Midnight Masquerade

by Shirlee Busbee

Morgan's memories of Thousand Oaks were tainted, and in all the long years since Stephanie's death and that of his first-born son, Phillipe, he had never set foot on the place. He had installed a competent housekeeper and her husband in the house and had left a few field workers there simply to maintain the land that had been cleared at such backbreaking cost. He never thought of the estate, and his family was always very careful not to mention it... until now.

  He glanced across at Dominic and, seeing the concern and anxiety in his brother's eyes, he let out a sigh. "Don't look so worried—I am not about to have a case of the vapors at the mention of Thousand Oaks!" He smiled crookedly. "I'll not sell it to you, though—you may have the damn place and with my blessing!"

  "Ah, no," Dominic answered firmly. "You are going to sell it to me, and at a price that will not offend my pride."

  They were still amiably haggling over the price when the "pack of brats," as Dominic affectionately called them, exploded onto the gallery, Leonie laughingly following in their wake.

  The eldest of Morgan's sons was Justin, who bore a remarkable resemblance to his father, only the sea-green eyes that he had inherited from his mother differing from Morgan's sapphire-blue ones. He took the chair next to Dominic and immediately launched into a conversation about the panther he had seen last night along one of the bayous that crisscrossed the lands of Chateau Saint-Andre.

  Eight-year-old Suzette was also obviously Morgan's daughter, even down to the brightness of her vivid blue eyes and her curly black hair. But there was something... something about the shape of her nose and mouth that made Dominic think of Leonie. Suzette was also shy, painfully so, and although it was apparent that she wanted very much to approach Dominic just as Justin had, she held back, standing close to her mother, her fascinated gaze on Dominic's dark face.

  Five-year-old Christine, with her honey-blond curls and laughing, sea-green eyes, had no such scruples, and with a shriek of delight she launched herself onto Uncle Dominic's knee. Nor was four-year-old Marcus the least bit in awe of his favorite relative. His chubby little legs moving as fast as they could, he followed Christine's actions and flung himself in Dominic's direction, his dark hair still tousled from sleep, his blue eyes dancing with merriment.

  It was apparent that for all his comments about the "pack of brats," Dominic was fond of his nieces and nephews and that they returned his affection fully. Deftly, he stopped Marcus from playing with the folds of his immaculately white cravat; convinced Christine that she did not want to clutch at his jacket in that fashion; continued his conversation with Justin and even took the time to send a teasing wink in Suzette's direction.

  Watching his easy, affectionate manner with the children, Leonie sighed. He would make such a wonderful father! She started to say something, but she caught Morgan's eye upon her and the almost imperceptible shake of his head caused her to press her lips firmly together. Bah! What did Morgan know? she thought rebelliously. Dominic was throwing his life away on gaming and women, and if she didn't care for him so much, it wouldn't bother her in the least. But he would make some woman an exceptional husband... if only he could be made to give up his rakish ways.

  No more was said about Dominic's rakish ways or the possibility of his marriage during the remainder of his visit at Chateau Saint-Andre. He spent an enjoyable month with Morgan and the family and before he departed, he and Morgan had finally, after a great deal of argument, come to terms about the sale of Thousand Oaks.

  He had also been able to speak with Jason Savage and to discover that the stallion, Folly, was situated north of Baton Rouge. The owner's name was not known to Jason, but he was certain that Dominic would discover it with little difficulty—a horse of that caliber would not go unnoticed!

  On his last evening at Chateau Saint-Andre, Dominic and Morgan were once again enjoying a snifter of brandy, this time on the front gallery of the house, moonlight shining with a silver glow through the towering oaks. His booted feet propped on the white railing, Dominic said quietly, "I hope that your memories of Thousand Oaks will not stop you from coming to visit me periodically."

  Morgan smiled. "No, they won't. What happened was a long time ago, and since Leonie came into my life, I find that nothing but her happiness matters to me anymore." His face momentarily sad, Morgan added, "My only regret is Phillipe's death. I sometimes look at Justin and wonder what Phillipe would have looked like at that age.... As for Stephanie, her betrayal hurt me badly at the time, but time does heal one's wounds."

