A Noble Masquerade

by Kristi Ann Hunter

  Griffith froze in the middle of adjusting his coat to allow him to sit more comfortably in the carriage. His eyes darted to Miranda, but she turned to stare out the window at the other revelers climbing into their own conveyances instead of meeting his gaze.

  He cleared his throat. “What nonsense?”

  “It started when Marshington—”

  “You’re calling him Marshington now?” Miranda cut in, hoping to distract her sister from telling the story.

  “He is a friend of the family, Miranda, I think certain liberties can be taken in private. This is hardly the dark ages anymore, is it?”

  Miranda blinked at her sister’s haughty smirk. What could she possibly say to that? When it came to taking liberties under the guise of family friendship, using the name Marshington in private didn’t compare to all of the letters she herself had addressed to him over the years.

  “As I was saying, Marshington made a simple strategic error, understandable given his years away from polite society, and Miranda turned it into some philosophical nonsense. He, being a gentleman, played along, of course.” Georgina folded her hands over the reticule in her lap.

  “How, exactly, did he blunder?” Griffith’s question was directed at Georgina, but his gaze remained fixed on Miranda. It was giving her an irresistible desire to squirm.

  The sounds of the party drifted away to be replaced by the rattle of horse hooves and carriage wheels over cobbled streets. Georgina related the tale as she saw it, leaving out parts that she hadn’t heard or didn’t believe. Had Miranda not been there to know differently, she would consider herself jingle-brained based on Georgina’s version of the card game.

  “And then she laid the queen of hearts, Griffith. It was such a strange play to make. How could it be construed as anything but a flirtation? I was ashamed for her—really, I was.”

  Tension eased from Griffith for the first time since entering the carriage. “She played the queen of hearts, you say? And what did you play?”

  Miranda rolled her eyes. If Griffith was making this much of that silly card, who knew what Ryland was thinking about it.

  “Well, I played the four, because I couldn’t beat her queen. Mr. Macroy—”

  “McCrae,” Miranda said.

  Georgina waved a hand in dismissal. “He played the nine, but then the duke played the king, which was necessary to take the trick but made everyone at the table very uncomfortable.”

  “I was just fine, thank you.” It was a complete lie, but Miranda felt she had to do something to temper Georgina’s view of the evening.

  Georgina reached across the seat and took Miranda’s hand. “For someone who has been out in society for so long, I am surprised you haven’t learned to hide your feelings better, dear sister. You were quite distinctly flushed. Anyone could see it.”

  Another flush threatened to heat Miranda’s cheeks, but she forced slow, steady breaths through her nose and thought about the rolling fields around Riverton. The calming trick had been working for years when she fought the desire to chuck her lady lessons out the window. She could only hope it was effective against blushing as well.

  Then she remembered walking through those rolling fields with Ryland. The blush returned full force. Fortunately, Georgina had moved on by then.

  “He couldn’t leave the table fast enough once the hand was played out. It was sheer luck that Lord Ashcombe was nearby and took the vacated seat.”

  Griffith raised his eyebrows and concern drifted over his features as he looked at Miranda. “Ashcombe played cards with you tonight?”

  “Yes, and then Miranda got a headache after the next hand,” Georgina continued, seemingly unaware of the underlying strain her comment had brought to the carriage. Miranda had never been more thankful for her sister’s self-absorption. “So Lady Sarah Wrothington played the rest of the game.”

  “Has your head recovered, Miranda?”

  “Yes, I found a bit of fresh air did it wonders.” Miranda nodded to her eldest brother, hoping he understood her acceptance of his concern.

  Griffith had always maintained that he felt a bit guilty for his part in the dealings that broke her heart and, possibly more importantly, her trust in the male portion of English society. Blaming him would have been pointless though. All he’d done was expose Ashcombe’s true motivations and allow her to see that most men viewed marriage as little more than a business transaction.

