Maybe what had set Lord Keegain on edge was the fact that, aside from the men brought by the duke, he had invited each and every individual here today. Granted, Lady Margret had quite a bit of input, but he personally knew each man here tonight and most of the women. Many of them had spent considerable time under his roof in the past and would likely do so again, for he loved to share his home. To think that one or more of those he called friends could be a criminal, a traitor, was enough to make him regret hosting the entire affair.
The duke had personally introduced Lord Keegain to the men under Reynold’s command. Ted could have just as easily done so himself, but the Duke of Ely was not to be questioned and if he introduced the host of the celebration, it meant that the duke and House of Lords guaranteed Keegain’s innocence in any complicity. High praise to be sure considering the stakes involved.
The men of the Crown were young, brash and eager. They had been raised around the gentry, were able to ape the mannerisms and talk as well as any blue-blooded aristocrat, but Keegain could not dispel his worry.
There would likely be an attempt on a young woman’s life tonight. That it would serve to see justice done was of little consolation when his mind put Jane in the young woman’s place. Or one of his sisters. Why did his mind not picture his betrothed? Instead, he saw Miss Bellevue held prisoner for an exorbitant price her father could never afford.
That was of a strange comfort, though. If her family could ill-afford a ransom, did it not follow that she was in less danger of kidnapping? If they were to take someone, it would be someone of means. Like his sisters. The thought chilled his blood.
Lord Keegain knew it was best to do as he had been advised. Let the whole thing play out. Wait for the villains to make their move and catch them in the act. Kennett Park was a remote estate, which meant that the perpetrators would have no place to hide once the deed was done. There would be no better time or place to end this terrible business.
His father would have cautioned Keegain to steer clear of the King’s Men. Let them do their jobs and not get in their way. The duke said much the same, but Lord Keegain was made of sterner stuff and protecting his sisters and Miss Bellevue was priority. He realized that when it came down to it, there was not a person here he would wish to see put in harm’s way. Every life had value. Meaning. No one was expendable. Not even Lady Margret.
In the distance, he heard the musicians strike a lively tune, appropriate for the beginnings of the ball.
The earl strode, mask in hand to the ballroom and stood outside of the doors to take a breath. The mask was singular, something Margret had picked out for him, or perhaps she had it made for him; he did not know, but it was gaudy. Mother would have made him something tasteful. Normally, he would have balked at wearing such a monstrosity, but tonight it was the least of his worries. The mask had great wings that were reminiscent of a dragon’s wings or perhaps it was the great horns of some angry god or devil. It was a powerful mask; one of strength that held a certain threat to wrongdoers. Or at least tonight, he hoped it did.
Two liveried servants stood, one on either side of the door and waited. He knew them both but did not speak. He only gave them a brief nod, donned the ridiculous mask and paused.
There was mistletoe overhead, and it reminded him of his aborted kiss in the library with Miss Bellevue. He sucked in a breath and his senses were filled with the sweet scent of pine. The lights of an extravagant amount of candles flickered across the room and laughter came to his ears. The room was filled to bursting with holiday cheer and for once in his life; he could not enjoy the Christmas spirit. He was too agitated. He looked across the room. He knew all of these people. They were good Englishmen; only one, or more of them, was not.
The earl straightened his shoulders and proceeded into the room. No one was announced, not tonight, for that was the object of the masks, to let people be anyone they chose to be for the evening. Some had chosen to be traitors.
27
With the hideous mask covering his face, the earl surveyed his guests. The mask was more like whatever Margret wanted him to be. Strong, but arrogant and prideful. Was that how his fiancée saw him, or what she wanted him to become? It sounded much like her when he thought on it.
He wore the ugliness she kept hidden. He pushed that thought away as hard as he could.
Perhaps not all marriages were meant to have attraction or even more preposterous, love. Most marriages did not. Despite her vitriol, theirs was a business relationship and as a respectable Englishman, his word was his bond. It was unbreakable.
