A Lady's Daring Affair, page 24
“You do yourself a disservice, Mary,” said Sarah, frowning. “You are perfectly lovely and very amiable. It is only your confidence in yourself that needs work, my dear friend.”
Mary blushed, staring down at the plate. Sarah resisted reaching across and taking her friend’s hand in her own. She knew that it would only embarrass Mary.
She gazed warmly at the slightly younger woman. She had been best friends with Lady Mary Marcus since they were girls, growing up on neighbouring estates. When they were little, they would ride their ponies together and host grand tea parties for their collections of dolls and bears. Mary was always the shyer of the pair, trailing in Sarah’s shadow, but their affection for each other had only deepened over time.
Two years ago, tragedy had struck her dear friend’s life. Her parents had been killed in a carriage accident, making Mary an orphan. It was only because her only sibling James was older and had reached his majority, inheriting the earldom of Tolmere from his late father, that she had stayed in her own home and not been farmed out to a distant relative. James was unconventional and allowed Mary a great deal of freedom. Her friend had no pressure on her to secure a marriage like Sarah did.
Sarah smiled slightly. She liked James. He was like the older brother that she had never had, teasing her mercilessly whenever he saw her. And Lord Tolmere also had the courage to live his life exactly as he wished, even if he was an earl. He filled Tolmere Manor with bohemians and artists from London and seemed in no hurry to take a wife. In fact, Sarah could not recall him ever courting a young lady at all.
“You are the sweetest friend, Sarah,” said Mary, colouring slightly. “You only say such a thing because you like me. But I do despair that I shall never make a good match. James does not push me like Mama would have done if she was still with us and sometimes, I feel like a boat with no rudder…”
Sarah’s heart tightened. “Mama loves you like another daughter, Mary. If you ever need advice from an older lady about anything, I know she would be more than happy to guide you.”
Mary smiled faintly. “I esteem Lady Rubyton. But she is busy with you, Sarah. She does not have time to advise me on gowns and etiquette.”
“Fiddlesticks,” said Sarah briskly. “You must come and stay more often, Mary. Mama will delight in taking you under her wing.” Her face darkened. “She will probably think you a far more docile study in how to be a proper lady than I.”
Mary opened her mouth to protest, but Sarah gripped her arm tightly, shaking her head.
“Do not breathe a word,” she whispered, her eyes fixed to the crowd. “Mama is on the warpath. She must have noticed that I am not on the dancefloor.”
Her mother was pushing through the crowd, her face full of thunder. She was dragging a gentleman in her wake. Sarah’s heart sank. It was Lord Maxwell, the next gentleman on her dance card. A man of eight and thirty with a balding pate and bulging eyes. Lord Maxwell also had an unfortunate habit of laughing inanely at everything, even if it wasn’t funny in the slightest.
“By Jove’s beard,” swore Sarah, hastily putting on her slippers, “it seems our idyll is over, Mary. I must dance with the dreadful Lord Maxwell.”
“He is not so very bad,” declared Mary unconvincingly.
Sarah sighed heavily. She did not even bother to contradict her friend. They both knew the truth. If only this night would end, she thought fervently.
She was already on her feet, walking towards her mother and the gentleman like a condemned prisoner towards the noose when there was a sudden shushing of the crowd. The host, Lord Clifford, was addressing the guests.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he boomed, a smile playing on his lips. “Our evening has almost reached its conclusion. But before you all depart, Lady Clifford and I have a surprise in store.” His eyes twinkled. “We believe it a fun finale to the night, dear guests. We hope you think so, too.”
He held up his hand. He was clutching a white masquerade mask. The crowd spontaneously started clapping.
Sarah turned excitedly to Mary. “A masquerade! Oh, what fun!”
“There are enough masks for all,” smiled Lord Clifford. “Please, ladies and gentlemen, take one and become someone else entirely. Become whoever you wish to be.” He paused dramatically, his eyes twinkling wickedly. “At least for the next dance.”
Sarah gripped Mary’s hand, veering right, away from where her mother and Lord Maxwell were standing.
“Come on,” she whispered. “Let us get masks. This is the only exciting part of the evening. And I shall not waste it dancing with Lord Maxwell, to be sure.”
Chapter 3
Ten minutes prior to Lord Clifford’s surprise announcement, Arthur Colton, the Viscount Nordarken, was sipping his champagne as he gazed around the ballroom with eyes frosted over with boredom. It was always like this when he socialised on his infrequent visits to Bath to visit his father. He was rather more used to the constant buzz of London society.
He turned to his friend, Captain John Morgan, who was standing by his side, sipping his own champagne.
“How on earth do you endure it, Morgan?” he muttered, shaking his head ruefully. “It is all so very tedious.”
