Midnight Masquerade

by Shirlee Busbee

  Midnight Masquerade

  The Louisiana Ladies Series

  Book Two

  by

  Shirlee Busbee

  New York Times Bestselling Author

  MIDNIGHT MASQUERADE

  Reviews & Accolades

  "Busbee reaffirms her long-held place at the top of her genre."

  ~Publishers Weekly

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  www.epublishingworks.com

  ISBN: 978-1-61417-477-6

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  Please Note

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

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  Copyright 1988, 2013 by Shirlee Busbee. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions.

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  For some of the sunshine in my life...

  Dedication

  To GAYLA HAWKINS, for being my friend as well as my sister and for all the pleasure and laughter we share, for all the fun we've had and the few tears we've shed, but mostly for being the delight to me that you are.

  And, of course, without a doubt the most important person in my life, to HOWARD.

  Part I

  Masquerade

  We cannot kindle when we will

  The fire that in the heart resides.

  Morality, Stanza 1

  —Matthew Arnold

  Chapter 1

  The worn and shabby library at Willowglen was usually a place of refuge for Melissa Seymour, but not on this particular sunny morning in the spring of 1814. Instead of finding the solace and quiet that she needed before facing her uncle, she found herself right in the middle of just the sort of unpleasant scene she had hoped to avoid. But then she should have known that her uncle wouldn't let her escape so easily—when Josh Manchester made up his mind to say something, it was said!

  Shooting him a glance as he stood across the room from her, his massively built body stiff with disapproval, his flushed features above the crisp white cravat revealing his anger, she sighed. She liked Uncle Josh! She and her younger brother, Zachary, had always looked forward to Josh's visits and they both adored his wife, Aunt Sally, their dead father's only sister, but of late...

  "Well, Lissa?" Josh demanded. "What is this that I hear?" And not expecting or waiting for an answer, he plunged on. "You may imagine my disbelief this morning when one of my oldest and dearest friends—one of the richest and most respected planters in all of upper Louisiana—informed me that you had turned down his son, John." Frustration and honest bewilderment flickered in Josh's blue eyes, and in a voice mixed with resignation and vexation, he questioned, "I assume that there is some mistake? That you have not again whistled another excellent match down the wind?"

  The subject of Melissa's marriage, or rather lack of marriage, was an old one. Once Josh had treated it lightly, teasing her unmercifully, yet kindly about it. But not anymore, Melissa thought unhappily.

  Even under the best of circumstances Josh would have found her refusal to marry incomprehensible—after all, wasn't marriage what all respectable women craved? Wasn't it practically the only reason for their existence—that and bearing children and pleasing their husbands? Hadn't his three daughters yearned for the day they would marry? And hadn't they dutifully married the men their indulgent father had selected for them? So why wouldn't this beautiful and gay-spirited niece of his do the same? Especially now, when it would benefit them all....

  Melissa sighed again, wishing not for the first time that her grandfather had not left that wretched, wretched trust tied up in such a ridiculous manner. Or, she amended fairly, if only this stupid war with England hadn't affected Josh's investments in shipping so badly.

  Mr. Madison's War, as the war between England and the United States which had begun in 1812 was jeeringly called, had restricted traffic between the two countries. Ostensibly the war was being fought over the impressment of United States' seamen by the British Navy, but the conquest of Canada by those Americans eager for expansion had been a powerful motivator of the war. The war was in its second year and was no more popular now than it had been at its inception—the northeastern states flatly refusing to commit their militias, some New Englanders openly trading with the British in Canada. There had been few victories to celebrate, and those had been mainly at sea. Thomas Jefferson's comment that the American attempt to seize British North America was "a mere matter of marching" was being proved false time and time again.

  But Melissa didn't waste much time thinking about the folly of the War of 1812. There were more pressing matters to occupy her, and at the moment it was the unpleasant fact that her grandfather had seen fit, heaven knew why, to tie up Sally's inheritance with her own and Zachary's share of the trust.

  When Melissa's grandfather, the late and much lamented Jeffery Seymour, had died some fifteen years ago, the handsome fortune he had placed in trust for Sally, Melissa and Zachary hadn't mattered very much to any of his heirs. Melissa and Zachary had been children, and Sally had been happily married to wealthy Josh Manchester, none of them had had any need then of the great sum of money that Jeffery had put aside for their futures.

  But that had been fifteen years ago, and though Sally was still happily married to Josh, much had changed since that time, Melissa thought. She was twenty-two years old now, and Zachary at nineteen was no longer a child, although sometimes, his sister mused fondly, when his temper got away from him, he could indulge in what came perilously close to being a tantrum. But the greatest change of fortunes had occurred to Willowglen, the huge, lush plantation situated on a bluff above the Mississippi River near the small town of Baton Rouge in upper Louisiana and which had been settled by Melissa's great-grandfather in 1763.

