Masked Love (A Christmas Regency Novella)

by Nicole Zoltack

  The air in her room had grown too stale. Her throat was parched. Not daring to go into the kitchen for fear of running into anyone, she slipped out the back door and into the fresh air. Perhaps a walk would clear her head. She wouldn’t be long in Lady Theodosia’s employment. She only had to last until the wedding. If she was careful, she would get a glowing recommendation from the lady and find new employment quickly. And be far away from the content couple.

  Try as she might, she couldn’t begrudge the couple’s happiness. She circled the pond. A sand-colored pebble caught her eye. Impossibly smooth, it fit perfectly into her petite palm. Closing her eyes, she imagined transferring all of her hope into it. Then she curled back her arm and released it. The small stone sank from view quickly, and with it died her dream.

  Even so, she struggled to accept her position and could not bring herself to return to the manor. Not just yet. When she recalled that the couple had patrolled the grounds a few hours earlier, she abandoned the path and strolled to the nearby forest. In the middle was a clearing. Someone, maybe the butler or another servant, had chopped down a log.

  Isabelle sat on it and closed her eyes. The scent of freshly cut wood filled her nose. Insects shared their soft music, and she hummed along. Her mother had always encouraged her singing. She used her voice as a tribute to her mother’s memory. When she was happy, when she was sad, she sang.

  Now, however, her voice was silent. She had no words to sing, no melody to vocalize, and so she hummed, the only compromise she could offer.

  Twigs snapped, and her eyes opened as her mouth shut. A tall, dark form approached. Lord Adrian.

  Although her leg muscles tightened, wanting to run, she remained sitting on the log.

  “I can guess why you came out here,” he said, standing half a meter away from her.

  “So you can read minds now?” She refused to look away, to show weakness, but could not stop her hands from shaking.

  “I said guess, not know for certain.”

  The insects’ song serenaded them, filling the silence between them with a soft tune that knew nothing of the bitterness wedging between them. Last night, words had left her mouth with little thought, easy, smooth. But last night, they had been on an even playing field.

  She felt the need to explain. “Lady Theodosia asked me to go with her.”

  He raised his bushy eyebrows.

  He didn’t believe her! Her cheeks grew hot. “Her friends wanted to play a game, see if they could find and recognize each other … ”

  The lord crossed his arms. Beneath his coat, his muscle bulged. “A game?”

  “Yes. She wanted me there in case she could not locate any of them.” It did sound outlandish, even to her, but she could not rewrite the past, not even if she wanted to.

  Whether or not she would change yesterday’s events if she could, she did not know.

  “One last night for some fun.”

  “Yes. She wanted to make sure she recognized one face behind the masks.” Isabelle lowered her gaze to the roots of a nearby tree. “I never thought I would remove mine.”

  His clothes rustled, and out of the corner of her eye, she saw him stiffen. His boots crunched the grass, and she closed her eyes for a long moment, expecting him to be gone when she opened them. To her surprise, he was sitting on the log beside her, a meter between them.

  “You have a beautiful voice.” He toyed with his large hands, his beefy fingers tracing his palm lines.

  She would not accept his compliments, not now. “Lady Theodosia’s music is splendid.”

  “Yes,” he agreed easily. “Do you know how to play?”

  “No.” Isabelle covered her mouth to muffle the scoffing sound she could not suppress. Who would teach a maid which keys to press or which strings to pluck? Singing was one thing; she had taught herself.

  “What do you think of fox hunting?”

  How strange. He seemed to be comparing her to Lady Theodosia. Not that she could ever measure up. “I know nothing about it. I have never witnessed one.”

  “Would you like to?”

  Her heart raced, even though she knew better—this was not an invitation, merely a simple question. Which called for the simple truth. “Yes.”

  But they both knew she would never see one. Fox hunting and instruments and balls and fancy weddings were not in her future, only his. His and Lady Theodosia’s.

  Adrian could refrain from gazing upon her no longer. Despite the simple clothes that clearly marked her as a lady’s maid, her face was still angelic, still breathtaking. He hated himself for being drawn to her, yet his legs refused to move. He was not willing to leave her side.

