m afraid I don’t think so.” Adrian swallowed hard. Some march pane was stuck in his throat, and he drank the rest of his wine. He missed the wassail bowl, a tradition in the Wingrave Manor. A mixture of beer, sherry, sugar, and various spices had a lot more kick to it than wine.

“Where exactly are they? I don’t believe you said.” Lord Haywood gestured to Adrian’s empty glass, and a maid stepped forward to refill it.

He winced at his disappointment that the girl was not Isabelle. She still had not made an appearance, and the fear that she had been kicked out of the house seized him so suddenly he wanted to jump to his feet and search every centimeter until he found her. But a scene he would not make, and he downed half the glass in two gulps.

Keeping his parents’ secret no longer felt necessary. “My mother was feeling too ill to travel.”

“Will she be all right?” Lady Haywood inquired.

“The physician believes so.”

“Then that is a Christmas miracle.” She smiled and raised her glass.

He did the same and drank the rest. The wine filled his stomach with an agreeable warmth, although it was too filled with food for him to take another bite or sip. It was going to take a Christmas miracle for him to survive until the wedding.