British Brides Collection

by Hake, Kelly Eileen

  Eleanor’s features clouded. “I understand…. Yet with you and me to petition the Lord on his behalf, he’ll have no choice but to succumb to the truth. Yes?”

  Letitia smiled. “Yes.”

  Once Eleanor left her, movement outside the window attracted Letitia’s attention. She watched, puzzled. Though the men were supposed to be off on a shoot, three had just entered the maze.

  Chapter 8

  Letitia stared in wonder at the vision in the full-length cheval glass. Around her neck, Lady Ackers had hung a silver chain with the most brilliant opal.

  “It reminds me of the moon,” Letitia whispered. “The entire costume resembles moonlight.”

  “Ah, behold the moon,” Grandmama said from behind her. “A shy maiden benevolently tending the earth, she sheds her pale light; a beacon to the weary traveler, a gentle radiance to a world laden with darkness. Daily her sister, the sun, blinds with her brilliance those who gaze upon her countenance. Attracted to her fire and magnificence, many pay little heed to the moon’s gentle comeliness and disregard her when she visits the earth. Only those with a discerning eye observe the moon’s hidden splendor, the splendor which the Creator bestowed only to her.”

  Letitia’s cheeks flamed. Doubtless, Marian was the sun; yet could Letitia really be compared to something so beautiful as moonlight?

  “Phillip wrote that,” Grandmama said with a sigh. “An eternity ago.”

  Sensing Lady Ackers wanted to reminisce, Letitia kept silent. The voluminous ball gown of palest lavender satin bore fine vertical lines of sparkling silver that caught the light through the gossamer gauze she wore as an overlay. Layers of ruffles frothed from the gown’s sleeves at the elbows. For the occasion, her hair had been curled, coifed, and powdered and now matched the gown—a shimmering soft lavender with strings of pearls for a headdress. The effect made her appear almost ethereal.

  Letitia lifted the mask to her face and fastened its satin ties at the back. Her thoughts going to her cousin, she pivoted to face Lady Ackers. “May I ask a question?”

  “Of course.”

  “I know it’s none of my affair, and instruct me to mind my own business if you’d rather, but what did you say to my lady Marian?”

  A sly smile lifted Grandmama’s lips. “Relations between you have improved?”

  “Tremendously. Oh, she still dislikes me; I can see that in her eyes. But the occasion is rare when she insults me or raises her voice.”

  “I told her the truth, a truth I shall tell you now. But it must never leave this room, Letitia. I stated that had your father preferred her mother over yours, she might be the one whose family had been disgraced and farming in Spain.”

  “What?”

  “My dear child, Hester loved your father from the moment she set eyes on him, and a more dashing man I’ve never seen. She was jealous that her young sister had so wholly captured his affections. It was for spite that Hester told the earl your mother eloped with Roberto to Gretna Green before Kathryn had a chance to return home and soften his heart. I have no doubt your mother would have succeeded; she was the earl’s favorite. But Hester hardened him against her. I learned the details years ago; she confessed her faults to me, admitting that in time, she’d grown to love my son. It was then that she asked permission to send for you since she felt she must do what she could to make reparation to her sister.”

  Amazement numbed Letitia’s mind; she couldn’t respond.

  “Let us speak no more of the matter. Tonight, you shall shine like the Maiden of Moonlight for which Phillip penned the poem. But remember this, Letitia.” She clasped an edge of the filmy gossamer. “These are merely outward trappings; forget not what is of true worth.”

  Letitia vowed not to forget but anticipated the evening. For one final night she would masquerade as someone greater than herself.

  Bejeweled ladies in richly hued gowns of satin, silk, and velvet flitted past, introducing themselves by such allegorical titles as “Frost,” “Last Rose of Summer,” and “Evening Star.” Stately gentlemen had dispensed with their normal black frock coats to don colorful garb for their oftentimes garish costumes, depicting characters from books and plays. All the guests wore matching masks or carried them on long sticks.

  Letitia swept into the ballroom with Marian, whose shimmering gown of cloth of gold turned heads. With hair of deepest auburn and creamy-rose skin, even without her jewels, Marian as “The Golden Lorelei” was a sight to behold.

