by Joyce Alec
"Calm down, there's a girl," Bartley went into one stall where the mare was extremely agitated.
"What is that sound?" he asked. Was that what startled the horses? But the sound stopped. He cocked his ear, straining to hear the sound again but nothing. Then he heard a wail, or maybe a scream, that set the horses off again.
"Help, I need some help," Bartley called out. The snow was dampening any sounds. He walked the mare out of her stall, and Jedediah took her outside. Some of the stable boys were coming to his aid, and he sent one to find the inspector. Could the secret chamber run this length of the garden from the house and into the stables?
He went back inside the stall, and with his foot, began to shove the straw around. There was no sign of a trap door or hatch, but it had to be near here. It dawned on him that the horses wouldn't be put in stalls with trap doors. It had to be outside.
He called for more light as he made his helpers sweep and clear the floor. The Inspector arrived as Bartley told him of what he heard. It was the best clue they had so far, and even the skeptical Inspector wouldn't deny it.
"Lady Amelia, I'm coming for you," he called out. "If you can scream again, please do, my love. We need to hear you," he called out frantically. The inspector called for everyone to stop as they listened out. As they were about to resume clearing, a faint bang was heard.
"She heard me. Work faster. We have to get to her." Bartley worked harder than anyone else, and his efforts were rewarded when he found the trap door.
He opened it up and looked inside.
"Lady Amelia, I've found you," although he could not yet see her, he jumped into the passageway. Lifting his lamp and turning it to full, he saw the cramped tunnel, and there ahead of him was Lady Amelia in a heap on the floor. He ran to her, while he called for help.
"Bartley, have I died?" she asked.
"Oh, my love, you are not getting away from me that easily," he smiled at her.
"Lady Amelia, where are the others?" Inspector Grimshaw was eager to find the others.
His question seemed to give Lady Amelia the rush of adrenaline that was needed.
"Henrietta, Lucille. It's too far to go back this way. Take me to the room and I'll show you," she screamed out.
With him supporting her, Lady Amelia rushed back to the room. John just watched as Lady Amelia sat in the chair and showed them how to open the passage. With the wall secure, John and the inspector ran down the stairs, and soon the women were safe.
Chapter 7
All the guests agreed that Lady Henrietta, now Duchess of Kentonville, looked radiant on her wedding day. Mary had styled her mistress's hair to disguise the gash on her forehead from her fall.
Stories circulated that Henrietta had gone missing, but many believed the story was just a rumor when they saw Lady Henrietta and the duke in such good spirits.
The carriage ride to St. George's Church on Christmas morning was breathtaking. Snow lightly dusted the trees and ground, and with the sunlight shining just right, it looked as if the city was covered in sparkling jewels.
John looked like a new man. He could look forward to being a husband to the most wonderful woman he had ever met. Carrying Lady Henrietta out of the hiding place to safety provided an intense mix of emotions. His heart was glad at her safe return, but the state of her health had him very worried.
The doctor arrived immediately. Although she was mildly dehydrated, Henrietta was in good health and recovered quickly.
At their wedding breakfast, the duke and duchess celebrated the start of their new life together.
"You look beautiful this morning, Lady Amelia. I trust you are feeling much better." Bartley admired her as they waited to be called for the wedding breakfast.
"Thank you, My Lord. It is very gracious of you to say such a thing. Indeed, I am feeling well.”
If her ordeal had taught her anything, it was never to take anything or anyone for granted. Just days earlier, Amelia had questioned Henrietta about being so hasty in love. Now, Amelia’s heart had been stolen in a whirlwind romance.
Amelia had also had to recover from dehydration, so she was unable to see Bartley these last couple of days. The doctor had strict instructions that she must stay in bed.
Bartley found a way to communicate with her through letters, which he seemed to be writing hourly. Each letter brought Amelia a little bit of joy. In one of his first letters, Bartley explained his newfound discovery. When searching for the architectural plans for the house, he came across some old letters from the previous duchess. The letters explained the details of the passageway. It turned out that there had been rumors of an uprising against the ton. The previous duchess was in such a fright that she had a secret passageway built, but didn’t want many people to know about it. She remodeled the room as a guise, so not very few individuals knew that the real reason for the remodel was to build a secret room, where she could hide with her husband in case they needed help. While in the midst of the remodel, the architect discovered the strange light reflection from the two mirrors and built that into his plan as the way to access the secret room.
Bartley’s letters were filled with stories and anecdotes that made Amelia laugh and sometimes cry. Amelia found that she could be much more expressive in her letters than she could with her words. Bartley’s letters expressed his love from the beginning, but Amelia’s letters soon followed suit.
In Bartley’s final letter before the wedding, he offered a marriage proposal. Amelia had yet to answer.
“Well,” said Bartley. “Is there anything else you would like to say to me?”
