Masquerade

by Felicity Harper

  Masquerade

  An Enchanting Tale

  by Felicity Harper

  A Novella

  Legal Bits & Pieces

  Masquerade is a work of fiction. All names, characters, organisations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  The author has asserted her moral right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 (United Kingdom) to be recognised and identified as the author of this work.

  Copyright © 2017 Endeavours Partnership.

  All rights reserved.

  Masquerade is published by Endeavours Partnership.

  About Felicity Harper

  Felicity Harper is an English author living in leafy Surrey in England, just a stone’s throw from Box Hill (for all you Austen fans!).

  She is a huge fan of Jane Austen and all things Regency - apart from the icky reality of streets running in filth and the lack of indoor plumbing of course.

  Felicity combined her love of sanitised Regency with a fondness for romanticised fairy tales (God bless you, Walt!) and so the Enchanting Tales series was born.

  Please visit her website at felicityharper,com

  Contents

  About Felicity Harper

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Lavender – A Free Short Story

  Felicity Harper’s Enchanting Tales

  Cursed

  Chapter One

  “The Contessa!”

  At the announcement, all eyes turned to the Grand Staircase.

  “Who is she?”

  “The Contessa of where, exactly?”

  “Good Lord! What on earth is she wearing?”

  Even for a Masquerade Ball, the Contessa’s attire might be considered nothing short of scandalous. Her checkered ruby and cream Harlequin costume nipped in at the waist and flared provocatively over her bottom - which was itself indecently covered by little more than a pair of snug breeches. It was beyond the pale for any Lady to flout the rules of decorum and delicacy in such a manner. It was unacceptable, no matter the situation. Fans fluttered at over-heated faces as the young lady under discussion sauntered by. Bold as brass. Such behaviour must not go unpunished.

  “Show her your backs, Ladies!”

  As the Ladies performed their devastating cut direct, Astrid did her best not to chuckle. She sailed through the scandalised throng, relishing the furore she left in her wake. It was terribly hard to give a jot when one was being a Contessa, especially a Contessa bedecked so outrageously. Her favourite part of the whole ensemble was the pair of ruby-red, crystal-encrusted slippers that adorned her feet. They were the most deliciously unacceptable slippers she had ever laid eyes on.

  “Who does she think she is?”

  The Contessa, actually, you snooty old bat, Astrid thought but dared not say. There were limits, after all, to what even a Contessa could get away with.

  The sea of gaily dressed revellers parted as Astrid passed through. She had a clear view of Roman as she approached. The conversation he had been having halted abruptly when he saw her.

  Astrid admitted to a flicker of unease as his face went from a frown, to a scowl. Was it possible he had recognised her after all? Her hand went to her mask to check it still covered all but her mouth. Silly Astrid, she chided herself; of course he doesn’t recognise you. Isn’t that why you are here?

  Roman’s face abruptly relaxed into a smile and Astrid’s courage returned.

  He looked as handsome as ever in a dark blue tail coat and breeches. She wasn’t surprised to see he had eschewed wearing a costume. In fact, she would have been astounded had he worn one. Not for him the gaudy costume of a pirate or - heaven forbid! - a witch. A lock of hair had fallen boyishly across his forehead and Astrid felt the usual urge to brush it back. Normally, his sullen look would have been enough to stay her hand but, tonight, things would be different - for she was the Contessa!

  Astrid accepted Roman’s outstretched hand. She allowed him the liberty of raising it to his lips. He was the Prince after all.

  “Will you do me the honour of the next dance, Contessa?”

  She nodded regally and he led her through the rapidly parting crowds to the dance floor where they took their places in the quadrille. Astrid could feel Roman’s eyes on her as she joined the ladies on their side of the floor. She willed her face not to betray her.

  As the musicians began to play, the men faced the ladies and bowed. Astrid’s silly heart increased its beat as the couples met in the middle.

  “Am I to know your name, my Lady?” the Prince asked her and Astrid, in defiance of her heart, gave him a serene smile before being swept away by the dance.

  They went first back and then away, circling left then right, as they completed the rounds - and, all the while, she felt his eyes upon her.

  They met back in the middle and the Prince leaned forward. “Your name, my Lady?” he asked again.

  “Am I not at liberty to keep such information to myself, your Highness?” She turned a circle with the rest of the ladies and ended up at his side. “After all, what is a Masquerade Ball without a little mystery?”

  She saw his jaw set with frustration and held her smile in check. It felt wonderful to thwart him for a change. She fully intended to make the most of it.

  Astrid couldn’t fail to notice the looks they were receiving from the other dancers. Nor did she miss how they all kept one ear on the music and the other on the Prince and his intriguing partner. No doubt high society would feed off the tales of this Ball for weeks to come.

  “Perhaps we are already known to one another?”

  “Would that we were, Your Majesty, but, alas, I am afraid not.”

  On the final pass, the couples clasped hands. Astrid noted with satisfaction how Roman held on to her a second or two longer than strictly necessary. The dance ended and, as the music died away, the Prince took her arm.

  “Come with me, Contessa.”