  Discreetly hidden behind a decorative curtain of evergreens, a band of musicians played while couples performed a quadrille across the oak floor polished to a mirror gleam. The cloying scent of beeswax hung heavy in the air. Tonight, the gentry had flocked from the surrounding countryside. More than a hundred people were packed into the huge ballroom lit with candelabra, massive chandeliers, and wall sconces.

  A short man in a moss green costume approached Letitia, introducing himself as Puck from Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream. He asked her to dance, but she declined. His affronted eyes stared at her through the slits in his mask, yet he bowed and departed. If she could dance, she would. Such dances might be considered effortless due to their mere walking, but the constant figures would be difficult to maneuver, and she didn’t wish her leg to give way on the ballroom floor.

  She socialized with the marquis’ sister—robed in flowing white, with a garland of leaves and flowers woven in a circlet round her hair and a chain crossed over her waist as Tennyson’s tragic “Lady of Shalott”—and with her stood Lady Carolyn Vaneers, a shy, sweet girl dressed in the deep gold and brown of “Autumn.”

  Suddenly, the marquis stood at Letitia’s elbow. Instead of holding his glittering green mask to his eyes, he held it down by his side. “Will you dance with me, fair maiden? Or are you a sprightly fairy, having visited the earth to capture my heart?” He surveyed her ensemble. His own costume of counterchanged dark green and black stockings and tunic resembled a character from the Middle Ages.

  “Neither, my lord.” Even though he was unaware of her identity, Letitia raised her fan to her lips, recalling her resolve to discourage him. “I am Moonlight, and I prefer not to dance.”

  “Indeed?” His mouth firmed, but he turned to Carolyn. “Perhaps you will do me the honor?”

  She curtseyed and accompanied him to the dance floor.

  French doors to the moonlit terrace stood open in the next room, beckoning Letitia. The press of bodies had raised the room’s temperature, and tendrils of hair stuck damply to her forehead.

  The night air felt cool. Grateful no one else stood outside, she looked upward to the full moon. Glowing like a great pearl in a misty dark gray sky, it hovered over a grove of oak trees.

  Footsteps on the paving arrested her attention. Startled, she turned.

  “My lady?” Edward asked. “You are unwell?”

  In his full livery of dark blue trimmed with gold, he was handsome. A moment elapsed before she captured enough breath to answer.

  “I am well.”

  He nodded and made as if to go.

  “Please, wait.” At his evident surprise, she explained, “I should like the company.”

  His brows sailed upward. “You would rather converse with a servant than mingle with the fine lords and ladies gathered in disguise?”

  “If that servant is you, I would.” The words were bold, but behind the costume she felt safe from discovery.

  He stared at her a long moment. “Might I have the honor of knowing whom I address?”

  An imp of mischief took over, and she briskly fanned herself. “This is a masked ball, sir. To reveal my identity would break convention.”

  “Ah, a pity.” He appeared amused. “Still, I don’t wish to break convention. Henceforth, I suppose I shall have to address you as ’the Lady of Moonlight’ since I have no other name to go by.”

  Letitia inhaled deeply as though struck. “For tonight, sir, indeed, you may call me Lady Luna.”

  “Luna … the
Spanish term for moon. Is it not?”

  She gave a slight nod.

  Dawning light entered his eyes and he stepped forward. “Letitia, is it you?”

  “Yes, Edward.” She gave up her pretense and lowered the fan, suddenly grateful that he knew her identity.

  “How stunning you look. When I heard the lilt of your accent, I should have known. You have a beautiful voice.”

  Letitia felt the kiss of a blush touch her face.

  “But stay, why are you not dancing? Don’t tell me it’s from lack of partners.”

  “I cannot dance,” she said simply. “But I love the music and watching the dancers. And I’ve found dressing up in costume to be most pleasurable.” Indeed, she felt like a little girl again and giggled.

  The softest expression drifted over his face. “There’s much I wish to say, Letitia, so much I wish to share …” He blew out a frustrated breath. “Hang it all, I will speak. I’ve come to feel strongly about you. Dare I hope my feelings might be returned?”