  Who could have guessed that her own dearly beloved father, Hugh, would prove to be such an imprudent wastrel? Melissa reflected. So imprudent, that upon his death some eighteen months ago, instead of the flourishing, prosperous lands he had inherited from his father, Hugh's two children had found themselves the heirs of a rundown plantation piled with debts. Or who would ever have dreamed that staid and careful Josh would make some unwise business decisions of his own and that those, coupled with two years of bad crops, would put the Manchesters in a position where the money from the trust would look very attractive? Too attractive, as far as Melissa was concerned.

  It wasn't, she admitted to herself, that she wouldn't have crowed with delight to have the trust ended; it was merely that she wasn't willing to pay the price. And, she reminded herself, the state of the Manchester finances was not her fault, nor did their temporary reverses in any way resemble the near ruin that faced her and Zachary. While Aunt Sally bemoaned the fact that the elegant sitting room at the Manc
hester plantation, Oak Hollow, could not be renovated before the November wedding of Daniel, the youngest son, Melissa and Zachary had to worry about making certain that the few faithful retainers they possessed had food and shelter. They continually feared that their animals would go hungry if the pitifully small amount of ground they had planted with crops did not survive. As for any luxury... Melissa grimaced. She and Zack counted themselves fortunate that they still had a home to call their own. Much of Hugh's mountain of debts had been settled, but the last few unpaid creditors were growing weary with Melissa's sincere but inadequate attempts to pay them.

  She glanced down at the old faded gown she was wearing and, thinking of the smuggled trunk filled with silks and laces that Aunt Sally had received at great cost from New Orleans last month, she found it very hard indeed to believe that the Manchesters were in dire straits. It would do Aunt Sally good, she thought dryly, to practice a little economy.

  As she continued to remain silent, Josh frowned and, his pleasant features harsh, he snapped, "Have you nothing to say? Don't you think that you owe me an explanation?"

  An angry sparkle lit her golden-brown eyes, and Melissa bit back a furious retort before saying in a tight voice, "We have discussed the topic often enough, Uncle Josh, and I have told you time and time again—I do not wish to marry!" Hands clenched at her sides, she added, "And certainly not merely to accommodate you and Aunt Sally!"

  Josh had the grace to flush. He was not normally an unreasonable man, and "tyrant" was not a word generally applied to jovial Josh Manchester, but... He swallowed uncomfortably, not liking his position at all. He loved his niece, and nothing would have given him more pleasure than to forgo these increasingly acrimonious exchanges with Melissa. But all his life he had possessed money to spare, money he had lavished on his adoring wife and children, and now, at nearly sixty years of age, for the first time in his pampered life, he suddenly found himself no longer in that position. It pained him deeply to deny his wife her new sitting room; it embarrassed him that he could not buy his second son the long-legged hunter which that young man had been pining for, and it distressed him that he could no longer bestow expensive gifts upon his married daughters. All of this, however, could be resolved at one fell swoop... if Melissa would only marry!

  Almost resentfully, he glared across the room at her. She was a fetching young woman, of that there was no doubt, with her long, tawny hair curling attractively around her slim shoulders and her striking topaz eyes glittering brightly from under thick lashes. Black, slimly arched eyebrows intensified the impact of those jeweled eyes, and with her straight little nose and generous, finely shaped mouth, it was no wonder that, despite a crumbling, debt-ridden plantation, she was much sought after by the sons of the wealthiest families in the neighborhood. Of course, Josh had to admit that the fortune that would be hers when she married was also a compelling magnet. But even without her fortune she was undeniably lovely.

  Tall and slim, Melissa moved with a natural lithe grace; and when she smiled, when those great eyes of hers danced with laughter and that kissable mouth curved in amusement, it was not surprising that many a male heart beat faster. Golden, gay and valiant, that described Melissa, and even Josh would be the first to admit that Melissa in a high-spirited, teasing mood was nearly irresistible.

  She was not, however, in a teasing mood at the moment, and the fierce look she bent upon Josh made him nervous. With his own placid daughters, he had always known what to expect and how to react, but with Melissa... He sighed. It was all her father's fault, he decided, and not for the first time. If Hugh had raised her properly after her mother's death when Melissa was ten, none of this would be happening right now. Melissa would have known what was expected of her and she would have behaved in a dutiful manner. If Hugh had not let her grow up undisciplined, like some wild gypsy wench... If Hugh had not taken such delight in his daughter's unconventional and wayward antics... If Hugh had curbed some of those high spirits and forward manners...

  The list of faults to be laid at Hugh's door was endless, and Josh grew depressed. Whether he approved or not, Melissa was Melissa, and with a lowering feeling, he knew that it was too late to teach her to be a proper lady. But on one point he was adamant: she must be made to understand that it was her duty to marry. That not only would he and Sally benefit from this act, but so would she and Zachary. Besides, he decided with an unusual spurt of malice, if she didn't marry soon, she would be labeled a spinster! All of his daughters had married before they reached twenty, and no normal female could possibly wish to remain unmarried at twenty-two!

