Chapter One
Cassandra and Malcom
One afternoon in late February, and Lady Cassandra Granshire, aged nineteen, was sitting in the drawing room with her mother and father. She was subtly tapping her foot in time as her younger sister Margaret skillfully played one of Beethoven’s beautiful sonatas on the pianoforte. The notes floated through the air as Cassandra watched her sister’s fingers dance elegantly across the keys, a tinge of wistfulness in her gaze. She herself had a moderate talent at the instrument, but Margaret’s innate artistry when sitting at the keyboard often made her own efforts feel clumsy in comparison.
“Oh, very good, darling!” cried their mother, Lady Caroline Granshire, clapping her hands and bestowing a beaming smile on her youngest daughter despite the tear of emotion in her eye. Margaret, just sixteen and on the verge of her come out, was seated at the pianoforte in the corner of the drawing room, her round, dimpled cheeks flushed with pleasure.
“Thank you, Mama,” she replied with a demure nod. To Cassandra, she appeared to expect nothing less as her due.
“She really is rather a prodigy,” Lord Granshire, the girls’ father happily agreed, his craggy, handsome, bewhiskered face split into a satisfied grin. “I don’t know where she gets her talent from because it’s certainly not from my side of the family. Tone deaf, the lot of us Granshires. Yet our little Maggie always manages to move me whether she plays a funeral march or a country jig. Well played, Maggie!”
“Thank you, Papa, that is very kind of you, but would you please not call me Maggie? I am nearly at my come out, and I wish to be seen as sophisticated young lady, not a little girl, thank you,” Margaret said, frowning slightly at her father.
“Oh dear, silly old papa, eh? I’ll try to remember, though it is hard to think of my little Maggie as being so grown up,” the jovial marquess said, looking sheepish.
“Papa!” Margaret huffed, closing the piano. Papa appeared suitably chastened.
“Well, I was not such a bad player in my youth if you recall, dear,” his wife suddenly reminded him. “And my mother was an excellent player too. That must be where she gets her musical talent from. But to be sure, Margaret exceeds us all in skill,” she added, dabbing her eyes with a small handkerchief. “Every note she plays seems to touch one’s heart.”
“Yes, that really was beautiful, Maggi—I mean, Margaret,” Cassandra said at last, sending her sister a smile of approval and a smattering of applause. “You must have practiced very hard.”
“Oh, not really,” Maggie said, casually dismissive. “Once I start playing, I just seem to feel the tune inside me.”
Envy, as Cassandra well knew, was one of the seven deadly sins. Nevertheless, with Maggie’s disclaimer and all the praise being heaped upon her, lauding her musical skill, she felt an undeniable twinge of that ugly emotion in her heart, accompanied by a sense of guilt. She loved Maggie and sincerely admired her sister’s musical abilities on the pianoforte. She was proud of her, and she did not want to be a bad sister.
However, it did seem unfair that while Maggie’s talents should so often draw praise and attention from their parents, her own talent and interest in singing was largely ignored and labeled a mere pastime. Maggie’s talent was nurtured by the hire of specially selected music teachers, but Cassandra’s appeal for a singing teacher had been laughed off. And now that Maggie’s come out ball was imminent, Cassandra knew her sister would be getting even more of her fair share of the limelight than ever.
She was in her sister’s shadow, and the little twinge of envy refused to budge.
The following Friday was the first of March, when the London Season, which had languidly begun to roll out in January, got into its social stride. The day had been deemed by the Marquess and Marchioness of Granshire as perfect for throwing a ball to celebrate their youngest daughter’s official entry into society.
The frenzy of preparations for the ball, the arranging the catering, the wine, the décor of the ballroom, the music, the obtaining of the many boxes of beeswax candles for the chandeliers, not to mention the interminable shopping trips into town for dress fittings and the like for the ladies of the house, had built to a fever pitch by the Friday night of the ball. The crème de la crème of English society would be attending, and Lady Granshire was insistent that everything had to be just so.
Having finished her toilette with the help of her lady’s maid Anna, and being satisfied with her appearance, Cassandra finally stepped out of her chamber. As she made her way along the hallway to see if her mother and Maggie were ready, the very air seemed to thrum with pent-up excitement and expectation. Maggie’s chamber door was ajar. Hearing voices, Cassandra paused outside before peeping through the crack to see inside. Maggie was standing in front of the long looking glass.
“You look a picture, Milady,” said Doreen, one of the two lady’s maids who were fussing over Maggie, who was looking every inch the fresh, young debutante in her high-waisted, puffed-sleeved dress of pale satin. It was prettily set off by its pink sash, and the trimming of rich braid made from tiny seed pearls shone in the lamplight. The pearls matched perfectly with Maggie’s earrings, choker, and pair of bracelets, as well as the hairpins securing her mass of fair curls atop her head in an elegant style. “But let me just adjust the bow at the back again to make sure it’s straight,” the maid added.
