Magical Masquerade: A Regency Masquerade

by Hilary Gilman

  ‘Of course, Rochford is so much older that he has been much more like a father than a brother to me.’ The two women were luxuriating in the heat of a roaring fire while the ancient walls of Camer Castle were battered by a sea gale of biblical proportions. Arabella had been gently led by Minette’s sympathetic questioning to the subject of her own birth. ‘I was a posthumous baby, you know; our father died several months before I was born.’

  ‘No, I did not know that. How very sad. And then your mama—?’

  ‘Oh, she died of the fever a few days after my birth. But with Philip and my dear Nurse I did very well, I promise you.’

  ‘There is such an age difference between you and—and—Philip. It seems strange.’

  ‘Oh no. Poor Mama suffered several stillbirths and miscarriages in the intervening years.’ She spoke with complete unconcern as one relating ancient history. ‘They never thought I should live,’ she announced rather proudly. ‘I was the sickliest baby.’ She huddled her shawl around her and listened for a moment to the howling wind. ‘Mrs Pritchard told me that, one night, poor Nurse was so tired she did not wake when I cried. And Philip himself came to see what was wrong and, rather than disturb Nurse, he heated some milk and fed it to me himself. And then he walked up and down with me in his arms for hours and hours.’

  Minette smiled at the story. ‘Where is your nurse now? Is she still living?’

  Arabella nodded. ‘She went to live with her niece in Tonbridge. The Castle being so close to the sea she became a perfect martyr to rheumatism. Philip persuaded her to leave for her own sake. He gives her a very generous pension, and she is quite comfortable. Perhaps we can go to see her when the weather improves. I know Philip often stops by on his way down to Camer. She was his nurse, too, you see.’

  ‘He seems an admirable character,’ mused Minette, forgetful of her audience.

  ‘What a strange thing to say about your own husband!’

  Minette flushed. ‘Oh, but we were not very well acquainted when we married. I am still learning about him.’

  ‘Did you fall in love with him at first sight?’ Bella sighed. ‘It is so romantic.’ She glanced at Minette from under her lashes. ‘It was a little like that for me, even though, of course, I’ve known Frank forever. But I had not seen him for years, and then when he came up to us in the theatre and smiled down at me—then I knew I loved him.’

  ‘Oh Bella, be careful! He is very attractive, very engaging, but think what you know of him. That poor girl from the village—’

  Bella shrugged rather pettishly. ‘Oh, I daresay that was all much exaggerated and, anyway, it happened years ago when he was quite young. He was very wild then, but that is what makes it all the more romantic that he should—Minette I want to tell you a secret, but you must promise not to tell Philip.’

  Minette did not hesitate. To keep this oddly appealing girl safe, she would perjure her soul. ‘I promise. What is this secret?’

  Bella fished in her reticule and brought out a bedraggled sheet of paper. It had obviously been folded and refolded many times, for it was almost falling apart. Minette recognised its appearance, as her own note from Rochford was in very much the same state. ‘Look. It is from him.’

  ‘I do not think I should read it, you know. It was not meant for me. Is it a love letter?’

  ‘No—not exactly, but it is so kind, and I think he is just afraid to say anything that might frighten me, or perhaps he is unsure of himself.’

  ‘Very clever Mr Franklyn Clareville,’ murmured Minette to herself. Then, more loudly, ‘Perhaps I should read it then. I can help you to interpret his words.’

  Bella smoothed out the note with loving fingers and handed it to Minette. Dearest little Bluebell, it began. I hope you will forgive your wicked cousin for writing to you in this scandalous manner. I do not know what I have done to make Philip disapprove of me, but he would certainly take steps to prevent our being better acquainted if he gets wind of this. But you are too enchanting, little cousin, for me to allow his prejudice to preclude our friendship. Write to me at this address, just a word or two to let me know that you are well and thinking, perhaps, of me as I am of you. Your loving cousin, Frank.

  Minette raised her eyebrows. ‘Very pretty,’ she said in a cool voice. ‘I think you may certainly count this missive as a love letter.’ She handed it back to Bella, who was regarding her expectantly. ‘But, as he has been invited to stay at the Castle, I do not see why he thinks Philip disapproves of him or of your better acquaintance.’

