Magical Masquerade: A Regency Masquerade

by Hilary Gilman

  She caught sight of her, seated opposite at the bottom table talking animatedly to the handsome man beside her. Strange, she had never noticed before how much alike Becky and Bella were. Of course, the old Duke had fathered them both, but she could have sworn Bella was plumper than the abigail, and her ringlets were brown, not black. Suddenly, she exclaimed, ‘It is Bella!’

  Rochford turned his head. ‘Did you speak to me, my love?’

  She directed his gaze to the table where his sister was laughing and playfully slapping her companion. ‘Arabella has joined the party. It is very naughty of her, I think. See, there she is with—with your cousin.’

  She had forgotten for the moment the cloud that hung over them. It seemed impossible that the handsome, smiling man who laughingly protected himself from Bella’s playful slaps could be a murderer.

  Rochford’s brow darkened. He looked furious. ‘The fool! Does he think the villagers have forgotten Rachael?’ He glanced down into her anxious face. ‘Have you heard the tale?’

  ‘Was Rachael the village girl who died?’

  ‘The girl he left to die. Look at them. They would tear him to pieces if they were not in the Castle. After a few more bottles, they may well do it nonetheless.’

  It was true, now that he pointed it out to her. She could see the black, sidelong glances of bitter men. Beneath the noise of revelry and laughter, another murmur began to swell. It reminded her suddenly of Grandmère’s tales of the Terror. Just so, she could fancy, the canaille would have muttered before they struck.

  ‘Stay here,’ Rochford told her abruptly. ‘I must put an end to this.’ She reached out and put an anxious hand on his arm. ‘Do not be concerned. No one will harm me, or even make the attempt. But Arabella is another matter. They do not know her as they know me. If they attack Franklyn, she might get hurt.’

  The room fell suddenly quiet as Rochford walked unhurriedly around the tables, pausing as he passed to press a shoulder here, crack a jest there. Franklyn watched him come, and Minette suddenly wondered how she could ever have thought him handsome. He looked both frightened and defiant.

  But when Rochford arrived by his chair, it was his sister he addressed. ‘My dear, this is against all tradition, you know. It is not our party, and you were not invited.’

  Bella pouted. ‘That is silly. Why should I not eat my dinner wherever I want in my own home?’

  ‘Because, on this one day a year, we are not the masters here.’ He swept a hand around the hall, still smiling. ‘They are.’

  Arabella scowled, but she got up from her chair. ‘Oh, very well.’ She made a mock curtsy to the crowd. ‘Come, Franklyn, we know when we are not wanted.’

  ‘Damned if I do!’ He sprawled in his chair. ‘This is a damned good party, and I intend to stay and dance with all the prettiest wenches.’

  The dangerous murmurs swelled once more, louder and more threatening. ‘Do not be a greater fool than you can help, Cousin. If you insist on staying, you must take your chances. I shall not lift a finger to protect you.’

  ‘Protect me? Protect me from what?’

  Rochford bent low and whispered in his cousin’s ear. The man seemed to shrink, and then he shrugged and staggered to his feet.

  ‘See Mr Clareville to his chamber, if you please,’ Rochford said to two of the hired waiters who were standing by the door. With impassive faces, they each took an arm and assisted Franklyn, none too gently, from the room.

  Rochford addressed the company, smiling: ‘Do not let this ruin your evening, my friends. There is still a great deal of wine to be drunk and dances to be danced.’ He nodded to the fiddlers who had ceased their play to watch the drama unfold, and they struck up a lively tune. The tension eased, and chatter rose again. Approving looks followed Rochford as he made his way back to the top of the table.

  ‘What did you say to him?’ whispered Minette, unable to contain her curiosity.

  He gave a short laugh. ‘I told him what Rachael’s father and brothers have threatened to do to him if they ever get the chance.’ He nodded to the end of the table to his right. ‘There they are.’

  The four men he indicated were respectable looking but very large, and still, it seemed, very angry. One, younger than the others, was being kept in his chair only by the pressure of his brothers’ hands on his shoulders.