  For just a second Dominic recalled the look on his brother's face when he had returned from the Natchez Trace, bringing back with him the news of his wife's death and that of his young son. It had been a terrible time for the entire Slade family, and they had done their best to alleviate some of Morgan's bitter grief, but the memories of those days had left their mark on all of them. Dominic, with his hero-worship love for his older brother, had been particularly affected by the tragedy. His features hard as he remembered Morgan's pain and his own unhappiness some three years ago in London, when he had thought he had been in love with the lovely Deborah, he suddenly muttered grimly, "Women are delightful creatures—it's when you love them that they become dangerous!"

  Chapter 3

  While Dominic was having his conversation with Morgan near New Orleans, at Willowglen Melissa was lying awake in her bed wondering how she was going to rid herself of the unwanted attention of the persistent John Newcomb. It had been a blessing to leave Willowglen for the race meet in Virginia at the end of April, for no other reason than she escaped from his presence. But once she had returned home again barely two weeks ago, the first visitor to the plantation had been John.

  She sighed. He was such a nice young man, but she didn't love him. She didn't want to hurt his feelings more than necessary, but she had to hit upon some scheme to discourage him—and any future suitors. She was not a vain young woman, yet she could not help but be aware that her physical attributes had much to do with her seeming irresistibility to the gentlemen. If only, she mused wryly, she had been born with a squint and a bean-pole frame! Suddenly an idea occurred to her, and with a mischievous grin on her face, she lay there considering it. Maybe, just maybe, there was a way to rectify that situation.

  The next morning, oblivious to the warm May sunshine pouring into her bedroom from the open window, Melissa stood alone in the middle of the room. Scowling, she stared at her image in the age-spotted cheval glass. Not quite pleased with the picture that met her eyes, she pursed her full, delightfully shaped mouth into a tight, disapproving line. There! That was what she wanted! Swallowing back the bubble of laughter which threatened to escape, she gave herself one final glance. She looked, she thought with satisfaction, absolutely horrid!

  Dancing from the room, she went in search of Zachary. Finding him sprawled on the faded chintz sofa in the sunny morning room at the rear of the house, she pirouetted in front of him.

  "Well," she demanded, "what do you think? Do I look dreadful enough?" As he remained silent, his incredulous gaze locked on her slim form, a little frown of concern crossed her face. "Zack! Say something! I've done all that I can think of, and if it isn't enough, I'm at my wit's end!"

  "Enough?" Zachary managed to get out in a strangled tone."My dear, you have surpassed yourself! You look..." Words seemed to fail him, and the laughter he had been choking back finally got the better of him. Manfully he tried to control himself and once again he began, "You look positively..."

  "Ghastly?" Melissa suggested hopefully as Zachary struggled for words to describe the vision his sister presented.

  "Ghastly" was perhaps too strong a word to describe how Melissa looked at the moment, but certainly she bore no resemblance to the attractive young lady who had faced her uncle in the library some six weeks previously. Except for the gleam of laughter in the golden-brown eyes, no one would have immediately recognized her as Josh Manchester's lovely niece. Gone was her thick, curling mane of hair, and in its place was a prim, tidy bun fas
tened to the back of her head. The honey-colored curls were so tightly scraped away from her face that her slightly cat-shaped eyes had a decided slant. The severe hairstyle threw her delicate features into sharp relief, actually bringing attention to them, but Melissa had countered that effect by putting on a pair of old-fashioned, wire-rimmed spectacles she had found in one of her father's trunks in the attic.

  The spectacles had been a godsend. Not only did they distract the gaze from the sweet line of her jaw and mouth, but they also caused Melissa to squint as she tried to peer through the small, square-shaped lenses. The squint, the spectacles and the bun had definitely changed her appearance, and for the final touch, she had managed to find one of the dowdiest gowns imaginable from the horde of odds and ends stored in the attic. The gown she was wearing fit badly, sagging at her small, firm bosom and slim waist, effectively disguising the undeniable charms of the slender body it covered. The gray-green material gave her usually golden-hued skin an unhealthy pallor, and when she pursed her lips... When she pursed her lips, the picture of a sour-faced, frowsy old maid was complete.