  ‘Do you think he does not?’

  Minette was determined to strip the affaire of romance, shrewdly judging that any hint of opposition would send Bella flying into Franklyn’s arms. ‘Well, it is not such a bad match, after all. Philip may think you too young, which—do not eat me, my love—you are. But if Franklyn pursues an honourable courtship and there are no more clandestine letters, I expect he will give his consent in a year or two.’

  Bella’s face fell. ‘Two years? How dismal!’

  ‘You would scarcely wish to be married before you have been presented and have had at least one Season, would you? Think of all the fun you would be missing. Why, you might have a baby to care for when all the other girls your age have a dozen or more beaux fighting for their favours.’

  ‘A baby!’

  ‘Well, my love, that is what usually happens.’

  Bella looked distinctly thoughtful. Thanks to Minette’s carefully discreet interference in her diet, Arabella had lost a good deal of her puppy-like roundness, to the extent that some of her new gowns had required to be taken in. ‘Having babies makes you fat. Does it not?’

  ‘It can have that effect, I believe. Not always, you know, but sometimes, certainly.’

  ‘I daresay you will stay as slim as anything, but I am sure to be the kind that gets as big as an elephant. Or I might die like poor Mama.’

  Cousin Franklyn’s chances seemed to be receding by the minute. Minette wisely did not pursue the matter but changed the subject.

  Later that afternoon, she lay alone in her bedchamber, stretched upon the coverlet in an attempt to compose herself before dinner. Her thoughts turned, as they so often did, to the moment when she and Rochford would be reunited. It was foolish and impossible to think that she could still feel the touch of his lips upon hers, still hear the note in his voice when he warned her he would claim more than her dutiful compliance. She acknowledged to herself that she burned to give him all that he demanded and more. The mere thought brought back those sensations he had aroused in her as strongly as before. She was flushed, heated, and yet shivering as though with a fever. She wanted—she knew not what.

  Surprisingly, the conventional immorality of their possible union hardly intruded upon her consciousness. She had been inculcated with the strictest notions of honour; the idea of lying with a man who was not her husband would have been abhorrent to her only a few short weeks ago. That the man should be her sister’s husband would have been inconceivable. Yet now her only concern was the pain he would suffer when his erring wife returned to him, as indifferent and unwilling as before. She pressed her cool palms to her hot cheeks. If he came to her, when he came to her, she must feign reluctance and accept him coldly as Eugénie would have done, begrudging and ungenerous.

  She heard a carriage draw up to the massive front door. She ran lightly over to the window and stared down into the lighted courtyard. The ducal carriage, drawn by a steaming team of chestnuts, was directly beneath her and, as she watched, the footman let down the steps. Rochford sprang down and reached up a hand to assist a second passenger to descend.

  She was a very old lady, swathed in furs, her white hair as elaborately coiffed as though she had been on her way to a ball. She leaned heavily on Rochford’s arm and allowed herself to be ushered into the shelter of the hallway.

  ‘Grandmère!’ Minette felt as though her knees had turned to water. She dropped weakly upon the padded window seat across which she had been leaning.
Her grandmother, here at Camer? It must have been Rochford’s doing. He thought, no doubt, to bring her solace and support during this, her first house party; but, instead, he had brought her cold comfort. How was she to endure the charade with Grandmère’s frosty gaze following her every movement? She wished with all her heart she might hide away in her bedchamber and burrow under the covers as she used to as a child when summoned to her grandmother’s presence. But duty and habit prevailed. With trembling fingers, she tidied her hair, smoothed her dress, and went down to greet the Marquise de Montauban.

  Twelve

  She found Rochford and her grandmother in the charming salon known to the household as the Ruby Drawing Room. The chamber was lit by a chandelier fashioned of crimson Bohemian glass, from which hung crystal droplets that reflected the rosy shimmer in a thousand glancing beams of light. Gilded urns were placed at either end of the chaste marble mantelpiece, and various glass pieces of exquisite colour and workmanship were placed about the room. More rare and costly pieces adorned an inlaid Italian occasional table, two glass-fronted bookcases, and a magnificent pair of mahogany stands rising from delicate cabriole legs adorned with gilt mouldings.