  ‘What would they do to him?’

  ‘Something that would make it impossible for him to ever use another girl as he did poor, silly Rachael.’

  ‘Oh? Good!’

  ‘You are very vengeful, my sweet.’

  ‘He tried to kill you.’

  ‘But he did not succeed, and he will not, I promise you.’ He looked down into her face, suddenly serious. ‘Now you understand why he must never be allowed to come into the title. Give me a son, my pretty Duchess, or even two.’

  She was stricken to silence by the sudden realisation that, though she could give him sons, she could never give him an heir.

  ‘What is it? What have I said to trouble you?’

  ‘Nothing, nothing!’

  ‘There is something. Do you doubt me? Do you really think that all I want from you is your bloodline? That my love for you is false? I give you my word you shall be convinced after tonight.’

  ‘Tonight?’

  ‘Did you think I meant to leave you to sleep alone?’

  ‘I did not think you meant me to sleep at all,’ she said softly, with a shy glance into his face from beneath her lashes.

  He laid his hand upon hers under cover of the tablecloth and gripped it strongly. ‘You shall sleep in my arms, and wake in them, too.’ He bent to whisper in her ear, ‘But not yet awhile.’ He dropped his voice even lower as he told her of what was to come when they were alone in her bedchamber. She felt a sudden flash of heat as though he had caressed her. He was watching and, when he saw that tell-tale blush, he laughed and picked up her fan, plying it briskly. ‘Forgive me, I will not tease you anymore.’

  She managed a sweet social smile for the benefit of the company, but her breathing was quick and shallow. ‘Must we stay longer?’

  ‘We must lead the first dance. Then we are free.’

  It seemed very long to Minette before the dinner came at last to an end. There were interminable toasts and a vote of thanks. Then three cheers for the Duke, another three cheers for the Duchess, the hint of a hope that the Castle would soon ring with the newborn cries of a son and heir. Then at last the boards were cleared, and the dancing could begin.

  She took her place opposite Rochford at the top of the first set. Glancing down the rows of dancers, she saw Becky, very pretty in her white and gold, her ringlets a little dishevelled. She was pink with heat and excitement. The young man opposite her was looking at her in a way that made Minette wonder if there would be any sleep for her little abigail that night. She shrugged; it seemed that no one would care if another little Clareville bastard joined the family. They were positively medieval still in this part of the world. Suddenly, she wondered if Rochford had sired any of his own. He was eight-and-thirty. Why, he could have grown sons and daughters in this very room. The thought chilled her. Could she dare ask him?

  But later, when he took her in his arms, she did not give a thought to his hypothetical base-born children. All the long night, she followed where he led, liberated by his hands and mouth and body from the chains her grandmother had shackled about her since her birth. She had no shame, no modesty, no fear; only a great joy and gratitude for her freedom.

  Eighteen

  She awoke, as he had promised, in his arms. A faint lightening in the sky told her it was dawn. There was a silence so profound that she guessed it had snowed again in the night. She stretched her length against him and gave a sigh of pure contentment.

  ‘Awake at last?’ his voice was warm and faintly amused. ‘Do you always sleep like the dead?’

  ‘I do not know. Did you try to wake me?’

  ‘I did, but you just curled into a little ball, and I
had not the heart to try again.’

  She turned within the shelter of his arm and smiled. ‘I am awake now.’

  ‘So you are.’

  ‘The servants will be up soon. They might discover us and talk. You know Franklyn must not suspect us.’

  ‘Oh, damn Franklyn,’ he said with a grimace. ‘A man should be permitted to share his own wife’s bed.’

  ‘But I am not—’ She stopped short, aghast at what she had been about to say. I am not your wife, my love, though I would give my soul to be so.

  ‘Not?’

  ‘Not entirely happy that the whole household should know our business. Even if your vile cousin were not in the case.’

  He laughed. ‘Shall I close the bed curtains to preserve your modesty?’

  ‘What modesty? I have none left after the night we have passed.’ She paused, ‘But you could lock the door.’