  Blessed quiet filled the carriage for the remainder of the short ride. Miranda was relieved to be back in the sanctuary of her home. The quiet tick of the clock in the red drawing room was the only sound once the front door clicked shut behind them.

  “Will there be anything more, Your Grace?” asked Gibson, the butler.

  “No, I think it’s been a long night for all of us. We’ll retire. Until tomorrow, then.” Griffith turned and led the little group up the stairs.

  Miranda made to follow him, but Georgina’s hand on her arm made her pause and turn back to her sister.

  “When the duke comes to call on me, I expect you to make yourself scarce. I can’t have him thinking we’re both lacking in the upper garrets.”

  Miranda shook her head. If the duke came to call on Georgina he wasn’t half the man she thought she knew. She would gladly agree to stay away from him should he be swayed into courting the youngest Hawthorne. With a murmur of assent, Miranda headed up the stairs, intent on finding her bed and dreaming of anything besides Ryland.

  The following morning Mother arrived as Georgina and Miranda were finishing breakfast. They were to be at home again that afternoon.

  Miranda was still a bit irritated with her sister’s criticism from the night before, so she was feeling less than charitable about spending another afternoon smoothing the ruffled feathers of discarded suitors. “Mother, why don’t you move Georgina in with you? Then you wouldn’t have to come over here so early in the morning.”

  “As much as I love William, he is only an earl, and his house, while nice, is not as impressive as Hawthorne House. Your father was a very powerful duke, Miranda, and I will not lose that advantage when it comes to finding Georgina the best possible match.” Mother fixed herself a cup of tea and sipped it slowly while her daughters finished eating. “Besides, as much as William loves me, he’s already been through this with his two girls. He deserves a quiet home.”

  Miranda made her last two bites of toast stretch into five to put off the inevitable. But when no more crumbs could be eaten without censure, she gave in and went upstairs to dress, bracing for the exhausting discussions that were to come.

  Mother insisted on overseeing every part of Georgina’s preparation, determined that she be as close to perfection as possible. Since she hadn’t sat in on Miranda’s daily preparations in over two years, Miranda could only assume today’s attentions were an effort to keep her from feeling neglected.

  Normally, Sally had Miranda ready for the day within an hour. With Mother and Georgina deliberating over dress choices and coiffure suggestions, Miranda knew it would be at least two hours before the three of them would once again be seated in the white room awaiting callers.

  She slid her Bible from the table by the bed, intent on rereading the passages she’d clung to while still in the country. Whatever they selected for her to wear would suit her. She had no intention of catching a gentleman’s fancy anyway.

  Ryland perused the front page of the newspaper while slowly chewing a succulent bite of ham. He had been enjoying the chef’s efforts from the comfort of his room since arriving five days prior, but this was the first meal he’d ventured to the dining room for.

  Continuing to avoid his family after showing his face at the tea shop was bad enough. Doing so after attending the card party would be unpardonable. Not that he regretted attending the party. It had proven a very worthwhile endeavor given the interesting verbal parlay over the first hand of cards. He’d also encountered the young couple from the tea shop. Newly affianced, they’d been too absorbed
in each other to pay attention to anything else, even when the young lady’s skirt got stepped upon, ripping the hem.

  Given the choice, he’d attend the card party again, but that didn’t make him look forward to the coming confrontation.

  “So. You are here.”

  Ryland looked up into a face so familiar and yet so altered that it sent shock vibrating down his spine. He’d kept up with news of his cousin, Mr. Gregory Montgomery, through the years, but he hadn’t actually seen the man since hauling him out of a burning building in France. The years were evident on his face.

  They looked similar, had always been mistaken for brothers growing up. Gregory’s grey eyes were a little wider set. His ears were a touch bigger. Having continued to lead a posh lifestyle while Ryland risked his life for England had created a more rounded face and thicker middle.

  And then there was the limp.

  Ryland studiously avoided looking at his cousin’s left leg. That the man was alive at all was a miracle. That he walked was unbelievable. The fact that he blamed Ryland for all of it was ludicrous. Ryland was the only reason Gregory was breakfasting in England instead of the afterlife.

