Regency Romances

by Grace Fletcher

  Guildwell Hall was owned by a good friend of Marianne’s father, and Marianne had no idea who was on the guest list; it was to be a masked ball. It was the first Marianne had ever attended, so she kept her mask small. Her long blonde hair was styled to perfection, her gown had been made for the occasion, a deep turquoise to match the peacock feather mask that covered her eyes and nothing more. Her mother had been adamant that she look as much like herself as possible as those asking her to dance would be all too aware of who she was. Sometimes Marianne wished men would dance with her because of her heart and self, more than because of the family she represented.

  A few hours in and Marianne had danced her way through a great many dances with suitors of high standing. Some were many years older, others were more her age, though none of them gave her the sense that they cared about her as a person. It wasn’t until she took a break, escaping to one of the balconies, that she felt able to breathe. It was a beautiful evening; the smell of the countryside and the cool breeze of the coming night gave her enough reprieve from the endless dancing that when she heard her mother calling her to come inside, it was less irritating than it might otherwise have been.

  “I am here, Mother,” Marianne told her, sweeping back into the room.

  Though the dance hall itself was packed, Marianne managed to thread her way through the tables to where her mother was standing by the hall doorway. There were two men and a woman that Marianne had never seen before. The taller of the two men had a mask that barely covered his face. He had a kind smile and beautiful brown eyes.

  “This is Lord Jacob Fife. Lord Fife, my daughter, Miss Marianne Drake.”

  “Miss Drake, it is a pleasure.”

  Marianne gladly held aloft her hand so that he could press a kiss to her knuckles. His smile widened a little as he stepped aside to introduce the others. “My wife, Lady Christina Fife.”

  The woman was gorgeous, and though there was a sad air to her demeanor, her eyes held a hint of mischief. Her mask was a plain white, and though it complimented her rich brown dress, it didn’t seem to have taken much effort. “Good evening.”

  “Good evening,” Marianne said, warmed by the woman's gentle squeeze of her hand. It wasn’t customary to be so familiar so soon, but there was something about Lady Christina that instantly put her at ease.

  “This is my brother,” Lord Fife continued. “His Grace the Duke of Fife.”

  Marianne watched as her mother straightened, a look that was close to predatory in her eyes, and it was an awful thing to watch. Before her mother could say something that would be unfavorable, Marianne gave the duke what she hoped was a kind smile, and curtsied. He was handsome, from what she could see, one half of his face and both eyes were hidden behind a black mask. It made his blue eyes stand out though there was a cloudy quality to the left. It didn’t mar his beauty any, and when he offered his hand, asking her gently for a dance, she accepted immediately.

  As they stepped out onto the dance floor, Marianne did her best to ignore the way her mother rushed over to her husband, no doubt to share the good news.

  The dance was usually a partner and a dance floor affair, so Marianne did not expect to be able to dance with the duke for long. Taking her chance at the beginning, his arm wrapped around her waist, she apologized.

  “For what?” The duke’s voice was attractive in both tone and pitch, and Marianne’s heart fluttered within her chest. As they twirled on the dance floor, the duke’s eyes left her and scanned the crowd. “Ah,” he said eventually. “For your mother?”

  “Indeed.” Marianne swept away from the duke, twirling under his outstretched arm, and then back to his side. “She can be a little much.”

  “For such a beautiful daughter, I can understand.”

  They were words that Marianne had heard time and again, but still, they made her pulse quicken and her breath tighten in her chest. He was the first to instill such a reaction, and they had barely spent any time together.

  “Are you in London for long?”

  The dancers swept into a line, the two of them passing through and back down the line, before coming together into another swing.

  “I did not even know if I would come for this,” the duke admitted, and there was a heaviness in his eyes. Marianne longed to reassure him, a useless feeling when she had no idea what was wrong with him. There was a part of her that ached to see him smile.

  Marianne waited until they had passed through the next couple, and when the duke took her in his arms, she pressed close, not brazen, but comfortable enough for them both. “I am so very glad you did.”

  It was unusual for her to be so talkative and approachable to a man dancing for her favor, but she could not help herself. Like his brother's wife, the duke put her at ease. He had been a little aloof at the beginning of the dance, but the longer they remained on the floor, twirling and swinging through the different songs, he seemed to loosen up, a smile giving way to an occasional laugh. Though she had thought him handsome before that was nothing to the way he looked when his happiness was evident. He seemed to grow stronger in character; he was effortless with his praise of her dancing, her beauty, even her laugh. His demeanor was captivating, and she found herself matching his enthusiasm and happiness.

  It wasn’t until the end of the song, when the duke gave her a sweeping bow and she inclined her head, smiling wildly as he kissed her palm, that something seemed to change about him. His eyes ran over those clapping around the dance floor, and though he was quick to thank her for the dance, he seemed to melt back into the crowd.

  Marianne was stunned. It would take her time to get away from previous dancers, most of them angling for a second or third dance. Often, she would have to get her mother or father to intervene and they would be only too happy to do so once it was clear they were not in her daughter’s favor. The duke had fled before the clapping had even started to wane.

