Masquerade Read online

  “Would you like some?” Rachel held the vial out, but Sophie shook her head. “Are you certain? It wouldn’t hurt to add some rouge to those cheeks. You look positively white, Sophie.” The smile turned to a frown. Rachel leaned forward and attempted to place her wrist against Sophie’s forehead. “Are you unwell?”

  Sophie waved her off. “Certainly not, although your concern is quite sisterly. No, I am not ill…I am—oh, I don’t know what I am.” There were no other ladies in the room at present, but Sophie lowered her voice anyhow. “I guess I was more excited by the idea of the dance rather than the actual event itself. I feel wrung out from the drive over. Father will be gathering us together before too long to toss us back into the carriage so we may make another near-death trip back the way we came. To top it off, the weather is so terrible hardly anyone will show up tonight. Why have we bothered at all?”

  “Don’t get yourself all worked up! I hate to see you like this; I am usually the one who is all aflutter, not you. It unsettles me to see you so…well, to find you so unsettled. Isn’t that senseless?” Rachel patted her hand soothingly, and for an instant it was almost as if they had exchanged roles.

  “You’re right. I’m sorry for being such a crank. I suppose I am living up to my station, being a spinster and so long on the shelf.”

  Rachel looked scandalized. “Hush, Sophie! Don’t you dare say things like that about yourself! I won’t hear it, I tell you. It’s not right—you are not a spinster and certainly not on the shelf. Why, if you won’t take mine and Penny’s advice and consider Colin a suitable marriage candidate, you will simply have to look around and choose someone else to fall in love with.”

  Colin. Between his morning’s soaking and the afternoon trip he planned to take to visit an old school chum, he probably wouldn’t even make an appearance at the dance. Too busy, or too tired from all his traipsing around in the sleety wet weather.

  She said as much. “You and Penny must stop your girlish prattle. Besides, I doubt Colin will even be here tonight. He had an engagement earlier today, so who knows where he is stuck in this weather?”

  Both women turned, and stared into the blowing white mess outside the window. The snow seemed to have picked up considerably. Icy pellets hit the glass pane at random intervals.

  Sophie shivered, despite the warmth of the room. A fire blazed in the hearth, but it did nothing to quell the chill in her heart at the thought of Colin out in the blizzard. She hoped he had the good sense to stay put—wherever “put” was.

  “I do hope he isn’t stuck anywhere. And I’m sorry. I promised myself I wouldn’t bring Colin up again in any conversation with a romantic tone. I have already broken my promise, and it is only hours old! Oh, Sophie, whatever am I going to do with myself? I have the best intentions, not only for myself but for those I love, but I still make a bumblebroth of things without meaning to.”

  “Don’t apologize, dear. You are young, and will find your way into your own skin sooner or later.” Sophie gave one of Rachel’s ringlets a gentle tug. It extended, and then bounced back into place. She smiled. “I know you don’t have a mean bone in your body, Rachel. You only want what is best for all of us, and we all see that.” She stood and brushed a palm down the front of her green gown. “Now, let’s see who has arrived, what kinds of refreshments are being served, and, perhaps most importantly, which eligible bachelors have braved the storm for the opportunity to dance their frozen toes off!”

  She turned and headed for the bedroom door, but Rachel stopped her.

  “Wait—Sophie, your mask.” Rachel caught her up and quickly handed one of the identical black silk-and-ostrich-feather masks to her. They tied at the back of the wearer’s head with black ribbons, and were so wide and concealing they easily hid most facial features from view. “It is a masked dance, remember?”

  “Of course,” she said with a resigned sigh. An idea struck her as she tied her disguise into place. If no one could see her face, they wouldn’t recognize her. That meant no one should be the wiser about her having worn the dratted green gown so many times!

  A masked dance—yes, it is just the thing I need to start this year on good footing. Who knows? Perhaps I shall meet the man of my dreams tonight…

  Sophie knew it was more likely snowflakes would turn to sunbeams than she would meet her hero at the dance. Still, she could not help but imagine that it could, in fact, happen.

