Magical Masquerade: A Regency Masquerade

by Hilary Gilman

  Her eyes flashed to his face, suddenly apprehensive. He laughed. ‘I will bid you farewell until dinner,’ he paused and then added softly, ‘Minette.’

  Eight

  Minette, contemplating her own reflection in the mirror as Becky laced up her evening gown of midnight-blue lace over an underdress of azure satin, could not help thinking that the attire of the dashing young Duchess was infinitely more becoming to her than the simple muslins and dowdy round dresses she had worn at home. The dress was cut low across the bust, displaying a décolletage of which she had no need to be ashamed, and it clung to her figure most alluringly. She handed the little abigail a collar of sapphires and diamonds from the overflowing jewel casket on her dresser. The girl clasped it around her mistress’ neck, where it fitted snug as a bracelet. Minette lifted her head, turning it this way and that in the light of the candles so that the matching tiara she wore sparkled and gleamed. Decidedly, she could become accustomed to this life.

  ‘Thank you, Becky. I must go to Miss Arabella.’ She viewed the jewel box thoughtfully and reached out a hand hesitating for a moment before pulling forth a very pretty diamond necklace. ‘This will do,’ she murmured to herself.

  She found Arabella, positively fizzing with excitement, just ready to leave her chamber. She was wearing another of her new Bath gowns. The pale yellow did not flatter her complexion, nor did the diaphanous fabric, which was designed to be worn by a wispy, ethereal creature, not a solidly built schoolgirl. Minette did not dream of telling her this but, instead, she said, ‘Oh, how vexatious! You are already dressed. I wished to lend you this necklace for the evening, but it will not suit your gown at all.’ She held up the necklace, turning and twisting it in the light.

  ‘Oh, how beautiful! But why can’t I wear it with this dress?’

  ‘Oh, the colour, the neckline, it is all wrong. Never mind. Another day will do. I have some amber beads that will be very pretty with your gown.’

  Arabella cast a longing look at the diamonds. ‘Well, what dress would they go with?’

  Minette hid a smile and, opening a large wardrobe, began searching through Arabella’s gowns. ‘This would be perfect,’ she said, holding up a modest slip of pale blue sarsenet with an overdress of white net. The bodice was ruched from the heart-shaped neckline to the high waist and was trimmed with deep blue velvet ribbons.

  ‘That! But that’s one of my old gowns.’

  ‘Oh? But only see how the diamonds are set off by the colour, and it will hang so prettily around your neck with nothing to distract from it.’

  Plainly unconvinced, Arabella allowed herself to be divested of the yellow gown and donned the despised sarsenet. However, when the necklace was clasped around her neck, she was so pleased with the way it looked that she broke into smiles. ‘Oh, Minette! Can I really borrow it? I have nothing one-half so pretty to wear for, although I inherited all of my Mama’s jewels, they are locked away, and I may not wear them until I am out.’

  Minette dropped a kiss on her cheek. ‘You may have it for your own. And tomorrow we will buy you a dress that will really set it off.’

  The girl turned impulsively and threw her arms around her. ‘It is so nice having you for my sister. Mama died when I was born, you know, and I’ve never had anyone to talk with about clothes and jewels and things of that nature.’

  ‘Well, now you have me.’ Minette deliberately thrust aside the thought of Eugénie and what would happen when she returned. She could no more help being of use to Arabella than she could help breathing. Perhaps, by the time she herself had to return home, Arabella would have become betrothed and it would not matter so much, or perhaps she could persuade Eugénie to continue to take an interest in her young sister-in-law.

  She put her arm through Arabella’s and said, ‘Let us go and show Philip how well you look.’

  He was waiting for them in a small salon that led off the dining room. Like all the rooms in Rochford House, it was handsomely appointed and full of treasures that the Duke had brought home from his travels. By a happy accident, it was papered in china-blue and white, providing a charming background for the two young women. In a glass-fronted cabinet along one wall, were presented the priceless Chinese porcelain vases and plates the room was designed to display.

  ‘Look what Minette has given me!’ cried Arabella as she entered. She ran up to her brother and stood gazing up at him, her whole countenance glowing with delight.

  To Minette’s dismay, his face hardened as he turned from his sister to look at her. ‘My betrothal gift to you—?’ He shrugged. ‘You prefer the sapphires, no doubt. It is a trumpery necklace, after all. I had thought the fact that it belonged to your—sainted—queen might have made it more acceptable to you.’

  Arabella’s face had fallen ludicrously. ‘Oh, please don’t be angry with Minette. It was my fault. She meant just to lend it to me, but I loved it so much—’

  ‘I see.’ He smiled down at his sister. ‘It looks very well on you, Bella, but if you do not object, I think I will buy you a necklace of your own. Until then, you may certainly borrow this one.’

