by Lisa Cach
The sense of being watched intensified, and began to send her hair crawling up the back of her neck. She looked around, her vision hampered by the mask, but could see no specific person watching her. She moved further through the crowd, and then all but bumped into Kate talking to Nathaniel, her hand on his forearm.
She immediately made an about-face and hurried back in the direction of the sitting room, her heart thumping in her chest, mentally berating herself for her lack of courage on all fronts. Damn, damn, damn! she swore to herself. She should have spoken to Kate, should have taken Nathaniel away from her, but all she had been able to think was that Kate would know who she was and expose her.
She passed a man who stood staring at her with only a plain silk mask upon his face. She gave him a long, level stare as she went by, warning him off.
She looked about for someplace inconspicuous where she could wait, feeling nervous as a rabbit. Seeking safety in the shadows, she went to the far corner of the room and placed herself in front of a tall alcoved window, half-hidden by the curtains, and pretended to stare out into the night as she watched the reflections in the glass of the guests milling behind her.
Several minutes went by, and then the plain-masked face appeared above her shoulder. Her whole body went tense as her eyes met his in the glass. She saw his hand rise up and reach out, as if to touch her.
She could not bear him to do so. She turned suddenly, and met his gaze. He looked into her eyes for a long moment, standing barely a foot away, and then it was as if something within him collapsed, visible in the pain that filled his eyes.
“Your pardon, miss,” he said, and with a short nod of apology, he disappeared back into the crowd.
That was enough. Kate or no Kate, she was not going to do this alone any longer. She marched back toward the great hall just as Nathaniel and Kate came through the doorway.
“Baron Ravenall, do forgive me,” she said in her most aristocratic tone. “But my grandmother has insisted that I find you and fetch you back to her side. She has several tales to share with you of her childhood here in the district. Why, her memory goes back nearly a century! Would you mind terribly? She has been so looking forward to talking to you.”
She watched as recognition came to him, and his eyes flicked in amazement over her beaded gown. “I would be delighted,” he said, and then spoke to Kate, “You will excuse me?”
Kate’s head jerked once as she realized she was being abandoned. “Certainly,” she said, smiling stiffly. “But will you not introduce me to your charming friend before you go?”
“Kate, darling,” Valerian chided, “You know the rules of the masquerade. What would be the point if we went about introducing one another? But I do thank you for releasing his lordship. Kindness is obviously a trait you share with your chivalrous brother.”
Kate’s eyebrows rose above her mask, but she was too surprised to speak.
Valerian took Nathaniel’s arm and led him away, through the buffet room, and out the door that the servants used to reach the kitchens. “Grandmother grew weary of the noise,” she explained, and dragged him through another door into an empty room where they would not be interrupted by either guests or servants, and then she dropped down onto a settee, removed her mask, and released an enormous sigh.
Nathaniel remained standing, looking down at her. “It truly is you under there. I half-wondered if it might not be someone else.”
“Surely a dress cannot make such a difference. I have recognized any number of your guests, and I think I would know you even with a hangman’s hood over your head.”
“I do hope that is not a prediction.”
“Merely an expression of my sentiments towards you at the moment.”
He removed his mask and sat down beside her, stretching out his long legs and crossing them at the ankle, his thigh pressed against her own. “Whatever have I done?” he asked, lifting a hand to play with a strand of ivy that trailed over her shoulder.
“Left me to defend myself against that mob while you cavorted with that horrid Kate.”
She watched him look over her costume once again. “You cannot tell me that you honestly think I enjoyed her company,” he said, sounding distracted, his eyes lingering on the low neckline of the dress. “I have been looking everywhere for you, and trying to shake her at every opportunity. Where did you find such a gown?”
She smoothed the silk over her thighs, enjoying the feel of it beneath her palms, and feeling slightly mollified by his apparent inability to keep Kate present in his mind. “It was Aunt Theresa’s.”
“So your aunt has not always been a healer in the woods.”
“No.”
She felt his fingertips along her cheek and turned her face into his hand.
“I am sorry I could not find you sooner,” he said softly. “I had feared you might have changed your mind and not come.”
“Promise you will not leave me alone out there.”
“Everyone will wonder who you are, if you remain at my side,” he teased, his lips brushing her cheek.
“Let them wonder.”
He kissed her softly on the lips, then looked into her eyes, his hazel ones gentle. “I would not be angry with you if you chose to leave. It is clear enough that you have not been enjoying yourself.”
A twist of returning jealousy went through her. Perhaps he wanted to be left alone to pursue Kate. “And forgo my one chance to play at being a lady?” she said lightly. “I think not.”
He stood then, and grasped her hands, pulling her quickly up from her seat. “I was hoping you would say that. Even the inanity of a masquerade ball will be bearable, knowing I have you hidden by my side.”
She turned away to take up her mask once again, and the better to hide her thoughts. He made it sound as if it was the amusement of playing a trick on his guests that pleased him more than her company. She tied the mask into place and tried to push the thought from her mind, detesting this suspicion and doubt that had her reading a dozen meanings into the simplest of sentences. It was simply not rational, and surely not fair.
