Chapter 21
21
A ttending a masquerade in a peacock costume proved far more challenging than Charity had imagined. Her voluminous tail kept thwacking people not only when she danced, but everywhere she turned. Her plumage even knocked a glass of champaign out of Lady Essex’s hand. Thank heavens there was a footman on hand who swiftly tidied up the mess.
To prevent any further disasters, she gave up trying to negotiate the crowd altogether, and found a safe alcove between a pillar and a Ficus tree. She opened her dance card, an absolutely lovely foldout in the shape of a fan—a very clever design. Charity could wager that every woman in attendance would save hers in a memory book. She certainly would, except she wasn’t sure how fond her memories might be of this night, because Harry had signed his name to the last dance, which meant she’d had to wait all evening to talk with him.
Thus far, she’d managed to dance with every camphor-smelling court jester and the like in the hall. Speaking of court jesters, the next dance had been claimed by Lord Percival, who dressed in graduation robes and had introduced himself as the poet Christopher Smart. Charity caught herself before she asked if he’d written “Ode to the Mallard,” or asked why he hadn’t donned feathers and left his mask at home because he would have made a remarkable duck.
As if on cue, Lord Percival appeared and bowed deeply. “Lady Peacock, may I have this dance?”
“Och, if it isna Lord Christopher Smart.” She tucked away her dance card and took his hand. “Are you fond of dancing?”
“I am accomplished, if not fond,” he said, leaving her in the lady’s line and joining the men’s.
She smiled across, noting his legs were slightly bowed, his feet overlarge, his nose protruding from his mask. Unable to help herself, she burst out with a very unladylike laugh.
With the music they skipped together. “What do you find amusing, may I ask?”
“I was merely thinking a masquerade might be ever so diverting if everyone were to come as a bird.”
“I say, you do make a lovely peacock.”
“How very kind. If you were a bird, what would you fancy?” she asked, as together they locked arms and skipped in a circle.
“I’m not certain. A bird, aye?” he asked, though any further conversation was cut off as they were instructed to go to their corners.
Not far from her Ficus, the Earl of Brixham stood in the shadows watching, his arms folded, his face dark, a bit menacing and reminiscent of a pirate—a jealous pirate. The mere thought made a smile bubble up through her insides as she wound her way through the line of dancers.
“Hawk,” said His Lordship when they were finally reunited at the end of the line.
“I beg your pardon?”
“If I were to come as a bird, I would be a hawk.”
“Oh,” she replied, looking beyond Lord Percival’s shoulder and watching a lady dressed as a serving wench engage Harry in conversation. Good heavens, the tart’s neckline was scandalously low. “Not a duck?”
“Oh no.” As the music ended, his Lordship bowed and offered his elbow to escort her to the side of the ballroom. “Ducks waddle.”
Charity pressed her lips together, holding in a dozen retorts while she craned her neck and searched for Harry.
“Would you care for a glass of cordial?” he asked.
“Thank you, but no. I have a loose feather and had best find my mother,” she said, pretending to head for the lady’s withdrawing room.
As soon as she was in the corridor, she opened her card once more and ran her finger over Harry’s bold signature. She had but one more chance to bend Lord Brixham to her way of thinking, and she could not fail again.
“I believe you promised the next dance to me,” a deep voice whispered from behind, making gooseflesh rise at her nape and pebble all the way to her fingertips. Irrespective of how much her heart fluttered or her skin tingled, she absolutely must not allow her female desires to take over her mind this time. True, when he’d rescued her from Digger and the Seedy Lout, as she’d named her abductor, she was overwhelmed with gratitude and her mouth had babbled mindlessly. It seemed she had a predisposition to grow chatty after facing danger, especially if Mr. Mansfield was doing the rescuing.
But this night would be different. She coyly turned, faced him, and curtsied. “M’lord, how kind of you to remember.”
Harry offered his hand. “How could any man forget a waltz with the fairest peacock in the hall?”