“Thank you, Doreen, it is very important to get every detail right,” Maggie told her, her face deadly serious as the maid went about her task.
Cassandra knew that getting such small details ‘right’ was what her sister cared about almost more than anything else. She wondered why she was not more like the neat and obedient Maggie, who appeared to thrive on the strict social rules of the Ton which Cassandra found both restrictive and ridiculous. Maggie did not share her craving for experience and adventure, being much more traditional in her tastes. But Cassandra was determined to be supportive of Maggie, as was her duty. It was her big night, after all.
She continued to watch unseen while the other maid, Milly, held up two tiny crystal flasks of perfume for Maggie’s inspection.
“Which shall it be, Milady?” she asked with a smile. “Rose and geranium or gardenia. The gardenia is lovely,” she added, taking a gentle sniff before offering the vials up to Maggie’s delicate nostrils.
“My, it surely is,” Maggie agreed, smelling the vial. “I have not worn it before, but I think it is a little more grown up. I shall wear the gardenia.”
“A wise choice, Milady,” Milly replied, putting one vial aside and opening the other. “Now, hold still a moment, I must not get this on your dress, for it will never come out.” She carefully dabbed the scent behind Maggie’s ears and wrists with the glass stopper before putting a few drops on her hair.
“There,” Milly said at last as both maids stood back to admire their handiwork. “You shall be the belle of the ball, Milady!”
“Aye, all the gentlemen will be staring at you, Milady,” Doreen added with a mischievous air.
“Well, one hopes to make a good impression at one’s debut,” Maggie said excitedly, admiring her appearance in the glass. “However, as Mama says, the Season is a serious business, and I would still like to attract a suitor by the end of it if I can. I do not want to be like my sister, still single and starting my second Season. Since it is such bad form for a younger sister to be wed before her elder, I fear that if she does not find one soon, I shall never be able to marry. Sometimes, I think she is doing it on purpose to vex me.”
“Why, I am sure that is not the case, Milady,” Milly said, gaining a vehement nod of agreement from Doreen. “Lady Cassie would never do such a thing, I am sure. She wants only the best for you.”
“Perhaps this will be her lucky year too,” Doreen suggested. “Just think, Milady, we could be looking forward to having two weddings at the end of the Season!”
“Oh, Lord, that would be even worse,” Maggie opined. “I should like my wedding to be the best of the year. I would not wish to be overshadowed by having to share the limelight.”
Cassandra stifled a gasp. Maggie had voiced her concerns about her still being single many times to her face, as had their mother. Maggie genuinely feared her marriage prospects would suffer from Cassandra’s failure to find a suitor last Season. Nevertheless, to hear her sister gossiping about it with the maids was hurtful. Did none of them think she had her own dreams for romance? Was it her fault if Mr. Right—who would be a passionate lover of music like her, of course—had not yet shown his face and bedazzled her as she wished to be bedazzled?
But she put her hurt feelings aside, remembering her duty to Maggie as her older sister on this important night. Taking a deep breath and plastering a smile on her face, she pushed open the door and stepped into the room.
“My you do look lovely, Sister,” she said, noticing the slightly guilty looks on the girls’ faces as she entered. “That dress fits perfectly. You are bound to attract much favorable attention and make a good impression.”
“Thank you, Sister. You look very pretty too,” Maggie replied, giving Cassandra a small smile. Their mother came in then. Clad in purple silk, long feathers in her hair, she bustled over to Maggie, wreathed in smiles, ignoring Cassandra.
“Oh, Margaret, you look very pretty indeed,” she gushed. “Was I not correct about that pearl beading? I must say, you do your father and I much credit. We are so proud of you. Now, the guests have begun arriving already. We shall greet them, and I shall send up a footman to tell you when to make your grand entrance on the staircase.”
“Very well, Mama. I am ready, I think,” Maggie said animatedly, clearly looking forward to making an impact on the Ton.
“Can I wait with her, Mama? I can escort her down the stairs,” Cassandra offered, keen to escape greeting duties. He mother turned a frown on her.
“No, of course not, Cassie. You are required downstairs, to help greet the guests as they come in. Come along,” she said in no uncertain terms, hurrying from the room.
Cassandra knew it was no good arguing. “I shall see you shortly, Maggie. I am sure your entrance will be a great success,” she assured her sister before trotting after Lady Granshire.
“Now, remember, dear, this is your second Season,” her mother said as they headed for the main landing. As she sighed internally, over the bannister, Cassandra could now see her father greeting the first of the guests as the butler sent them though. There was a low hum of conversation and music playing in the background from the small orchestra stationed in the ballroom. “Remember your duties. Help your sister to make good introductions tonight, and while you’re at it, find yourself a suitor whom your father and I can approve of, by the end of the Season, please. Now, keep in mind what I have told you before. Gentlemen like a lady to be agreeable, not contrary and argumentative and full of her own opinions. This is Margaret’s night, so allow her to enjoy the attention and do nothing to spoil it for her by being too outspoken or making a spectacle of yourself. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Mama, I understand,” Cassandra said, a little hurt to be thought of as so potentially selfish. “But you know, I want Maggie to have a wonderful time too, one she will remember forever.”
