“Brandon was initially sighted in England,” Ravenna explained to Simon after a celebratory dinner in Park Lane. “If Heath knows more, he is keeping the information to himself.”
“I deduce he knows quite a bit more,” he said once they had retired to their suite. Their nightly confidences had become a ritual that unburdened Simon and reminded him how he treasured his friendship with Ravenna.
She stood patiently to allow him to unbutton her long gloves, then gown. “It explains why Heath has been more distracted than usual since our return. That and anticipating the birth of his first child.”
“In any event, it is good news.” But Simon had refrained from asking Heath the obvious: Why hadn’t Brandon contacted his relatives? Was he hiding from them? Surely he understood the anguish his family had endured, not knowing his fate for years.
“Perhaps he lost his memory,” Ravenna said as if guessing his thoughts.
Simon walked behind her to the dressing closet. “That would be too simplistic. A man who can’t remember his past would not have the wits to erase all signs of his existence.”
“Heath will unearth the truth,” she said as she removed her jewels, carefully placing her sapphire bracelet in a drawer. “For now we shall gather close in gratitude and expect a season of impatient waiting. The prodigal will find his way home, or he will be found.”
In the interim life would continue its unpredictable course. Between family and ducal issues, Simon feared he’d soon have to make an appointment with Ravenna to ensure an uninterrupted encounter.
But he had not fallen in love with an insipid woman. Her enthusiasm for the matters of life that he had taken for granted had reinvigorated him.
Why else had he agreed they would participate in a charity masquerade at the end of the week? He had not become affable. He simply wanted to give his wife everything she desired.
42
One of Grayson’s oldest friends, the Duke of Wenderfield, had arranged the elaborate charity affair in his Mayfair mansion. A limited number of tickets that cost a guinea apiece had been sold out for months. An all-night orchestra would provide continuous music during a costume ball attended by members of the public who rarely had a chance to mingle with the aristocracy.
Ravenna had secluded herself in her rooms with Isolde for most of the afternoon to prepare for the masque. Simon detected an undercurrent of mischief in the air. Groomed and ready for over an hour, he took a leisurely brandy in the library and reviewed political pamphlets while he waited for her to come downstairs. He caught up on the value of East-India stocks and court cases. He eyed an advertisement for a nursemaid and wondered whom one could trust to raise a child. The Boscastles would know.
“Has Isolde given you a hint to what the evening holds?” he asked Timpkins, who sat tallying accounts in a corner armchair.
“We are currently not speaking to each other,” the steward admitted. “I don’t know why. But I also suspect a surprise. It might have something to do with the prizes that are to be awarded at the end of the night for the best disguises.”
Simon smiled. “That makes sense. The ladies could be hoping to outshine one another. Well, let them enjoy their harmless competition. I won’t spoil their fun. It’s high time the family enjoyed some frivolity.”
His wife was still as mysterious to him as the moon in its various phases. She might be his in name and deed. Even so, she remained somewhat elusive, and he accepted that fascinating aspect as part of Ravenna’s allure.
Hence, he decided to play along with whatever she had planned for the night. To his puzzlement, however, she was not in masquerade dress when they met in the front hall for the carriage to collect them.
“I’m changing into my costume at the party,” she said. “I don’t wish my clothing to be crushed. What of your disguise? Who are you supposed to be, should someone ask?”
“A duke. It is a pretentious role, but I’ve grown comfortable in the part. Hauteur becomes me, don’t you think?”
“I wouldn’t recognize you any other way,” she replied. “Grayson sent you a costume.”
His upper lip curled. “He is woefully mistaken if he thinks I shall appear in public wearing a wizard’s cloak and a false white beard. I tried on the thing. I looked ludicrous.”
“You would look dashing in a frilled apron,” she said with a smile. “But I cannot think of a better duke than you.”
He refrained from drawing her into his arms to acknowledge the compliment. He resisted the temptation to kiss her. Instead, he turned in curiosity to examine the two locked trunks that sat in front of the door. “You know you can trust me with a secret. Are you planning to shock Society tonight?”
