Unmasked Heart_A Regency Romance_Challenge of the Soul

by Vanessa Riley

  The largest silver bowl in the world sat on a linen-covered table. Thin brass cups flanked the sides. Gaia took one and eased the dipper into the Negus. The cinnamon-cultured liquid swished as it filled her goblet. The spicy mixture made her tongue itch, but her dry throat welcomed it. "So who has caught your eye?"

  With a shy glance about the room, Seren sighed. "I don't think my true love is here, but, tonight, I'd settle for a few more dances with a handsome gentleman. Some of the most exquisite men stay in Father's parlor or have hidden themselves away. The duke hasn't danced once."

  "Cheshire attends?"

  "Yes, but I fear he's like all the truly eligible catches. Hiding."

  There wasn't a fearful bone in the duke's body. He was noble and good. Gaia put down her goblet. "I think he wants to acclimate to our society before he's actively socializing."

  A crease settled on Seren's forehead, followed by a pursing of her lips. "He should be well-acclimated, since he grew up in these parts."

  Serendip learning about the duke’s background? Could the minx have set her goals to include the duke?

  Her friend peered down and smoothed her lacy glove against the pristine white cloth covering the table. "Don't look at me like that, Gaia. I'm just curious about anything new to Devonshire; well, somewhat new like Cheshire."

  It didn't feel right, her and the duke, almost as bad as Julia and Elliot. Gaia shrugged. "Now that is a tragedy for you, but who needs a duke when I saw you fighting off two handsome beaus?"

  A smile bloomed on Seren's face. She clapped as the set ended. "Yes, it has been fun. This is the best ever, and my dearest friend is finally eligible to attend." The smile disappeared. "That means we've all grown up and soon we will be heading to marriages and families of our own."

  Serendip was beautiful. How could she doubt her future, or even be saddened by it? Gaia reached for her fingers. "We shall always be friends. Nothing will ever change that for me."

  "I'd like to think that, but your Mr. Whimple will scurry you away to London, or some hunt for obscure plantings. I'll miss my friend."

  With a shake of her head, Gaia folded her arms and tugged at the hem of her gloves. "He's not my Mr. Whimple."

  "Not yet, and maybe my prince will not be far behind."

  Ah, Seren still believed in happily ever after. Well, that was possible for her. She knew both parents, and possessed every right to her name. Yet the twitch of her mouth, the wavering of her eyes, indicated doubts. Were they all trapped by a pile of low expectations?

  Seren dabbed at her eyes. "Look at me. I'm ruining your first come-out." She waved her hands and pointed. "This is the Hallows' Ball. Dreams come true. Look about. What about you? What memory will you claim?"

  With a quick scan of the room, Gaia looked, but didn't see Elliot. She pivoted to her friend. "I hope to dance with Mr. Whimple."

  Seren rolled her eyes, but then paused and tapped her chin. "Tell him. That way you will at least know whether his hearing it will make a difference."

  Her friend was right. Not knowing was the worst, even more so than living a lie. Gaia shrugged then set her shoulders level to fix her posture. Elliot had to be here somewhere. "I've been speaking my mind as of late, but I don't know what good it will do."

  "Well, we will see whether he'll switch to you. Here he comes. Maybe it's your turn."

  With a shy hand resting on the lace of her neckline, and a smile on her lips, Gaia turned.

  Elliot Whimple walked in her direction. Clad in formal black dress, his slate tailcoat hung on his squared shoulders. His opal-white cravat brightened the twinkle in his blue eyes. Her breath caught in her throat. The music heightened in her ears.

  As soon as he came within speaking distance, he bowed. "Miss Telfair, Miss Hallow. You both look very pretty this evening.

  It became hard to breathe, but now was her turn. It had to be. "It is a good evening for dancing, sir."

  Her hand rose of its own volition, and Gaia hoped he'd take hold and lead her in a dance.

  Elliot smiled as his head lifted. His neck swiveled to the corner where Julia, Aunt, and Sarah sat. "There's Miss Julia. I think I promised her a dance. Excuse me." His back was to Gaia before his slight took hold.

  Her outstretched hand floated in the air until the weight of her shame made it descend. "I need air."