“Good, because Papa and I are relying on you to do your bit in making sure Margaret meets the right people. Now, come along, we must join your father on greeting duties,” she finished, leading Cassandra over to where the Marquess was standing, shaking the hands of the elderly Lord and Lady Carlisle and their extensive retinue. She gave the couple a deep and respectful curtsy, earning a rare smile of approval from Lady Carlisle.
Greeting duties were interrupted when the majority of the guests had arrived. Lady Granshire stood halfway up the staircase and rang a spoon against a crystal tumbler to alert the gathering to her daughter’s imminent entrance. Cassandra and the guests watched from below as the maidenly vision that was Maggie appeared at the top of the stairs. There were gasps of admiration and applause as Maggie, who did indeed look the picture of radiant feminine beauty, tripped smoothly down the stairs in what Cassandra knew was a well-practiced motion. She was received with much apparent admiration and soon disappeared into the ballroom, swallowed up by an adoring crowd.
Cassandra followed, making her way through the gathered guests, ready to attend Maggie and ensure she met only the right wealthy, eligible young bachelors in the room. It was galling to think that little Maggie was now all grown up and formally a member of High Society, which Cassandra looked upon with derision for the limited opportunities it provided for more intrepid young ladies like herself.
She soon joined Maggie at their mother’s side, ready to be the dutiful sister. She was amused by the procession of young men waiting to be introduced to Maggie before fawning at her feet and frantically scribbling their names on her dance card at the first available opening. Since they could hardly ignore Cassandra without being found outright rude, she found her own dance card quickly filling up too.
“I hope you do not intend to steal any of my possible suitors,” Maggie whispered to her in a quieter moment. “You should be looking at the older gentlemen, should you not? They are more suitable for your age group.”
“Maggie! You are the limit sometimes. Of course, I am not going to steal your suitors! And I’ll remind you that I am only nineteen. That is hardly at death’s door,” Cassandra defended herself, annoyed, at the pressure her sister did not seem to realize she was putting her under, as well as amused.
“Well, if you have to dance with them, the least you can do is talk about me and say what an accomplished young lady I am,” Maggie said.
“Oh, I will, you can be sure of that,” Cassandra promised, her ironic tone flying right over Maggie’s head.
“And when you speak of me, please refer to me as Margaret.”
“Oh, all right. If it pleases you, Milady,” Cassandra said, bobbing a mock curtsy. She noticed the edges of Maggie’s lips curling upward. She added, “But whatever you do, do not laugh. The consequences could be disastrous. People could see that the prim and proper Lady Margaret is really a laughing little imp.”
Maggie burst out into tinkling laughter, immediately covering her mouth to stifle it. “Stop teasing me, Cassie. We must both be on our best behaviour,” she said when she had stopped giggling. “When we read about tonight in the gossip columns, I want my debut to be deemed a great success by all of London, and you must be a part of that.”
Cassandra had no time to think on Maggie’s words because at that moment, their father got up on the podium by the orchestra and declared the dance floor officially open.
“And the first dance is to be a cotillion,” he announced to general excitement. The orchestra struck up the stately melody that would see couples, arms linked, parading around the room decorously, all in a line, to the rhythm of a familiar tune.
A smiling Maggie was soon whisked away onto the floor by her scheduled dance partner. Cassandra’s first partner came to claim her, and she found herself arm in arm with young Lord Gregory Fontane, Viscount Wilmersedale, measuring out the well-worn steps of the cotillion. Disappointingly, despite his youthful good looks and dancing ability, the Lord’s main topic of conversation was his new silk waistcoat and the staggering sum it had cost him. Cassandra enjoyed the dance yet felt she came away from it better informed on that subject than she ever needed to be.
Now the dancing was in full swing, Cassandra soon realized that Maggie did not need her attentions. It seemed unlikely her sister would be leaving the dance floor any time soon. Their parents were engaged deep in conversation with Lord Castlerey and his wife, their good friends. Seeing the chance for a little independent exploration, Cassie looked around for a glimpse of her best friend, Lady Diana Melville.
She had greeted Diana and her parents at the door earlier, but the two girls had been unable to talk privately and had agreed to meet later on. Cassandra spotted Diana standing with her parents, who were chatting to an elderly couple. Diana was casting about the room as if looking for someone. Hoping it was her, Cassandra gave her a little wave and quickly caught her friend’s eye. Pleased to see Diana’s face light up, Cassandra smiled and hurried over to join her.
