Dangerous Masquerade

by Peta Lee Rose

  Smiling wickedly, she led her unsuspecting guest there.

  As they entered the room, the floral Aubusson carpet muffled their footsteps. At first glance, there was nothing untoward in the library. Fitted bookcases lined the room, topped by impressive paintings in ornate gilt frames. Arranged around low tables throughout the large rectangular room were sofas and chairs.

  Sitting in two of these chairs drawn up to a small table, a couple of elderly ladies were playing cards. Two others, somewhat younger, were writing letters at a large leather-topped library table. Seated before the elaborately carved fireplace was Monty.

  One of the ladies looked up and saw them standing in the doorway. With a happy cry, she called to the others, “We have company. Oh, how delightful.”

  At her words, all the ladies rose to their feet and flocked toward Ria and the earl. She glanced at Lord Arden’s face to judge his reaction, but it was carefully impassive. Perhaps the very absence of emotion was telling.

  Smiling, she introduced him to her late husband’s aunts and cousins.

  As she did so, Aunt Charity picked up her gold quizzing glass by its handle. Peering at him through it, she looked him up. Then down. Then back up again, lingering for a while in the region of his midriff. Whatever she saw must have satisfied her as, after one last sweep up and down, she gave him a beaming smile.

  After introductions were made, Ria was sure he would soon make his excuses and flee. With the exception of Monty and the vicar, Mr. Brown, men found the ladies en masse overwhelming.

  She began to anticipate the nice warming cup of rose-flavored hot chocolate she would ask Flowerday for once he’d gone. But much to her chagrin, he showed no sign at all of being ready to leave. If anything, he looked charmed by the ladies and quite relaxed as he effortlessly engaged them in conversation.

  She watched Aunt Faith reach into her reticule, pull out a silver snuffbox, open the lid, and offer it to him. With a smile, he politely declined. “Thank you, but no.”

  “I know it’s not as fashionable as it once was, but my dear late husband was very fond of snuff.” Leaning over, she confided to him in a whisper Ria was sure could be heard in the kitchen, perhaps even in the stables, “He loved sniffing it from my arm.” She smiled at him knowingly.

  It was hard for Ria to be sure from where she was sitting, but it looked like Aunt Faith winked at him. Or perhaps it was a twitch. She then took a pinch of snuff and raised it to her nose. What followed was a long series of explosive sneezes.

  Once quiet was restored, Cousin Agnes asked him, “Are you enjoying your stay in the country, my lord? I hope you are being well entertained by our neighbors.”

  Without waiting for a response she nodded her head as though agreeing with herself—the lace ends of her cap brushing her shoulders as her head moved—and added, “Though it is winter, you should not want for entertainment. Why, I heard Lady Glendowie held a recital just last week.”

  Ria almost choked at the thought of the rakish earl, perfectly at home in a licentious masquerade, attending a prim-and-proper country concert.

  To his credit, he kept his composure as he smoothly replied, “I have not attended many social events in the area, but if you need an escort I would be happy to oblige.”

  Ria was very tempted to accept his offer and let him suffer through what to someone of his disposition would surely be torture. But in view of her need to limit contact with him, she instead told him, “Thank you, my lord, for the kind offer. As I mentioned the other day, we do not go out in company.”

  “Please do excuse me. I assumed that by now you would be attending small private parties with your friends and neighbors.” He turned and looked at the ladies. “Perhaps the other ladies may wish to do so?”

  Before Ria could decline, Aunt Charity said, “Thank you, Lord Arden. So kind. Very obliging. We have been saying it would be nice to go out more. Seeing other people will be a welcome diversion.”

  Hiding her surprise at this response from Aunt Charity, who normally had to be compelled to attend a party, Ria made a mental note to make sure she was not in the vicinity when he came to collect or bring back the ladies.