  There was always room for hope, wasn’t there?

  ****

  Colin paced the comfortable, well-appointed room like a caged animal. Enough pent-up energy coursed through him that he thought he might bounce off the walls like a child’s ball gone astray if given the chance. Part of his tension was excitement, but that was only a small portion of his energy. The majority of it was annoyance, and plenty of it.

  How could he have been so careless? When a calling card arrived yesterday from John Turnball, the Duke of Leicester, he was elated to hear his old schoolmate was in town. The invitation to spend New Year’s afternoon in John’s company had seemed the perfect opportunity to catch up as well as bandy about some more recent ideas, things about which Colin had no one else to confer.

  Blasted weather! Why does it have to snow now, of all times?

  Colin fisted one hand and smashed it against the heavy wooden window frame. Beyond the pane of glass, snow and ice fell so swiftly they effectively hid the street from view. There was no way he was going to make it to the dance.

  He could have kicked himself for being so foolish. Putting more distance between himself and the Atwood residence had been foolhardy at best—just plain stupid when it came right down to it.

  A fine way to turn over my New Year’s resolution!

  “Don’t break your hand, my dear fellow,” John teased from the doorway. He looked cool as ice, and completely unbothered by the nasty weather. “I see you are at sixes and sevens, but my window framing is much harder than the bones in your fist. Or even your skull, if I might venture to guess. I would wager your hand will crack before the wood, so you had best control yourself if you plan on using that hand to hold your partner’s during any of the evening’s dances.”

  John Turnball had not changed much over the years since the two men had seen each other last. He had always been aware of his family’s wealth, and wore it like a costly woolen cloak about his shoulders. While neither haughty nor proud, John simply had an air about him that bespoke of his affluence.

  He was accustomed to getting what he wanted, and with a minimum of fuss.

  Colin’s admission with regard to his feelings for a certain young woman had brought initial celebratory exclamations from the duke. Then, when he found his friend in need of some romantic advice, and possible hands-on direction, he took it upon himself to assist Colin in making his New Year’s resolution come true.

  “Dancing? Good God, man, don’t you have eyes?” Colin slapped his palm against the cold windowpane. He did not hit it hard enough to damage the wavery glass, but it did shudder in its frame so that they heard a slight rattle. “There will be no dancing for us tonight. That is, unless we partner each other. And, while you are a good friend—almost like a brother to me, honestly—I must admit I do not fancy you enough, John, to dance with you.”

  John threw his head back and laughed, the reverberation momentarily filling the room. They were in his private library, and the book-lined shelves seemed to absorb the hearty sound. When silence fell again, he shook his head and clucked his tongue against the roof of his mouth.

  “Oh, ye of little faith. I am surprised at you, Colin. Where is your fortitude? Your stamina? Your sense of adventure? Come on, man, have you turned into a milksop?”

  A milksop indeed! There were many barbs, jibes, and taunts he could bear with equanimity, but he could not stand by and be insulted—not even from the man across the room. Before he turned from the window, Colin caught an image of the duke reflected in the glass. The grin the other man wore put his teeth together so hard his
jaw hurt.

  Colin turned and let the draperies fall closed at his back. Better for the digestion, as well as his blood pressure, to not see the white mess.

  “My fortitude, stamina, and sense of adventure are all intact, I assure you.” Colin strode across the room, and then folded himself with an annoyed grunt into a wingback chair. Crossing one ankle over the opposite knee, he slapped his hand against his thigh and said, “In addition, and possibly of much greater importance, my mental facilities are entirely without obvious fault. In short, John, I may be as daring as the next fellow—and I assure you I am—but I am not an ass. It would be nothing short of suicide to attempt to make it to the Atwell’s. I may be adventurous, but I’m not stupid. There will be no dancing for us tonight, I’m afraid to say.”