“Me? Your obedient duchess? Whyever would you think that? I predict Society won’t even notice I am present. We are last week’s news, thank goodness. We have been replaced by a new French actress who removed her clothes on stage. Do not ask to attend one of her performances.”
“As if I’d notice another woman.”
“That is the correct response,” she said. “You’re at the head of the class.”
The butler appeared and announced the carriage had arrived. Simon lowered his voice. “Society worships at your feet,” he mused. “I graduated from school years ago. What are you up to, Ravenna?”
She seated herself opposite him in the carriage. A footman loaded the trunks on the box above, the activity arresting conversation. At last she answered. “It’s an act of charity. Nothing deep or devious. You are altogether too suspicious.”
“True.” He studied her in amusement. Oddly enough she had scraped her beautiful hair into an unflattering knot. She wore no powder or lip pomade. But her eyes had been rimmed in kohl to a riveting effect. “You look like a female pirate. Is that what those trunks signify? Are you planning to abduct me? If so, give me a minute to pack a small travel bag and inform Timpkins I’ll be gone for a while. I wouldn’t want the in-laws to worry.”
“Simon, do ease up,” she said. “The Boscastles have taken yet another pledge that this will be an unforgettable affair in our history during which not a shadow of scandal, disgrace, or danger shall darken our name. It will be an evening of innocent entertainment.”
He sat back. “If you say so.”
Her dark eyebrows knitted into a frown. “That is a curse if ever I have heard one.”
Rhys was the first person they met at the party.
“He’s not wearing a disguise either,” Simon pointed out to Ravenna.
“He will be soon enough,” she said, reawakening Simon’s hunch that a prank was in progress.
“Why aren’t you in masquerade?” Rhys asked Simon.
“I forgot my costume.”
“Not to worry,” Ravenna said. “It’s in our trunks. You want to stay in the spirit of the masque, Simon.”
“No, I don’t.” He stepped back as Ravenna squeezed around him, snagging her brother’s arm. “I prefer my own familiar misery to making merry with complete strangers. That’s one of the traits that marks me as an aristocrat.”
“You are cocky,” she said, shaking her head. “We’re going upstairs to change. One of the footmen will show you where to find your disguise. I shall meet you at the dance in an hour or so.”
He walked her and Rhys to the bottom of the stairs. “What am I supposed to do in the interval?”
Heath strolled up beside him. “You could keep me company. I am without Julia tonight.”
Simon turned in relief. “I was afraid I’d be put in custody of the aunts.”
Heath laughed as they wended their way from the staircase in search of a quiet spot, heads bent together in a tacit attempt to avoid recognition.
“Is Julia well?” Simon asked as soon as they were out of earshot.
“Thriving,” Heath said, his face softening at the mention of his wife. “Unfortunately the odor of certain dishes turns her stomach. I encouraged her to stay home with a good book in bed. We do want this child.” He wavered. “We had
a scare. Julia slipped and fell against the washstand. I admit that for several hours I was consumed by anxiety. The doctor assures me her pregnancy was not threatened.”
“Why are you even here? Another commitment to charity? Aren’t you allowed to miss a single benefit?”
Heath’s mouth firmed. “I’m here for you.”
“This better not have anything to do with the costume I’ve been ordered to wear.”
He didn’t have a chance to reply. King Arthur and his honey-haired queen had just been announced in the entry hall. Spontaneous applause erupted, and heads turned in anticipation. The Marquess of Sedgecroft and his elegant countess had arrived with at least ten attendants in tow, all clad in clanking knightly attire.
Simon glanced around in bemusement. Guests clogged every avenue of escape. He stood back to allow an assertive Mary Queen of Scots in a red-gold wig to charge past; she balanced a small hawk on her shoulder. Heath uttered a comment about how she ought to keep her head about her and watch where she walked.
“You’ll have a task making your way home,” Simon warned him. “The traffic outside must be horrendous. It will take an hour to have your carriage brought back around to the gates.”