  Unfortunately, she could not hold her mouth in that uncomfortable position for very long, and when she laughed, as she did now, when her generously curved mouth softened and amusement danced in her thickly lashed eyes, the image she wanted was nearly destroyed. But all in all, she was satisfied, certain that her appearance, coupled with the state of the Seymour affairs, would disenchant even the most persistent suitor.

  "Well?" she demanded again. "Do you think this will deter John Newcomb from mooning about the place?"

  "Lord, yes!" Zachary returned unflatteringly. "He'll take one look and that will be the end of him!" Mischief glittering in his eyes, he added, "But the one I'm most anxious to watch when he sees your, ah, new appearance is Uncle Josh!"

  Melissa nodded. "I know—he's going to have an attack of apoplexy. But at least I think this will stop him from hounding me to reconsider John's proposal."

  "I sincerely hope so!" Zachary replied. "The arguments you and Josh have had since you refused Newcomb are worse than any I can remember. The way you two have been snapping and snarling at each other since we returned from Virginia, it's a wonder that they don't hear you in Baton Rouge!"

  "I haven't noticed," his sister said dryly, "that you have been particularly quiet either these past weeks. And I think the exchange you had yesterday was far worse than the one you had the first time he tackled me about refusing to marry John. Then you only referred to him badgering me, but yesterday—yesterday you were the one who shouted him down and thundered at him to leave your house!"

  Zachary looked embarrassed. "I can't bear having him talk to you in that fashion," he answered defensively. "You have every right to refuse to marry John Newcomb or anyone else if you want to, and I'll not have Josh forcing you to do anything you don't want—no matter how much he threatens and blusters." A flicker of anxiety in his eyes, he added, "He couldn't really take me away from Willowglen, could he? I mean, he's not really my guardian, is he?"

  Any amusement she might have felt about the situation vanished, and with just a touch of worry in her own voice she admitted, "I don't know. I know that Father's will says that Josh and I share your guardianship, but I don't know what would happen if Josh demanded that you live with him and under his control. I would fight him, of course, but..."

  For a moment they both looked disheartened, each of them aware that as far as Zachary's guardianship was concerned, Josh held the upper hand. The local judge was a great crony of his, and when the conditions at Willowglen were compared with the comforts and elegance of Oak Hollow...

  Melissa swallowed painfully. Uncle Josh had been so good to them in so many ways. All through childhood, it had been Uncle Josh and Aunt Sally who had remembered birthdays when Hugh had been too absentminded to recall when his children had been born; it had been bluff, jovial Uncle Josh who had placed Melissa on her first pony; Uncle Josh who had come and entertained Zachary many an afternoon after he had broken his leg when he was thirteen. Uncle Josh had been the rock that she and Zachary had clung to when Hugh had first died, and it had been Uncle Josh who had tried to shield them from the true extent of the disaster Hugh had made of running Willowglen.

  Josh Manchester was a good man, and Melissa knew that he deeply loved her and Zachary and only wanted what he thought was best for them... which made continuing to resist him painful and difficult. If only he were a wicked man, Melissa thought unhappily, it would make her task far easier. But every time she defied him, every time they had one of those terrible arguments about her refusal to marry John Newcomb, she was guilt-stricken. She didn't want to hurt her uncle and she was beginning to wish that she could fall in love with John Newcomb or some other eligible young man simply to please her uncle, but she could not. Even loving Josh and hating to distress him, she was not going to be pushed into a marriage she didn't want.

  But if he played his final card... if he gave her a choice between marriage and losing the guardianship of Zachary... Her throat felt tight and she was aware of the prickle of tears at the corners of her eyes. It was a measure of the man that all these months he had never once mentioned the guardianship... until yesterday.

  Remembering the uncomfortable expression on Josh's heavy features during their latest confrontation, Melissa felt herself torn in two. He had not liked threatening her about taking Zachary away from her care. It was obvious that it pained him; obvious too that he did not like the strained situation that had developed between the Manchesters and the Seymours since April any more than did she and Zack. But it was also obvious that he believed that Melissa's marriage was the only way out of his current embarrassing lack of funds... and he had pointed out again that the Manchesters weren't the only ones who would benefit from the ending of Jeffery Seymour's trust.