  Preparing to launch a new attack, Josh had just started to speak when suddenly the library door flew open, slamming against the wall. Spinning around, Josh felt his spirits sink when his gaze fell upon the young man who stood in the doorway glowering at him. Zachary!

  The resemblance between brother and sister was obvious; except for the springy black hair on his head, Zachary's features were simply a very masculine version of Melissa's. At nineteen, he already looked a man, his shoulders broad, the bronzed forearms showing below the rolled-up sleeves of his white shirt well muscled; but the set of his hard jaw and the angry gleam in his golden-brown eyes made Josh groan inwardly. Zachary was obviously determined to rescue his sister from what he thought was further intimidation and browbeating.

  There was something raw and earthy about Zachary Seymour as he stood there in the doorway, his tall body poised for action. The rolled-up sleeves bespoke a man who worked, as did the tanned skin of his face, forearms and neck. His well-worn brown breeches clung to his muscular thighs like a second skin, and from the few pieces of straw and hay which persisted in clinging to his breeches and boots, it was apparent he had come directly from the stables.

  Scowling, his voice ringing with scorn, Zachary snarled, "If you've come to berate Lissa for not marrying that jackanapes John Newcomb, I'll tell you fair, Uncle Josh, you can just take yourself to Bedlam! I'll not have you bullying my sister!"

  Nettled by the unpleasant picture Zachary had conjured up by his words, Josh replied testily, "I have never bullied your sister!"

  An imp of mischief in her eyes, Melissa murmured, "Nagged, perhaps, Uncle?"

  Like a bull caught between two sleek leopards, Josh glared from one Seymour to the other. Huffily, he exclaimed, "I can see that there is no talking to either of you in this mood. I shall come back tomorrow, and we shall then see if we can discuss this like reasonable adults!"

  Zachary gave a crack of laughter, and with regret and amusement warring in her breast, Melissa watched her uncle turn on his heel and stalk with offended dignity from the room. She detested these battles of will with her uncle, her affection for him making it difficult for her to continue to defy him. Especially when, in so many ways, what he wanted her to do was in her own best interest.

  Flinging himself into a patched leather chair, one long leg swinging over the arm, Zachary muttered, "Why couldn't Grandfather have left Sally's money to her outright? Or better yet, at least have the blasted trust end when you were twenty-one?"

  "Because," his doting sister said, "he didn't want it dispersed until you are twenty-one!"

  Zack shot her a look. "Or until you marry, my dear."

  Melissa pulled a face. "I know, and the devil of it is, if Josh hadn't had such a run of bad luck and Father hadn't been such an awful planter, it wouldn't have mattered if we waited until you were twenty-one."

  They both looked bleak. Two years wasn't an enormous amount of time to wait for the money that would be theirs, but when one wondered daily how much longer there would be a roof over one's head, it became a very long time.

  In a small voice, Melissa asked, "Do you think I ought to marry John Newcomb?"

  "That cawker? Good Lord, no!" Zachary burst out. "If you don't wish to marry the fellow, I see no reason why you should... besides, I can't abide him—he's ham-fisted at the reins!"

  Melissa smiled. Dear Zack! No matter what she did, he was alway
s on her side. But sometimes she wondered if, deep in his heart, he didn't wish she would marry. Certainly, she thought dispiritedly, it would make life so much easier for all of them.

  For just a moment she let her mind wander, thinking of all the things that could be accomplished with the money from the trust. Uncle Josh and Aunt Sally would no longer look so reproachfully at her. The remaining creditors could be paid and she and Zachary could go to sleep at night, knowing that Willowglen was safe. The servants could have decent food and clothing; repairs could be made to the house and outbuildings; the tattered interior of the house could be refurbished, and the stables...

  She turned away from Zachary and glanced out the long window behind her. From here she could glimpse the stables from among the spreading oak trees that dotted the large, ragged expanse of grass that lay between the main house and the stables. If the trust were ended, new stables could be built, new paddocks erected, and Folly... The powerful bay stallion, Folly, would finally have the setting that Melissa and Zachary felt was his due. After all, wasn't Folly practically the only thing that stood between them and utter defeat? Hadn't the young stallion's impressive winnings at various sporting events in Virginia and Maryland the previous year kept Willowglen from being sold beneath the anvil? Just last month, hadn't he won them a large sum of money in New Orleans? And within the next few weeks weren't they once again traveling to Virginia, where they hoped Folly would win them even more money? Wasn't his incredible speed and spirit already causing comment and interest among the best breeders of horses in America?

  A half-rueful, half-bitter smile curved Melissa's mouth as she remembered that fateful trip to England which had seen Folly's conception. In the spring of 1809, against the advice of those wiser than he, Hugh had gone to England to purchase horses, taking six of his finest brood mares with him to be bred to a famous stallion. He had been pursuing his dream of recouping the family fortune—the fortune he had depleted—by raising and breeding a most superior line of racehorses at Willowglen. And of course, like most of Hugh's plans, it had gone awry.