Unmasking the Hero, page 3
“And champagne,” she pointed out.
“Boldness, champagne, and an unspecified wager propelled you here. And sense will propel you home before the unmasking. Was it worth the trouble?”
“I doubt I will come back, if that is what you mean.”
“That is a pity. I would ask you to dance the next time. On Saturday, for example.”
“Sadly, I have a quite different engagement on Saturday.” And before then, Lady Trewthorpe’s soiree to get through on Friday, God help her.
“My pride clings to the sadly. I hope it will be an entertaining evening.”
“Not a chance.”
“Then Maida is an attractive alternative, surely? I’ll throw in a wager. And three glasses of champagne.”
She laughed. “I would be offended, except you don’t mean a word of it.”
Behind the mask, he blinked, and she had the impression she had finally surprised him.
“What makes you think that?”
“You didn’t want to dance with me,” she said frankly. “Only curiosity and, perhaps, the chivalry of your upbringing, compelled you to shade me in my self-made trouble. Don’t misunderstand me. I am grateful. But I don’t flatter myself that my conversation is anywhere near scintillating enough to have captured your genuine interest. And even if it had, I will not be returning to Maida on Saturday or any other evening.”
They had come to the edge of the dance floor, only a few yards from her own table, and she brought herself to a graceful halt. She smiled. “Thank you for the dance, sir. You may now release me and feel free to glower from another pillar of your choosing.”
A breath of laughter escaped him, but he released her at once. “You are, it seems, the mistress of the congé. But you are wrong about one thing. I did want to dance with you, and I have enjoyed it immensely. Thank you” He bowed and sauntered away to the nearest pillar, where he leaned, arms folded, and smiled in her direction.
She laughed and directed a mocking curtsey at him before turning to face the glower of her brother.
“Who the devil was that?” he demanded.
“I have absolutely no idea. But it is coming up to unmasking time, so I suggest we leave.”
“Wait,” Sir Nash said. He and the others had risen to their feet when she approached. He took the pin from his cravat and presented it to her with a bow. “It seems you won our wager hands down.”
She took it from him and turned it between her fingers. “Thank you. Why on earth did I ask for a cravat pin? Here, Rollo,” She tossed the pin to her brother, who caught it in some surprise. “It’s more use to you. Shall we go? Goodbye, Sir Nash. Thank you for the evening.”
*
From his pillar, the stranger in the black and silver mask watched her depart with her hand on another man’s arm. A slight, straight figure, graceful, fashionable, extraordinarily lovely.
A faint smile lurked on the stranger’s lips. He hadn’t expected her to be quite so…elusive. Or so charming.
The man she had avoided by dancing with him reached for the brandy bottle and sprawled back in his chair, discontented and alone. And without the pin he had given her—presumably his stake in the wager she regretted. Would he feel better or worse if he knew she had just lost her stake, too?
The stranger shoved one hand in his pocket, stroking the bracelet he had concealed there.
The man alone at the table caught his eye and glared at him.
The stranger strolled up to him and sat down. “Allow me to join you in a glass of brandy.”
“Why?” came the rude response.
He allowed himself to consider. “Because we are bereft of the same lady? Because I am curious, and you obviously know her better.”
“Do I?” the man asked morosely and poured himself a glass of brandy. “Much good it does me.”
“She came to be with you, did she not?”
“She came to win a wager and brought half her damned family to play propriety.”
“Ah. Those young men are her brothers?”
“One of ’em is, rot him.”
“Then she is a very proper lady?”
“Damned if I know,” the other man muttered, rising to his feet and walking away.
The stranger sat deep in thought for some time, then he rose also and approached a waiter. “Direct me, if you please, to the proprietor.”
The proprietor, one Mr. Renwick, found him in the end as he strolled up one of the side paths that led to a locked gate. Behind the gate appeared to be a cottage.
“Help you?” came a peremptory voice behind him.
“I hope so,” replied the stranger. “I’m looking for a place to stay, just for a few days.”
“I don’t run a doss house!”
“My dear sir, if you did, I would not approach you. Do you have any available accommodation, or know someone nearby who has?”
“There’s the old barn,” a younger man said, emerging from the gate. “If you don’t mind the pony.”
“If the pony does not mind me, that will be acceptable,” the stranger said.
Chapter Three
Grace awoke with an inexplicable sense of relief she was at a loss to account for, until she remembered she had won the wager. And even if she had been recognized, even if it ever came out that she had attended a ball at Maida Gardens, she had done so under the escort of her brother.
And she still had the bracelet.
Today, she would decide whether to go immediately to the country or to brave her sister-in-law’s soiree first.
Henley appeared with her coffee and The Morning Post, and Grace stretched luxuriously before sitting up against the pillows. “Good morning, Henley.”
“Good morning, my lady.” The maid set the tray across her knees and began the business of preparing Grace’s dress for the day.
Grace frowned suddenly. She did still have the bracelet, didn’t she? Of course, she did. She just couldn’t remember taking it off.
“Henley, where is the bracelet I wore last night?”
“The ruby, my lady? I suppose it is back in its case in the drawer.”
“Bring it to me, will you?”