She placed her fingers in his very large, very powerful palm and glanced up to his eyes, then patted her lips to hide her wee gasp. Charity might never grow accustomed to the intensity of his stare, the hazel appearing dark brown behind his mask, making him look dangerous and mysterious, especially with the hint of purple bruising around his eye. “’Tis a good thing this is a masquerade, else many would have assumed you consorted with rather unsavory souls in St. Giles.”
“As a matter of fact, there was one particular unsavory gentleman in St. Giles whom I expected to meet, but I’ll admit the two rather hapless unfortunates who came later were improvised.”
“I know of one woman who was very grateful that you are so talented at improvisation.”
Leading her to the dance floor, Harry looked as stately as any pirate (or courtier) she had ever seen. “I was happy to be of service, though I would have been happier if the woman in question had remained at home and had read about the fight in the papers the next day, as is expected of all ladies of her station.”
They took their places on the dance floor, and in preparation for the waltz, he slid his fingers over the only flat part of her costume, which happened to be her belly. And as he latched his hand around her waist, it seemed she’d grown feathers on her insides, because they were fluttering wildly.
“I’ll have you know I had a very good reason for attending the fight,” she managed to say with an air of confidence, despite all the blasted fluttering.
“Oh, pray tell, what was so important that you would risk your reputation yet again, not to mention falling into the hands of a pair of miscreants who would have been only too happy to turn you into a woman of easy virtue.”
Once again, her meeting with this man was not proceeding how she’d planned in the slightest. “How dare you suggest such a thing?”
“Me?” His lips twisted in a grin as the music began, and he pressed his hand into her back with the first step. “Beg your pardon, madam, but I am not one of the miscreants who abducted what they thought was a lad.”
Charity followed his lead easily. “Verra well, I shall grant you that. Perhaps it wasna my best idea, but I must speak with you forthwith.” Her feelings toward this man mattered not a whit. Her brother had ruined any chances they may have had, but nonetheless, he was the only person in all of London who could help her—now she just needed to convince her heart to shut off her feelings.
“Concerning?”
“Huntly Manor of course.”
Regardless of the brilliant lights overhead, a dark shadow seemed to move across Harry’s face. “Has another portion of the roof caved in?”
“Nay, that’s not it at all. Everyone kens you’ve inherited an earldom. Because of that you are entitled to the entirety of the contents of the house, and as the former lady of the manor, I feel it is incumbent upon me to ask you not to remove particular items before we’ve had an opportunity to replace them.”
“What sort of items?”
“The furniture presently used by the boarders and the serving staff, for instance. The ladies need a bed upon which to sleep, as do Willaby and all the good people who work at the house.”
“What about the silver?” he asked rather callously, while they stepped into a turn.
“It is yours, of course.”
“And the china?”
“It is yours.”
“What about all the books in the library.”
“You are entitled to those as well.”
“But not the furniture?”
Had his fingers just kneaded her waist? As they made their third turn around the ballroom, she couldn’t be certain. “Every last piece is yours. I just ask you exercise some compassion when it comes to removing a young lady’s bed, or the butler’s bed, for instance.”
“What about Willaby’s writing table? I’ve been instructed to send him a missive. I assume he has a writing table in his rooms.”
“Aye.”
“So, I may take it?”
Drat, drat, drat, why is he being so difficult?
Charity’s headdress tottered a bit as she looked him in the eyes. “You may, but it would only be polite to discuss it with Willaby first, and give him an opportunity to find a replacement before you remove his writing table from the manor.”
“Hmm,” Harry mumbled, his fingers most definitely kneading her waist.
“Hmm?” she asked, her heart thumping with the rhythm of the waltz. “What is that supposed to mean? Are you planning to go to Huntly Manor during Parliament’s Easter break and remove Willaby’s writing table?”
Those blasted lips twisted. What was he on about? “I hadn’t planned on it.”
Well, regardless, this dance wasn’t going to last forever and she needed to assert her agenda. “I think you ought to pay the manor a visit during Easter break.”
“And why is that, my lady?”
“Goodness, I am making a muddle of this.”