Chapter Two
Diana detached herself from her parents, coming to meet Cassandra. The two girls embraced each other and exchanged affectionate pecks on the cheek.
“Oh, Cassie, I’m so glad to see you!” Diana cried, her lovely pale blue eyes wide as she looked at Cassandra fondly.
“Not as glad as I am to see you. It’s been so boring without you to talk to, Di. How was Italy?” Cassandra asked. Diana had only recently returned from a three-week tour of Rome with her parents, and this was the first time the friends had seen each other in nearly a month.
“Oh, you know, eternal,” Diana replied with a small laugh. “Very monumental. But of course, the art is heavenly. I wish you could have been there with me to see some of it.”
“Oh, so do I, you fortunate soul. I am quite jealous. But trying to talk my parents into leaving the country is a waste of time. The Continent is full of foreigners, so Papa says, though I would have thought that is rather the point. Travel is supposed to broaden the mind, is it not?”
“Indeed, I must admit my horizons have been expanded,” Diana confirmed. “The
statues in that direction do not leave much to the imagination.”
“Diana! How scandalous!” Cassandra exclaimed with a giggle, though she could
feel her cheeks flushing with embarrassment.
“Well, maybe it is, but even so, I’m awfully glad to be home. I missed our talks so much.” She cast a smile about the room. “Just think, Cassie, it is Maggie’s come out ball. Can you believe it?”
“Hardly,” Cassandra admitted. “It seems like only yesterday I was reading her bedtime stories and feeding her porridge. Now look at her.” They stood back to admire the belle of the ball, who was in between dances and now standing at the center of a knot of admirers, all doing their best to make her smile and laugh.
“She looks happy,” Diana observed.
“Well, she would. She’s the center of attention, and there’s nothing she likes more than that, bless her,” Cassandra replied a little drily. “Look at them, all hanging on her every word.”
“Her debut is a wonderful success, I think. She is really radiant tonight,” Diana replied.
Cassandra tried to put her petty envy aside and smiled, genuinely pleased for Maggie’s success. “Now, that will make her happy indeed.” She paused for a moment before adding a little bitterly, “All I need to do to set the seal on her happiness is to find a suitor this Season and marry him.”
“To leave the field clear for her,” Diana said knowingly. “And have you had any luck with that while I’ve been away?”
Cassandra shook her head. “Not really. I have not met any gentleman of any note at all, only some of the same old faces from last year. And sadly, they have not grown any more interesting in the meantime either. I admit, I am skeptical of my chances of finding Mr. Right among this lot.” She gestured with her eyes to the buzzing throng. The room was growing hot and stuffy by now, and the dance floor was heaving with half inebriated, excited couples engaging in a lively country dance.
The girls decided to go and get a drink. Once they had a glass of fruit punch each, they stood talking near the refreshment table.
“Well, the Collins’ ball is next week. I hear Lady Madeleine has imported French champagne and several varieties of Swiss chocolate just for the occasion. It will be such fun!” Diana said with obvious excitement. “There will be a lot more people there . . . and a lot more eligible men.”
“Yes, I suppose so,” Cassandra agreed with a sigh. “But I do not think I can ever really enjoy anything this Season when I know how much pressure is on me to find a suitor. I mean, why must I marry at all? I do not wish to marry just anyone because my parents and my sister and society say so. Unless I fall in love, of course. And I see scant opportunity for that happening.”
“My, you sound a little jaded for your years, my dear. However one likes it, that is the way of the Ton. The rich and powerful stick together,” Diana remarked. “Wait until the Collins ball. I am certain you will meet some wonderful, amusing, educated gentlemen there who will turn your head.”
“Hmm, maybe you are right, Di, but I have not yet found a single gentleman of our acquaintance who cherishes the same passion for music as I do. Most prefer talking about their horses, betting, or the latest fashion in side-whiskers. I simply cannot marry anyone who does not love music!”
“Of course you cannot. And why should you?” Diana asked. “But I promise you, there will be many more opportunities to meet interesting people at the Collins ball. There will be artists, and poets, and soldiers, and even the Prince Regent might show his face, so they say.”
“Well, I have seen him several times already, and he is not very interesting,” Cassandra said with small enthusiasm, recalling the over-dressed, over-fed, and not to mention scandalous Prince George.
“Oh, Cassie! How contrary you are at times. Well, if that does not catch your fancy, what about this?! The rumor mill says that Lady Madeleine’s cousin, the famous recluse, the so-called Beast of Lindenhall, is going to be attending this year,” she gushed excitedly.
“Is he?” Cassandra said, her interest genuinely piqued this time. “Now, him I would like to see. But I’ve never understood why they call the poor man the Beast of Lindenhall. It is very unfortunate. Has he ever eaten anyone?” she asked with a straight face.