  Though she was certain he wasn’t sincere in his invitation—and if he did escort the ladies, she could not help but take pleasure in thinking of him drinking tepid sweet lemonade and talking to the seemingly virtuous people at country entertainments. She almost laughed at the thought of his discussing the past wheat harvest or the best way to repair a hedgerow. His boredom would be a just reward for his persistence and should see him off back to London posthaste.

  Looking directly at Ria, he said, “It is my pleasure to be of assistance in what must be a difficult time for you. You must miss your husband greatly.”

  While she’d enjoyed the notion of him suffering at a country ball, she was uncomfortable with the turn the conversation had now taken.

  Not wanting to discuss her bereavement, Ria tried to hint it was time he departed. “Oh, is that the time my lord? I am sure you must have better things to do than entertain us. Though your company has been very welcome. Please, do not let us detain you any longer.”

  He smiled at her as he graciously replied, “Thank you for your thoughtfulness, but I have no pressing engagements this afternoon.” He smoothly added, “However, some exercise would be welcome. Perhaps you would accompany me on a walk around your grounds?”

  His back was to the window. Ria looked over his shoulder at the terrace and then smiled sweetly. “What a lovely idea. A walk would be delightful.” With false regret, she then informed him, “But I’m afraid, my lord, it’s begun to rain, so it is not possible.”

  He gazed at her consideringly. “That would explain the chill in the air.”

  Before she could frame a reply Aunt Faith helpfully suggested, “Perhaps you would like to walk in the portrait gallery as you are unable to walk around the grounds.”

  While Ria looked daggers at Aunt Faith, he smiled in gratitude at the lady and responded, “I would be honored.”

  The thread holding together Ria’s manners unraveled slightly more, but she could not bring herself to be so discourteous as to refuse. Afraid her annoyance would show, she merely smiled politely.

  Rising, she led a procession from the library. She was followed by her unwelcome guest then the aunts and Monty. The cousins elected to remain behind and finish their correspondence.

  5

  As Ria reached the landing she realized the aunts were still only half way up the first flight of stairs.

  The reason soon became obvious. Aunt Charity was holding on to the mahogany balustrade and placing both feet on each step before going to the next. Was she unwell?

  Ria called down to her, “Are you all right, Aunt?”

  Aunt Charity nodded, “Yes, my dear. I merely have a touch of cramp in my leg.”

  Aunt Faith made a shooing motion with her hands. “You both go ahead. I shall stay with her. I’m sure we will be there directly.”

  When they entered the long, portrait-lined gallery, filled with light even on such a dull winter day due to the overhead skylights, he stopped at the first portrait. “Was this your husband?”

  “Yes. The portrait was painted a year before he died.” She was unable to prevent the slight tremor in her voice. It happened whenever she mentioned his death.

  She loved this painting. The artist had chosen to pose Montague St. James before an open window, the estate in the background. Solidly built, though not portly, he was wearing breeches with riding boots. His close-fitting brown riding coat was open to reveal a waistcoat, a linen shirt, and meticulously tied cravat. A gold quizzing glass hung around his neck from a brown ribbon. His slight smile was matched by a twinkle in his gray eyes.

  Lord Arden interrupted her study of the portrait. “Now I see this portrait, I believe I met him last year at my club, White’s. Although I didn’t remember his name. From what I recall, he was amiable.”

  “Yes, he was.”

 
“Easy to talk to.”

  Ria smiled. “Very. It was a particular skill of his.”

  “But not a skilled card player as I recall.”

  Reluctantly she admitted, “No, not really.”

  Monty in the background looked affronted.

  “Perhaps because he was too busy talking.”

  Monty’s frown deepened.

  Ria coughed to hide her laughter. “I am sad to say that is probably true.” She cast an apologetic look in Monty’s direction. “Though some people would call his lack of that particular skill a virtue.”

  “I am sure he had many virtues.”

  She thought she detected a dubious note in his voice. “He had many admirable personal qualities.”

  “No doubt.”

  Ria frowned. She wasn’t sure why, but that sounded like an insult. “He was well respected in the neighborhood. He was also acknowledged as having a handsome countenance.”