Amelia smiled as she looked down, suddenly nervous about making eye contact. She couldn’t believe that she was considering marriage to a man she had barely known a week.
“You do know you would have to ask my father,” said Amelia.
“I have already bought my ticket to Stannington,” beamed Bartley. “I was going to call on you soon after you returned home.” Bartley then realized what her words meant. “Are you saying you will marry me?”
“If my father approves, yes, Bartley, I will marry you.”
Amelia’s eyes met his, as they were both filled with joy.
Lady Henrietta couldn't be happier to think that her wedding had produced such a wonderful match between her closest friend and her husband’s cousin.
When the women were in private, Henrietta cupped Amelia’s hands and asked, “You do love him, don't you?"
"I do. I never thought I would fall in love, but now that I have, well, it is rather wonderful," she smiled through her tears of joy.
***
The End
Christmas Masquerade Ball
Regency Holiday Hearts
Text Copyright © 2017 by Eleanor Swan
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.
First printing, 2017
Publisher
Love Light Faith Books
[email protected]
www.LoveLightFaith.com
Christmas Masquerade Ball
Regency Holiday Hearts
By: Eleanor Swan
Christmas Masquerade Ball
Chapter One
It was the most wonderful time of the year. Yuletide treats, family, and gifts. Days were cold, and nights were spent beside the fire and reading books and sleeping beneath as many quilts as could be found. Warm tea in chilled fingers. Powdery snow on dark green pine branches.
Christmas time had come at last.
My other absolute favorite thing about this time of year was the number of elaborate balls to attend. Almost ev
eryone celebrated with large banquets, dinners, and dancing, with tall and handsomely decorated trees in every corner, and candles glistening on every surface. Everything was warm and comforting.
The Walford estate hosted a magnificent ball, and I was quite honored to receive an invite. Of course, Lord Walford and my father had been friends for many years.
Golden ribbons glittered in every window, and only the finest crystal was used as serving bowls and goblets for wine. The Christmas trees were decorated with fruits, berries, and glass ornaments. The air smelled of pine, cranberries, and cinnamon.
More red ribbons and berries decorated the ballroom, and it seemed that green was the popular color for ladies’ dresses. I myself had chosen a red dress with golden ribbons and ivory lace. It had cost my parents more than they had expected, but it was so handsomely made that my mother said she would have paid four times the amount.
Mother and Father had long lost the desire to dance at these sorts of social outings. Mother was shy, and Father’s feet often hurt him if he stood too long. Age, he had told me, waited for no one, not even busy men. They found much more enjoyment speaking with their friends and other social acquaintances.
And that was what they did this night. As I made my way between circles of my own friends, I watched as they spoke with some very influential people. At least, I assumed they were. It was hard to tell, given that everyone wore a mask. Mother’s dress was white, hanging beautifully over her still youthful frame. Her blonde hair, much like my sister’s, was pinned up behind her head, a few loose curls hanging around her face. Father, dark-haired with bright blue eyes behind his bird-shaped green mask, was nodding to a man who stood beside them.
Yes, one of the most exciting reasons I loved this particular ball at the Walford estate was the fact that it was a masquerade. Everyone came with a mask, and most of the fun was that it was hard to tell who was who. Of course, my friends and I had shared our plans and our masks with one another beforehand, so we knew each other when we met at the ball. But it was still exhilarating to not recognize most people just by standing in front of them.
I had made my very own mask, with papier-mâché and dye made from cranberries. I had cut out some pretty filigree and roses. It had taken me nearly a week, but when it was all finished, the mask matched my dress perfectly.
I had been asked to dance by a few men I did not recognize. One of the men revealed himself, and I laughed heartily when I realized it was my dear friend, Lord Gregory. He said that he had recognized me by my golden hair pin, a gift that his sister had given me for my birthday one year. Another man had hardly spoken to me, and while I found him to be quite an admirable dancer, I did not accept when he asked if I wished to dance again.
The third man that asked me to dance was tall, dark-haired, and had brilliantly blue eyes surrounded by dark lashes behind his simple black mask. His smile was wide and easy, and he bowed before me with a handsome flourish.
My sister Sarah and our friends had all shoved me a few steps toward him, giggling furiously behind me. He held out his hand and I gracefully took it.
And what a magnificent dancer he was. He was confident and knowledgeable. I had yet to meet a man who such an agreeable dance partner. Not only was he a fabulous dancer, but he was a wonderful conversationalist. He was anything but shy, asking me how I was enjoying the ball, what I thought of the decorations, and if I enjoyed the tempo of the music. It was a whirlwind, emotionally and physically.
We danced for two songs, and I had forgotten everyone else in the room. It seemed he had forgotten the others as well. And all the while, I did not know his name.