  It peeved him that all his careful consideration and the well-rehearsed bits of intriguing—or so he hoped—conversation had been a waste of time and energy. He was not a man who frittered either away under ordinary circumstances, so to have done so now—when the stakes were so high—seemed a complete folly. It irked him more than he cared to admit, even to himself.

  Colin’s parents had never been rich, but their table had never been empty and their accounts were settled by the first of every month. His father had been the second son so the entailment went to his brother, Colin’s uncle Gerald. Uncle Gerald had neither wife nor children, so the estate might shift in the event of his death, but, to his knowledge, neither of Colin’s parents had ever considered that possibility an opportunity. The family did not possess a title, and no one danced barefoot on a floor covered with sovereigns, but theirs was a happy home, and Penny and Colin had never felt the lack of anything.

  It was his sole desire to marry a woman he loved, have a family and experience the contentment and companionship his parents enjoyed. Colin believed he had figured out how to get those items, or at the very least find his feet on the path to their attainment. Tonight was to have been the night when he took his first steps toward lifelong fulfillment.

  Of course, that plan was shot.

  Botheration! How could I have been so daft as to maroon myself in this snow?

  The duke crossed the room. He sat in the chair opposite the one Colin occupied. Propping his elbows on the arms of the chair, he steepled his fingers and stared thoughtfully at his fingertips.

  Finally, the duke looked up at Colin. “You have got it bad, haven’t you?”

  “Got what?”

  John didn’t answer. Instead, he said, “I have never seen you act so cork-brained over a woman before. It is odd to see you in such a state…odd and, at the very same time, alarming. You seem…”

  Colin shot him a warning glance. He had not forgotten the milkqusop comment. Duke or no, John had better watch his mouth if he didn’t want to sport a bloody nose the first day of the year.

  Fortunately, John’s mind wasn’t on insults. He finished his thought with a snap of his fingers. “Distracted! That’s it—you are utterly distracted by this woman. I have known you to be focused, almost annoyingly so, through the years and have never had the opportunity to see you thusly scatterbrained. Why, had the woman not been on your mind, you probably would have noted the impending storm early on, and would have stayed at home or planned to forego the dance. But you did neither. Why?” John raised his eyebrows and grinned. Then, he snapped his fingers a second time. “Because you are distracted—to the point of absolute distraction! Oh, Colin, it is something I never thought I would see.”

  His friend’s discovery did not amuse Colin. If anything, he grew more annoyed with each passing moment.

  “What of it? So I’m distracted—doesn’t everyone find themselves in that state at least one time in their lives? I dare say you must have known your share of distraction. Why, if I recall you spent most of our third year at school completely sidetracked by…oh, what was that girl’s name? You know the one; she had curly red hair and freckles, and thought you were Hercules. Her name was—”

  “Bernice,” John supplied with a grin. “And your memory serves you well. She was an out-and-out distraction, and did nothing good for my grades that year. Oh well…” He gave a shrug. “What can you do when young love bites you on the cheek? But you, Colin…this young woman of yours must be a tempting armful.”

  His friend’s insinuation raised his temper a notch. “I don’t give a groat about her looks,” he spat.

  John would not be diverted. “Are you saying she’s ugly?”

  “No! Of course not. She is lovely.” Colin balled a fist by his side. It was an unconscious gesture, of little practical consequence. He would no sooner actually strike John than the Prince Regent. “Sophie is not ugly—not by any stretch, and I would appreciate it if you do not inply as much again. She is lovely, I assure you. Just lovely.”

  A snort of derision was the first reply. “Humph. So all her loveliness, it does not matter a fig to you?” John grinned. Playing devil’s advocate had come naturally to him as a teenager. With age, he had grown even more accomplished at the deed.

  “I did not say that,” Colin said. There was so much more to Sophie than her good looks, so much which hid beneath her calm exterior and pulled him to her like a moth to a flame. “She is pretty, that’s true, but she is smart and funny, and we understand each other. We’re friends, John. I have built my attraction for her on that basis. We’re friends.”