Obligingly, Henley went to the top drawer of the dressing table and took out the familiar case. She paused before she opened it as though sensing from the weight that something was wrong.
“It isn’t there, my lady.” The maid turned, showing her the empty box.
“But it must be! Didn’t you take it off my wrist?”
“No, my lady. You had already removed it before I joined you in here.”
Grace’s hand crept to her throat, a childish gesture of alarm. “But I don’t remember taking it off…”
“You’ll have thrown it a drawer without bothering about the case,” Henley said comfortingly. “Or it’s been knocked into a drawer by accident. We’ll find it in a moment.”
Of course they would.
Forcing herself to relax—the wretched bracelet had become too associated with trouble in her mind—she sipped her coffee and unfolded the newspaper.
And almost sprayed hot liquid over it. A small headline halfway down the front of the paper leapt out at her. Special envoys return from China.
Her heart thundering, she read the small paragraph twice. It stated that the special and highly successful diplomatic mission—led by Sir Geoffrey Spalding and including Mr. Matheson, Mr. Campbell, and Lord Wenning—was expected to land in Southampton this Thursday or shortly thereafter. Which meant they could be in London as soon as Friday.
She let the paper fall from her shaking hands. For two years, she had longed for this moment, for his return, so that she could at least receive some answers. Why had he changed his mind and gone to China when his place had already been filled by Mr. Campbell? Had their wedding night really been so awful, or just so dull, that he had fled the country?
Of course, with answers, no doubt, would come the formal separation she had been expecting. For she had always known in her heart that the only reason for his behavior was hatred. In which case, he should never have married her and ruined both their lives.
The reason he had married her still eluded her. She had come with a very modest dowry since her father had more debt than wealth. Wenning hadn’t needed to do it. He hadn’t needed to pretend love. She would never have…
She blinked away the emotion and the tired, old arguments that made no sense.
He was coming home, and she would need all her strength to withstand the pain. And to make him pay.
Or maybe…an insidious, voice began.
Maybe nothing, she retorted firmly. She had spent months praying for him to be sorry, to come back, even to write to her, forgiving her for whatever she had done. And during the months that followed, she finally admitted to herself she had done nothing to inspire his hatred. She was innocent, and his behavior was inexcusable. Even her father acknowledged that.
He could acknowledge it, too, or stay away from her. She didn’t much care which.
“My lady, the bracelet isn’t here,” Henley interrupted her.
Grace stared at her. Oh, no. Not now. Oh, not now when he is almost home!
*
An hour later, with every inch of the bedchamber and dressing room searched, Henley was sent to scour the stairs and passages, ask discreetly among the servants, and search the carriage. Even here in Wenning House, such discretion was necessary, for apart from Henley, all the servants were the earl’s. They could easily blab to him as soon as he came home, and Grace certainly did not want to put herself at such an immediate disadvantage in their future dealings.
In her heart, Grace knew that if the bracelet had dropped off her wrist in the house or the carriage, it would already have been found and returned. So by the time Henley came back shaking her head, Grace was seated at her desk while she tried to think.
“I must have lost it at Maida Gardens,” she said flatly. “It the ballroom, or perhaps the cloakroom.”
“When did you last notice it for certain, my lady?”
“When I was dancing.” With the man in the black and silver mask. She frowned. “After that, I don’t recall… It might have fallen off somewhere in the pavilion or on the path leading to the front gates.” And it was more than likely that if it had, it had been stolen rather than kept aside for her. All the same, it was her last chance. “I didn’t even notice that it wasn’t there when I undressed. I was so full of relief at winning the wager. It would be funny if it weren’t so maddening!”
She jumped up. “Have one of the footmen fetch me a hackney, Henley.” The staff might speculate why she was not using her own carriage, but at least they wouldn’t know where she was going or why.
“If you’re going to Maida Gardens, I’d better come with you,” Henley pronounced.
“No,” Grace said regretfully. “I think a lady with such a superior maid would draw too much attention. What happens in the Gardens during the day?”
“The ballroom is closed—apart from tea dances on Monday and Thursday, but even they are later in the day. People walk in the gardens, have picnics, or eat at tables set outside. Sometimes there are concerts or tumblers. And there are pretty fountains and a waterfall. And ices for sale. But it shouldn’t be too busy so early.”
“So, if I go straight to the ballroom, I am unlikely to be seen? I’ll wear the hat with the net veil, just to be safe.”
*
An hour later, the hackney dropped her at the open, wrought-iron gates of Maida Gardens, and, after instructing the driver to wait for her, she hurried inside. A pretty young girl sold her a ticket for a shilling.
“You can stay all day,” she assured her.
“Tell me, do you have a store of things people have lost?” Grace asked hopefully.
“You could ask Mr. Chaplin in the ballroom,” the girl said, “but I doubt you’d find anything of yours there.”
Meaning anything she might have lost would already have been sold? Grace didn’t wait to ask but hurried on up the path to the ballroom. In daylight, it all looked very different, green and pleasant, with borders of flowers that had barely been visible in the lantern light. No ruby and gold bracelet glittered from the sides of the path or among the flowers and unlit lanterns.