The mysterious man and I had much more in common than I could have ever expected, and I found myself attracted to him. His eyes sparkled as he spoke to me, and he told me about his love of books and fencing. His voice was smooth, like velvet, and his hands were gentle around my waist.
“I just love Christmas,” I said with a sigh as we spun in a circle in time with the music.
“It is simply delightful,” he replied, beaming at me.
“This year has been the best by far,” I went on. “My sister has come of age and is able to attend the balls with me.”
“How wonderful,” he said.
“It has been the most magical evening.”
“Would you like to see something else rather special?” he asked me.
My eyes grew wide. “I certainly would.”
He took my hand and led me toward the back of the ballroom. He threw open the doors and we stepped out onto the cold terrace. It was entirely empty apart from the two of us, at least for the time being.
I saw small puffs of air hung in the air between us as I murmured my awe of the gardens stretching before us. Sculptures of ice dotted the landscape, surrounded by flowers and fountains. Stone benches stood beneath them, and a few guests strolled between them, arm in arm. The terrace itself was round, with candles along the rail, and a single strand of mistletoe hanging from the ceiling in the very middle.
It was breathtaking.
He led me to the very middle of the terrace, directly beneath the mistletoe. We could still hear the music streaming out through the doors leading back into the ballroom, but it was much softer, much gentler.
“May I have one last dance?” he asked quietly.
“I thought you might never ask,” I replied, and I allowed him to sweep me into a close spin.
“My lady…” he began a few moments later, his voice like silk. “I have had the most enjoyable time with you this evening.”
My heart was swelling as he spoke. Had he just said the very same thing that I had been thinking?
“Coming to this ball, I feared that my night would be wasted, as I do not always find ladies that capture my attention as you have. And then I met you…”
He spun me in a slow circle before drawing me back to himself. The candles around us made his eyes sparkle brightly, as bright as the stars overhead.
“You are the most beautiful woman here this evening,” he said.
“How do you know that, truly?” I asked, grateful that my mask covered my blushing cheeks. “You do not know what I look like.”
“I do,” he replied. “Your hair is like the fading sunset, rich and comforting. And your eyes are as bright as the warm sea, your soul as strong as the waves crashing against the shore. All of this I can see without needing to fully see your face.”
“My lord,” I said breathlessly. “You are making me blush…”
“I only am speaking the truth,” he insisted. “Your soul is far more important. And the mask that you wear, as beautiful as it is, is allowing me to see right into it.”
My hands trembled as he held them in his own. His eyes searched my face, and he smiled at me as if it were the first time he did so, as if he had never smiled at anyone else before.
He leaned in closer to me, and I found that I did not pull away. I did not even want to resist. In fact, I welcomed it. Heartily.
My heart raced, my breathing came in quick, small gasps. My palms grew moist, and my eyes widened.
“My lady,” he murmured. “I…”
“We…” I began to reply, but the words faded away like wisps of smoke in the wind. I could not think clearly. A small voice in the back of my mind attempted to warn me of something, but I could not be bothered enough to care to think about it further.
He leaned in even closer, and all I could see were his eyes, all I could hear was his breathing and the beat of my own heart in my ears. I could smell the cold in the air and the lavender from the soap I had washed my hair with earlier that day. Everything was moving slowly around me, as if time itself had stopped.
And then we closed the distance between us, both of us leaning into each other at the same moment.
His lips were warm against mine, which were cold and trembling. But he was gentle as he pressed them more firmly to mine.
An explosion of heat rose up from inside of me. I leaned into him, embracing t
he kiss, ignoring the sensibilities inside of me telling me how dangerous this was. I did not care. In that moment, it did not matter.
As soon as the kiss had started, it was over, as we pulled away from one another. I sought his eyes, his piercing gaze, to see if his heart had just split in two like mine had. He stared down at me, and I could see his soul as clearly as he must have seen mine. That kiss had meant just as much to him as it had to me.
And then reality washed over me. The truth of what had happened hit me square between the eyes. I could still feel the echo of his kiss on my lips. I could feel his hands at my waist.
He had kissed me. And I did not even know his name.
As if the same thought had passed over both of our minds, we stepped away from each other, both of our faces flushed. If anyone were to see us, they would assume it was due to the cold. But the two of us would know the truth.
“I—” he began.
“Well—” I started at the exact same time.
We stared at one another, and we fell silent.
“I should return inside,” I said. How was it that I was suddenly at a complete loss for words? My head was swimming, and I needed some space. I needed to understand what had just occurred.
“Of course,” he agreed, and smiled as he bowed.
I hesitated, and before I went back inside the doors, I turned back to him.
“My lord?” I asked.
“Yes?” he replied quickly, excitedly.
“I had a wonderful time this evening.”
He seemed to relax. I did not want him to believe that I was angry with him. In truth, I was just as involved in the kiss as he had been. I had wanted it. I had allowed it.