“Of what, might I ask?”
“I might as well out with it.” Charity tripped over Harry’s boot as he led her into another turn. “I need you to take me to Huntly and I ken Parliament will be on recess as of Monday and I’ll not accept no for an answer.”
“My dear lady, let us assume that I am entirely amenable to the idea of accompanying you all the way to Brixham. However, are you forgetting about your mother, who has been standing by the orchestra, watching me like a mother badger, as if I were about to abscond with her offspring? I daresay she has a plan to attack and drive her very sharp claws into my heart.”
With the next turn, he nodded to the opposite end of the hall. “Then there’s your brother Andrew, who has told me in no uncertain terms that you are far too good for the likes of me, and he all but insinuated that the Father Almighty ought to strike me dead for gazing in your direction.”
Charity looked from Andrew to Mama who both appeared as if they were about to call the waltz to a halt, dash in, and separate them. “Please allow me to apologize for my misguided family.”
“And what about Lord Percival?” Andrew pointed toward the poor sop with his elbow. “The lovesick lordling hasn’t even joined in the waltz. Furthermore, it has not escaped my notice that he’s hiding behind the last pillar from the end, looking as if he has loaded a pistol with a musket ball intended to shoot through my heart.”
“I am not in love with His Lordship, and have done absolutely nothing to encourage his affection.”
“Oh? I hear poetry, carriage rides, and flowers have been enjoyed by one Lady Charity MacGalloway, also known as, Lady Peacock, belle of Lady Northampton’s masquerade, who I have a sneaking suspicion had something to do with my last-minute invitation to attend this farce.”
“I may have influenced Her Ladyship, but you must ken I am exceedingly glad you are here.”
“Are you?”
“ Exceedingly .”
“Because you need an escort?”
“Please. You are a consummate hero. I know no one else who can help.”
“Oh, now I understand. My boxing epithet should have been Harry the Hero.” He said as the music continued. “Let us just say that I agree to your request, which I haven’t. Exactly how do you intend to thwart your mother, your brother, and the entire serving staff at the Dunscaby town house?”
“I already have that planned.”
“Please do enlighten me.”
“Well, Mama has decided to travel to Stack Castle for the birth of her first grandchild. She leaves on the morrow. Also, because Parliament is having a wee break, Andrew is going hunting in the mountains with some of his friends from university.”
“And what about Modesty and all the serving staff in London? Will they not be suspicious if you are away from the town house for a fortnight?”
“I already have that covered as well. Mama will be traveling with Modesty and her governess. I will be staying with Lady Northampton for a fortnight, where she will take me under her wing, of course.”
“I should have guessed. And tell me, does Her Ladyship have any idea she’s been roped into your scheme?”
“Roped in? I beg your pardon, but Sophie helped me concoct the whole thing over tea.”
“Good God.” Dancing into another turn, Harry looked to the orchestra where Lady Northampton herself was looking rather smug. Was she the reason the waltz was going on so long? “And when is your brother leaving for his hunting expedition?”
“On the morrow.”
This time, Harry tripped over Charity’s foot. “I beg your pardon? Your brother is supposed to introduce me to three wealthy American heiresses on the morrow. They’re giving a recital.”
“Andrew?” she asked, wondering if she’d heard right. Was her brother meddling? “He’s leaving at first light.”
Shaking his head, the pirate regarded the chandeliers above. “The cad.”
“You said he was introducing you to heiresses? Whatever for?” As soon as the question left Charity’s lips, she knew the answer. He needed money, and yet he didn’t want her or her dowry.
“It seems my sudden meteoric rise into the nobility hasn’t escaped your notice.”
“Nay.”
“Well, aside from this ball, I’ve had no introductions, and I’ve come to the realization I need to marry well—at least marry into a wealthy family, not only for my mother’s health, but Kitty will need to be introduced to society when she’s of age. She’ll need a Season.”
“Yes, of course as an earl’s sister she will,” Charity whispered, her skin clammy as she glanced over her shoulder, wishing she could flee the dance floor without making a scene.