  Or they had been. Once. Before he’d taken her in his arms, felt her smooth skin beneath his fingertips, the press of firm breasts against his chest, inhaled the—

  “Well, do you propose to sit there all night and think of her, or do you plan to dance her toes red? Which will it be?”

  Colin hated being trapped but short of eating his way to the dance, one wet, icy mouthful at a time, he could see no way out. His old carriage would never cut through the slushy mess.

  “Don’t annoy me further,” he said softly. “I am already well past my normal good temper.”

  “Then let’s get going.” John leaned forward, waggled his eyebrows like someone who has a secret they cannot keep any longer, and laughed. He slapped Colin on the knee before he stood up. “I spoke with my groom. He assures me the new carriage and team of horses I purchased only last month will cut through this snowy mess like a hot knife through butter. There is no reason we will not make this party. That is, unless you have changed your mind…”

  Colin stood so fast he knocked against a side table. He was not usually a clumsy man, but the day’s highs and lows had taken their toll. “No—but I do not have anything to wear save the clothes on my back. And my mask—the damn thing is still at home—”

  When John put an arm around his shoulder and ushered him toward the doorway, Colin went willingly. John sometimes had hare-brained schemes, but they were never designed to hurt anyone. If he said his coach would make it through the snow, Colin believed him. Besides, even if they were stuck halfway between the duke’s house and the Atwell’s, he’d be that much closer to Sophie.

  John led the way to the main staircase. They ascended, each still lost in thought.

  Finally, the duke said, “I have more than enough evening clothes for both of us, my friend. And I’m sure my valet bought more than one mask, so you will have your choice of those. All I ask is that when you and Miss Teasdale are wed, I will be there to kiss the bride on the cheek before anyone else claims the honor. Do we have a deal?”

  Colin’s shoulders lifted. He no longer felt the weight of his situation dragging his mood down. “You assume she will say yes. She may not, you know.”

  “I think she will. You’re a good man, Colin. Any woman would be proud to have you.”

  “I don’t have a title. I’m not a duke. I am not even a viscount.”

  They had reached the top of the stairs and stood on the landing. Below them, the ornate first floor spread out like rooms in a museum. Sparkling chandeliers, marble statues and priceless rugs showed clearly a peer’s standard of living.

  Colin had no d
esire to be anyone other than who he was, but he was smart enough to know that some women only opened their hearts to men with the means to keep them in high style.

  John turned a serious face to him. “A title does not make the man. My father told me from the time I was in leading strings that the man makes the title. That is what I have always strived to do, because I believe he was correct. You have more class than many peers. Never let the lack of a title hold you back from attaining what you most want. So, do I get that first post-nuptial kiss?”

  Grinning, Colin nodded. “You do—but only after I get my first post-nuptial kiss!”

  Chapter 3

  Lord and Lady Atwell’s London home was not nearly as big as some, but none would consider it tiny. While it lacked the opulence of Buckingham Palace—and what residence didn’t?—it was not so plain that it did not possess charm.

  On an evening when the weather was more a background issue than the point at the center of everyone’s attention, driving up to the porticoed entrance would have been a grand affair. Massive white columns stood on either side of the front door, and visitors—had they not dashed inside to avoid being pelted by sleet—seemed almost minuscule when standing beside the impressive posts.

  Inside the home, there was more a country feel, which smack dab in the center of Town was disarmingly welcoming. No one entered Woodhaven without feeling embraced, a trait every guest suspected the home picked up from its owners.

  Dressed in a shimmering iridescent blue gown, Lady Atwell greeted guests as they came down the front staircase. Many upstairs bedrooms were occupied by friends, relations, and those whose travel distance was too far to comfortably be called a day’s ride, and a steady stream of elegantly dressed, masked guests descended to the foyer. She greeted each one by name—whispered in an ear, of course, to preserve identities. Some even received hugs after the customary bows and curtsies had been exchanged.