  “Contessa!” a young interloper called. “My Lady - might I beg this dance?”

  “Your Highness,” Astrid said, pulling her arm free, “a lady should not constrain herself to dancing with but one gentlemen.” She dipped a curtsy to the young man who was garbed in Highwayman’s attire. “I would be honoured, Sir,” she replied, sparing the Prince barely a glance as she disappeared with her new admirer.

  The Prince, it seemed, was unusually eager to participate in another set. His hastily chosen partner was looking at him with incredulity and wonder. Little surprise, Astrid thought gleefully. The dear woman looked eighty if she were a day. Throughout the dance, Astrid and her Highwayman kept up a steady stream of flirtation and laughter. It was no effort on her part as the gentleman was both handsome and entertaining. It amused her, too, that Prince Roman was so obviously eavesdropping on their conversation even as he helped his elderly dowager through the moves.

  The last notes of the string quartet’s excellent playing were still reverberating in the air as a gaggle of eager young men encircled Astrid, all begging for the next dance. Neither the excited attentions of the young bucks nor the furious glares of the ladies, young and old, mattered to Astrid. The only reaction she noted was that of Prince Roman who was staring at her in furious contemplation. Upon hearing the first strains of the waltz, he barged through her devotees and snatched her into his arms.

  “My Lady?” He didn’t wait for her to accept before swinging her away from her admirers. Gliding across the floor in his arms, Astrid knew that it had been worth all
the effort. The subterfuge: the lying; the worry of being caught - it had been worth it all just for this moment.

  Prince Roman pulled her closer. “Your charade does you justice, my Lady.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Astrid asked, hoping her voice had not quavered.

  “I refer, of course, to your costume.” He smiled wolfishly. “You have my attention - and that of every other man here.”

  “I’m not sure what I should make of that.” She gave Roman a challenging look. “Are you trying to shame me, your Highness?”

  “On the contrary! I am particularly fond of puzzles, Contessa, and you are one I shall take great enjoyment in fathoming.”

  Astrid was certain that now would be the moment her sister would expect her to confess. But Astrid knew that, once Roman learned the truth, his face would set in angry lines and his eyes would lose their teasing glint. She was having fun for once and she wasn’t ready to let it go. It took a moment before she noticed the music had faded into the distance. The Prince had waltzed them away from the ballroom and out onto the terrace. She really ought to pay more attention!

  Still in his arms, Astrid looked up at the stars winking in the heavens and wondered if the cosmos was having some sort of joke at her expense. The thought stopped her feet.

  “We seem to have misplaced the ballroom, your Highness.”

  “So we have.” Prince Roman looked around as though surprised. “We must have taken a wrong turn somewhere.”

  “Then perhaps we should return before you are missed.”

  “Not yet. Let me see beneath the mask,” he said as his hand went to her cheek.

  “No!” Astrid pushed him away. “Your Highness, must I remind you that masks stay in place until after the fireworks?”

  “My apologies, my Lady,” he said, backing away as though afraid she might bolt.

  “Accepted, your Highness. I find myself quite thirsty after all the dancing. Would you be so kind as to fetch some refreshment?”

  “And you will not leave while I am gone?” Roman asked intuitively. As she hesitated, he added, “Please stay.”

  It was the simplicity and honesty of his request that persuaded her. It was so unlike him. Astrid nodded. “Some lemonade, if you will,” she said and his lips twitched as though he were trying not to smile.

  “Ah, so you are a Contessa of the abstemious kind?” he teased.

  Oh dear. Did she sound like a silly girl to him? “Not at all, your Highness. It is more that I feel the need for a clear head when I am around you,” she replied coquettishly.

  The moment Roman disappeared, Astrid toed off her ruby slippers. “Thank heavens,” she muttered as the cool marble soothed her sore feet. As was so often the way, the beautiful ruby slippers looked much nicer off than they actually felt when worn. She allowed herself only a few moments to relieve her discomfort before reluctantly reaching down to replace the shoes. She had broken enough of society’s rules this evening without being caught in her stockinged feet. Unbidden, the spectre of the Duchess came to mind. Angrily, Astrid brushed it away.

  “Allow me.” Too late! The Prince had returned more quickly than she had expected. He crossed the terrace and handed her a glass.

  “I can manage, your Highness,” she said as he knelt down and claimed her stockinged foot. Astrid sucked in a breath at the delicious feel of his hands on her. He ran his hand along the arch of her foot.

  “What tiny feet you have.”

  “They serve me well enough.” Astrid was striving for flippancy but, even to her own ears, she sounded breathless. If he held her foot for much longer, there was a very real danger of her swooning.

  Finally, Roman slipped the slipper on and looked up at her. “The other foot, Contessa?” he asked, his voice deep and gravelly.

  The terrace doors opened and Astrid snatched her foot away.

  “The fireworks are about to begin, your Highness.”

  The Prince stood, shielding Astrid from view. “Not now, Reese,” he growled. The footman bowed and closed the doors.

  “The fireworks?” Astrid cried in alarm. Was it midnight, already? “I must go!”