  He would have to, and soon, he well knew, but he would delay that as long as possible.

  Isabelle’s hair looked much the same as yesterday, tumbling down her shoulders in long curls. His hand had brushed against a strand when they had made their way to the dance floor. It was just as soft as it looked. Uncovered too, unlike Lady Theodosia, who had worn a bonnet during their walk earlier.

  A sudden thought had him clenching his fists and looking away again. His father had several mistresses. He could do that to neither Isabelle nor Lady Theodosia.

  “Sing me another song.”

  He realized too late that it came out a demand, not a request.

  “Please,” he rushed to add.

  Isabelle shook her head as she stared straight ahead.

  “Do you often ignore the wishes of lords’?” he joked.

  The corner of her lip twitched. “Just you.” She adjusted her skirt and stood. “I really should be returning.”

  Adrian touched her arm. “A moment more, please.” He was pleading.

  She shook her head again. “Good day, my lord.” Her legs carried her away, and he sat there, watching her, enraged with himself that he had allowed her to leave, livid with himself that he had begged her to stay.

  Lady Theodosia deserved a better man than him.

  A hand clapped on his shoulder, and he almost jumped.

  “I see you found our Yule log,” Lord Haywood said. “We’ll be lighting it soon enough.”

  He should have realized they were sitting on the Yule log. Why else would a log be cut down now? Supposedly being the first to sit upon the log before it went into the fireplace granted good luck. Isabelle and himself needed far more than merely luck.

  “Care to have a drink with me?” his future bride’s father asked.

  Adrian nodded, relief filling him that the lord had not witnessed his encounter with Isabelle. The two men walked back to the house. The sound of ladies talking and laughing floated from down the hall.

  “My daughter has a few of her friends over for luncheon. I thought we could take some time to talk.”

  “Of course.”

  Lord Haywood led Adrian into a study and poured two drinks. Adrian drank his in two gulps. Without batting an eye, Lord Haywood refilled it, then sat in a high-backed chair, and gestured for Adrian to do likewise.

  “How is your father doing?”

  “Quite good. He gives his regret that he could not come, as does my mother, but they had a prior engagement they could not break off.” He rubbed his free hand on his tight pants. His parents couldn’t come because his mother was quite ill. They did not want the Haywoods to know that detail for fear her poor health would cast a poor light on him. Poor health was a sign of weakness, and his parents weren’t about to do anything that might cause the wedding to be put off.

  “Your father and I grew up together, you know.” Lord Haywood swayed his cup, and the amber liquid inside swirled around. “We promised each other we would have our children married, and now that time has come. Will your parents be able to come for the wedding, do you think?”

  “I hope so.” Adrian swallowed hard. He had not wanted to leave his mother’s side. The physician had said some promising words, but his mother had always been frail. If anything should happen to her while he was here …

  “Now the
n, it’s time for the documents to be drawn and signed. There’s the matter of the dowry and … ”

  He swigged his remaining drink. It was going to be a long afternoon.

  Adrian closed his eyes for a moment, and the sweetness of Isabelle’s singing voice washed over him.

  Yes, a very long afternoon indeed.

  After returning to the manor, Isabelle had started toward her room when Adam the butler informed her that Lady Theodosia had need of her, so she changed direction and went to her lady’s bedroom. There she found her charge sitting beside her mirror, her eyes closed.

  “May I help you?” Isabelle asked.

  “I have a headache.”

  Without a word, Isabelle walked over and massaged her temples.

  “Oh, thank you. That feels wonderful. My last maid pressed too hard and made my headaches far worse.”

  Lady Theodosia often had headaches, so Isabelle had quickly learned the right amount of pressure to use. She also knew it was best for her not to speak.

  “Good servants are hard to find,” Lady Theodosia continued. “Have you thought of what you will do after I’m married?”

  Cry. Curl up into a ball. Rip out my hair.