  When he returned to her and took her in his arms, she pulled away from him a little and lifted her hand, tracing his scars with her fingers. ‘What happened? Did Franklyn really try to kill you?’

  He turned his head to press a kiss into her palm. ‘I know it is hard to believe. Happy Franklyn. He has only to smile and his truth is unquestioned.’

  ‘I would not believe him if he said the Sun rose in the west.’

  He laughed and kissed her. ‘It does not, my little ignoramus, it rises in the east. However, I appreciate the sentiment.’

  ‘Oh, it does not matter! But, please, I would like to know the truth.’

  Rochford settled himself back against the pillows. ‘It was twenty years ago. I was eighteen; Franklyn must have been about fifteen. He was still at Eton, I know. Well, one morning, I was walking past his room when I heard a woman’s voice. She sounded distressed, and I walked in to find Franklyn attempting to—er—impose himself—upon one of the servants. I dragged him off her and gave him a good kicking to teach him better manners.’

  ‘I hope she was grateful?’

  He grinned. ‘Extremely. About a week later, I returned late from watching some cocking in the village—’

  ‘Cocking? You? How sordid!’

  ‘I was only eighteen, my love. I have outgrown most of my vices. Which is more than can be said for Cousin Franklyn. I was unsaddling the mare when he came out of the shadows behind me with a knife in his hand.’

  ‘He sought to stab you in the back!’

  ‘Undoubtedly. However, I caught the shadow of the movement in the light of the lamp and I turned in time to defend myself. There was a short, dirty fight, with which I will not weary you, and I had him on the floor. It was then he grasped a rake from the straw and came at me with it. He did quite a lot of damage before I wrested it from him. Then—he kicked over the lantern.’

  ‘Deliberately? In a stable?’

  His face twisted with distaste. ‘A very clever move. While I attempted to lead a dozen or more terrified horses through the flames, he made good his escape. Then the fire spread to the kitchens, and I had the devil of a time getting the servants out.’

  ‘And—your eye?’

  ‘That I cannot lay at his door, except indirectly. I was kicked in the face by one of the horses. She was beside herself with terror.’

  She made a loving little sound and lifted her face to press her lips against his lean cheek. ‘How you have suffered. But he should have been hanged! It was attempted murder.’

  He pulled her closer, burying his mouth in her hair. ‘I was too badly injured to tell my tale at once and, by the time I went to my father, Franklyn had been there before me. He had easily convinced my father that the fire had started by accident and the fight had been nothing more than two boys engaged in a mill. My revered parent informed me he was not going to have his family’s name dragged through the mud because of a turn-up between two callow boys over a wench. He added, for good measure, that he had sampled her himself and decided she was not worth the trouble she had caused. He had sent her away. So all my interference had done was to lose the poor creature her position.’

  ‘I expect you took care of her.’

  ‘We took care of each other.’

  ‘I do not know which is the greater monster, Franklyn or your father.’

  ‘Franklyn would have been a son after his own heart. He never liked me. “Too damn moral” he told me. “Should have been a cursed parson.”’

  She gave a chuckle. ‘Cocking and “taking care” of maidservants does not sound very moral to me.’

  ‘My father had rather high, or perhaps I should say low, standards of debauchery.’

  ‘And then there was the business with—Rachael? Did he really let her die?’

  ‘No one but Franklyn knows the truth of it. We only know that she went off with him that night and ended up dead. He did hit his head when his curricle overturned. It could be true that he did not remember her until the morning.’

  ‘What was she like?’

  ‘A Beauty, dark like you, with a skin like rose petals. But to be just to my cousin, he did not seduce an innocent. Rachael would have thought it a fine jest to lie naked on their altar while all the wildest bucks in London lapped their wine from her belly and sacrificed to the old gods.’

  ‘You knew her well?’

  ‘Do not look so disapproving. Not so well as that.’ He sighed. ‘But Ned, her father, and I rambled in the woods together when we were boys and fished for sticklebacks in the stream. I was godfather to his firstborn son and knew her from a babe. One could not help liking her. She was wild and ungovernable, but she did not deserve—what happened to her. No one could.’ He said after a few moments, ‘Have we now come to the end of your questions? No, I think there is one more you wish to ask me, is there not?’