Focus on the immediate issue, Keegain reminded himself. There is a traitor in the room, most likely more than one. There would have to be, to abduct a woman and keep her isolated, quiet and safe enough to return when the money was paid. It would require a team, would it not? The earl searched the room as if he could spy the culprit. Apprehension clogged his senses.
The Duke of Ely passed by him with a curt nod under his own extravagant leather formed mask. It covered more of his features than most, but few people could mistake his tall figure and gruff exterior.
The duke had been a great help to Keegain after his own father’s passing, but for those who were not familiar with the older man’s deep emotions, he often seemed brusque and terribly serious except for when he spoke of his daughter, Lady Amelia. The girl was the duke’s heart and he would keep a careful eye on her tonight.
Reynolds pointed out that everyone who had been abducted was returned unharmed, although if word got out, the lady’s reputation would certainly be in tatters. No one would believe that a woman taken to be in the company of a group of men, no scoundrels, to still be pure and marriageable upon her return.
Once more Lord Keegain ran the guest list in his head. He could not conceive of any of them being a traitor to the Crown or such a cad to endanger the life and reputation of one of the fairer sex. It was unthinkable.
The musicians shifted into a new tune, a lively little number. It lacked sophistication, but it was generally well-received, as a local favorite. He wondered if it would make Jane feel more at home, to hear music not quite so pretentious.
Strange, how his thoughts invariably returned to Miss Bellevue. Perhaps, it was more that Jane consistently entered his head when he was distracted? It was a glorious thought, as though she could wander in and out of his mind at will. He smiled at the notion.
Miss Bellevue had been scandalized at his appearance at her door and rightly so. Would he have done the same to someone of the nobility? Would he have barged in to Lady Amelia’s suite, for example, in such a manner?
Lud! The duke would have had his guts for garters.
Lord Keegain stopped in his tracks so abruptly that a server nearly crashed into him with a silver tray laden with sweetmeats. There was a precarious moment while the man righted the tray, but the earl’s thoughts were elsewhere.
If his sister had been wronged as such while visiting a house far away, would he have wanted the gentleman of the house to confront her alone in her room while his friend stood watch?
The earl suddenly realized that he was every bit as uncouth as his betrothed. He had assumed Jane’s sensibilities would be less acute than a member of the elite. In short, an individual untitled could be imposed upon where a titled individual could not. In short, old boy, you’ve been a perfect ass.
Lord Keegain fought the urge to seek out Miss Bellevue; track her down and offer his apology. That would only compound the problem, apologizing for apologizing. Great, why not trap her again so you can say you are sorry for trapping her?
He could not do that. His heart spoke to him. If he could see her again; speak to her, touch her, perhaps he could explain. He shook his head, feeling the fool, but gazed around the room, still hoping to spot her.
The men and women were dressed to the extent of fashion, the ladies in elaborate ball gowns and the gentlemen in tail coats of superfine or velvet brocade. Masks covered every face. The masks were grotesque or hu
morous; elegant or flamboyant and everything in between. Other than those of exceptional girths or the very short or very tall, it was most difficult to tell who was who.
Certainly, the culprits were men. Women would not have the physical strength for kidnapping and no doubt, had better sensibility. So it was the men upon whom the earl focused his attention. Yet, he found himself wondering what mask Jane wore this evening. Hadn’t she mentioned her mother’s pearls at one point? He looked for pearls, but could not spot her.
The earl began a new search, simply looking for her rather than jewelry. He knew her. He knew how she moved; poised but not haughty, with an air of delicate grace. There. He saw her across the room in a lovely deep purple gown and a peacock mask. She took his breath away.
One of the men from Reynold’s group passed between them and he lost her to sight. He spied Reynolds pacing the ballroom, keeping to the edge of the crowd and the shadows, leaving Keegain to handle the part of the gregarious host. It was a position that Lady Margret had already assumed flitting from one guest to the next, uncannily avoiding the King’s men. It was as if she could sense who was and who was not gentry.