In the sunshine, even the pavilion showed its age and its peeling paint. The doors were all wide open to air it, but as Grace stepped in, the reek of last night’s wine and too many dancing bodies still hit her. A man was sweeping up. Two women were cleaning tables.
Since no one paid her any attention, Grace walked straight over to the table she had sat at last night, inspecting the chairs and looking on the floor beneath. Finding nothing, she walked up to the nearest woman.
“Where would I find Mr. Chaplin?”
The woman jerked her thumb to the man with the broom.
“Thank you.”
The man stopped sweeping, eying her approach with some suspicion.
“I believe I lost a bracelet here last night. I was wondering if you had found it?”
“No.”
“It was a pretty thing with r—” She only just stopped herself saying rubies, and instead said, “red-colored stones.”
“No, haven’t found anything like that.”
“If you do,” Grace said a little desperately, “would you please keep it aside for me? I will pay you well for its return.”
At last, some interest sparked in his eyes. “Got a card?” he asked. “Or I can take you to the office to write down your direction.”
“That won’t be necessary,” she said at once. “I’ll call again tomorrow. Thank you for your time.”
She walked out the nearest door and found herself on a different path. Rather than face the stench of the pavilion again, she walked a little farther along the path she was on. She was about to cut across a narrower path toward the one she wanted, when a patch of grass and a garden swing caught her attention in the other direction.
On impulse, she walked across the grass to the swing and sat down to think. Sighing, she pushed up the veil to the top of her hat.
She didn’t think she was any closer to recovering the bracelet, although the offer of money was clearly inspired. If it had been found on the premises, presumably Mr. Chaplin would wrest it from the finder and sell it back to her. She would just have to hope its true value would escape him.
She kicked out with her feet to make the chair swing. It creaked a bit but seemed strong enough. Birds sang in the nearby trees, soothing her. Even the distant voices and the occasional laughter of children sounded pleasant. She could hear the splashing of water, too—presumably, one of the fountains Henley had mentioned.
Why was she so worried about finding the wretched bracelet in any case? To her, it should have no more value than the marriage did to her husband. He had no right to complain if she had lost it during the two years he had been away. In fact, it was probably insured. He would not care.
No, she admitted to herself at last; it was she who cared. Because he had given it. Because, somewhere, she still clung to the foolishness that it had been a token of his love.
“Stupid, stupid little girl,” she murmured.
“Surely you don’t mean yourself?” another voice asked behind her, at the same time as the swing moved with a little more force. A low, soft voice with a hint of a foreign accent. Surely, the man with the black and silver mask? But when she tried to turn, he said, “No, don’t look. Unless you want me to see your face, too.”
That was a fair point. She stilled, letting him push the swing, and pleasant little flutters formed in her stomach at the motion, almost like being a child again.
“Why are you here?” he asked.
“I lost something and came back to find it. Why are you here?”
“Waiting for someone. What did you lose?”
“My bracelet. I was wearing it when I danced with you, but I believe I lost it between then and when I left.”
“But you didn’t come out here during the evening, did you?”
“No,” she replied, almost turning in surprise that he had noticed. She stopped herself in time, and the swing moved higher. But then, she remembered, she had found him watching her at least twice. Why? “Did you notice it?” she blurted.
“I noticed it on your wrist when we danced. I didn’t see you drop it. Is it valuable?”
“I don’t know. I expect so. It was a gift.”
“Sentimental value then.”
She couldn’t help it. She laughed. “Something like that.”
“Perhaps you should ask the men you were with.”
The accusation was clear, if understated, making her scoff. “They would not…” She broke off. Rollo and his friends would not take anything of hers or even stay silent if she dropped something. But Boothe was another matter. Why had he been so determined to win their stupid wager? At best, the wager was ungentlemanly. “Perhaps I should,” she said bleakly.
“Or Anthony.”
“Who is Anthony?” she asked, bewildered. “Does he work here?”
“I expect I got the name wrong. You puzzle me, madame. Why does a lady of birth and wealth come to a place like this? To a masquerade, and leave before the unmasking? To the garden and sit alone on a beautiful day, sighing in sadness? Have you no family to look after you? No husband?”
“I prefer to look after myself.” She laughed, “Though as you see, that is not going so well.”
“Talk to your husband,” he urged.
Another hiss of laughter escaped her. “Wouldn’t that be an event to behold? Are you married, sir?”
“Yes.”
“And do you cherish your wife?”
He was silent, and for want of pushing, the swing began to still.
“Sir?”
Receiving no answer, she pulled down her veil and turned her head. And saw no one at all.
She smiled unhappily. “No, then. It seems to be common among husbands.”
She wriggled off the swing and walked on toward the gate, hoping her hackney was still waiting.
As she went, she thought about the stranger, wondering who he was and what his life was like. She rather liked his odd humor and the contradictions in his nature. Last night, he had noticed her, and yet, unlike most men, he had not jumped at the chance to dance with her. It had even entered her head he would refuse her bold invitation, though in the end, he hadn’t. And today, he had appeared out of nowhere, apparently interested in her problems but not exactly thrusting himself forward to help.