  Leaving the dance floor, attempting to avoid a man who seemed keen to get her attention, Marianne found her mother and father. Her mother’s cheeks were red, clasping Marianne’s arms and shaking her a little. “I am so proud of you!”

  Marianne gave her mother a weak smile. “It was one dance, Mother.”

  “He did not stay for another?” Lucille Drake was indeed a formidable woman when she wanted to be, but Marianne could see the disappointment in her face. “I had hoped that he would attract you where few others have.”

  In truth, he had done so. “Perhaps he has an appointment to keep.”

  It was a flimsy excuse and the look on her mother’s face told her so.

  Her father seemed to be in a more charitable mood towards the duke. “It is a great distance to travel, and I have heard that he only arrived in London this afternoon. Perhaps he is exhausted.”

  Marianne felt lighter at her father’s words, and when it was clear that both the Lord and Lady Fife had left the ball as well, it seemed to be the truth of the matter. Though Marianne’s mother was still disappointed, she sighed, touching Marianne’s cheek. “Dance as much more as you wish to, and we shall leave.”

  There didn’t seem to be much to stay around for now; Marianne had been spoiled tonight by the duke, and she doubted that anyone could match the way he had looked at her, the tone of his voice as he’d called her beautiful.

  Chapter 2

  Behind the Mask

  The ride back to the country was a tense affair.

  When Fife’s cousin had invited his family to come and stay at her estate, Fife had almost declined. It was rare that he felt comfortable enough to leave his home, even less when it involved parties and social affairs. Abigail was his favorite aunt’s daughter, and he trusted her not to take him somewhere he would be uncomfortable. When she had confessed to it being a masked ball, the tension and worry about the event had faded beneath the excitement of being able to attend something without everyone’s attention on his face.

  Jacob, Fife’s brother, and Christina had offered to accompany him. Christina
had been his closest confidant for a long time. She and Jacob had cared for him during his convalescence, and Christina continued to be a companion during the necessary social meetings he had to make. More than once Fife had considered giving up the dukedom to his younger brother, but neither Jake nor Christina would hear of it.

  For the first time in years, Fife had enjoyed himself at a party, though there was some measure of disappointment that he had hidden a part of himself in order for it to be so.

  “That young woman you were dancing with,” Christina started, and there was a concern to her words that Fife was no stranger to.

  “Miss Drake,” Fife said, remembering her name easily. He remembered everything about her, from the gorgeous green of her eyes to the softness of her touch. Newly welcomed into the social scene she may be, but she was no stranger to navigating its eccentricities. She would go far, find a husband that would suit her family.

  Jacob smothered his laugh in the face of his wife’s concern. “Her mother seemed to believe it was a match made in heaven.”

  Christina’s reproachful glare had Jacob holding his hands up in surrender, though Fife could see why the situation had been amusing; even without seeing his face, Mrs. Drake had seemed to believe her daughter destined to be with a duke, however far away from her home Fife might take her.

  “It doesn’t matter anyway,” Fife said reasonably, sliding the mask from his face. No matter how many times he braved his face in someone’s company, there was a part of him waiting for the revulsion, for them to turn away from him. Jacob and Christina seemed immune, but the only thing worse than revulsion and disgust was the pity. Fortunately for Fife, he knew their pity came from a place of love and not malice. “If she were to see my face, she would never allow me near her daughter.”

  “That is an assumption.” Christina took the mask from him, turning it over in her hands. When she looked up at him, her gaze had a sense of finality. “All it would take is someone with an open and beautiful heart.”

  His expression a mix of approval and skepticism, Jacob raised his eyebrows and gave Fife a sardonic smile. “Is Arthur to know she has that after one dance?”

  Miss Drake’s heart and openness were up for debate, but Fife’s feelings after one dance were not. There was something about the young woman that made Fife want to search her out and get to know her, but he wisely kept that to himself. He did not want to share with his brother or Christina how he really felt about that one dance. He had little frame of reference for an occasion such as this; he had been injured at a young age, and while still within the Scottish Army, and thus had spent little time as an adult in society. After the accident, he had been repulsed and ashamed of his own appearance enough that he couldn’t imagine ever involving himself in a dance at all, let alone meet someone he wanted to get to know better.

  “Whatever the outcome,” Fife said finally when the silence had stretched on too long. “I am glad I came tonight.”

  Jacob nodded, looking pleased with Fife’s response. Though he was away from the estate from time to time due to work, Jacob was often trying to get Fife out into the world, to seek company and enjoy himself. The worry and concern were appreciated though Fife hoped that his brother would never put his own life on hold to help him. “Perhaps we can do this again sometime.”

  Christina’s eyes didn’t move from Fife. She was more perceptive than her husband, perhaps, in knowing that unless it was to another masked ball, it was unlikely, but she did not say anything. Fife was grateful; it was enough that he had to acknowledge and live with his own failings, he did not wish to have them brought up to a brother who already worried too much.

  “Perhaps,” Fife allowed, turning to look out of the carriage window, though there was little that he could see.