Captain Morgan smiled slightly. “Are you already yearning for the sparkle of London, my friend? You have only been in the district for two days.”
“Two days too long,” declared Arthur, draining his champagne. “Can you remind me again of why I let you drag me to this infernal ball in the sticks? It does not even have the allure of being held in Bath.” He took a deep breath, “At least in that venerable city we might have skulked away to end the night at a club.”
Captain Morgan sighed heavily. “You are very difficult to please nowadays, Lord Nordarken. I declare that London has given you the attention span of a gnat. The Clifford Midsummer ball is one of the prime events of the season.” His eyes narrowed. “Why are you not sampling all of the lovely young ladies on offer? I thought you would have been filling dance cards left, right and centre.”
Arthur pondered this question, his eyes sweeping over the assembly. His friend was not lying – there were many pretty looking young ladies in attendance. He was vaguely acquainted with a few of them from his other visits to the area over the years ever since his father, the Earl of Halwell, had decided quite abruptly to buy a townhouse and spend most of his time in this area. The Earl had declared that he was heartily sick of London and that the waters of Bath would be beneficial in managing his rheumatism.
Arthur had hardly questioned his father’s decision. It meant that the enormous house on Grosvenor Square in London could become his very own bachelor pad. He spent his time attending a dizzying array of social engagements, even when the official season was over and the ton deserted the city in droves. He had a very exciting life there indeed. So exciting, in fact, that perhaps it had spoiled him for any other place in England.
He took another glass of champagne from a passing servant. “There are some tolerable young ladies in attendance,” he stated thoughtfully, “but they all have the look of the fresh-faced milkmaid about them. I am used to rather more sophisticated ladies in London, my friend.”
“You are harsh on our local ladies, indeed,” laughed Captain Morgan.
Arthur shrugged. “I just say it as I find it, Morgan. I run in far more cosmopolitan circles, and the ladies are so very beautiful and chic that these country ladies seem insufferably boring by comparison.” He sipped his champagne. “It is not just the look of them, my friend. When I try to make conversation with any of them, they titter like sparrows and drone on about their infernal gowns and papa’s horses. They do not have any of the conversational skills of the London ladies in my acquaintance, who can quite comfortably talk of art, literature and even philosophy.”
Captain Morgan shrugged helplessly. “What can I say? The young ladies of this district are not taught to be cultured free-thinkers, my friend. Their parents would never allow such a thing. They are taught to know their place and to quickly secure a matrimonial match. It is hardly their fault they are not familiar with a wide range of topics and quite frankly most of the gentlemen in this district are quite happy with that.”
“I do not blame them for it,” said Arthur, shrugging as well. “It just leaves me cold, that is all. They are all so very proper and conventional.”
“Very good qualities in a wife though, would you not agree?” Captain Morgan gazed steadily at his friend. “I know that your father is pressuring you ever so slightly to settle down, and a country lady might be just the ticket.”
Arthur grimaced. “My father might be dropping hints about matrimony with the subtlety of a hammer, my friend, but that does not mean that I am ready for such a thing.” He grinned. “Anything I can get in the marital bed I can get through other means. Why pay for the cow when the milk is free-flowing?”
Captain Morgan laughed outright. “You are a cad, Nordarken! I think any young lady must tremble for her virtue around you, my friend.”
Arthur laughed as well. “I am always a gentleman, Morgan. Any lady who comes to my bed does so completely willingly. I do not seduce trembling maidens who might turn and rue the fact afterwards.” He paused. “I never have, and I never will.”
“Lord Nordarken.” A female voice, high and fluttery.
He turned around hastily. A middle-aged lady was standing there, gripping the arm of a younger one probably in her late teens or early twenties. They were obviously mother and daughter. They had the same aquiline noses and small, darting, hazel-coloured eyes. The younger one smiled, exposing a row of sharp, almost feline looking teeth.
He suppressed a shudder. They were not a handsome pair. But they were obviously well bred and wealthy, judging by the quality of their dress and accoutrements. Very expensive diamonds dangled from the lobes of the young lady and there was a veritable fortune of them hanging around her neck.
He bowed slightly. “Madam.”
“Pray, do you not remember me, My Lord?” continued the middle-aged lady, in the same breathless voice. “I am Lady Danvers. We were introduced at the Tomkins soiree a year ago. May I introduce my daughter, Penelope?”
“Oh, of course, Lady Danvers,” said Arthur quickly, trying to place the lady. He couldn’t recall ever having met her before. He turned to her daughter, bowing. “And Lady Penelope.”
“My Lord,” said Lady Penelope, sweeping into a curtsey.
“May I introduce my friend, Captain John Morgan,” continued Arthur. “Captain Morgan is currently on leave from active service in France.”