He escorted her back to the party, and she soon discovered that the ball was much more pleasurable at Nathaniel’s side than when she had braved it alone. She did not wonder where to put her hands, for she held his arm, and she did not have to avoid over-forward males, for she was clearly taken. She no longer wondered where to place herself in the room, for Nathaniel led their movements from guest to guest, starting and ending conversations, and keeping them to topics that she could comment upon if she chose.
Once she relaxed, she found that she was not having such an awful time, after all. The costumes were entertaining, the food delicious, the music enthusiastic if occasionally out of tune even to her untrained ears, and the guests from the local area were not truly so different from the folk of Greyfriars. Or perhaps it was simply easier to see them as people no different from herself when they wore masks and silly costumes, and displayed some of the same social awkwardness that she herself felt.
It was a quarter of twelve, quickly approaching the hour of the unmasking, when Valerian spied Judith, poking her head from behind a door, beckoning frantically with one hand. She excused herself from Nathaniel and the middle-aged couple with whom they were talking, Nathaniel giving her a questioning look which she answered with a glance at the clock on the mantel. He nodded at her silent excuse, knowing she meant to avoid the unmasking, and knowing that she had agreed to meet him later in his rooms.
When she got to the door, Judith all but yanked her behind it. “I have been trying to catch your attention for the past five minutes!”
“There is still a quarter of an hour until midnight. I was in no danger of being discovered.”
Judith shook her head in vehement denial. “It was not that I came for. It is Charmaine, she is in labor.”
“Now? It is too soon!” Her heart thumped. She followed Judith down to her quarters.
“Howard!” Valerian called upon seeing Charm
aine’s husband, pacing the floor in front of the hearth. “Tell me what has happened.”
He stared at her uncomprehendingly, and she realized she still wore the feathered mask. She tore it impatiently from her face. “Yes, it is I.”
He seemed to gather his wits. “The cramps came upon her suddenly, waking her. She sent me for her mother, but . . .”
“I know. She could not come.”
“Mrs. Storrow had me take your basket of herbs and sent me here to fetch you. I have a horse.”
Valerian spared a look for her workaday clothes on the back of the chair where they lay, but there was no time to don them. She gave a silent apology to the lovely green silk she wore, and followed Howard out the side door to the waiting horse. There was no time to waste if Charmaine had gone into labor two months early.
Chapter Twenty-one
Whatever magic the masquerade held for Nathaniel left with Valerian. From the moment he had seen her green-gowned figure sweeping toward him, she had caught his senses in an enchantment. The candles had glowed brighter, the atrocious music had sounded sweeter, the wine had been more intoxicating—and all because she was there with him.
Valerian in country rags was lovely as the twilight.
Valerian in silk was an eclipse, beautiful and alien at once. Until, that is, she had dragged him away, pulled off her mask, and plopped herself onto the settee with that familiar enthusiasm she had for a soft cushion. Then the strangeness of her dress had passed, and he could be easy with her and touch her without fear that she would slap him for his effrontery.
He had made it his quest to entertain her as they moved through the crowd. Knowing her own curiosity about these people that she only ever saw from afar, he had taken pleasure in asking them questions and listening to their answers, trying to draw from them hints of who they were—not their names or positions, but their characters. He knew instinctively that that was what would most interest Valerian, and much to his surprise he found that his guests were not entirely the boring lot of self-satisfied, bird-chasing country squires that he had expected.
True, they were not London sophisticates, but they expressed a sincere pleasure at this chance to meet him and spoke warmly of his uncle. It was easy to see that they were flattered by the questions he asked, and surprised by the interest he showed in them. They were a kinder, less polished version of London society, a version he found he could bear with greater grace than that in the city.
Valerian, though quiet, had seemed happy to be there with him. When she did speak, he would watch the faces of his guests, and see how they softened or warmed at her words. She had a way of setting people at their ease, when she chose.
But now she had left, and he waited with growing impatience for the evening to end so that he could join her. The unmasking came and went with laughter and drinks, and then at last the first few older couples left, then a few others followed, and Nathaniel quietly directed the servants to begin a surreptitious cleanup as the quartet called a final dance.
At two in the morning, the last group departed, and Nathaniel went quickly to his rooms. To his dismay, although not completely to his surprise, she was not there waiting as they had agreed. Of late she had seemed more cautious than he of the hours they stole to be together.
Disappointed, and unwilling yet to face his empty room, he headed to the library for a brandy. A healthy fire burned in the grate, inviting him to one of the chairs pulled close, but the brandy decanter was not on the tray with the others.
“Are you looking for this?” a weary voice asked from the shadows of one of the chairs by the fire, a hand out to the side dangling the crystal decanter by its neck, firelight glinting through the cut surfaces.
His empty glass in hand, Nathaniel came around to see who had spoken. “Sir!” he said in surprise. Lord Carlyle was the last person he would have expected. “I had thought you retired long ago.”
Lord Carlyle lifted the decanter, and filled Nathaniel’s glass before refilling his own. “I do not think that sleep will be coming easily to me this night.”