  Though he longed to see Miss Drake again, he doubted the meeting would be to his liking. The moment she saw his face for how it really was, no mask to hide the worst of his injury, she would not take him seriously as a prospect—in a friend or in love. Resting his elbow on the small ledge of the window, Fife rested his chin on his fingers. It wasn’t often that he resented his actions during the battle, and indeed in his less self-loathing moments, he would never knowingly wish to change his position, but often he would be struck with a life he could have had.

  Christina drowned out Fife’s thoughts with her own recounting of some of the dance, and Fife let the words wash over him. It wouldn’t do to dwell on the myriad of ways his life could have changed if he had only done something differently. He was here now, with this face, and he was going to have to find a way to live with it. He would never truly be alone; Jacob and Christina had spoken of their intentions to stay at the estate with him, children included should they come along, and Fife was grateful.

  Perhaps one day he would not need them to shield him, but for now, he was content. As they drew closer to his cousin’s estate, Fife could see the lights flickering in various windows. Abigail’s husband had been killed during battle, and she had been left to raise her children alone with the aid of her husband’s brother. She was still Duchess of the estate, and her eldest son would inherit, but her asking Fife to come down had brought with it benefits that none of them had foreseen.

  Fife had found himself going out in public, walking out amongst the grounds with bravery he would not have possessed even in his own county. Abigail’s son had found his stories fascinating, though Fife kept them mostly fictional, given the boy’s knowledge of his father’s death, and told him of the wild untamed lands of Scotland. It helped Fife to realize that despite how society viewed him, he could never actually hand his dukedom over to his brother. He loved his duties and his people.

  “Do you have plans to return home soon?”

  Fife shook his head, giving Christina a tight smile. “I would like to return soon, but I am not averse to staying in London as long as you both wish to.”

  It went unspoken that Fife would not return without them. Christina pursed her lips in thought, turning to Jacob and leaving the decision up to him.

  Jacob, who had been enjoying London and the connections it undoubtedly gave him, didn’t seem pressed to leave anytime soon. He gave Fife a searching look. Fife kept his face schooled, neutral to the thoughts currently plaguing him. He did not wish to make up his brother’s mind for him. If he wished to remain in London for the foreseeable future, Fife would find a way to live with it, even if he confined himself to Abigail’s home.

  “We will stay for a little while longer,” Jacob said eventually, his eyes narrowed as he gave Fife a look that promised they would be discussing his reticence later. “If you wish to leave, you must say.”

  “I will,” Fife promised.

  It said a lot about the character of his brother and Christina that neither of them called him on what was almost certainly a lie.

  Chapter 3

  The Invitation

  “There is mail for you, darling,” Marianne’s mother placed a letter on her desk.

  The letter itself was written with care and closed with an official seal. Marianne opened it carefully, heart thumping in her chest. It wasn’t rare for a family to seal invitations to impress the guests they were looking to invite to their homes, but Marianne had never seen one for herself. As she pulled out the invitation, she could see her mother hovering in the doorway, obviously intrigued as to the contents.

  The letter was from the house of a well-known Hertfordshire Duchess and her family. Marianne ran a finger over the inscribed my cousin, the Duke of Fife, and I cordially invite you to and felt her pulse jump. It was as if she were back in that hall, dancing with the duke once again. He had held her with such care and strength.

  “Well?” Lucille gave Marianne an unimpressed look. She was always quick to press the importance of patience onto Marianne but clearly possessed little for herself.

  “It is an invitation to the Duchess of Hertford’s estate.” Marianne was reluctant to give up the invitation, but she handed it to her mother. �
�Her cousin is the Duke of Fife. He is to host the party alongside her.”

  Abruptly her mother’s demeanor changed to one of glee. She clasped her hands together, eyes wide. “Tell me you are thinking of attending?”

  “Of course I am, Mother.” Marianne could think of nothing she wanted more. To be under the same roof as the duke, to be able to talk with him honestly, without the masks between them, would be a relief. Though her mother was obviously keen for her to expand on her relationship with the duke, Marianne did not want to rush things. She was content with the choices she had been given thus far, and if things did not work out with the duke, she was confident that she could stop her mother interfering in any meaningful way. “Though not with you.”

  “Marianne,” Lucille pressed her lips together, unimpressed.

  “I am allowed one guest,” Marianne said primly, no stranger to being petulant when it was for a good cause. “I will ask Helena. If the Duchess had wished for you to attend, she would have sent you an invitation.”

  It was disrespectful, but her mother could be overbearing and exhausting sometimes, and Marianne did not want to spend the length of her stay in Hertford having the pressure of her mother’s expectations on her shoulders. Bad enough that she knew well enough what they were, without having to suffer them face to face.

  Lucille stared at her, silent for a long while, and Marianne was afraid that she would put her foot down. Perhaps sensing Marianne’s determination, Lucille nodded. “So be it. I trust you to inform your father and I should anything arise.”

  Marianne nodded, eager to tell Helena about their plans for the next week. There was little that Helena did not know about Marianne’s life. They had been best friends for as long as Marianne could remember, and if she were to experience this party with anyone, Helena was the obvious choice.