  Grandmère, with her fine, high-bred face and snowy hair, ensconced in a high-backed gilt chair, had been born to inhabit such rooms. She was seated by the fire, and although she was nearly seventy years old and had just made a tiring journey, it was noticeable that her back did not touch the white and gold brocade of the chair, and her slender, freckled hands were displayed upon her lap with all their habitual grace. The Duke was standing by the fire, listening with courtesy to the thin, precise voice.

  ‘Grandmère, what a wonderful surprise,’ Minette managed to utter from the doorway. She crossed the room, sank at her grandmother’s feet, and kissed the hand held out to her. She turned up her face to Rochford and smiled. ‘How very kind of you to think of bringing her to me.’

  He bowed slightly. ‘There is no need to thank me. It was my privilege.’ He stepped forward and offered her his hand. She laid her fingers in his palm, and he pulled her easily to her feet. They stood for a moment, hands clasped, while the Marquise’s sharp eyes noted the delicate flush in her granddaughter’s cheeks and the sudden, opaque darkness in Rochford’s grey eye. She stood and said, ‘Conduct me to my room, Eugénie. I find myself more fatigued than I had realised.’

  Minette instantly stepped to her side and offered her assistance. The thin fingers clutched her arm with a painful grip like a peregrine’s claws settling upon the falconer’s glove. She winced and then glanced swiftly at Rochford, whose eyebrows twitched together in a quick frown. Just then, the door opened, and Arabella bounced into the room.

  ‘Minette, they told me your grandma is come to stay! Can I see her?’

  The Marquise drew in a sharp breath, like a hiss. ‘Minette?’

  Her granddaughter started guiltily, then, recollecting herself, she smiled and said easily, ‘Yes, I have asked Bella to call me by my old pet name. You remember?’

  ‘I remember.’ The haughty face softened, and she assumed the sweet, fragile air that, in Minette’s experience, made her the most dangerous. ‘And this is the little sister? Come here, child, and let me look at you.’

  Nothing could make Arabella graceful, but she was cowed enough by this formidable old woman to remember her schoolroom deportment. She dropped a curtsey and then took a few steps forward, standing with her hands clasped, back straight, chin and eyelids lowered modestly.

  The Marquise studied her for a moment and then patted her cheek. ‘Pretty child.’ She cast a shrewd look at Rochford. ‘Have you arranged a marriage for her?’

  He laughed. ‘Not yet, Ma’am. It is early days.’

  ‘You are mistaken. Do not delay.’

  He inclined his head, with a slight smile. Minette interposed quickly, ‘I am taking my grandmother to her room now, Bella. You may become better acquainted later—when she is rested.’

  Arabella, who had turned bright red, gladly stepped aside to allow them to leave the room. Minette, with her grandmother leaning heavily upon her, made her way up the wide central staircase and found Mrs Pritchard waiting upon the landing to show her the chamber that had been prepared for Madame if Madame was pleased to approve. It overlooked the rose garden, she said, and facing west, was sheltered from the sea breezes. The Marquise was gracious and followed the housekeeper into the chamber. Like all the rooms in Camer Castle, it was filled with the spoils of the Duke’s travels—in this instance, his tours through Italy. There was a good deal of marble, alabaster, and Venetian glass on display, and the high bed was hung with old-gold, silk damask. There was a fire already glowing in the grate and a chaise-longue drawn up in front of it, inviting repose.

  The Marquise, disdaining the chaise-longue, seated herself on a gilt, spindle-legged chair and glared at her granddaughter. ‘They call you Minette?’ she demanded in a disgusted tone. ‘Bah! Your sentimentality will ruin all.’ She looked her up and down and suddenly rapped out, ‘Has he bedded you yet?’

  ‘What? No. No, of course not.’

  ‘He will. Soon.’

  Minette walked to the window and stood looking out. ‘I think not.’

  ‘What do you know of the matter, child? I saw the way he looked at you. Whatever it was that held him back before, it no longer exists.’

  Minette nodded. ‘It was Eugénie’s disgust that “held him back” as you put it. But do not fear for me. He has told me that he will not come to me until I—I—signify that I am—willing.’