Diana laughed. “Not that I know of, but there is always a first time, so we had better be careful. He is called that because, as I said, he is a recluse. He hardly ever comes up to town and, so Mother says, never attends the Season. You can imagine how she and the other mamas feel about that—a young, hugely rich duke, reputedly handsome, having the nerve to withhold himself from the marriage market. It is a great crime in her eyes.”
“How strange. I suppose he just does not like all the falseness and gossip that drives the Ton, with all its silly rules. I can sympathise with that. But, I must admit, he sounds awfully intriguing. I wonder if we shall meet him at the ball.” With her love of mystery, she found the notion quite thrilling.
“We very well might, but we shan’t know because, have you forgotten, it is a masked ball?” Diana reminded her.
“Oh, of course.” Cassandra’s excitement faded somewhat.
“That is the best thing about it. A masked ball is always steeped in intrigue and mystery. One can dress in a lavish costume of one’s choice and wear an elegant mask to hide one’s identity and increase one’s mystique. You will not know who that dashing man is whirling you about the floor to the latest waltz, and he will not know you. But you may make a connection, perhaps a shared passion for music, for a few magical hours. The usual rules hardly apply.” Diana spoke with girlish enthusiasm, her eyes sparkling. “Does that not appeal to a lover of intrigue such as yourself?”
“Of course, I would not miss it for the world,” Cassandra replied, a little more able to share in Diana’s excitement now she knew a genuine curiosity would be attending the ball, one of the most important events of the Season. “Mama is thrilled about going,” she added. “She claims it will be filled to the brim with suitable suitors.”
“Indeed it will, but how will we know who they are if they are in disguise?”
“Equally, how will they know us?” Cassandra mused, finally seeing a rare opportunity for fun with no strings attached.
“So, are you looking forward to it?”
“Yes, I am now. In fact, I even have my costume and mask ready. I am going as a lyre bird. The mask is covered in feathers, and the colors are quite beautiful,” Cassandra explained.
“How lovely. Did you choose it yourself?”
“Um, not exactly,” Cassandra told her. “Mama offered Maggie and I a choice of two, a dove and a lyre bird.”
“And you allowed Maggie to pick first, of course,” Diana said, smiling as she drank the last of her punch and put the glass aside.
“Yes, but I did not mind. The dove mask suits her better, and I’m perfectly happy being the lyre bird, really,” Cassandra told her before finishing her own punch.
“I’m sure,” Diana replied wryly. “Well, lyre birds are very beautiful too. I’m going as a mermaid. The mask is quite pretty, with silver sequins, and my gown is turquoise, which I am very pleased with, for it will look well with my hair.”
“It will indeed,” Cassandra agreed, eyeing her friend’s thick auburn hair a little enviously. “You shall make a very mysterious and alluring mermaid and enthrall all the gentlemen, I have no doubt.”
“Just so long as they do not make jokes about me smelling of fish,” Diana said, making them both burst out laughing.
The girls discussed the upcoming ball for a while longer and otherwise caught up on each other’s news. But when a new dance was called, both were claimed by their respective dance partners and went off to the floor to take their positions for the waltz. Cassandra thought the waltz was the most romantic dance ever invented, and she looked forward to being swept across the floor by her partner, the nice but slightly socially awkward Lord Jasper Twelvetrees. Unfortunately, the young lord, in his enthusiasm, only succeeded in crushing her toes several times with his large feet.
She made it through to the end out of sheer pride, but then she was forced to beg exhaustion and retire to a chair, temporarily wounded. Diana soon joined her.
“I thought you might need this,” she said, holding out one of the two long glasses of iced fruit punch she was holding.
“Oh, you are a positive saint, Di,” Cassandra told her gratefully, taking the glass and having a few long sips. “That is nectar. Do you think anyone would notice if I stuck my poor sore toes in it?” she joked before asking, “How was your dance?”
“Oh, the dance was all right, but my partner was a little . . . mechanical in his movements.”
“Drummed into him by a frustrated dance master, I expect. One, two, three, and so on.”
“Exactly,” Diana agreed. “Rather wooden. But it is a very nice party. Maggie looks as though she has ascended to heaven. I do not think she has taken a single break from the dance floor.”
Cassandra looked across to the dance floor, just catching a glimpse of Maggie as she whirled by in a gentleman’s arms. Her smile was radiant, just as Diana had said.
It is right that she should have a lovely time and get her way. It is her come out ball! I have no right to envy her. It is not her fault that she is so good at playing the pianoforte and everyone pays her so much attention. But how can I ever hope for anyone to notice my talent and assist me in developing it when Maggie is always the one in the limelight?
***
At around the same time that evening, only a few streets away from the Granshire mansion, an unadorned black coach emblazoned with the Lindenhall crest was pulling up outside the Duke of Lindenhall’s stately but empty—except for the squad of servants he had sent ahead—Mayfair townhouse. Two liveried footmen leaped from the back of the carriage and hurried to let down the steps and open the carriage door, so their employer could disembark in perfect comfort and safety. Neither servant wished to risk the wrath of the so-called “Beast of Lindenhall.”
