Contracted as His Countess

by Louise Allen

  Louisa sneezed daintily into a minute handkerchief, dabbed at her pink nose and sighed as she reached for a very much larger linen square. ‘Harper does have very good taste, I will admit, and we have already prepared the list of what you need. Provided you have a footman in attendance, I suppose you can do without me.’

  ‘Where do I purchase a domino?’ Madelyn asked. ‘That is the correct thing to wear for a masquerade if one is not going in fancy dress, is it not?’

  ‘Why, yes. Harding, Howell or the Pantheon Bazaar would be best. It is not as though one need worry about fitting for size. But which masquerade is that, dear?’

  ‘We had an invitation yesterday to accompany Lady Hitchin and her party, do you not recall? It is in two days’ time.’

  ‘No, no. Carola Hitchin is not at all the thing! Received everywhere, of course, but she is fast to a fault and those sisters of hers are as bad. Any masquerade that she thinks of attending will be a sad romp. I was about to reply and regret that we had another engagement.’

  ‘Oh. I see. Never mind, I will write. You really ought to be resting, Louisa, not worrying about correspondence.’

  And so Madelyn did write to Lady Hitchin. As she had not said what she would reply, accepting the invitation for herself alone was not exactly a falsehood, she told her conscience. Nor had she said that she would not buy a domino to wear. Her immediate thought on hearing about the fancy dress was that she should go in medieval costume, but that, she realised, was exactly the sort of thing that Jack had meant. People would be reminded about her father. But she was determined to go to the masquerade and use her own judgement about how to behave. Jack thought she could not navigate the shoals of London society: she would prove him wrong, show him that she could be trusted to behave appropriately.

  * * *

  Louisa’s cold developed rapidly and she took to the couch in her bedchamber with a pile of handkerchiefs, peppermint lozenges and a stack of all the lightest and most frivolous novels the circulating library at Hatchard’s could find for her.

  And that, without any necessity for evasions or downright lies, gave Madelyn all the freedom she could wish for to interview a very bemused modiste and place a large order—free of Harper who was dispatched to purchase everything on a long list of trifles from handkerchiefs to silk stockings, including a wide range of soaps and lotions, veils and chemises. ‘I’ll not need you while I’m looking at patterns,’ Madelyn said airily. ‘And you’ll know far better than I where to find all these small things. But leave anything we can obtain from the Pantheon Bazaar—I have heard so much about that I want to see it for myself.’

  Harper had thought nothing strange about Madelyn buying a domino, ‘Just to have handy in case of an invitation, you know,’ she said airily.

  ‘And you’ll need a mask, Miss Aylmer. There are some very pretty silk ones here. Velvet looks lovely, but it gets so hot and you don’t want a shiny nose.’

  ‘I assume masquerades are respectable entertainments,’ Madelyn remarked as they waited to be served at a crowded counter.

  ‘Some are, some aren’t, Miss Aylmer. Those like the public ones where anyone who can afford it can buy a ticket—why, they are very unseemly, from what I’ve heard. You get women of a certain profession, if you know what I mean. And flash types and all sorts.’

  ‘But the kind a society lady would go to?’

  ‘Oh, those would be perfectly acceptable, I should think.’ Harper finally reached the head of the queue. ‘Here’s a stool for you, Miss Aylmer.’ She turned to the assistant. ‘The tray of masks for the lady to try, if you please. The silk ones. And a selection of dominos.’

  * * *

  So that was all right, even if Louisa did not approve of Lady Hitchin. But, Madelyn rationalised, if she was received everywhere, she could not be that bad. And she had said she was making up a large party, so it was not as though Madelyn would be forced into her close company for the evening once she had paid her respects to her hostess. Presumably the masquerade itself was at the home of one of her friends.

  The problem was to leave for the evening without alerting Louisa, but the doctor—summoned when none of the housekeeper’s infallible home remedies made any impression on the sore throat and cough—ordered early nights and complete rest for a week. Louisa tottered from couch to bed and Madelyn went to her desk and penned a note that she sent off to Lady Hitchin with a footman.