  Ryland turned his attention back to the paper. “Yes, I am here.”

  The clink of china and the rattle of the paper were the only sounds for several moments.

  “Are you staying?”

  “Yes. I’ve decided it’s time to come home.” A story about the discovery of the body of King Charles I drew his attention. While the one-hundred-and-sixty-year-old mystery of where the old king’s body was didn’t keep him awake at night, Ryland always enjoyed when questions got answered. It was rather amusing that they’d found him tucked in with Henry VIII. A tomb was the perfect place to hide a body.

  “Mother is livid,” Gregory said.

  “I don’t see why. My being here shouldn’t change her life overmuch. I have no intention of restricting her comings and goings, and my room and office have never been used by either of you.” Ryland took a moment to glance up and judge the veracity of his statement. He saw no signs in his cousin that would indicate a breakage of the rules, so he went back to his paper. “The house is large enough we can all avoid each other.”

  Gregory grunted. “That doesn’t seem very familial of you.”

  “I didn’t stop the purchase when you overspent your monthly allowance to buy that hunting horse last year.” Ryland met Gregory’s eyes with a hard glare. “I’d say that was quite familial of me, wouldn’t you?”

  Gregory fidgeted in his seat, looking more like an eight-year-old boy than a man twenty years older than that. “Er, yes, I suppose it was.”

  “It’s a fine horse, by the way. You chose well.” In truth he had been manipulated. Ryland hadn’t stopped the purchase because he wanted Gregory to buy the horse. Ryland had been working at the time and was unable to buy the steed himself, but with plans to return to his former life soon, he’d desired the grand hunter to be part of his own stable. Setting up a man to convince Gregory to buy it had been easier than Ryland anticipated.

  And if it made Gregory think he’d gotten away with something or that the duke had extended the hand of generosity . . . Well, Ryland considered that a positive as well.

  “Thank you. I’ve always had a good eye for horseflesh.” Gregory visibly relaxed as he shoveled bacon into his mouth.

  Ryland barely avoided snorting. Gregory had a terrible eye for horseflesh. He lost more money in a single visit to Ascot than Ryland paid the butler for an entire year. And Ryland paid his staff very well.

  “Mother is still livid, though.”

  Ryland debated repeating his answer, but decided that would be childish. So he ignored the repeated statement instead.

  “She told everyone that you weren’t back. That the rumors were wrong, as always. She is furious that you made her look like a fool.”

  Ryland finished the news and money sections, but if he set aside the paper he’d have to talk to Gregory, so he moved on to the society section, where half of the articles made mention of his return.

  Gregory finally got the idea that Ryland wasn’t going to engage in welcome-home chatter. He ate quietly, and Ryland could almost pretend he had his home to himself.

  And then another voice ripped through the morning air.

  “Good morning, Ryland. Pardon me if I don’t welcome you home.”

  Chapter 24

  Ryland kept the paper raised, blocking him from his aunt’s view. “I don’t mind at all. I trust you will pardon me as well if I don’t tell you how good it is to see you.”

  Out of the corner of his eye he saw a footman scurry to pull out Aunt Marguerite’s chair. There was a clatter of china and then the muffled sounds of his family eating. The crinkling of the paper as he turned the page echoed through the room.

  “You should have informed us of your return. We would have had a proper celebration.”

  Ryland grinned behind his paper shield. He had wondered how long his aunt would be able to keep silent. “I arrived exactly as I wished to, aunt.”

  “Everyone is going to want to know where you’ve been.”

  Ryland read an article about a horse race through Hyde Park.

  “What should I tell them?”

  It was quite irresponsible to race through Hyde Park. Much too crowded. Regent’s Park would have been a better choice.

  “Ryland?”

  Of course it wouldn’t be as convenient since the racers were probably coming from one of the gentlemen’s clubs along St. James’s Street. Hyde Park was considerably closer.