“A soldier,” said Lady Danvers, smiling benignly at Captain Morgan. “How perfectly exciting.”
There was an awkward pause. Both ladies were gazing at him expectantly.
Damnation,thought Arthur. They are wanting me to ask Lady Penelope to dance. How can I get out of it without causing offence?
But just at that moment, there was a rustle amongst the crowd, who were all turning towards the front of the room. Lord Clifford, the host for the evening, had stood up and was speaking. With relief, Arthur turned around as well. A reprieve, at least for the moment.
As Lord Clifford spoke, a slow smile spread over Arthur’s face. At last, some excitement. An impromptu masquerade. Eagerly, he pushed through the crowd to retrieve a mask from one of the servants. Maybe it wasn’t going to be such a dull evening in the Bath district after all.
***
Having secured his mask to his face, Arthur slid into the crowd without looking at anyone. He would wait on the side lines until everyone who was so inclined had secured a mask and then slip back into the mix to make his choice.
He felt a frisson of excitement shudder down his spine. Masquerade balls were one of his favourite forms of entertainment. He loved the anonymity the masks gave everyone. Masquerade balls had been raised to a fine art in London. They were often themed, and could turn rather risqué. Only two weeks ago he had attended one at a grand Regent Street townhouse where everyone had been in ancient Roman attire. Togas and vestal virgins had abounded. It had been a great romp.
He watched the crowd covertly. There was an expectant air in the room. Those that did not wish to partake were hastily leaving the main room, with disapproval on their faces. Most were older ladies and gentlemen who thought the sport immoral. They did not like that the young people could freely mingle and dance without proper introductions. Why, their precious sons and daughters could be dancing with anyone.
That is part of the excitement, thought Arthur, grinning to himself, a chance to be someone not quite yourself. The endless possibilities…
He slid into the crowd, weaving amongst them, his eyes as keen as a hawk. Suddenly, he spied a tall lady with gold ringlets, dressed in a glaring magenta gown. Her face was covered in a lacy white mask, but he could clearly discern the features of Miss Diana Harrington. He smiled slowly. Diana was the bluestocking daughter of an old associate of his, Mr. Edwin Harrington, who frequented London’s gambling dens. Harrington happened to owe him quite a bit of coin from the card table. Perhaps he could ascertain where exactly her father was to shake him a bit. As well as having a bit of fun on the way. Diana was a free thinker, believing in the emancipation of women in all areas of life.
She was also rather gorgeous.
He struck out towards her determinedly. If only he had known that Diana was in attendance this evening, it might not have been so dull in other ways. A private walk in the gardens, beneath the moonlight before whisking her into a secluded spot…?
But just as he was almost upon the lady, his vision was arrested by another who had strayed into his path. He stopped short with a jolt, gazing upon her.
She was of average height with a lithe figure. Long arms, and a swan-like neck. A tumble of glossy, caramel coloured curls framed her face and her skin was flawless with a slightly rosy tint to it. She was dressed in a lilac silk gown which emphasised her creamy bust, which was almost spilling from her neckline. At that moment, she turned warm, brown eyes the exact shade of melted chocolate towards him, regarding him almost quizzically. She was wearing a black mask which completely obscured most of her face.
His heart stopped beating for just a fraction of a second as he beheld her.
She is so luscious, he thought. Those eyes. An invitation to sin.
Abruptly all thoughts of Miss Diana Harrington drifted out of his mind entirely.
Her chin tilted upright as she opened her fan, waving it in front of her face. With a slightly disdainful glance at him, she turned away.
Haughty too. A challenge?
He simply could not resist.
He stepped forward quickly, blocking her path.
“Madam,” he said, bowing low and ostentatiously. “You are like an angel fallen from heaven itself.” A pause as his eyes swept over her almost insolently. “A most divine creature indeed. Can I persuade you to dance…just for a little while?”
Her chocolate brown eyes widened with surprise. He saw the hesitation within her. This young lady was obviously not used to being addressed in such a blatantly sensual manner. Would she slap his face and march in the opposite direction? He braced himself for the sting.
But it never came. Instead, she took a deep breath as if for courage and nodded slowly.
“Yes,” she said breathlessly. “Yes, I shall dance with you.”
He felt a stab of triumph. Before she could change her mind, he held out his arm to her and swept her onto the dancefloor, just as the orchestra started playing the last song of the evening.
There were couples everywhere, safely anonymous in their masks. Fittingly, it was a waltz. The most intimate of dances, and the most perfect excuse to pull a lady just that little bit closer.
Arthur didn’t hesitate for a moment. With another shiver of excitement, he drew the young lady close and spun her around the floor.