It occurred to the earl that he was taking up space on the floor as those not paired up headed toward the sidelines and cleared the room for the dancers. He retreated to where Reynolds stood. At least the man was easy to find; his mask was distinctive.
“I trust you are enjoying yourself, Lord Keegain,” Reynolds greeted him quite formally.
“On the contrary,” Keegain admitted, “I find myself a veritable mass of nerves, being concerned about the… other events this evening.”
Reynolds leaned close and spoke. “The Crown has charged me to do that very thing, my lord. If you worry all night, there will be nothing left for me to do to occupy my time.”
Keegain snorted his amusement. It felt strange that his friend should be working tonight when the room was filled with so much Christmas cheer. “You could try dancing,” Keegain said.
Reynolds shook his head. He took his eyes off of the crowd and turned to the earl. “Tonight I have a more important task.”
“You should dance with my intended,” Keegain said.
Reynold’s expression was unreadable behind the mask. The eyes that peered out from the holes spoke of a quiet intensity.
“Please, Keegain, do not worry for Lady Margret. I give you my word she will come to no harm. Leave the worry to me and my men. I know my job.”
“Of course you do.”
“It is, in fact, imperative that you relax. The host of the ball must not appear to be agitated, after all. We mustn’t let the cat out of the bag until we spring the trap.”
Lord Keegain nodded, sighing inwardly. It made sense, but he did not have to like it. He did not have the temperament for subterfuge. Reynolds could be unruffled in any situation. Keegain envied him his cool exterior.
Keegain was not so calm, not when people he cared about were involved.
“Very well, I shall enjoy the ball, as you say. But I shall not like enjoying it, I can assure you,” he told Reynolds as he took a drink from a passing footman’s tray. He raised the glass in toast to the man and set off in search of Margret. Or perhaps Miss Bellevue.
28
Jane soon lost her friends in the crush. She had danced with several gentlemen, and like Lady Patience and Lady Amelia, was escorted back to the Lady Battonsbury and the Dowager Lady Keegain several times, but she soon lost track of them as well. With all the color and masks it was difficult to keep everyone in sight. Jane did see Lady Charlotte. She was dancing; floating like a pink bubble across the floor.
Jane paused, edging as far from the dance floor as possible so she was not stepped upon by some whirling dancer. She could feel a blessed breeze coming in from the corridor. Perhaps someone had opened one of the doors to the garden. Despite the winter chill, it was terribly warm in the ballroom with all of the people.
“Milady, would you care to dance?” She turned to see a tall man in a knight’s helm. Even with his helm she recognized him from dinner two days past. Though she could not remember his name, the young man was easy to identify. Tall and gangly, made more so by the modified knight’s helm he used as a mask, he might have been Don Quixote himself, come to tilt at windmills.
“Thank you, but no. Pray excuse me, good Sir. I must rest a moment.” Jane bobbed a curtsey and turned away.
“Then, may I fetch you a refreshment?” He persisted. Surely, he did not recognize her.
Jane nodded.
“I shall return in but a moment,” he said.
She had turned him down, and perhaps she should not have. She knew the knight to meet her various criteria for a potential suitor. His family was well titled, with the allowance to match. That she knew him to be looking for a wife, made him that much more appealing. Why, then, had she refused him?
She sighed. That particular puzzle was easy to solve. He was not Lord Keegain.
And if you found the earl, what then? You and he both well know that he is not available to you. Have you forgotten your entire reason for being here? You are meant to enjoy yourself. Jane tried to remember the resolve she had when she left her own home.
Oh, but how could she flirt and dance now? She felt false looking for courtship and commitment in the space of a single evening upon a dance floor. The gentlemen here were looking for ladies, and she was an imposter at the ball.
