But he had met the Ice Queen, and there was nothing that he could do to forget about their encounter. He longed to find her, and knew that if he did not, he would wonder for the rest of his life who she had been. More than that, I shall wonder what might have been between us if she had not run away from me.
He had only met her for a few minutes—they had shared one conversation. Michael knew that it would be foolish in the extreme to upset all of his family’s plans in pursuit of a mystery lady he might never find. Shall I take such a huge risk? What if I am never able to find her—I will have created a scandal for no purpose.
These thoughts raced through Michael’s head as he bid farewell to Lady Paulina, and they continued to plague him as he sat in his carriage on the drive home. He examined the feather he had found, turning it over and over in his hands throughout his journey. When he arrived at Hillfield Manor he was no nearer to a solution than he had been at the outset of his journey.
* * *
Betsey had run from the garden into the ballroom after leaving the Viscount in the garden. She had heard him calling out after her, but she dared not look back for fear that she would lose her nerve. When she entered the ballroom, she saw that the dancefloor was full, and to her great relief, no one seemed to notice a single lady entering through a side door.
She took a deep breath to steady her nerves and then walked quickly around the edge of the dance floor. She needed to leave as quickly as possible so that she could change out of her costume and have Lady Paulina’s room in order before she returned. But it would not do to call attention to herself by running now that she was back in doors.
Slipping quietly out of the ballroom and into the hallway, Betsey snuck to the staircase, silent praying that she would not encounter anyone. At first her prayers seemed to work, and she was quite alone until she was just outside of Lady Paulina’s door.
As she went to open the door, she heard a loud, male voice say, “Hey!” and she looked up, terrified at what might happen now that she had been discovered. Her heart beat rapidly in her chest, but the sensation was painful now, rather than the pleasant one she had experienced in the garden.
Looking up, she saw to her immense relief, that the person speaking was her brother, Simon.
“Oh Simon,” she said, her voice still trembling. “Thank heaven it is only you!”
“Only me” Simon said, in mock hurt. “Now is that any way to speak to your loving brother?”
“I am sorry, of course not,” she said, feeling calmer now. “Please, we cannot speak here in the corridor. I must not be seen dressed like this!”
“Of course not,” Simon agreed, gesturing to indicate that she ought to go into her mistress’s room. Betsey followed the path he had indicated, but was surprised when Simon followed her into the room.
“Is there something that you need, Simon?” she asked, bemused.
“Well,” he said, gesturing vaguely in her direction. “I think that we need to talk about this, do you not agree?”
“I am not sure what there is to say,” Betsey replied. She knew that she had taken a terrible risk, but she did not need her brother to remind her of that.
“Betsey,” Simon said, sounding bewildered. “What on earth were you thinking?”
“I wanted to attend the masquerade ball,” Betsey said, sounding hesitant.
“Why?”
She took a deep breath, and steeled herself. Betsey knew that she could never keep something this significant from Simon, but she was not eager to confess her motives either.
“I…” she began, “I wanted to dance with the Viscount of Somerwich.”
“You what?” Simon asked, his shocked voice sounding louder than was wise.
“Shh!” Betsey cautioned him. “I wanted to dance with the Viscount, just once before he is married to Lady Paulina. She does not love him, but I do.”
“Betsey,” Simon said, his tone both confused and disappointed. “Have you any idea how dangerous that was? Did you actually dance with him?”
“Of course I know how dangerous it was!” Betsey said, frustrated that he seemed to think her so naïve. “I knew that I was taking a terrible risk, but I could not stop myself. And, yes, I did dance with the Viscount.”
Betsey was working hard to keep her face from showing her emotions, but when she spoke of dancing with the Viscount, she could feel the color rising in her cheeks. No amount of powder would prevent Simon from recognizing her blush, and she hung her head in shame.
“Well, thank heaven it was only one dance, and you made it back here undetected!” Simon said, his tone matter-of-fact. “Now, what are you going to do?”
“What do you mean?” Betsey asked.
“Well, you can never see the Viscount again, in case he should recognize you. And if he is to marry Lady Paulina, and you are her maid, that will be difficult to arrange.”
“He will not recognize me, Simon,” Betsey said, feeling certain of this. “Just look at me! I took great pains to make sure that I would not be recognizable in my costume.”
Simon looked his sister up and down, sighing. “Well, I suppose that your face is well hidden. Perhaps you are right, but Betsey, you must be careful when it comes to the Viscount. I know that you think you love him, but he is not a good gentleman.”
“Surely you don’t still believe that he is responsible for the maids who have left his family’s estate unexpectedly?” Betsey said, feeling annoyed that he would bring up this subject once again when she was so certain that the accusation was false.