  The reply came by return. Lady Hitchin would be delighted if Miss Aylmer joined the party at her house before they set off and sent the afflicted chaperon her best wishes for an early recovery. Madelyn decided to keep that to herself, at least until tomorrow morning.

  Now, all she had to do was to choose a gown, have Harper do something with her hair that would not be completely flattened by the hood of the domino and she would be ready. The thought of the mask gave her a really surprising amount of confidence. Or perhaps she was simply becoming used to London social events. That was good. That would show Jack that she did not care for his opinion or need his patronising attempts to manage her life.

  Chapter Eleven

  ‘Kicking over the traces, are you?’ Charlie Truscott lounged in the far corner of the carriage. Jack could not see his face in the darkness, but he could tell he was grinning. ‘Never thought you’d agree to come to this with me.’

  ‘I’ve been to masquerades before,’ Jack tried not to snap.

  ‘Not ones like this one, not when you’ve got a fiancée,’ said the man who was supposed to be his best friend and who was about to end up on his backside in the streets of Chelsea if he kept on needling. ‘Still, if you are going to become a respectable married man, then it is good to get these things out of your system.’

  Jack growled.

  ‘They say that Grover has arranged for an entire troupe of opera dancers to attend, just to liven things up,’ Charlie persisted, then, failing to get a rise with that remark, added, ‘Shouldn’t you be squiring Miss Aylmer around somewhere this evening?’

  ‘We do not live in each other’s pockets.’

  ‘That’s plain enough. I’ve never seen a cooler lover than you. If you want my advice—’

  ‘Which I do not.’

  ‘—you’ll write a poem or two, send flowers, show the lady off in the best box at the Opera House. Otherwise she will find a handsomer buck than you now she’s loose in London and has had a chance to look at the field.’

  ‘Madelyn is not loose in London, she is not assessing men like racehorses and the wedding date is all fixed, as you well know. If you think this is part of the duties of the best man, let me tell you, you are wide of the mark.’ Charlie said nothing. Jack knew he was being drawn into filling the silence and found he could not resist the bait. ‘You know perfectly well that this is not a love match. Miss Aylmer and I have agreed on a mutually beneficial marriage, which is something that happens every week of the year. Damn it, she’d wonder what I have on my conscience if I started playing the lovesick swain all of a sudden.’

  ‘I’d have thought you wanted more.’ Jack made an impatient sound and Charlie said, ‘Look, perhaps it isn’t my business, but I’ve known you since we were scrubby lads and you’re my friend and you’ve had a pretty rough time of it with that family of yours.’

  Rough time? Yes, that summed it up. A father to whom loyalty and honour meant nothing, who would exploit his own parents in their sickness and old age and whose idea of raising the son who was the unneeded spare was a mixture of neglect and brutality and a brother who was a selfish boor.

  ‘Don’t you want something...more for yourself than this?’ When Jack still said nothing Charlie blurted out, ‘Surely she wants more?’

  ‘Miss Aylmer wants a family and someone who will allow her to fulfil her father’s wishes for her future. She has made it quite clear that she does not want me fussing over her.’ He would be faithful, he would protect her and their ch
ildren as he had promised. He had given his word and it was important to him that he keep it, that his wife would be true to her promises, too.

  ‘What if she falls in love with you, Jack?’

  ‘There is no chance of that,’ Jack said and could have bitten his tongue. That had come out sounding far more bitter than he had intended. He had begun to wonder what it would be like if Madelyn did see something in him beyond a suitable pedigree and the unpleasant suspicion that he was becoming fond of her was keeping him awake at night. Love was the most dangerous investment in the world and the riskiest.

  Fondness or not, a thoroughly inconvenient state of arousal was making him restless in those long, dark hours.

  Damn it, she’s not pretty, she’s as prickly as a basket of cross cats and she’s got some very peculiar ideas. You’re all about in your head, you fool.