  “I was wondering if you would be opposed to staying on and coming with me. Move in with us.”

  Isabelle was so shocked, and devastated, at such a request that her fingers stilled. Her palms grew dewy, and her fingers slipped. To recover, she quickly resumed massaging.

  “Ouch!” Lady Theodosia cried. “You’re hurting me.”

  “I’m so sorry.” Isabelle backed away, her head down.

  “Are you feeling quite all right? You seemed fine this morning, but then with the singing and now … Are you ill?”

  “I’m fine, milady. A little tired, is all.”

  “You’re sure nothing is wrong?”

  Isabelle still couldn’t look her lady in the eye and shook her head.

  “All right then. Helen and Pamela should be arriving shortly for luncheon. Will you serve us?”

  She blinked then fell into a curtsey. “Whatever my lady wishes.” Normally, Lady Theodosia stated Isabelle would help, not ask first. Her lady’s cheeks were quite pale, but her eyes were sparkling. She was happy.

  Because her friends were coming over? Or because she was engaged to a wonderful, handsome man?

  A man who stole time away from her to waste on her maid.

  ***

  Isabelle threw herself into her duties and poured more tea in Lady Pamela’s porcelain teacup. The fruit was running low—Lady Pamela had a tendency to eat enough for two to three men with hearty appetites—and Isabelle rushed to the kitchen to fetch more. An apple threatened to fall, and she struggled to catch it and not drop any others when hushed tones came to her small ears from the other room, and she strained to listen.

  “He was the most handsome man I had ever seen,” Lady Theodosia was saying.

  Me too. Not that she had seen many handsome men, at least not that she had danced with.

  “And brown eyes, just like our tea. And hair as red as a flame.” Lady Theodosia giggled.

  An apple dropped. So did a pear. And Isabelle’s jaw. Brown eyes, red hair? Why Lady Theodosia wasn’t talking about Lord Adrian after all! Adrian had green eyes and brown hair. Heat had radiated from his strong body as they sat near each other on the log, heat that now caused her cheeks to flush.

  She grabbed the ripe fruit and stole another moment to compose herself before walking inside the room. None of the ladies looked over at her; it was as if she was invisible.

  As soon as she refilled the fruit bowl, Lady Pamela reached for one. She bit into the apple, and some juice sprayed onto the tablecloth. Isabelle would have to remove the stain. “Do you know his name?”

  Isabelle stood behind her lady’s chair, against the wall, in case any of the trio would have need for her. Careful to keep her churning emotions to herself, she kept her gaze on the back of Lady Theodosia’s blond strands.

  “No. Nor where he’s from or anything about him at all.” Her lady sounded so despondent Isabelle sympathized with her. She knew exactly what her lady was going through, although her own plight seemed even more hopeless than Lady Theodosia’s.

  Lady Helen giggled. A slight woman with golden curls and a wide smile, she looked far younger than her fifteen years. She bit into an apple. Her dainty bites had hardly caused a dent in the fruit yet. “Did you tell him anything about you?”

  “I … I wanted to.”

  “So that’s a no. Now what are you going to do?” Lady Pamela asked.

  “There’s nothing I can do! Lord Adrian seems nice enough, and he is handsome too, wait until you see him, but something’s missing.”

  Lady Helen patted Lady Theodosia’s hand. “I know what you are going through. I went through it too. Is it not preposterous that both your parents and mine actually arranged marriages for us? Pamela is so lucky she has a say in who she weds.”

  “Not that that will be any time soon.” Lady Pamela brought her hand to her forehead. “Laura has to marry first, and Sophie too. Who knows if there will be money left for a dowry for me?”

  “I have an idea!” Lady Theodosia clapped her hands. She held up her tea cup.

  Isabelle rushed forward and lifted the teapot. Only a drop poured out. “I’ll fetch more.” She gripped the handle so tightly her knuckles turned white. With small steps, she inched to the door, hoping to hear Lady Theodosia’s idea, but her lady was silent.