“In fact, I do,” Simon said. “And I would be happy to tell you more about it when there is time, but right now you must change and wash your face before Lady Paulina returns to find you dressed like this.”
“That is what I have been trying to do!” Betsey told him in exasperation. “Now please, you must leave so that I can change.”
“All right, Betsey,” Simon said, sounding concerned for her. “Please be careful. Just remember that whether or not you love him, he will marry Lady Paulina.”
“I know that, Simon,” Betsey said, a note of frustration entering her voice now. She knew that Simon was correct in his assessment of the situation. She knew that he meant well and only wished to protect her as an elder brother should. But she also knew that she was five-and-twenty years old, and perfectly capable of taking care of herself without his help or interference.
“All right, Betsey,” Simon said, sounding contrite. “I am sorry, I do not wish to upset you. I only worry that he will break your heart.”
Betsey sighed. She could not remain cross with Simon. In all her life, she had never been able to hold onto a grudge where he was concerned.
Smiling at him, she said, “I know that, too. Good night, Simon.”
Simon smiled back at her, and nodded his head in acknowledgement before leaving her alone in the room. Once he had left, Betsey took off her gown, hiding it away in her room. Then she began the lengthy process of washing the makeup from her face.
As she scrubbed away the shimmering powder, her own plain face emerged in the looking glass. She could not help but wonder, if the Viscount of Somerwich had seen this face, and not the Ice Queen’s, would he even have looked twice at her? Perhaps not, but it does not matter. Simon is right, he will marry Lady Paulina whether or not he likes my face.
Chapter 17
Michael slept fitfully after arriving home from the masquerade ball. He first tossed and turned in his bed, trying desperately to stop his mind from racing with thoughts of the Ice Queen. When this endeavor failed, he gave himself over to the memories and dreamed of his walk in the garden with her.
In his dream there was no one else in the garden, and the Ice Queen’s pale skin, which had shimmered in real life, glowed brighter than the moon itself. Michael followed her through the garden, always one step behind. When finally he reached her, they kissed, just as they had done hours before.
The only difference between reality and dreaming was that in
his dream, the Ice Queen whispered her name in Michael’s ear before running off into the night. Her breath was warm against his skin, in spite of her assumed identity, and goose pimples appeared the moment he felt her lips move near his ear.
Michael woke suddenly, to a gloomy morning, trying desperately to recall the name that had been whispered to him in a dream. He might as well have tried to hold smoke in his hands. The name slipped away from him the moment he tried to remember it, and Michael sighed deeply in frustration.
He wracked his brain, trying to remember any detail about the Ice Queen that might lead him to uncover her true identity. Though much of her face had been covered, he felt certain that there had been something familiar about her, if only he could remember from where.
Failing to discern what about her seemed familiar, Michael attempted to strategize other ways of discovering her true name. The most obvious answer would be to ask the host of the masquerade ball for a list of the invited guests. However, since Michael was supposed to marry the host’s daughter, he could hardly tell the Earl that he was looking for another beautiful young lady from the party.
Michael was similarly hesitant to ask his other acquaintances who had been present at the party, in case word of his inquiries should find their way back to the Earl. Perhaps he could ask his valet to make some discreet inquiries, but he had no idea which of the servants at Cublertone might be trustworthy, and therefore did not know who his valet ought to approach.
He paced about his bedchamber for over an hour, considering a variety of possibilities, but coming to no satisfactory conclusion. When his valet arrived at his usual time to help him dress for the day, Michael was no less frustrated than he had been the night before.
“Good morning, My Lord,” his valet said upon entering the room.
Michael merely nodded in greeting. He noticed a slight look of confusion or perhaps concern on his valet’s face and realized he had scowled at the poor fellow.
“Good morning, Jones. I apologize, I am not entirely myself this morning,” he said, attempting to return to his usual, friendly, manner.
“There is no need to apologize, My Lord!” Jones said, looking relieved nonetheless. “I do hope that you are feeling well, though.”
“Yes, yes, I am quite well, just tired,” Michael said, as Jones helped him out of his dressing gown and began preparing his clothes for the day.
As was their custom, Jones chatted amiably to Michael about his observations of the Earl, the other servants, and the residents of the neighboring village of Elmford. Michael only half listened to this, but occasionally laughed at his valet’s humorous assessments of local gossip.
Although he was distracted by thoughts of the Ice Queen, Michael found that his mood was much improved by the time that Jones had finished telling him about a recent wedding in Elmford. Apparently, the father of the bride had a bit too much to drink and, losing all inhibition, had amused guests by singing bawdy tavern songs for several hours.
Unfortunately, Michael’s improved mood did not last for long, and the scowl returned quickly to his face when he sat down at breakfast with his mother and father.