  Charlie’s silence convinced him that he had betrayed more than he had intended. ‘Where did you say this confounded masquerade is? We’ve driven almost to Richmond.’

  ‘Nowhere like that far. Can’t be much longer now. Grover’s hired a barn in the middle of a field and fitted it out, by all accounts, as a cross between a sultan’s palace and fairyland. The man has just inherited all his great-uncle’s money and the old man was as rich as Croesus, so he’s set on celebrating in style.’

  Charlie was right. They turned off the King’s Road, lurched along what felt like a cart track and heard the noise ahead of them grow in volume. Music, laughter, the sound of coachmen shouting at each other as they tried to deliver their passengers and turn around, shrieks of excited laughter.

  ‘This do, my lord?’ The driver leaned down. ‘Can’t get any closer. Looks as though there’s space over there to wait, if that’s all right with you?’

  Jack, still without his own town coach, had hired one for the week and was finding the driver amusingly casual. ‘Yes, here, get yourself some refreshments, but I’ll want you sober when we get back.’

  ‘We’re promised acrobats, fire eaters, stilt walkers and a special performance by the dancers,’ Charlie said as the driver tipped his hat and drove off. They made their way towards the huge barn that was surrounded by canvas tents and covered carts. ‘And there’s the fire eater.’ He pointed to where a man in a skin-tight crimson costume painted with yellow flames was causing a gaggle of cloaked figures to screech in horrified enjoyment as he plunged a burning brand down his throat.

  ‘Let’s get inside,’ Jack said. ‘I could do with a drink.’ He wanted to drink too much, dance, flirt with completely disreputable women—preferably small, pert brunettes—and drink some more. If the evening ended with a brawl or a kiss, then that would be quite welcome, too.

  Sir Horatio Grover, newly endowed with a baronetcy and a fortune, had ordered boxes to be constructed around the sides of the barn, dance floors to be laid inside and out and a podium set up for the band. Colourful boxes lined the inner dance floor and a stream of waiters were darting about the guests with laden trays of glasses and bottles.

  ‘On your right,’ Jack said and, as though they’d rehearsed it, Charlie snagged a bottle of wine as he swept up two glasses. ‘There’s an empty box over there. Let’s take it and survey the scene.’

  ‘Good idea.’ Charlie handed him the bottle, vaulted over the front of the box without troubling with the rather rickety half-door, then took glasses and bottle while Jack followed him, neatly managing to catch up his domino before the long folds tripped him. ‘Got a mask?’ He produced one and tied it on, transforming himself from amiable man-about-town into something slightly sinister. ‘Better wear it. You don’t want reports getting back to the lady that you’ve been out ogling opera dancers.’

  ‘Speaking of which—’ Jack nodded towards the open doors of the barn where a flock of scantily clad young women were running in. He tied his mask, made himself comfortable on the bench and poured the wine as the band struck up. He settled back, lifted the glass and prepared to banish all thoughts of problematic fiancées for one night.

  The dancers were...adequate, he supposed. Pretty enough, but then the magic of stagecraft meant that any of them would be transformed once they were on stage. Skilled enough, too, although not up to the standard of the big theatres and the Opera House. All around them men were cheering and staring and making lewd remarks and he felt a wave of distaste. They were not even becoming excited over reality, just masks that hid a number of young women, all of whom were different under that paint and glitter. Some plain, some pretty, some intelligent, some less so. Some kind and some, no doubt, spiteful or dishonest or sulky.

  Why that should make him think of Madelyn he had no idea, unless it was because she was putting on a mask now she was in London, pretending to be something she was not in order to fit in. That was an uncomfortable thought and he splashed more of the thin red wine into his glass. These ordinary girls had been transformed into fairy-tale creatures. He was asking a woman from a fairy tale to become ordinary and conventional.

  Which is necessary. Those dancers have to make a living to survive in the real world, and Madelyn has to exist in it, too.