  Nothing she could do but open the door and latch it behind her. Her small ears strained to hear the hushed whispers the ladies shared amongst each other, but their words were too soft and did not carry.

  A lump formed in her throat. She must stop this nonsense. Lord Adrian was not hers. She had no claim on him.

  Before she took a step, one voice reached her loud and clear: “I do love watching a fox hunt. Maybe I could tempt him away.”

  Isabelle’s body shook. The notion of Lord Adrian being with Lady Theodosia was unbearable, yet tolerable. But for him to be with Lady Pamela, that was inconceivable. Lady Pamela was spoiled and pampered and treated her maids so poorly, none lasted more than a few months at a time.

  Her legs like tree logs, she slowly made her way to the kitchen to fetch more tea. Never once did she hum. She had no more songs inside her.

  The paperwork was more than Adrian had expected, and he rubbed his temples.

  “It’s a lot to take in. Marriage is a big step,” Lord Haywood said.

  Adrian agreed. Especially when forced into it. When his father had first reminded him of the old promise, Adrian had laughed, thinking it a joke. No one other than royals had arranged marriages. But no, his father had been quite serious. And Adrian had been quite adamant that he would not agree to it. His mother had wailed and huge tears gushed from her eyes, and his father had shouted and thrown plates. It wasn’t until his father had threatened to cut him off without a penny to his name that Adrian relented.

  But now, after reading the contract and knowing how much money was involved with marrying another gentry, Adrian’s rebellious side wanted to rear its ugly head again.

  Not that he could easily walk away from Lady Theodosia. Now that he knew her, he couldn’t tarnish her reputation like that, especially not on Christmas Eve.

  Lord Haywood held out a quill pen, and Adrian could ignore it no longer. His arm slowly rose, and his fingers brushed against the soft feather.

  Before he could remove it from the lord’s grasp, a knock sounded at the door.

  Relief flooded through him, and he turned to see Lady Theodosia there, two ladies beside her.

  “Father, might we steal Lord Adrian away? We want to celebrate Christmas Eve.”

  Adrian held up his hands as if to say “I’m sorry but I must go,” and did his best not to run to her side, although he rushed over with greater speed than he probably should have.

  “What do you lovely ladies have in mind?” he asked, keeping his gaze on
his future wife. He held out his arm for her to take. She did, her hand hardly touching his sleeve.

  Another lady took up his other arm as he allowed Lady Theodosia to dictate where they were heading, which was the parlor, if he was not mistaken. “We thought perhaps you could tell us about your most daring fox hunt,” the lady said, her voice oozing with enthusiasm.

  “Oh, pardon my manners,” Lady Theodosia said easily. “This is Lady Pamela, and Lady Helen. Ladies, this is Lord Adrian.”

  She had not introduced him to her friends as her betrothed. One of her friends, he hadn’t paid enough attention to know who was who, continued to press him for details about hunting. This led him to suspect one thing—Lady Theodosia was also not the happiest about their arranged marriage.

  His heart swelled at the thought for only a moment before he scowled. Even if he were to find a means out of the marriage, he would still have no means in which to be with Isabelle, other than the mistress route. If his father cut him off, he would have nothing to offer her. Not a home, not food nor fancy clothes, nor the chance for happiness.

  Lady Theodosia led him to the couch. He attempted to sit on the end, so as not to be forced to sit in between ladies, but proper manners dictated they sit first, and of course, one lady sat in a chair, and the other two left the middle of the couch available.

  Instead of sitting there, Adrian sat in the other unoccupied chair. If Lady Theodosia was going to play a game, he would have a say in the rules.

  Her one friend, the slightly plump one, was looking at him expectantly.

  A story she wanted, a story she would get.

  “Now this wasn’t an organized hunt, but one time, a friend and I decided to go out hunting. We had our rifles and found tracks.”

  “I’m sure you’re a master hunter,” the eager friend cut in.

  “Hush, Lady Pamela,” Lady Theodosia said. Only the other friend seemed uninterested, more intrigued by him and Pamela, her gaze shifting between them, a curious curl to her lips.