  Seren gripped her shoulder. "He's not worth it. You deserve better than Elliot."

  "What exactly is that? Maybe you should say it's not the right time. Or this wasn't for you. All talk the world saves for the cork-brained, those so addled they believe in fairy tales." She covered her mouth for a moment as regret whirled inside. Her friend didn't deserve such talk. "I'm sorry, Seren."

  "Dreams do come true, Gaia."

  "They aren't for me, not for someone like me." Tears filling her eyes, she shook free from Seren and fought her way through the crowd to the balcony. Closing the double doors behind her, Gaia let the cool air caress her. A small wall torch emitted a little light. This was the perfect place to sob in private.

  Almost tripping over her feet, she gripped her arms and steadied herself. The music faded, absorbed by the massive stone facade and the pain in her skull. She cast her eyes to the small stone bench dwarfed in shadows. Maybe if she rammed her head against it, she'd forget wanting to be loved.

  She dropped onto the bench and let everything leak from her eyes.

  Mr. Telfair was right. He knew was meant to be a caregiver, a mere companion or governess to her family. Elliot Whimple would never love a by-blow black. No one would. "I'll always be invisible. God, is this what You wanted to show me?"

  The doors behind her rattled, and she fled, hiding in the darkest corner. No one should see her this miserable. Rumors and mocking would abound. Oh Lord, please don't let anyone have heard my cries.

  CHAPTER SIX

  A Confession, A Dance, A Plan

  GAIA SHRANK DEEPER into the corner as her gloves furiously smeared tears along her jaw. A man, a tall one, followed by another of almost equal height, walked out onto the balcony. The broad outline of the former, broad shoulders, oval face, and wide ears, seemed familiar.

  She removed her fogged spectacles and squinted. Her cheeks burned. It could be the duke.

  The second man pounded the rail. "Cheshire, it's not my fault."

  It was the duke. Her heart beat hard, squeezing to burst free from her chest. He'd again catch her crying.

  He sighed and planted his hands on the stone framing the edge of the balcony. "Stelford, the notes have found me. How could that happen? You must have said something when you were snooping up north."

  "’Pon my word, I didn't, my dear Duke."

  "You must have said something. How else would anyone guess that I would be here? This is the last place for me to be discovered because of the difficult history with my father."

  Clouds parted and allowed moonlight to gleam upon his snowy cravat and the white shirt tucked behind a check-patterned waistcoat. His raven hair, though brushed to a shine, bore a renegade curl that waggled on his brow. "You were followed. And the fiend could be here now, waiting for the moment to humiliate me. Or..."

  "You're not easily cowed, Cheshire. What is it, man?"

  "Something more sinister could be at play. There's a desperation or hunger about the notes. They want me to pay or they will hurt Mary."

  The anguish in the duke's voice clawed about her heart. He must care for his daughter so much. If only Gaia could be loved like that, but who knows where the man whose blood she shared lived? Or if he lived? What happened to him?

  The other fellow, the friend he’d brought to Chevron Manor, slapped his hands together. "I didn't betray you this time. At least we have wind of it. Let's leave."

  A wave of sadness struck Gaia, causing a shiver. How could they leave, and why did the thought make her even unhappier?

  "No more running!" Cheshire's voice held thunder. He wrenched the back of his neck and lowered his voice. "Mary's finally settled.
Maybe the child is beginning to accept this place as home."

  "Maybe it's your singing," Mr. Stelford laughed but took a few steps backward, as if the kind-hearted duke would swing a fist at him. "I heard you last night. At least your admirer hasn't found us."

  The duke's shoulders slumped. "Don't even mention her. She made a big pest of herself in Cheshire; no telling what she'd do here." He reared back against the brick wall. His head swiveled Gaia's direction.

  Panicked, she siphoned a slow breath and hoped they couldn't detect her heart's traitorous thumping. Overhearing a private conversation was worse than being caught crying.

  Rubbing his chin, the duke released a groan. "You heard my singing. Well, Mary seemed to like it. She's even tried to mimic my actions. If only I knew what exactly to sing."

  His friend walked to him and posted a few inches in front. "Always the girl. What about you? Why not find a new wife to take care of your daughter and you?"