“And that means I must have the means to support her. Believe it or not, your brother suggested I find a wealthy heiress to marry.”
“My brother…” Charity’s head swam. How dare Andrew push her aside? Just because Harry was born a butcher’s son didn’t mean he was unfit to be an earl. After all, the Prince Regent’s undersecretary went to great lengths to find the rightful heir. Sooner or later polite society would have to accept Harry Mansfield as an earl, and his sister Kitty as well.
Charity bit down on her lip. She knew the reasons why he hadn’t come to call and they were named Martin, Mama, and Andrew. “Surely a mere fortnight willna hurt your fortune-hunting activities.”
“To be honest, you are right—I do need to visit Brixham again. Regardless, I do not believe you’ve thought this through. First of all, I do not have a carriage, and by the state of the Brixham carriages I saw in the stable at Huntly Manor, I don’t believe I own a carriage that is serviceable. Furthermore, if the pair of us were to take a coach, you would be ruined, causing a scandal of epic proportions that would result in a black mark against you and your esteemed family for the rest of your days.”
“That is why we’ll go on horseback. I’ll take my mare.”
“You intend to ride the distance?”
“You rode your horse to London did you not?”
“Aye, but that is completely different. Besides, if it has slipped your mind, your family most certainly has not forgotten that I was the cause of your near ruination.”
“That is exactly why no one must know.”
“Oh, really? What are you planning now? To don a disguise and masquerade as a lad, or better yet, an enormous peacock?”
“Of course not. We will pose as man and wife—Mr. and Mrs. Hay. Only whilst traveling of course.”
The music ended, but Harry didn’t step away or bow or release her. “I should have guessed.”
Charity had approximately three heartbeats to plead her case. “Please. Miss Hatch is with child and Mrs. Fletcher has given her a sennight to find other arrangements. On top of that, the old bat has put Miss Jacoby on notice for the mere crime of attending church three times per week. I absolutely must go to Brixham, and yet my family forbids it. In fact, the only person in the family who truly cares about the manor is due to give birth any day, and she absolutely cannot be bothered with such worries, which is exactly why I must go.”
Harry’s gaze shifted above her head as he released her. “Your brother’s headed this way.”
“Will you do it?” she asked, her heart racing. She absolutely had to know before Andrew poked his nose into things.
Harry’s lips formed a thin line and he gave her a hard stare before shifting his attention to Andrew. “My lord, I understand you’ve had a change of plans for the morrow.”
For a moment her brother appeared to be utterly flummoxed. “Och, aye. I received a last-minute invitation to accompany some of my university friends on a hunting expedition.” He clasped Harry by the elbow. “But no need to fret, I havena forgotten you. I’ve insured that you will need no introduction at the recital.”
As her brother turned his back and led Harry away, Charity followed. “The recital to be put on by the American lassies, did you say?”
Mama clamped onto Charity’s arm, stopping her abruptly. “Were you aware that Lord Percival will be traveling to his family’s country seat for Easter?”
Charity’s heart squeezed while she watched the crowd swallowed the only person who could help her hasten to Brixham. “I had no idea.”
“Well, it is a good thing that Sophia has invited you to spend the holiday with her. Matters will be very quiet in London whilst Andrew is hunting. But do not worry, he has explicit instructions to see to it you receive a proposal from Lord Percival as soon as he returns.”
“But I dunna want to marry Lord Percival!”
“Do not be ridiculous. He’s the heir to a marquess. He can trace his family back seventeen generations, and I have it on good authority he receives fifty thousand a year…”
“Does Marty approve?”
“If I approve, Martin surely will,” said Mama, leading her toward the cloak room.
Charity’s feet dragged as if they had been weighed down by mortar. She’d finally managed to relay her plan to the Earl of Brixham, but she’d be dashed if he didn’t agree to it. And she could wait no longer. If Harry wasn’t going to ride with her, she’d have to come up with another course of action—first to face Mrs. Fletcher at Huntly Manor, and secondly, to figure out some way to make the earl fall in love with her.