  It wasn't, Melissa reminded herself, as if Josh wanted her to do something dreadful and vile. All he wanted was for her to marry a kind, pleasant, wellborn, wealthy young man. What, she asked herself in despair, was wrong with that?

  A strong sensation of guilt swept over her. Was she just being selfish and pigheaded, as he had accused her? Perhaps she should marry John and end all of this unpleasantness and constant arguing. But I don't love John! her heart protested silently.

  Melissa's enjoyment in her disguise vanished, and dispiritedly she turned away from Zachary's concerned face. Was she really being self-centered and selfish? She didn't think so; the Manchesters, for all of Josh's moanings and complaints, were not in dire straits. Everyone had a bad year now and then. And Melissa supposed that therein lay her reluctance to throw herself away for the sake of her family. If the Manchesters were in a desperate way, in danger of losing their plantation and everything that Josh had worked for, she knew that she would not hesitate. She would marry John Newcomb in a flash and try very hard to be a good wife. Unfortunately for her, by the next year or even next month, if one of Josh's ships should slip past the British barricade of the coasts, things for the Manchesters would be just as they had always been—and her great sacrifice would have been for nothing. Besides, everyone knew her cousin Royce was independently wealthy and that he would not allow his father to come to grief. If Josh would swallow his pride and ask his oldest son for help...

  Zachary's arm about her waist jerked her from her unhappy musings. Giving her a comforting hug, he said, "I just wish that Uncle Josh was a real monster—then all of this would be so much easier. I dislike fighting with him, but I will not have him badgering you!" His young face reflective, he muttered, "The odd thing is that in five years' time, we will all laugh at this situation and Josh will take as much delight in recounting our antics as they infuriate him now."

  A watery smile on her face, Melissa nodded. Taking a deep breath, she said, "We shall just have to convince ourselves that what we are doing is in his best interests! Life has been too easy for our good uncle and he needs a challenge."

  His mood lightening, Zack grinned at her. "A
nd that, my dear, there is no denying you are proving to be!"

  Melissa giggled and gave Zack a pinch in the ribs. "You haven't been exactly docile either, you know."

  A slightly superior smile on his handsome mouth, Zack looked down at her. "I know, and if we are to get over the heavy ground lightly, we must view this entire state of affairs as one great jest—one that we will all enjoy..." His mouth twisted. "...eventually!"

  There was a chuckle from the doorway and a gruff voice with a decided French accent demanded, "And which jest is that, mes enfants? The one where the young monsieur put cold pudding in my best pair of boots, or the one where a certain mademoiselle poured pepper in my coffee?"

  "Etienne!" Melissa and Zachary chorused together as they spun around to regard with affection the small, elegant Frenchman who entered the room.

  Excitement gleaming in her eyes, Melissa said breathlessly, "You've returned! Were you successful? Did you bring them back with you? Where are they?"

  Etienne held up a restraining hand. "One question at a time, s'il vous plait, petite." Suddenly aware of Melissa's appearance, Etienne's jaw went slack. "Mon Dieu! What has been happening while I have been away? Why is it that you look so... so..." His black eyes narrowed. "Ah. Of course. It is your uncle who causes you to look like a hag, oui?"

  "Oui!" Melissa answered, a smile curving her lip at Etienne's quick comprehension. But then little escaped the sharp eye of Etienne.

  Etienne Martion had been a part of Melissa's life for as long as she could remember, and if Josh had helped her onto her first pony, it had been Etienne who had picked her up the first time she had fallen off and had put her back on again. And again and again, until there was no horse in the stables that she could not ride.

  Small in stature, finely boned, Etienne had the lightest hands of any horseman Melissa had ever known, and yet there was strength in that wiry body and those slim wrists—she had watched him time and again bring the powerful Folly effortlessly under control. Etienne's age and background were a mystery to the two young Seymours, and Melissa sometimes wondered if even her father had known very much of Etienne's ancestry before he had appeared one day at Willowglen some forty years ago. He had been a young man then, and by his speech and mannerisms it was obvious that he had come from a good family. He also knew a great deal about horses. Because of this, Jeffery Seymour had hired him to oversee his stables, and Hugh had relied heavily upon Etienne's advice when it came to the buying and breeding of horses.