The Duke made an imposing figure as he first filled the doorway of the carriage and then trod with his high-top leather riding boots deliberately down the steps. The gravel crunched beneath the feet of his tall, broad-shouldered figure. The flickering streetlamps casting shadows across his dark, somewhat angular features.
The footmen scurried back to fetch down from the carriage roof the small amount of baggage the Duke had brought with him. They had no idea of the conflicting emotions filling their master as he stood for a few moments, his silver-topped cane pressing into the ground, staring up at the granite façade before him with a dour expression.
Beneath his greatcoat, Malcom Locksley shivered involuntarily at the sight of his old family home. To his eyes, the place was as welcoming as a tomb, brimming with echoes and phantoms of a lost past. On the rare occasions he came to town, when he was compelled to attend to estate business, he keenly felt the shadowy memories that seemed to linger around every corner, troubling memories he could never quite outrun. His heart clenched painfully, but he forced down the grief and anger threatening to overwhelm him.
Compose yourself.
With a grunt of scorn at what he regarded as his own weakness, he swept off his hat, revealing a tumble of dark curls, and mounted the porch steps. Before he had reached the top, the doors swung open. Golden light spilled out from an impressive, marble-floored vestibule.
“Good evening, Your Grace. The servants are all here to greet you,” the butler said, bowing low before gesturing to the rows of smiling, expectant faces behind him.
“Thank you, Carlton,” Malcom said with a cursory nod. “That will not be necessary. You are all dismissed.” He made a shooing gesture at the servants with his hand before turning to an inscrutable Carlton.
“Very good, Your Grace,” the butler acknowledged. He took Malcom’s stick, hat, coat and scarf, and handed them to a lingering footman to deal with.
“Is the place all heated and aired as I instructed?” Malcom asked as he strode off towards his study, with Carlton at his heels.
“Yes, Your Grace, just as you said. I took the liberty of filling the drinks cabinet in your study, and in the drawing room, and the library just in case.”
“Very good. I’ll have a whiskey,” Malcom said, entering his study. A good fire was blazing in the hearth, and the room was pleasantly warm. He threw himself into one of the nearby winged armchairs and gave a deep sigh.
“Certainly, Your Grace.” With a respectful nod, Carlton went to fetch the whiskey, having the good judgment to bring the bottle along with him when he returned. He placed the glass and bottle on a side table within his master’s handy reach and poured him a generous measure.
“Thanks, Carlton,” Malcom said, accepting the drink and swallowing the dram in one go.
“Is everything satisfactory, Your Grace? Will you be dining in this evening?”
“No, everything is not satisfactory, Carlton. But I am not speaking about the house, and I do not wish to discuss it with you. I expect my cousin Viscount Lavington shortly. We shall dine in here as soon as the meal is ready. That is all for now.”
“Very good, Your Grace.” Carlton bowed and made a smooth exit. Malcom was grateful to the man, for Carlton made his own life much easier than it had been during his early years of taking on the dukedom, aged only twenty. Then, he had struggled daily to come to grips with the bewildering mess that was left for him to untangle after losing everything he held dear so suddenly. Somehow, despite a frequent wish to the contrary, his sense of duty meant he continued to exist.
In truth, it had been his Cousin Madeleine who had found Carlton and suggested Malcom employ him as a butler cum secretary almost five years now, and Malcom appreciated his talents more by the day. The man was adept at dealing with people of all kinds, in a number of guises, on Malcom’s behalf. For if there was one thing Malcom Locksley hated, it was having to contend with other people.
The thought of it wrought another deep sigh from him, and he poured himself another whiskey as he stared into the fire, waiting for one of his only remaining friends, Terrence Crawford, to arrive and prevent the gathering shadows of memory from engulfing him.
Chapter Three
“The lamb is very good,” Terrence remarked, popping another morsel of the roast meat into his mouth and chewing appreciatively.
“I suppose it is,” Malcom murmured, pushing food around his plate with little appetite.
“You’ve hardly eaten anything. At least try the roast potatoes, old chap. They really are tasty.”
“I’m just not hungry,” Malcom replied, but he relented enough to appease Terrence by eating a small piece of the lamb. It tasted like ashes in his mouth. He quickly swallowed it and washed it down with some claret.
“That’s better,” his friend said approvingly, tucking into another potato with gusto. “Now, tell me, why so gloomy, Mal? You’re as cheerful as a wet day in winter. I mean, you’re not exactly a barrel of laughs at the best of times, but I’ve seldom seen you this sombre.”
“You know how I hate being in town. All the prying eyes and wagging tongues. And this house doesn’t improve my mood,” Malcom admitted, feeling a little guilty at being such a poor host.