“How was the masquerade ball?” his mother asked, almost immediately upon sitting down. She had not attended the ball herself because the Earl had not been feeling well, and she would never go to a social event without her husband. Her tone was pleasant and casual, but Michael could see the eagerness in her eyes.
“It was a lovely affair,” he replied, keeping his tone as neutral as he could manage.
“I am glad to hear that,” his mother replied, though her tone implied that she had been hoping for a more enthusiastic response.
His father looked up from his newspaper, furrowing his brow as he turned his attention to Michael. “It was a lovely affair?” he mimicked Michael, in a nasty, sarcastic tone. “Were the decorations beautiful? The food delicious? The music splendid?”
“Yes, they were, Father,” Michael replied in a cold, even tone. Beneath the table he clenched his fists in frustration.
“Well, isn’t that wonderful?” the Earl said, his tone still mocking.
Michael took a deep breath, sipped his tea, and did not respond to his father’s question.
“It does sound wonderful!” the Countess said, her voice light and cheerful. Michael stopped himself from groaning audibly at this, but he knew immediately that she would have done better to say nothing.
For as long as Michael could remember, the Countess had tried to placate her husband by pretending not to notice the sarcasm and mockery in his tone. It had rarely been successful, and in fact it made him angrier more often than not. Today will be no exception, can she not see that he is eager for a fight?
“It does not sound wonderful!” the Earl did not yell, but his tone was firm and sounded dangerously angry, just as Michael had predicted.
The Countess flinched at her husband’s words, but otherwise continued to act as though she did not understand what was really happening. “It does not?” she asked, as slight tremor in her otherwise cheery voice. “What do you mean, My Lord?”
She had made another misstep, addressing her husband so formally. When she was scared of him, she always deferred to this. Perhaps in the beginning she thought that he would see this as a sign of respect? If so, she ought to know better by now. Michael was not surprised to see anger flash in his father’s eyes at these words, nor to see a malicious smile curling the corners of his lips.
“Well, My Lady,” the Earl said, his voice quiet now, but no less dangerous for it. “If all our son has to say about the masquerade ball is that the decorations, food, and music were satisfactory, then he was obviously not paying adequate attention to Lady Paulina.”
Michael cleared his throat uncomfortably, and his mother lowered her head, looking away from her husband for the first time.
“The entire purpose of the evening was to establish his courtship with Lady Paulina,” the Earl continued, and then turned to Michael. “When you propose to Lady Paulina, it will not do to have her believe that you were more interested in the music than in her charms! Are you an utter fool?”
“When I propose to Lady Paulina?” Michael asked, mimicking his father’s quiet, but angry tone. “Don’t you mean if I propose?”
“No, I do not mean if you propose!” the Earl’s voice was booming, and the Countess inhaled sharply as though she were terrified. Michael knew better, his father was losing control of his emotions—admittedly this was the least pleasant part of any fight, but it also meant that the fight was nearly over.
“You will propose to Lady Paulina, and you will marry her, thereby securing her lands and incomes as well as her father’s political cooperation!”
“Yes, Father,” Michael said through gritted teeth. “I am confident that my feelings for Lady Paulina are reciprocated, and I will marry her.”
Over the course of a lifetime, Michael had become an expert at reading his father’s facial expressions. Now he saw a flicker of relief pass over his face, before returning to a moderate level of anger.
“Michael,” the Earl said, sounding like a frustrated school teacher scolding a wayward pupil. “If that is the case, why did not you simply say so? Why do you insist on making me angry?”
“I am quite sure that he does not mean to anger you,” the Countess said, looking up now that she could sense that the fighting was done.
The Earl scoffed at this, “You have always been naïve when it comes to our son’s behavior, Rose.”
“I…” said the Countess. “I am sorry, I only meant that…”
“I know what you meant,” the Earl cut her off, holding up a hand to stop her talking. “Mothers always think the best of their sons. It is a weakness, but you cannot help yourself.”
Michael scowled at his father, but said nothing. He knew that he ought to have defended his mother, who was only trying to help him, but he felt frustrated at her knack for making his father angrier than he would have been if only she
had said nothing.
* * *
Betsey had been up for a few hours before Lady Paulina had woke and rung for her. She had not slept well after her foolish escapade at the masquerade ball, Simon’s words ringing in her head every time she drifted off.
Instead of getting out of bed and being industrious as she usually would, Betsey had laid there thinking about what she had done. She had taken a terrible risk, and she had betrayed her mistress. To the extent that mistress and maid could be friends, she had betrayed a friend.
It did not matter whether or not Lady Paulina loved the Viscount of Somerwich, she would marry him, and he would belong to her. Betsey could see that now—it was as plain as day. And I was a fool for thinking that it could ever be otherwise.
The Viscount Who Seduced Her (Steamy Historical Regency) Page 14