  Arabella was satisfied and danced across the room to preen herself in front of a mirror that hung above the fireplace. Rochford regarded Minette steadily, a frown drawing his black brows close together. ‘You are the most incalculable creature. When I gave you that necklace, you were, for the first time, almost affectionate towards me. In fact, you kissed my cheek—my good cheek. And now you give it away to my schoolgirl sister as though it meant nothing.’

  Minette realised that she had hurt him bitterly, and her instinct to heal his hurt was stronger than her discretion. She crossed the few steps that separated them and, placing one hand against his chest, stood on tiptoe to fleetingly touch his scarred face with the tips of her fingers. ‘This is your good cheek, I think,’ she said softly. ‘Your scars are badges of honour, of courage, like a soldier’s.’

  His lean cheek grew pale, and his lips tightened. ‘What game are you playing now?’ he demanded in a harsh voice.

  She drew back, shocked by his reaction. ‘No game, I promise.’

  ‘Yet only a few weeks ago, the very sight of my face sickened you. Oh, do not bother to deny it. I saw it clear enough when you turned from me.’

  She bit back the hot words that rose to her lips, aghast at the fury she felt, not at him but at Eugénie for her unthinking cruelty. Perhaps her silence served her well as, after a moment, he said in a milder voice. ‘Forgive me. I should be thankful, I suppose, that you have, apparently, overcome your revulsion.’

  She looked up then, and a little smile trembled on her lips. He saw it and suddenly held out a hand to her. ‘Minette?’

  But then Arabella bounced across the room to demand that Minette tie her ribbons more becomingly, the butler entered to announce dinner, and the moment was lost.

  Minette, who had lived all her life in a confined stone house crammed with the decaying belongings with which her grandmother had fled France, had still not become accustomed to the beauty of her new surroundings. The dining room in which she now found herself was papered in deep burgundy red. The dining table of mahogany, polished until it shone like a mirror, reflected the silver of the candelabra and the flickering flames of the candles. The room was heavy with the scent of pink lilies, tall and graceful in sparkling crystal vases. They ate exquisite, alien foods served on Meissen china: delicate quail in saffron sauce, tiny silver fish marinated in unfamiliar spices, a strange dish made, according to the Duke, from ground chickpeas. Minette began to see that Rochford had acquired more on his travels than mere furniture.

  It had ceased to rain when their carriage arrived at the Adelphi theatre in Strand. The night was fine but cold, and Minette was glad of the ermine-lined velvet opera cloak that Rochford had punctiliously wrapped about his Duchess. Arabella, who did not appear to feel the cold, insisted that she would do very well with a handsome Norwich shawl, which she wore negligently open to allow the world a glimpse of the d
iamonds that glittered around her neck.

  The play that Rochford had selected was a merry comic opera entitled Love and the Chase and did not impose any great strain on Arabella’s understanding. Minette, who had never attended the theatre before, was frankly enchanted but shrewd enough to counterfeit an ennui she was far from feeling. Eugénie, she was sure, would condemn this artless entertainment as a dreadful bore.

  At the conclusion of the first act, Rochford said with a weary air, ‘I suppose we will now be invaded by your usual court, my love.’

  She lifted her eyebrows questioningly. She knew nothing of her sister’s life in London, except that she had quickly attracted the attention of the biggest matrimonial prize of the ton. That her sister might have had other suitors had not occurred to her, nor that she should have encouraged their attentions, even after her marriage. But so it was. Several gentlemen descended upon their box, greeting her reappearance with acclaim. She was la belle Duchesse, la sans pareille, the Rochford Venus. It was all very silly but harmless, and Rochford seemed to regard the crowd as so many lapdogs. In his presence, the gentlemen dared not speak intimately to his Duchess, and so she was spared the necessity of any but the most commonplace conversation with her admirers. She responded to their sallies with a sweet kittenishness that entranced them, and they vowed she was more adorable than ever.

  Half way through the interval, as Minette sipped champagne and Arabella surreptitiously acquired a glass, which she gulped down, then refilled several times, a gentleman appeared in the box and made his bow. For a moment, Minette almost believed that her senses were disordered. For the man bowing before her was so very like Rochford—Rochford as he must have been before his disfigurement. ‘Cousin, I heard you had been unwell, but I see this was a lie. You are as radiant as ever.’

  ‘I did not know you were back in Town, Franklyn,’ remarked Rochford coolly, as he stood and held out his hand.

  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.’

  Nine

  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?’