“So, why on earth did you agree to come?” Terrence asked. “And as to this house,” he added, pausing to glance around the luxurious, lamplit study, “you can always come and stay at my place. No bad memories there.”
“Mmm, thank you. I might take you up on that,” Malcom said, grateful to Terrence for his continued friendship. Most of his old friends had fallen away over the last six years, driven away by his increasingly dark, antisocial demeanor. “But the place stands empty for much of the year, and I feel I ought at least to visit from time to time, make sure everything is in order. It’s what my parents would expect.” He drank some more claret to drown the thought.
“You still haven’t told me what Madeleine said to get you to agree to come up,” Terrence persisted, helping himself to more gravy.
“The Collins ball,” Malcom said simply, knowing Terrence would understand.
“Ah! Of course. Let me guess what she said.” He put down his fork and, adopting a high falsetto, comically mimicked their cousin. “‘Malcom, you owe it to your parents’ memory to attend this year. You have snubbed my invitations the last six years, and I refuse to put up with it any longer. It is the Collins ball, for goodness sake, held in honour of your parents’ memory, your own dear mother and father. It is embarrassing having to explain each time why you are absent. I absolutely insist you attend this year. Why, even the Prince Regent himself is expected to attend.’” He laughed at his own wit.
“You have her to a tee,” Malcom had to admit, quirking his lips in the ghost of a smile.
“Am I right?”
“Almost word for word.”
“But why this year when you have withstood her pleas so staunchly before?” Terrence asked, his twinkling eyes full of curiosity as he gazed across at Malcom.
Malcom shrugged. “She barged into my study and refused to leave until I agreed to attend,” he explained.
“Yes, she does that sort of thing, doesn’t she? She dislikes not getting her own way. Like it since childhood, if you recall.”
“Hmm. So . . . here I am. Reluctantly.”
“Well, never mind, old man. I’m going to the ball as well. We can go together.”
“You and me and about a thousand other people,” Malcom said with distaste.
“Well, there is that,” Terrence admitted, well acquainted with Malcom’s dislike of the Ton and attending the Season’s social events.
“And as my mother’s only son, I fear I shall have to put up with a lot of the usual nonsense. The gossips will be out in force, no doubt.”
Terrence laughed. “You sound as if you’re about to be thrown into a pit of poisonous snakes. But you’re right, old fellow. Everyone will want to catch a glimpse of the famous Beast of Lindenhall. Grrrrr.” He pantomimed a menacing snarl.
“Oh, don’t you start,” Malcom said without any real rancor. “I know what they call me behind my back. But since I have no respect for their opinions, I really do not care.”
Much to his relief, however, they were interrupted by a brisk knock at the door.
“Come in,” he said, unsurprised when Carlton appeared in the doorway with a bow. “What is it, Carlton?” he asked, grateful for the interruption.
“I apologise for disturbing you, Your Grace, My Lord, but Lady Collins is here and asking to see you,” Carlton said.
Malcom threw his napkin down in a sudden rage.
“What is she doing here?” he said through gritted teeth. “She knows I hate it when she arrives unannounced like this.”
“You’d better let her in old man, or you’ll never hear the last of it,” Terrence told him.
“But what does she want? I’ve agreed to go to her blasted ball. Isn’t that enough?”
“Clearly not.” Terrence turned to Carlton. “Is she alone, Carlton?
“She is, My Lord.”
“Best let her in then,” he told the butler, while Malcom rose from his seat, wanting to escape but knowing it was hopeless.
“Let her in, Carlton,” he ground out, trying to steel himself for yet another demand on his time and privacy from his cousin.
She swept into the room in her ballgown, a bejeweled vision in primrose silk, clearly on her way to some party.
“Boys! So, here you are, hiding away in this gloomy study,” she cried brightly, peeling off her gloves. “Oooh, is that claret?”
“Yes, it is.” Mindful of his manners despite the unwelcome intrusion, Malcom pulled out a chair for her at the table and poured her a drink.
“Thank you, dear. I am so glad to find you in residence, and with Terrence too,” she declared, setting down her gloves before taking a sip of the wine. “Mmm, very nice.” She beamed at them both as Malcom resumed his seat with an air of desolation.
“To what do we owe this unexpected pleasure, dear cousin?” Terrence asked gaily to Malcom’s secret annoyance. Do not encourage her!
“Well, I am just on my way to Lord and Lady Pargeter’s musicale, and I thought I would drive by the house and see if you were here, Malcom. I admit I was worried you would try to find an excuse for not coming to the ball and stay lurking out in the country. But here you are!”
“Yes, here I am,” he repeated hollowly. “So, now you know, you can be on your way.”
“And you are coming to the ball?” she asked, her lovely blue eyes fixed on him, concealing the steel inside.
“Let me assure you, cousin, Malcom and I shall be attending together,” Terrence put in. “You can rely on me to make sure he gets there in one piece.”