  With a hand now firmly covering his eyes, the duke grunted again. "I am in no mood to court anyone. My daughter is everything."

  Mr. Stelford obviously didn't understand the needs of children, or how wonderful it was for a father to act upon his love for his child.

  The duke's bachelor colleague moved to the door. "I shall see whether the curvy Telfair chit is around. She made you smile, and you definitely thought of something other than Lady Mary around her. Well, who wouldn't, riding horseback with all that womanhood pressed against your spine."

  The man spun and trudged back into the ballroom, shutting the door just shy of a slam.

  The duke bolted up and straightened his posture. "You can come out of the shadows, Miss Telfair."

  Taking her first full breath, she slunk into the light. "I did not mean to listen."

  He took a handkerchief from his pocket and swiped at the stone bench. "Sit and tell me what's made you run to this balcony first."

  She folded her arms, not knowing quite what to do with them as she sat. "Why not tell me who's made you run to this balcony second? The she and the notes sound menacing."

  He plopped beside her and raked a hand through his hair. "A nasty business, listening to conversations." His low tones tickled her ear. "But you are right. I'm hiding, too."

  She frowned at him. His evasive words were not an answer. And nothing could be as bad as her dilemma. "Why hide at all? Males have options, unlike women. And everyone wants to know a sensible gentleman."

  "Sense is in the eye of the beholder. No. They want my income," he sighed, and a sense of sadness emanated from his sagging shoulders. "They want the Duke of Cheshire, not William St Landon."

  St. Landon. The name seemed familiar. Why? She shrugged. "I don't understand."

  He thumbed his waistcoat. "See, I am invisible, too."

  "Impossible." She tried to chuckle, but the incredulity of his statement made her eyes damp. "Please don't patronize me. You'd never trade places to be a poor invisible nobody."

  "I came here to find you, Miss Nobody."

  "But you told Mr. Stelford—"

  "My friend has his own twisted way of helping, and he'd misconstrue my intentions and your charm."

  The man talked in riddles, and her head began to hurt. She rubbed her temples. "Say it plainly."

  His eyes went up as if he pictured his word choice. A harsh sigh left his lips. "Stelford doesn't know you are in love with another. So he won't realize that I am safe from compromise, or that you couldn't be tempted into some sort of illicit affair." He covered his mouth for a second. "I didn't mean to be so blunt. I respect you far too much to trifle with your emotions or diminish your reputation."

  "Honesty is best. I can't stand any more lies."

  "More?"

  He didn't mention anything about the she or the notes, so Gaia didn't feel compelled to mention her secret. What if he knew? Would he still talk to her? Would he shun her, too?

  No one needed to know but the man she married. Surely Elliott would understand. Forcing air into her lungs, she tugged at the edges of her gloves. "So you've come to look for me? Well, as you said, it's not wise to go traipsing into the night to find each other."

  One of his brows popped up as he stared at her. "The Hallows' Ball doesn't seem to be going well for either of us."

  She didn't mean to focus on herself, but it was far too easy to wallow in misery these days. "Not very good for my first one."

  "Well, your Mr. Whimple must not be here."

  Tears shouldn't come. Surely enough were shed the night she saw Elliot kiss Julia, but wetness still leaked from Gaia's eyes. "He's here, and I'm still invisible."

  Cheshire put his bare hand to her cheek and flicked away a droplet. The roughness of his skin contrasted with the gentleness of the stroke. "No first ball should be spent upset."

  Her insides warmed, and a vague desire to feel both his palms holding her face washed over her.

  "Whimple's a fool not to notice you."

  The heat of his breath sent a shiver down her spine; a good tremble that made her feel more alive and prettier than ever.

  She pulled away before she forgot herself and batted her lashes like Seren, or said something trite like her awful cousin Millicent, the flirt. "Tell me about Lady Mary."

  "My daughter, a precious girl of four, is mute." There was pain in his eyes, and it matched the heaviness in his voice. "I must help my child."

  "I'm so sorry, your grace. I wish I had known. I could've been of more help, and not so argumentative."

  He lowered his hand, as if he’d just realized it still hung in the air. "I suspect the same reason you don't wish to discuss Master Timothy, is my reason."