  “He looks… pleasant.”

  Now that was almost certainly an insult. It wasn’t so much what was said but the tone. Her suspicions were confirmed by his next comment.

  “It’s a shame about the weak chin.”

  Ria knew she should feel offended at his words and probably would have been if she weren’t so entertained by Monty’s reactions. She bit her lip to try to stop herself from smiling as she saw Monty in the background touch his jaw and then rush over to a tall mirror between two gallery windows to look at his chin. He stood before the mirror, frowning and turning his head from side to side.

  “And the thin gray hair.”

  Monty was now looking at his hair—parting his thick, snowy white locks, then patting them back into place.

  Who knew ghosts could be so vain?

  Nervousness replaced Ria’s amusement at the look Monty turned upon the earl. Her nervousness increased when he disappeared.

  Not a good sign.

  Deciding it was best the earl leave immediately, she ruthlessly severed the remaining thread from which her manners dangled. “Why, it’s three o’clock. I didn’t realize it was so late.”

  Taking his arm, Ria turned him toward the stairs. “If you don’t leave soon, you will be riding home in the dark.” And without giving him a chance to respond, she led him from the gallery.

  As they left, she looked around for Monty. She drew in a breath as, from the corner of her eye, she saw a pale green urn slowly rise from the pedestal it rested upon and float toward the earl’s back.

  Adroitly she stepped back, turned, and snatched it from unseen hands and gently deposited it back on the cupboard. She frowned and shook her head in the direction she believed the now invisible Monty was standing.

  The aunts had only just reached the top of the stairs. Both aunts looked at Ria and her companion in dismay, and Aunt Charity said, “Surely you have not seen all the paintings?”

  As Ria passed them she said, “Lord Arden needs to leave before it gets dark.”

  Flowerday was waiting in the entrance hall by the front doors. As they walked past a rosewood table, the butler’s eyes widened and he stepped toward them.

  She looked over her shoulder and saw the vase of flowers that had been on the table flying through the air toward the earl’s back. She was too slow this time to catch it, but Luc, perhaps warned by the look of shock on her butler’s face, turned sideways just enough to miss being hit directly. But his dark blue superfine coat was still showered with pink petals and glistening beads of water.

  Flowerday’s hand trembled as he brushed a blossom from the Earl’s arm.

  “Oh, my lord, I am so sorry. I don’t know how that happened. It must have been a gust of wind. Please, if you will come with me, I will brush and clean your coat.”

  Ria could not help but be impressed by the way Lord Arden graciously declined her butler’s offer as he took possession of his hat and greatcoat.

  He then turned to her, not at all nonplussed or self-conscious despite being splattered with water and petals.

  “Thank you for your hospitality, Mrs. St. James. I will call upon you again when the weather is more clement. Then we’ll be able to take the walk we were denied because of the rain.”

  Not giving her a chance to make some excuse, he nodded and left.

  As he walked out the door, Luc reflected on the afternoon. He hadn’t missed the tremor in Mrs. St. James voice when she’d mentioned her husband’s death. He’d judged St. James to be in his fifties, but despite their age difference she seemed to have genuinely cared for him.

  However, he also hadn’t missed that moment when he’d lifted her from her gig and she’d leaned toward him. She was attracted to him but fighting it.

  As he thought of the past few minutes, he was barely able to hold back his smile. When he’d said he would return to take a walk, Honoria St. James had looked like she’d just eaten a lemon but said nothing. Unlike him, she was trying hard to follow society’s strictures, though her manners had slipped a little at the end. No doubt she was learning that abiding by good manners could be the very devil.

  Fleetingly, he wondered if he should return to London. The Widow St. James wasn’t entirely welcoming, so why stay? This time he couldn’t hold back his smile. Because he looked forward to seeing what would happen when she forgot her manners entirely.