“I rode my horse. The rest of my family might know how to make an entrance, but I never cared to master that skill. Before I leave I have something to give you.”
Light snatches of a waltz wafted from the ballroom. Simon wished suddenly for Ravenna. Heath had resumed the conversation. “It’s as loud as the drums of Hades in here,” Simon commented. “Could you repeat that?”
Heath reached inside his coat and withdrew a small jeweler’s box. “Here. It’s not the best time or place, but I’m leaving after I greet the rest of the family. Drake and Devon are bringing their wives. I’ve been ordered to give them each a kiss from Julia. Don’t open that box now.”
“Is it for Ravenna?”
“It’s more of a personal keepsake from me to you.”
“How kind.”
“Not at all. It took me some time but I finally recovered the bullet that missed you at the ball. It was half-buried in the grass. I gather it was tromped underfoot during the excitement. The recent rains might have brought it back up.”
Simon tucked the box into his pocket. “It was lovely of you to wrap it for me. Was there a particular reason?”
“I didn’t want it to fall into the wrong hands and upset the ladies.” Heath surveyed the crowd. “The funny thing about the bullet is that it was encased in a wad of racing paper. Which reminds me to ask what happened to Bruxton’s groom. I trust you know his whereabouts.”
“He’s working at Caverley House under the supervision of the stablemaster. Bruxton’s heir didn’t question the details of his uncle’s death. My guess is that he had an unpleasant association with Bruxton. And you may think me misguided, but I’ve offered to support Kieran’s pursuit of a diploma at the Veterinary College here in London. In my opinion he has the makings of an excellent surgeon.”
“Rather forgiving of you.”
“It is selfish, in truth. I believe this would have pleased Susannah.”
“The family can always use a surgeon’s services. His skills shan’t be wasted.” Heath looked up. “I forgot to inquire whether he knew anything about the ominous ballad that was sent to Ravenna. Dammit.”
“I dismissed it myself.”
“That’s understandable,” Heath said. “Yours was not an uneventful honeymoon. But it has been preying on my mind. One more thing before I make my excuses. Sir David was allegedly seen in Vauxhall last week, in his cups and on the crawl for a lady to keep him company.”
He stared at Heath in disbelief. “He has returned to London?”
“It is possible that he may never have left,” Heath said.
“I could have sworn Rhys and I made it clear to him that he would be well-advised to take up traveling.”
“He didn’t strike me as a man possessed of any sense.”
“True,” Simon murmured. “Why else would the idiot have let Ravenna slip through his fingers? Do you have any idea where he might be now?”
Heath looked at him directly. “He would be a very stupid man to appear here, wouldn’t he?”
“Will you excuse me?” Simon half-turned. “I am overcome with an urge to find my wife. I realize that my instincts to watch over her amuse the lot of you, but I’m too set in my ways to change now.”
“Nor would I suggest you should,” Heath said. “I’ll help you find her before I go. Fair warning -- there is some plot unfolding to entertain the family. A light prank, I understand.”
43
Swapping places was a game that Rhys and Ravenna had played throughout childhood to confound their nursemaids. The charade had started one morning when Rhys put on one of Aunt Primrose’s wigs to startle his sister. Ravenna took revenge on him when she appeared at supper that evening clad in a pair of his breeches.
Over the years they became adept at trading their traditional roles. Ravenna employed her male disguise to slip from the castle and ride through the woods to her heart’s content.
Rhys assumed Ravenna’s identity in order to tryst with young ladies who would never be allowed to meet a gentleman alone. A carriage ride with a duke’s daughter, however, was a social activity an ambitious parent would encourage. Brother and sister perfected the art of imitating each other.
After Liam’s death, the game lost its appeal. Griffin was a careless guardian, too close in age to meddle more than necessary in his siblings’ affairs. And while time might have diminished the aunts’ physical abilities, it had not dimmed their other faculties. Once Glynnis and Primrose caught on to the double-dealing, Rhys and Ravenna had been compelled to invent more sophisticated forms of trickery.