  Twiddling her fingers, she lifted her chin to him. Sadness seemed to labor his breathing, and cause the increasing frown of his lips. Had she been so overwhelmed by her own misery, she'd forgotten to look around at those who might also be burdened?

  "Your ideas of singing and the blocks have helped." He leaned closer. "I can't leave now, not with the answer to Mary's silence so near. I must gain your father's confidence. I'm convinced your tutelage is the key."

  "Mr. Telfair's not here, but I'm sure neighbors will tell him. My aunt will repeat her sighting of you for weeks, if you greet her, but..." She bit her lip. How could she ask something so personal? What notes? What she?

  His eyes became very focused and steady, as if words were written on her lips. "Ask. Nothing is more attractive than self-assurance."

  Something in his stare, maybe how his gaze felt earnest, encompassing her, not judging, made her think she could. "Sir, there is more trouble than your daughter's muteness, isn't there?"

  His countenance blanked. "Yes. Yes, there is. My friend was very careless to talk of it. I would hope that you wouldn't mention it either."

  He answered but didn't answer. This was a talent, unless he was given to confusion.

  She nodded. "I would never break your confidence. You can trust me."

  "Perhaps I can. Let's forget my problems tonight. You can only have a first ball once." He stood and made a low bow.

  For a moment, his gallantry and the renewed gleam in his eyes made him the most handsome man she'd ever seen; even more so than Elliot, if that were possible.

  "Now, Miss Telfair, my fair lady, I usually avoid such." He tugged gloves from his pocket and slipped them on, "but I'd like the next two sets."

  "Two? You don't have to be so charitable." She left the bench, took a few steps, and clutched the balcony's rail. "It's not necessary. I've already agreed to help your daughter."

  "What are you afraid of, Miss Telfair?"

  People would stare at them, judging the gap of their stations or the differences in their skin. That had to be worse than being ignored by Elliot. She shook her head and searched for her courage. Maybe it lay in the purple sky.

  He chuckled, and she could sense his large form coming closer, shadowing her. "Don't you have a prayer to bolster yourself?"

  Her voice lowered to a whisper, "I'm not
afraid."

  She said the words, but even she didn't believe it. Her gaze fixed on the perimeter, where lanterns exposed the array of sculpted hedges encompassing the garden below. She could not look back at the man whose sultry tones made her want to box his ears, as well as stay near and listen to his laugh. "The Hallows lit the landscape so the trees continued to the edges of the pale moon."

  Large hands clasped her shoulders. His fingers tapped her stiff muscles, the ones sore from sewing. "Only half of the celestial orb shows. It surrendered to fast moving clouds."

  Surrender to what, a seduction on the balcony by a virtual stranger? If she were her cousin or friend, she'd ask him to massage her limbs, but Gaia wasn't a flirt or anything wanton like her mother, and shook free.

  This time he cornered her, one large arm on either side of her, holding the rail. "Is dancing with me something to fear, lovely lady? I assure you, I can keep up. Maybe you're frightened by attention. How would you ever withstand your Mr. Whimple's favor?"

  What if Elliot stood beside her, talking so sweetly? Her heart flopped down against her ribs, almost hurting within her corset. But he wasn't, and worse, he'd let her hand drop in the air. Did he see Gaia as his poor neighbor and friend, or did he and all the rest of the old families see the girl passing as white? She swallowed. "This close, he'd say I'm too brown and coarse. I should probably shun the outdoors. Didn't you suggest that too when we first met?"

  "Nonsense," the duke's deep voice tickled her ear. "You're lovely, Miss Telfair, and I ask again for the honor to dance with you."

  Still looking straight ahead, she witnessed the moon shrink to a third. In another minute, it would be swallowed whole. Would it be wrong to be engulfed by something stronger than she, a something that thought her lovely? "Two dances will make everyone think that you've singled me out. That's not your intention. One is best."

  He clasped her elbows, and, with great care, he spun her around. Barely an inch distanced her from falling into his chest. Her tight sleeves sent all his warmth to her skin, as if no fabric separated them. What would it be like to surrender and be kissed under a disappearing moon?