  “I …” Shock robbed her of words, but any reply was eclipsed as the duchess swept onto the terrace. She seemed astonished to see Letitia, with Edward standing so close, but quickly regained her composure.

  “His lordship requests your presence, Edward.” The duchess lifted her beaded mask on its stick, casting a curious glance Letitia’s way before she regally entered the ballroom again.

  “I suppose our conversation must wait.” Edward’s words were tense, though he produced a smile. “Tomorrow, before you leave for London, may we speak further on this matter?”

  “Of course.”

  To her shocked delight, he lifted her gloved hand to his mouth. The gentle pressure of his lips on her fingers caused her heart to palpitate madly, and the steady look in his eyes captured her breath. “Until tomorrow, dear lady, I am your servant.” He inclined his head in a slight bow.

  Long after he entered the manor, her gaze remained on the last place she’d seen him.

  Their encounter adding an extra layer of warmth to her overheated skin, Letitia strolled in the coolness of the night. Flickers of torchlight caught her attention at the front of the manor where blazing flambeaux illuminated the walkway and couples gathered.

  She could scarcely believe that Edward cherished her as she’d come to love him. Was it possible? Could he find her a position at Heppelwith so she could remain by his side forever? Lady Eleanor would surely speak for them.

  Buoyant as a crested wave, she drifted toward the maze. A flicker glowed through the bushes. Curious, she moved toward the flame. Men’s voices rose in furious whispers.

  “We shall proceed with the robbery after dawn as planned.”

  “I don’t like it. Since that Spanish wench opened her mouth, there’s been nothing but trouble. Mark my words, it was her who alerted the duke to our presence here. We should have done away with her when we had the chance.”

  “And I told you, I don’t condone murder. I’ve taken care of the matter. She’s not as acquiescent as the dear Lady Salinger, but doubtless I’ll win her over. Once I claim her heart and have brought his lordship to ruin, nothing will stop us. I’ll have what I want, and you’ll have your gold.”

  Pressing her fingers to her open mouth, Letitia retreated a step. The gauze of her dress caught the bushes. She tore it free.

  “What was that?” one of the men asked.

  Letitia spun around in alarm. The familiar weakness struck her hip, and she staggered, grabbing the yew wall. At the loud rustle she winced and attempted to hurry away.

  “Stop her!”

  An iron-muscled arm wrapped around her, stalling her escape and her breath. She blinked back fear as the leader of the highwaymen came to stand before her.

  No … I—it cannot be.

  He pulled the mask from her face. A pained but resolute expression firmed his jaw.

  “Ah, Letitia. Why? Why could you not have made this simplest for everyone by merely accepting my advances and minding your own affairs? If you had, I wouldn’t need to do what I’m forced to do now.” He nodded to the men standing behind her.

  Each of them grabbed one of her arms.

  “No!” Letitia fought to get free, but she was no match for their strength. “What will you do with me?”

  His hand lifted, and the backs of his fingers stroked her cheek. “That, my lovely Letitia, is up to you.” His fingers traced down to her jaw.

  Angry tears glazing her eyes, she wrenched her head away from his touch. She never should have trusted him. He possessed the power to do whatever he willed with her. There was no one to stop him, no one to save her. Save for one.

  Sálvame, mi Diós … My God, save me.

  Chapter 9

  Edward?”

  Upon hearing Lady Ackers’s voice, Edward turned and affected a slight bow as the dowager viscountess came to stand before him.

  The woman harrumphed. “Now then, none of that. I seek Lady Letitia Laslos, who tonight bears the name of ‘Moonlight.’ No one has seen her for some time.”

  “I was with her more than an hour ago.”

  “Hmm. My Abigail found this near the maze.” Lady Ackers handed him a white mask that appeared to have been crumpled underfoot. His heart plummeted when he recognized the bent feathers and seed pearls.

  Letitia.

  “I will get to the bottom of this. I assure you, she will be found.”

  “With you in charge, I don’t doubt it. Notify me the moment she’s located, Edward.”

  “Very good.” He inclined his head.

  A wry look entered her eyes. “You do that too well.”