Jane took a deep breath, trying to remember to hold her head high, telling herself that she did in fact, have every right to be here. She had been invited, had she not? Did that not lend a certain legitimacy? After all, her host had thought well enough to include her, or to at least allow her upon the guest list when asked. Lady Charlotte wanted her here, and Lady Patience was ever welcoming. Lady Amelia had leant her the dress and jewels. What difference did it make if one particular lady felt she had no place here?
Except that this particular lady would someday be lady of the estate and Lord Keegain’s wife. His wife. Not to mention that selfsame lady had made it abundantly clear that Jane was not welcome in her august company. More so, she was not welcome near her imminent groom. Jane could not really blame Lady Margret.
It is only one night, she told herself. Does it truly matter what Lady Margret thinks? You are here for the ball tonight and tomorrow it will be over. You are not likely to be invited again; especially not once Lady Margret is the hostess here, so why not enjoy the night? Let Lord and soon-to-be Lady Keegain enjoy their night far from your eye. The ballroom was huge and Jane certainly knew enough to stay clear of the both of them.
She had not spotted Lord Keegain at all.
The thought hurt more than she expected. Jane sighed. She had spent the better part of the afternoon sternly reminding herself that Keegain was not to be hers. She could no longer entertain the ridiculous fantasy that had taken hold while they shared the manor when Lady Margret was not in residence. She was returned now. There was nothing for Jane with the earl.
Oh, she knew he was attracted to her, but unless she would deign to be his mistress, that attraction must come to naught. She should not even think of such things. But she did think upon it, and the thought made her blush. Perhaps it was just the heat of the ballroom filling her face.
The earl had come to her bedroom door; she argued with herself, was it only to deliver an apology? Or had he expected something more? She had turned him away, as was proper, but oh, she had been tempted. The fact that she longed to see him even now gave credence to her desire. She would give into temptation if she stayed, but she had come for a reason. If she did not find a husband in this dignified company when would she do so? The time must be now.
Perhaps, she should have accepted the invitation to dance after all. Hiding in a corner was not the way to find a husband.
Don Quixote returned with her drink and she tried to be sociable, apologizing for not dancing and giving some excuse about the tightness of her slippers. She sipped her drink and tried to be gay
, but in a moment, he realized that she was only half paying attention to his witty banter or perhaps he saw a lady more agreeable. He excused himself and Jane promised herself she would dance the next dance no matter who asked her.
Jane stopped at a vantage point at the edge of the dance floor where she might watch the couples that had already begun the set. Don Quixote was already in line, holding the hand of a bright sunflower who smiled in such a way that even Jane could see the lady was clearly smitten and the knight seemed most solicitous.
Another missed opportunity. Jane could not feel badly about it though. Perhaps the knight and sunflower were meant for each other. Who was she to stand in the way of a love match? As you stand between Lord Keegain and Lady Margret? Were they once a love match? The thought gave Jane a sour feeling, and she tried not to feel so. She would not think of them. Still, she found herself looking for the pair on the dance floor. She did not see them.
Her eyes found Lady Charlotte again across the room. She and Lady Amelia were together for but a moment and then they were both off dancing again. The sunflower and the knight danced an immediate second set together. Well, wasn’t that scandalous, Jane thought, but with the crush, she wondered if anyone would notice. Why should anyone care, if they did? She wondered.
Her toe tapped in time to the music as she watched the sunflower and the knight dance. The tune was a bright and lively country reel, one she had heard many times in the past, though it surprised her to hear it here in this fine company. The song seemed a touch common. Not that the dancers minded. She smiled at the thought. She did not imagine that Lady Margret chose it. Perhaps Keegain did, or perhaps it was a novelty to the dancers, something new that they had not enjoyed before.
Maybe Jane herself could likewise be considered something of a novelty. Something worth pursuing, she told herself, but still, she stood apart.
Winning Lady Jane: A Christmas Regency Romance (Ladies of Bath Book 0) Page 16