  As he mounted his horse, held steady by a groom in the shelter of the portico, he heard a scraping sound. Turning in the saddle, he looked back into the hall and saw two footmen sweeping up the mess. Although they whispered, their voices echoed in the entry, and he caught one comment.

  “That weren’t the wind. The wind ain’t never done this afore. He’s got on the wrong side of the master and no mistake. Told the mistress we should cover the mirrors when Mr. St. James died leastways his spirit would be trapped here, but she wouldn’t listen. Maybe she’ll believe me now. He’s haunting us. Nothing surer.”

  Luc shook his head at such superstition. It was just a gust of wind. There must have been a cross-draught.

  A very cross one.

  6

  From his usual position in the chair by the morning room fireplace, Monty watched the play of emotions flicker across Ria’s expressive face as she entered.

  His plan was coming together nicely. Better than expected, in fact. Before he could congratulate himself further, she walked up to him.

  He winced at the look on her face. It was clear she was going to take him to task for throwing the vase. He hadn’t used much force. In fact, he’d deliberately thrown a little short. Taking another look at her face, he realized she would not appreciate that particular argument.

  Sternly she asked him, “What were you thinking?”

  Monty studied his shiny Hessian boots as though deep in thought. One good thing about being dead, he mused, your boots didn’t get dirty.

  After he judged enough time had passed for him to appear to have given her question serious thought, he looked back up at her and shrugged. “He was a disrespectful young whelp and needed to be taught a lesson.”

  And, he added to himself, there might come a time when Arden needed to be aware of his presence. Vases floating through the air should make him more receptive to the idea of a ghost.

  “By throwing a vase at him!”

  “It was the closest thing to hand.”

  As Ria shook her head, he spoke slowly, as if to a child, “I am a ghost, my dear. Isn’t throwing things part of what ghosts do?”

  Seeing from her expression that she wasn’t placated, he decided to appeal to her soft nature. He sighed deeply, shook his head, and confessed, “To tell you the truth, at the moment I’m a bored ghost. Today was the most fun I’ve had since I stuck my spoon in the wall.” He frowned darkly, not so much at the memory of his death but at the earl’s disrespectful comments. “Though not when that impertinent cub insulted me.”

  As he’d expected, her stern expression melted. “Oh Monty, I’m sorry. It hadn’t occurred to me you would be feeling that way.”

  Re
alizing he’d made a tactical error, Monty redirected her attention back to the vase. Even though that would mean he’d be in hot water again, it was preferable to answering questions about his death and afterlife.

  “I hope you weren’t fond of that vase, my dear?”

  He could tell she was trying hard not to smile as she answered, “It’s a little late to ask me that now. If you have to throw things, please make sure they are things I don’t like. As it happens, I did very much like that particular vase.”

  A small laugh escaped from her. “It was funny, though. The expression on his face was priceless.”

  He smiled when she laughed again. Ah, that was his Ria. She had her sense of humor back.

  So relieved was he to see her in such light spirits that he merely raised an eyebrow when she said, “I suppose one good thing will come of all this. I doubt Arden will be back.”

  He thought she was wrong, judging by the way the earl looked at her. He certainly hoped she was. But he wasn’t going to warn her.

  After Ria had left the room, he continued to sit, staring into the flames of the fire and thinking.

  Today was the first time he’d heard Ria laugh in months. He had started to become concerned. After the death of her parents three years ago, it had taken her a long time to come to terms with her loss. His sudden death had affected her badly too. On top of that were the problems with her inheritance and worry about the security of the ladies and tenants.

  Monty sighed heavily. Perhaps he shouldn’t have married her, but she’d refused to live on his charity, claiming she could make her way in the world.

  He’d just about choked when she said she planned to become a governess. As if he’d let his best friend’s daughter do that! Someone who was as dear to him as a real daughter would have been.

  And then there was her appearance. Admittedly, in London she wouldn’t be considered a diamond of the first water, despite having blond hair and blue eyes. She was too dark with her light olive complexion, caramel blond hair, and eyes the color of blueberries.