  ‘Are you trying to tell me that you are not? Fool, you are in love with him.’

  ‘Am I? I am sure you are right, Grandmère. You always are.’

  The Marquise pursed her lips. ‘Tell him.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Tell him that you are willing.’

  ‘But—but—I—we are not—married.’

  ‘He does not know that. Do you not see how this will serve your sister’s turn? A man of his experience would know instantly that she is no virgin. Especially after she has had a child. But you—’

  Minette was staring at her in utter dismay. ‘You tell me to do this? To make things easier for Eugénie?’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Do you not even consider the pain I shall suffer? To lie in the arms of the man I love and then relinquish him to my sister as though it had meant nothing?’ She clasped her hands together in a passionate gesture. ‘I tell you, I love him. For me, it would not be the duty it would be to Eugénie. I—I—want him!’

  The Marquise studied her granddaughter’s face, and her mouth twisted into a sneer. ‘So, you have found your metier at last. I should have known you were born to be a putaine.’

  ‘Grandmère! I am here at your command. I follow your orders in this as in every other way. Why do you hate me? Why is it always Eugénie with you? Why do you not care for me?’

  The Marquise shrugged her thin shoulders expressively. ‘Eugénie, c’est moi. You, you are my sister over again. A weak fool without pride or discretion.’

  ‘I do not understand you. You have no sister.’

  ‘Listen, child. In every second generation of our family, there have been born twin girls. I was a twin.’ Her gnarled hand clutched the ivory handle of her walking stick until the knuckles were white. ‘My twin, Antoinette! I loved her more than life. When we had to leave France, I begged her to come with me, but she would not. Her husband, the great Viscomte de Montreuil, Le Défenseur des Canaille, was already in the Concierge prison, and she on her knees pleading for his life from their erstwhile friends, Robespierre, Danton, Marat.’ She spat out the names as though they polluted her mouth. ‘Much good it did her! Within six months, she was with him in the Concierge, and she went to the guillotine with her hand in his. I am told she looked like a bride.’ The old eyes were bright but not with tears. ‘My husband was butchered the same day, but I did not weep for him.’

  ‘But if I am like her, should you not love me too?’r />
  ‘You are a reminder, every day, a reminder, that she loved him more. Like you, she found her metier in what she called love. It was not love but lust! Once she had tasted that, nothing, no one else mattered to her.’

  ‘You mean she loved her husband.’

  ‘I mean she loved the way he used her body. Sickening! Sinful! Perverse! Nothing more.’

  ‘She told you this?’

  ‘Told me? She had no need to tell me. The Viscomte’s talents were famed throughout the bedchambers of Versailles.’

  Enlightenment suddenly dawned upon Minette. ‘And in yours?’

  The Marquise laughed. It was not a pleasant sound. ‘Not such a fool as I thought. Yes, I sampled his wares. The more fool me.’

  ‘And you hate me because I remind you that you betrayed your sister. That is the truth, is it not?’

  ‘You become tedious,’ announced the Marquise. But her voice trembled a little. ‘I shall sleep now until dinner.’

  The habits of a lifetime could not be overborne by one instant of repugnance. Minette assisted her grandmother to take off her outer garments, settled her, wrapped in her dressing gown, on the chaise longue, bathed her temples with vinegar, and left her to sleep—all without the reward of one smile or one word of thanks.

  She retired to her own room, her thoughts in a tumult. She had been given permission, indeed commanded, to reach her heart’s desire. She had only to speak the word, and perhaps tonight he would— She pressed her hand to her heart, which was pounding hard and fast, as though to the insistent beat of a tympani drum. She could not! It was wicked even to contemplate such a thing. What would become of them both if she became Rochford’s mistress? She knew what her grandmother wanted of her. The ‘dutiful compliance’ so scorned by the Duke. No doubt, if she merely did her ‘duty,’ he would detect no difference when Eugénie returned to him. But how could she repress every passionate urge when her skin shivered under his touch and her breathing changed at his merest glance? She would give him anything, everything, he desired and then, what pain would he suffer when he found himself once more with a wife who bestowed herself upon him reluctantly and in spite of her repugnance. It must not be—for his dear sake!