  She reached down to grab her other shoe but the Prince stayed her hand. “Don’t leave. Not yet.”

  “I must!”

  She pulled away from him, ready to run, but at the last moment she stopped and reached out and placed her hands on either side of his handsome face. The Prince looked into her eyes. They were all that he could see through her mask. She touched her lips to his. “Goodbye, Roman,” she said and released him.

  Giving the Prince no time to react, Astrid jumped over the balustrade and started to run.

  Fireworks exploded overhead. Foolish girl! Astrid admonished herself. She was supposed to have left ages ago! She pelted across the grass and cut through the formal gardens.

  “Ouch!”

  She stopped and pulled off her slipper. Stupidly, she had left the other behind but there was nothing she could do about that now. The sound of the approaching carriage pushed her on. Astrid ran harder. A stitch pierced her side, robbing her of breath. She had no choice but to keep going and get back before She did. The rattle of the coach grew louder and, out of the corner of her eye, she saw it rounding the front of the house. She ducked out of sight and made a run for the back door.

  “Hurry!” Delphi urged her from the open door. “I heard them pulling up!”

  “I know!” Astrid darted past her sister and up the servants’ staircase. The two young women raced down the corridor to the room Astrid had been assigned for their stay in the Royal Lodge.

  “Help me out of this!” Astrid said breathlessly, turning so Delphi could see to the fastenings. They just managed to get Astrid into a muslin gown as Betsy came to fetch them.

  Delphi squeezed her older sister’s hand. “I want to hear everything!” she said as they hurried down the staircase. Although the Duke was ambivalent about such things, the Duchess of Rothshire did not like to be kept waiting. They knocked before entering the drawing room. “Mother, Father,” Astrid said, dipping a curtsy to them both.

  “I see neither of you bothered to dress for dinner.” The Duchess looked down her nose at their muslin gowns. Her displeasure, though evident, left no mark on her beautiful face.

  “Yes, Mother. We thought, as there were only the two of us, it wouldn’t matter,” Delphi replied, quick as ever to smooth matters over. “We have enjoyed a quiet evening.”

  “Very well.” The Duchess turned her gaze upon Astrid. “The contracts are signed.”

  Astrid faced her father. “Prince Roman made no objection?”

  The Duke of Rothshire furrowed his brow. “The betrothal has stood since you were children,” he said. “Now would not be the time for him to voice any objections.”

  “Of course not, Father.”

  The Duchess sighed wearily, as though their very presence had worn her out. “Run along now, girls,” she said flatly. Sensing escape, the sisters started to hurry away. “Astrid!” the Duchess called, stopping her eldest daughter in her tracks, “Astrid - you will do nothing to ruin this.”

  “No, Mother.”

  “Don’t let her anger you, Astrid,“ Delphi said once they were safely closeted away. “In just a few more days, you will be a married woman. Think of me, who must return home with only Mother and Father.”

  “You’ll be fine, Delphi. You’re the good one, remember? And, anyway, it won’t be long until you and Prince Julian will also be wed!”

  “That’s true enough, I suppose,” Delphi replied. She didn’t bother to remind her sister that the Duchess was more interested in the marriage of her eldest daughter than she was in that of her youngest. They both knew well enough that their parents’ interest lay in the daughter who was destined to be Queen. “Now,” she said, casting aside her gloomy thoughts, “tell me what happened at the Ball. And hurry before Betsy comes up!”

  Smiling at her sister’s enthusi
asm, Astrid played to her audience. “If you must know, dearest Delphi, all eyes were on me from the moment I entered the Ball.”

  “And Prince Roman? What was his reaction? What did he say when he found out it was you all along?”

  “Hush, Delphi, and let me speak!” Astrid admonished her sister teasingly.

  “Prince Roman was just as taken with the Contessa, as the others were.” She laughed at her sister’s astonished expression and, grabbing Delphi hands, twirled her around the room. “Oh Delphi! I was the Belle of the Ball! I danced with the Prince, of course, and several other handsome young men competed for my attentions. But Roman was unwilling to share me and waltzed me right out of the ballroom and onto the terrace!”

  “Oh Astrid! How perfectly romantic!” Delphi squealed. “What did he say when you revealed yourself?”

  Astrid stopped dancing. She began to busy herself uncoiling her hair from its top knot. “I - er - well, I never really got the chance to tell him.”

  “What are you talking about? That was the whole point!”

  “I know - but I was having such fun and, anyway, one doesn’t reveal the face behind the mask until after the fireworks and I had to be back by then, remember?”

  “But I thought that you were going to speak with him away from Mother and tell him the truth?”

  “I’m well aware of what I said, Delphi!” Astrid snapped. “But things do not always work out as planned! Now, do you want me to tell you the rest?” She didn’t want to tell her sister she hand’t wanted to spoil things with Prince Roman by revealing that the Contessa, with whom he was so taken, was just Lady Astrid, his betrothed.

  “Very well. Tell me.”

  “You promise not to interrupt?”

  “Yes! Now - you were out on the terrace .…”

  “We were. And I asked for a refreshment. I once read that a lady should always set a man a small task as a way of making him feel useful.”