  He was saved a reply as she turned and made for the stairs. Recalling Letitia’s talk of overhearing the highwaymen, he alerted the house servants, and the search for Letitia quietly commenced.

  One hour passed.

  Two.

  Then three.

  After the fourth hour, Edward was beyond concern. Had he acted sooner, had he dispensed with his foolish scheme of which few approved, she would be by his side now. He was certain she’d been taken—but where? Was she alive? She had to be! He couldn’t endure it if he lost her, too, the only woman he’d ever come to love. Now he realized how immense that love was. Could it be possible to feel so strongly about another on such short acquaintance?

  Once Edward was so confident, attributing his position in life to his hard work and little else; now he felt utterly lost. Earlier, he’d combed the maze and grounds. Unsuccessful, he took his search to the manor. Room after room. Nothing.

  Entering the empty chamber with the painting, the last place he knew to look, he glanced toward it. He could envision her standing there, her dark eyes wide, her hands lifted in entreaty for him to recognize and share her faith.

  Moisture rimmed his eyes. “She belongs to You!” His heated words addressed the silent figure in the painting. “Why has this happened? If You’re a merciful God, as she says, help me to find her—if You truly care so much. I cannot lose her, too!”

  The lone figure wavered before him, and Edward dashed the tears from his lashes until the portrait was steady again. The expression of Christ in the portrait was so understanding, tender, compassionate…. The eyes seemed to beckon to him … to assure him that God’s hope was the anchor on which he must now rely.

  Inside Edward, something broke.

  His palms hit the mantel, his head bowed low, while great gulping sobs he couldn’t contain bellowed forth from the depths of his soul.

  Letitia awoke to darkness most foul. Her arms ached where they’d been roughly handled, and what felt like strips of leather sawed into her ankles and wrists. Her jaw smarted from the scratchy gag bound across her mouth. She struggled to collect her senses.

  The odors of horseflesh and hay led her to believe she’d been secreted away in the stable; there was no light to see. As if in answer, a horse’s soft whinny and snort ruffled the air close by. She lay upon dirt, the chill seeping into her bones. A shelter stood overhead; she coul
d hear the rain’s patter strike wood and trickle through a crack. Water dripped onto her skirt with frequent splats. Its uncomfortable wetness had seeped through her skirt and petticoats. Shifting her legs, she winced as they strained against the tether, which cut more deeply into her skin.

  Her mind couldn’t grasp the truth. It made no sense. Why should he consort with unsavory characters? There appeared to be no rational explanation.

  Closing her eyes, she succumbed to weariness.

  When next she awoke, darkness still pervaded, but she could hear someone shouting far away. Calling her name.

  Against the gag, she cried out, then raised her bound feet and kicked the wood. But her shouts came muffled, her actions weak. Frustrated tears burned her lashes and ran into her ears.

  Please, Diós mio, let them hear. Forgive my foolishness in desiring to be someone I’m not. I’ve harbored bitterness because I wasn’t one of the peerage, because I’m considered an underling to my cousin, something only You’ve known, something I was too ashamed to confess even to Grandmama. If I could again be given opportunity to serve Marian—and be warm and safe—I would be content; I would be obedient. Never again would I complain about my lot in life. Deliver me from those who would harm me.

  Time passed. The rain ceased. Again her mind drifted.

  Light behind her eyelids woke her, and she opened them to see dim gray light filtering through the cracks. She weakly moved her head and saw that she was nailed into a crawl space smaller than a closet and couldn’t lie straight without her feet or head touching the walls. Focusing on the light, she tried to form prayers.

  Cheery whistling broke her concentration. Her limbs stiff with cold, her hip aching fiercely, she raised her legs and kicked the wall. The thump was hardly effectual, and she tried again. And again. The whistling stopped. Footsteps crunched closer.

  Letitia kicked again, forcing her raw throat to emit grunts. She saw wide eyes peer through the crack.

  “Blimey, I’ll have you out in a jiffy, miss.” More footsteps, then the creaking of wood being pried, and a rectangle of daylight appeared as a plank tore away. The young stable boy stooped to look. “You stay right there, miss. I’ll fetch help.”