Until tonight. And why not? It was a night for the young duchess to celebrate. Her husband was unweighted. They could live in love and peace and, if Ravenna’s instincts (as well as Jane’s) could be trusted, then Ravenna was carrying the duke’s heir. The fact that she had missed her courses might not signify a pregnancy. It was too early to consult a midwife, although Jane had offered the services of her personal astrologer.
Ravenna did not crave cucumbers, but as she had admitted to Simon, her always robust appetite had increased, and she wanted to nap at the oddest hours. She covered a yawn behind the plumed hat she was holding. “I was exhausted in the early days of carrying my children,” Jane confessed.
Ravenna was more concerned they could be overheard by the other ladies who had entered the small receiving room to gossip and preen. In fact, one guest was staring at Ravenna and Jane with overt interest. She whispered, “Lately it’s been an Olympian feat to walk from one end of the North Audley Street house to the other.”
“That isn’t like you,” Jane said. “I say yes to your question.”
“Simon would be mortified if he learned of his impending fatherhood from the rumormongers,” Ravenna said softly. “Who is that woman standing in the corner?”
“Oh, dear.” Jane adjusted the crown that served as an accessory to her disguise as Queen Guinevere. Ravenna smiled at the thought of Grayson roaming about the party as the legendary king of Camelot.
“That is Mrs. Watson,” Jane said softly.
“The Audrey Watson. The courtesan?” Ravenna narrowed her eyes as the woman smiled at her in acknowledgment.
“The one,” Jane whispered.
So this was the high-cost society hostess who had given Simon his undignified sobriquet, the informal title that had tainted or perhaps enhanced his reputation. Ravenna squared her shoulders as Jane greeted the woman with gracious enthusiasm -- almost as if Audrey were a family friend.
Ravenna intended to offer no such warmth.
What she did not anticipate, however, was that Mrs. Watson would melt her resentment. In the first place, Audrey looked more like a matron than a procuress. She was costumed as a modest chatelaine, a medieval castle housekeeper in a square-necked dress with a ring of
keys hanging at her waist.
“You can imagine what she does to the men imprisoned in her dungeon,” Jane murmured rather disconcertingly in Ravenna’s ear. “Debauched and wonderful deeds.”
“How would you know?” Ravenna wondered aloud.
“I went to her for advice on how to handle Grayson.” Jane smiled at the memory. “He had become, let us say, as devious as me and unapologetic in his pursuit of pleasure.”
“Devious -- you, Jane?” she teased. “And did she help?”
“Immensely,” Jane said. “She gave me the confidence to bind the scoundrel to the bedposts with my stockings to teach him I was not to be played with like a mouse in a lion’s paws. It didn’t take him long to reverse the situation, naturally. But I did make a point. And I enjoyed the lesson.”
They lapsed into silence as Mrs. Watson crossed the room toward them. “Your grace is as captivating as everyone claims,” she said to Ravenna. “No wonder your husband has loved you all his life.”
This was not the opening statement of a rival; still, while it flattered Ravenna, it also implied that Mrs. Watson had extensive knowledge of Simon’s romantic history. Had he confided his secrets in a courtesan? He had been honest in admitting that he had visited the Bruton Street house. But Ravenna never dreamed he had confessed his love for her to another woman.
“How do you know this?” she demanded of Audrey. “Did he tell you?”
“I’m talented at reading men, my dear,” Audrey said. “He didn’t have to say much about you.”
“He talked about me -- in a brothel?”
Jane came to the rescue. “I think Lady Ravenna is a little miffed at you, Audrey.”
“Why?” Audrey asked, her keys rattling. “I have never slept with her husband. I’ve not even kissed the darling man on the cheek.”
Ravenna’s eyes widened.
“It’s that incendiary nickname you gave him,” Jane said. “’The Duke of a Thousand Desires.’ It has caused the duchess some personal grief.”
The Duke of a Thousand Desires Page 25