  The acrobats who followed the dancers were a welcome distraction and so were the masked figures who drifted past their box, many in fancy dress, others in dominos. Some—both male and female—stopped and leant against the low front wall and made eyes at the two men sitting inside. Charlie, safely masked, flirted back cheerfully with either sex, but refused all lures to step outside the box.

  ‘Idiot,’ Jack said mildly when yet another comely youth sauntered off, laughing at one of Charlie’s more outrageous sallies. ‘You know you don’t like blonds.’

  The floor was being cleared for dancing. ‘Shall we?’ Charlie suggested.

  ‘I am not dancing with you,’ Jack said, ducking as his friend, whose real interest was very firmly with the opposite sex, feigned a playful punch. ‘In fact, I am not dancing at all. I shall lounge here like a pasha surveying his court and watch you making a fool of yourself out there.’

  ‘You do that. See that pretty little redhead by the band? Watch the master at work.’ Charlie took a gulp of wine. ‘I’ll send a waiter over for a food order if I pass one before I persuade my mysterious beauty to dance with me.’ He let the half-door close with a bang behind him and wandered off into the crowd.

  It was, Jack considered, more entertaining to watch than to fight one’s way amid the crush of sweating, over-perfumed bodies. Charlie was as good as his word and a harried waiter arrived with a tray of plates for Jack to choose from, then fought his way along to the next box.

  Several King Henry the Eighths passed by the box along with some overheated knights in knitted chainmail, four daring Grecian maidens whose scanty costumes were at least keeping them cool and quite a flock of medieval damsels. Having had the opportunity to observe the nearest anyone was going to come these days to the real thing, Jack was unimpressed. They didn’t know how to walk in those gowns any more than Madelyn did in modern dress.

  The cheese tartlets were surprisingly good. Jack brushed crumbs off his domino and noted that more than half the guests were wearing the same thing, rather than indulge in the complexities of fancy dress.

  Now there was someone who moved beautifully. He watched appreciatively as a tall masked figure glided past in a deep green hooded domino. She walked as Madelyn had done in her medieval gown, the heavy folds of the cloak brushing the ground around her.

  Then she turned to listen to someone in the group she was with and Jack saw her face, half-hidden by a spangled green silk mask. He saw the pale skin, the pure oval of the face, the long nose and shot to his feet, the plate of pastries falling unheeded to the floor with a clatter.

  Madelyn here?

  What was Louisa Fairfield thinking of? This was no place for a respectable lady without the escort of a gentleman, let alone an unmarried one. Then the orchestra reached the end of a piece and
he heard Carola Hitchin’s unmistakable braying laugh.

  Hell’s teeth, Lady Fairfield’s lost her mind.

  He slammed back the door to the box just as a masked highway man stopped in front of Madelyn, swept off his tricorne in a low bow and, quite clearly, asked her to dance.

  A party of young bucks, already half-seas under, pushed past in front of Jack, but not before he saw Madelyn’s reaction to the highwayman. She recoiled in shock or dismay, then his line of sight was lost as he barged his way through the drunks, ducking a swing one took at him and elbowing another in the ribs to make him give way.

  At least she’d been properly shocked at being accosted. Besides, he comforted himself, her dancing lessons had hardly begun, she wouldn’t want to risk making an exhibition of herself in public yet.

  He reached the edge of the dance floor as the band struck up a waltz and there, in the arms of the highwayman, was the tall lady in green, held close, her face tipped up to his. They were quite obviously talking. Jack took a step and a heavy hand came down on his shoulder, caught him off balance, spun him around, then a fist made contact with his chin and he went down among the feet of the dancers.

  * * *

  She should have listened to Louisa, Madelyn realised within minutes of arriving at Lady Hitchin’s large town house. By medieval standards, or modern, the woman was brash, loud and outrageous and her party of friends was no better.

  I should have said I felt faint the moment I arrived, Madelyn thought as she found herself caught up in the rush for the waiting carriages and then bundled into the third one with a jester, King Henry VIII and three giggling young women, two of whom were wearing Grecian costume. It was a tight squeeze.