  She did not pretend to misunderstand him. ‘Tell me about Lady Ashbury.’

  ‘Lady Ashbury is a very great lady who was kind when I most needed kindness. I think that is all you need to know, my love.’

  He saw that she was looking mortified and added gently, ‘I do not discuss you with her either, you know.’

  ‘I do not wish to discuss her,’ Minette responded a little pettishly. ‘All I wish to know is that you have—that you no longer—’

  ‘She and I have parted.’

  ‘Oh, I knew it was so! Was she very upset?’

  ‘Minette, I have said all I intend to say.’ He looked suddenly stern, and she dared not pursue the matter. But there was an undeniable chill between them in spite of his arm around her. She suppressed a little sob.

  He gathered her closer. ‘Crying, my love? I did not mean to be a brute, indeed, I did not. If you would but put yourself in her place for a moment. Do you imagine she would want her name upon your lips while I hold you like this and kiss your sweet mouth? Shall we discuss my erstwhile mistress while I touch you here, and here?’ He saw a tear trickle down her cheek and kissed the spot. ‘For my part, I have had enough of talking about the past.’

  She sniffed. ‘So, too, have I.’

  ‘Let us change the subject. Books for instance. We have not discussed books for a long time. Did I ever tell you I picked up a most interesting volume while travelling in India?’

  She was not really in the mood to discuss books, but this impressed her. ‘I did not know that you could speak Hindi.’

  He smiled. ‘Nor can I, my love. However, the illustrations were all I required. They are very—educational.’ He gathered her into his arms. ‘Allow me to demonstrate.’

  When Becky arrived with her morning chocolate, Rochford was long gone from her bed, and she had slept a few sweet, dreamless hours.

  ‘Good morning, your Grace.’ She saw the girl cast a swift glance at the empty pillow beside Minette’s and note the indent of another head. ‘I hope your Grace slept well?’

  Minette, remarking her air of subdued excitement, answered, ‘As well as you did, I expect. Am I to wish you happy?’

  ‘Aye, that’s it, Ma’am. We’re to be married as soon as may be.’ She suddenly bent and kis
sed Minette’s hand. ‘It were the gown that did it! He said I looked like a duchess.’

  ‘And so you did.’ She cast aside the coverlet before remembering that she wore no nightgown. Becky giggled and handed her the satin robe that had slipped unnoticed to the floor during the night. Minette slipped her arms into the maltreated garment and knotted the sash around her slim waist. ‘Is Miss Arabella awake yet?’

  ‘Aye. She still abed, but she’s had her chocolate and some of that sweet, current-bread she likes.’

  Even during the long, hot night she had just passed, the thought of Bella had hovered at the back of her mind like a disembodied spirit. She was getting too close to Franklyn and, knowing what she now did about him, Minette was more determined than ever to put a spoke in his wheel. He should not harm Bella if she could help it.

  The clocks were striking noon when she left her bedchamber, knocked softly upon Arabella’s door, and opened it. ‘Good morning, my love.’

  Arabella was sitting up against her banked pillows, rather pale and holding a damp flannel to her forehead. ‘Oh, it is you. What do you want? I have the headache and wish to be left in peace.’

  ‘You have the headache because you drank far too much wine,’ responded Minette coolly. ‘How could you have been so foolish as to bring your cousin to the dinner last night? You told me the story yourself. You must know the villagers hate him.’

  Bella shrugged and pulled a face. ‘Why should we care what they think? Franklyn told me the truth of it. He was quite blameless, and she was a bad girl, anyway.’

  ‘She did not deserve to die.’ She sat beside the younger girl and took her hand. ‘Do you not see how he is trying to attach you, to set you against us all?’

  Bella pulled away and, in so doing, her nightgown slipped displaying the unmistakable bruises left by a man’s grip upon her plump arms and breasts. She hurriedly covered them and glared at Minette defiantly. ‘Well, what have you to say now?’