Madeleine smiled, and even Malcom had to admit she was still a very beautiful woman. She had lost her much older husband in her early thirties, inheriting a substantial fortune. With no children and no apparent inclination to remarry, over the years, Madeleine had become quite the merry widow, building a reputation as a patron of the arts, famous for her exquisite good taste and glittering social gatherings. Though he resented her interference in his life, he cared deeply for her just the same, just as he knew she cared for him. Like Terrence, she was one of the few people who still bothered with him.
“But will he behave when he gets there?” she asked, taking another sip of her claret.
“I am civilised enough to understand the necessity of proper etiquette habits, if that is your concern,” Malcom replied with a touch of wit.
She laughed a tinkling laugh. “You know exactly what I mean, Malcom. You will be the center of attention, apart from myself, of course, and Terrence here. I trust that you will honour your parents’ memory in a manner befitting their stature. All the single ladies will be after two such eligible gentlemen as yourselves, and you will be required to dance and entertain them as well as be polite to the other guests.”
“I know,” Malcom replied with the air of a man on the way to the gallows. The thought was nauseating. He shot Terrence a warning look, anxious that he should not tell Madeleine anything about what they had been discussing before her arrival. He was not reassured at all by the wink he received in return.
“We are both gentlemen, Maddy, I think we can be relied upon to behave correctly,” Terrence said.
“You, I can rely on, Terrence,” Madeline said before turning a hard gaze on Malcom that seemed to bore into him. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat as she went on, “But this recluse has shunned such fine company for many years now, and I fear his social skills may be, shall we say, a little rusty.”
Malcom bristled at that, though he knew there could be some truth to the accusation.
“Am I not doing as you wish, Madeleine? I am here in London, just as you wanted, and I have agreed to attend your wretched ball. Do you have to come here and torment me as well?” he asked, despising the plaintive note in his voice.
“You see, that is exactly the sort of attitude that worries me. You dare to call the event held in your own parents’ honour ‘wretched’? How can I be sure you will comport yourself as befits a gentleman who is a member of my family?”
“My manners have not entirely deserted me,” he protested. “I am not going to be rude to anyone, rest assured.”
“You will not hide away in the billiard room as soon as you arrive?”
He sighed, for he had planned on doing exactly that. “I promise I will not.”
“You will be sociable and dance with the young ladies?”
“Yes, I will.” Oh, God! What am I saying?
She smiled beatifically. “Very good. I have your word as a gentleman?”
“You have my word.” That rankled his sensibilities.
“Excellent. Well, it seems I have got what I came for. Unless you wish to accompany me to the Pargeter’s, I shall leave you two to your gloomy, bachelor evening.”
“We are quite happy with the gloom, cousin,” Terrence said. “And who knows, after attending the ball, we may not be bachelors much longer.”
Madeline rose and clapped her hands like a pleased child. “Wonderful, though I admit I am skeptical on that score when it comes to Malcom.” She quickly drank the remaining claret and pulled on her gloves before adding, “Still, we can but hope. And remember, it is a masquerade ball, so you will need your masks and costumes.”
“We are aware, cousin,” Terrence assured her as she headed for the door, giving them a cheery little wave. Terrence leapt up and opened it for her.
“Good night then, my dears. I shall see you on Saturday, bright and early.” She swanned out through the door, and Terrence closed it behind her, accompanied by a deep sigh from Malcom. He put his elbows on the table and his head in his hands.
“What have I let myself in for?” he asked mournfully as Terrence resumed his seat.
After pudding, which only Terrence partook of, Malcom was persuaded by his cousin to repair to the billiard room for a few games.
“The beauty of it being a masquerade ball is the anonymity,” Terrence said, lining up a shot. “You’ll be wearing a mask and a costume. None of those ladies Madeleine is threatening you with will know who you are. And if they don’t know your identity, how can they gossip about you or pursue you?” He took his shot, and with a loud crack, the white ball collided with the blue, sending it straight into the pocket.
Malcom eyed the remaining balls, figuring out his next shot. He was already resigned to losing. Because he chose to live such a reclusive life in the country, Terrence got much more practice than he did. He positioned himself to pot the green.
“I suppose you’re right,” he conceded, looking down the cue. “One brief anonymous appearance can’t draw too much attention.” He took his shot . . . and missed.
“Bad luck, old chap,” Terrence sympathized, but Malcom did not miss the smirk on his cousin’s face that signaled his satisfaction at wringing the admission from him, and at the missed shot.
He ran his hand through his hair distractedly, wondering for the hundredth time what on earth he had let himself in for.
This Post Has 3 Comments
Can’t wait for the following chapters!
Leaves me wanting More. Enticing
Excited.to.read more just wish it were sooner than later. I’m sure Terrance and Malcolm will give everyone at the Collins ball an evening the TON will never forget.