“Is there something amiss?” Nathaniel asked, feeling a stirring of anxiety, and belatedly wondering what had drawn the man so far to visit his son. He sat down in the opposite chair. “I do not wish to intrude, but is there some bad news that you have brought to share with Paul?”
Lord Carlyle lifted his eyebrows and gave a laugh that was little more than an exhalation of air. “No, all is well at home, although Paul took my arrival rather poorly all the same.”
Nathaniel waited. He could not recall ever seeing Lord Carlyle in this mood, and certainly never half-drunk.
“I could not find him in the crowd, and upon returning to his chamber. . . . Well, let us say that he was already entertaining company.” Lord Carlyle tucked in his chin and looked at him meaningfully.
The man’s meaning became clear. “Good lord.”
“Yes, I believe his comment was something to that effect. I did, of course, make a hasty retreat.”
Nathaniel imagined the aftermath that must have followed after Lord Carlyle left. He very much doubted that Paul had been able to finish what he had started. “You have only to ask for another room,” he offered weakly.
“I did, and it awaits me even now. But for the moment, I prefer it here.”
Nathaniel took a sip of his brandy, sensing that the tale was not finished. It would take more than catching Paul in flagrante delicto to send his father to the brandy and a sleepless night, he felt sure of it. Several minutes passed, and when Lord Carlyle spoke again, it was on such an unexpected topic that his wandering attention was caught in full.
“Who was the lady in green, the one with ivy wound through her hair?”
“Sir?”
“You could not have missed her.”
“I believe she left before the unmasking,” Nathaniel prevaricated.
“Damn,” Lord Carlyle said under his breath, and after a long look into his glass drained what was left in the bottom. He reached again for the decanter.
“Why do you ask?”
“I do not know if I am sufficiently foxed to tell you that.” He swirled the liquid in his glass, then set it on the side table with a clunk of glass on wood. “Hell, maybe I am.”
Nathaniel remained silent, afraid that anything he said would stop the man from speaking. Anything that touched on Valerian, he wanted to hear.
“You will think me a damned fool, not that it matters. I mistook her for a woman I once knew, the first woman I ever loved.”
Nathaniel sat forward, intrigued. “Will you tell me about that woman?”
Lord Carlyle’s eyes settled on a point in time that only he could see. “She was a beautiful creature. Hair black as sin, eyes of a green to make you ache, and a bearing like she was a royal princess, which she would have been had circumstances been different.” At Nathaniel’s raised brow, he clarified. “She and her sister were both bastards of Charles II. Their mother was a widow, wealthy, and for a time one of his favored mistresses.
“I pursued her for months,” he continued, “intending to make her my own mistress. And then, just as I won her, she was taken from me.”
“How?” Nathaniel asked, caught up in the story.
“Her mother, in addition to being a former mistress to a king, was reputed to be a witch. As were her daughters. The mother made one dark prediction too many at just the wrong time, and she was killed. Her daughters fled for their lives, and that was the last I or anyone else ever saw of them.”
An uncomfortable sensation was riding up Nathaniel’s neck. “And the lady in green tonight, what was it that you found familiar?”
“Her hair, her chin. But most especially the dress. My Theresa wore one like it the night she fled. But it was not her, of course not—the woman tonight had blue eyes, not green, and was young enough to be Theresa’s daughter.”
“And what—” Nathaniel had to pause to take a swallow of brandy, for his throat had gone dry—“and what was
her family name, this Theresa?”
“Harrow.”
Harrow. Storrow. Not so very different. “And no one ever heard from either of the daughters?”
“Not a word. I wanted to go after Theresa, to help her to hide. To marry her, if doing so would give her protection. I thought myself in love with her, after all.”
“What stopped you?”
“I thought that nothing would, but my brother more or less sat on me and talked to me of honor and the family, and my fiancée, God help her, until I relented. I think I wanted to be persuaded against it, truth be told. I was afraid of her, even as I loved her, and I was just realistic enough to wonder if giving up family and funds was worth pursuing a woman who might feel no more than amused tolerance for my sorry self. Still, I have never forgotten her. Never forgiven myself, either, for not doing more to help her.”
Nathaniel considered for several minutes, but in the end knew what he had to say. “My lord, there is something I must tell you.”
Lord Carlyle looked at him with barely any curiosity, still lost in his own memories, so Nathaniel spoke bluntly. “Theresa Harrow is living not two miles from this hall. It was her niece you saw in the green gown tonight.”
Lord Carlyle sat up straight and turned wide eyes on Nathaniel. “She is here?”
“I have spoken with her. She goes by Storrow now, but it can only be the same woman.” He looked at the stunned man, and knew that now was not the time to ask if he wished to see her. “We can talk again in the morning, after you have had time to think on this.”
Lord Carlyle’s attention focused inward, and Nathaniel barely heard his response, more sighed than voiced. “Aye, I shall do nothing but think on it.”
Nathaniel was settling down to sleep in his own bed, longing for Valerian, when a piece of Lord Carlyle’s story came back to hit him in the face. He sat up in the dark, and exclaimed aloud to the empty room. “Good God. Her grandfather was the bloody King of England!”