  “Ryland! I am speaking to you!”

  Ryland folded his paper and stood, scooping up the additional correspondence sitting on the corner of the table. He looked at his aunt for the first time, noticing how much the years and bitterness had aged her. The once effortlessly elegant and stately woman now looked haggard and desperate. Unexpected pity rose within him.

  This was the woman who had spent her entire life trying to belittle him. As the only mother figure he’d ever known, she should have been special, even loved. But he’d spent his entire childhood hiding from her diatribes on how much better his cousin was.

  Pity was the last thing he’d expected to feel in connection to her.

  He looked from his aunt to his cousin. Ryland’s mother had died in childbirth and his uncle had passed a few months later. He and Gregory had been raised like brothers. Gregory was only seven months older. They should have been close.

  If the disgust on the faces of his aunt and cousin were anything to go by, Ryland was the only one who even slightly mourned the lost opportunity.

  “Tell them what I’ve told you.” He rounded the table and headed for the door.

  “But you’ve told me nothing!”

  He paused to smile at her over his shoulder. “Precisely.”

  Eighteen. Eighteen men had come to the house to offer their attentions to Georgina that afternoon. And eighteen men had all gone away befuddled, no doubt wondering why they’d given their flowers to the spinster sister instead.

  “Lady Raebourne is here,” Gibson announced.

  Miranda sat a little straighter in anticipation. A visit from Amelia was always welcome, today more than ever. She hadn’t had a chance to speak in much depth about the situation with Ryland, only a rushed whispered conversation the day after the confrontation in Griffith’s study.

  The necessary pleasantries seemed to take much longer than normal. At the first lull in the conversation, Miranda sprang from her seat. “Amelia, have you seen the new roses in the conservatory?”

  Amelia’s eyes widened briefly before she too got to her feet. “They sound lovely.”

  “Oh yes,” Miranda gushed. “You simply must see them.”

  She grabbed Amelia’s hand and pulled her from the drawing room before Mother had a chance to speak a protest.

  Amelia tripped along behind Miranda until they entered the conservatory, then she wrenched her arm from Miranda’s grasp. �
�That was very subtle.”

  Miranda’s eyes narrowed at more evidence of Amelia’s newfound sarcasm, but she couldn’t maintain her ire. It had been a rather ungraceful exit from the room. She shook her head with a groan.

  “Are there even roses in here?” Amelia asked as she wandered the room.

  “I believe so, over in the corner.” Miranda led the way so they would be in the appropriate location should Mother come looking for them. “He was at the card party last night.”

  “He’s interesting.” Amelia grazed a finger along a small, pink bloom.

  It was not the response Miranda had expected. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean,” Amelia said with a sigh as she lowered herself onto a curved stone bench, “that I’m going to be of little assistance beyond that of a sympathetic ear.”

  Miranda’s thoughts deserted Ryland and the myriad of problems he inspired. Amelia had been raised by her guardian’s servants. Local maids had been her playmates, and she’d grown up visiting with half the aristocratic servants in Mayfair. Those same servants had been instrumental in pairing Amelia with her husband, the Marquis of Raebourne. If anyone could find out what was going on in someone’s home it should have been her.

  How dreadful if her old friends had stopped talking to her now that she was an aristocrat herself. Miranda sat next to Amelia on the bench and covered Amelia’s small hands with her own. “None of the servants will speak to you anymore? Oh, I’m so sorry.”

  Amelia clasped Miranda’s hands and laughed lightly. “Oh no, nothing like that, although Mrs. Harris thought it strange when I asked for the local gossip,” Amelia said, referring to the housekeeper that had practically raised her. “I mean that none of them know anything about the Duke of Marshington or his household.”

  “Well, he’s only now returned to London. It will take time, surely.”

  Amelia shook her head. “He moved into his family home on Pall Mall. That’s all anyone knows. His servants don’t mingle much with the others in London, and when they do they don’t share anything about the household.”