Chapter 2
Two
“Are you certain of this, Rose?”
Baroness Lady Rose Stanford, now a widow due to her husband’s most timely death, turned about and peered at her backside in the full-length looking glass.
Her hair hung down her back in a riot of curls.
It was always a surprise to see just how unruly it was.
The temptation to snip it all off overwhelmed her at times.
While she was doing her utmost to become more adventurous—hence the flouting of mourning her cur of a dead spouse—cutting her hair off seemed a bit drastic.
At the moment, however, the freedom of leaving her hair unpinned was…
exhilarating. “Of course I’m certain. It’s rumored that the Earl of Hallandale is to attend.
” She swung her hair then faced the youngest of her three sisters, Lady Huntley, Gabriella. “Why would you think otherwise?”
“That old geezer? I’m surprised he’s not met his maker.”
“Er, he did. I’m speaking of his heir, Oscar Percival Massey, Viscount Monclair, and now, the Earl of Hallandale. He is whom I’m hoping to snag. Though according to current gossip, Mr. Massey hasn’t been seen in, well, forever. Some fallout or other.”
Gabriella let out a long, impatient whoosh of air, though she spoke gently. “Oh, Rose. When are you going to realize you are a jewel in your own right?”
“Says the current Countess of Huntley.” Rose shoved her sister’s disgusting pity to the far reaches of her mind and grabbed a handful of her hair. “Maybe we should plait it. It seems scandalous to leave it loose.” She caught her sister’s expression in the mirror.
Gabriella appeared to shake off her faux pas.
“Never mind about Hallandale. Back to this masquerade. First—” She ticked off one finger.
“This is a Shufflebottom affair. The man is not known for his decorous behavior. Second—” She ticked the next finger.
“You’re already bucking norms by way of ditching your black bombazine some seven months before proper dictate.
Third—” Her finger stopped just short of touching the next finger.
“Well, I’ve forgotten my third point.” Her hands fell to her sides.
“All I’m saying, Rose, is that his party is not the sort good ton attend. ”
Rose wanted to stomp her foot. Only, what Gabriella was saying was true.
“But I want it to be. Besides, you’re going.
” Erg, she hated how she sounded like a child.
Worse, Rose was the eldest, not the youngest of the four sisters.
Gabriella was the youngest. That was what Gabriella’s lofty title of countess allotted her.
Confidence. Somehow Rose had lost her own…so many years ago.
Well, that stopped now. She had a plan. Soon, she too would have the prestige and status due her station. Then her sisters would see that she was just as worthy as they. This party served one other purpose: It gave her another step in the process of her journey in becoming more spontaneous.
A masquerade ball was the perfect launch for her new life.
Her new self.
She deserved more than the legacy of her late husband’s abhorrent treatment of her, of their marriage, of their very life after his being conveniently stabbed in the chest backstage at King’s Royale Theatre three months ago. “Why are you badgering me? You and Huntley are going.”
“Yes, but that’s because the Prime Minister—” Gabriella broke off as if she’d said too much.
Rose turned from the mirror and faced her. “What about the Prime Minister?”
“Nothing,” Gabriella said. She snapped her fingers at Jane, Rose’s lady’s maid. “Do something with her hair. Waist length hair of unruly waves do not belong on—” She turned to Rose. “Who exactly are you portending to be?”
Rose gave an indignant sniff. “A lady’s maid, and I’ve decided to leave my hair down.”
Jane gasped.
“Rose.” Gabriella’s voice was a warning Rose chose to ignore.
“I want to be something no one would ever expect.” Rose spun back to the mirror. “Jane, I insist on borrowing a mobcap.” She would find Hallandale’s heir. She would be a countess before the blasted month was out. She vowed it.
No one would find her out. It was a masquerade.
How difficult could it be?
~~~
Quite difficult, Rose quickly discerned.
Despite her bravado in the privacy of her bedchamber with Jane and Gabriella, Rose was a bundle of nerves, walking through the door of an already ballroom crush that was suffocating after the cool mid-October night.
Everywhere she turned, she bumped into an exotic bird, a menagerie animal, a Henry the VIII, or a Marie Antoinette.
Court jesters, harlequins. All crowding about her without leaving an ounce of room to breathe.
At least her feet were protected in her ugly yet serviceable maid’s shoes where her toes weren’t pinched.
The most enticing thing about her belowstairs costume was her mask. Silk-covered papier maché with swirls and curls tipped with diamonds no lady’s maid would ever dream of donning.
The Earl of Huntley, Gabriella’s husband, guided Gabriella and Rose across the vast hall by way of skirting an already packed dance floor.
He snagged two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter and offered them to Rose and Gabriella.
He leaned in and whispered something to his wife then straightened.
“I’m off to the card room, ladies. I shall return.
” He narrowed his eyes on Gabriella. “Try to stay out of trouble, love.”
“Really, my lord, you are too much,” Gabriella said on a huff. Her indignation was a ruse, considering the curve of her lips as her husband returned a smile that was much too intimate before sauntering away.
Envy permeated Rose’s insides. Stanford and she had never even had a friendly relationship, though classifying Gabriella and Huntley’s relationship as friendly was laughable considering the current that stretched between them like a taut rope burning on either end.
Rose sipped from her flute, surveying the throng, her gaze stopping at the ballroom doors. “Oh, blast.”
“What?” Gabriella spoke sharply.
Rose winced. “Sebastian.” At least, she believed it was their brother. Mostly due to the woman at his side. His duchess, Rebecca, was dressed as a Roman warrior, female edition. She pulled the feat off perfectly with that unwomanly height of hers.
“Sebastian is going to kill you when he sees your hair,” Gabriella said. A little too gleeful for Rose’s taste.
But her sister was right. As Duke of Ryleigh, Sebastian was even less spontaneous than Rose, but for his quick and unexpected wedding to Rebecca last year. He was as staid and proper as Gabriella was rash.
“I do believe I shall bide my time in meeting up with him and the duchess.” Rose downed the contents of her glass and melted into the crowd and away from Gabriella.
Something she would never have attempted at a typical ball.
The mask gave her a freedom and confidence she hadn’t anticipated. And her hair… Well, it was scandalous.
For the life of her, Rose failed to recognize a single person, except for Shufflebottom.
Possibly. Her stomach dropped. The man did not have the most stellar of reputations, as Gabriella had so succinctly implied, and Rose had no desire in getting tangled up with that fop.
The only thing in his favor was his title, and even the possibility of becoming a marchioness was not enticement enough to sway her in his direction.
Status was everything, and Rose had an opportunity to right her wrong in marrying Stanford. One she fully intended to see through.
Rose was thrilled to have made her peace with Gabriella after Stanford’s death, but it still irked that Gabriella had snagged Huntley. Something she would never say…now.
Yet how else was a woman supposed to locate an elusive title in this throng, and masked no less? It wasn’t as if the man she was looking for would be wearing a sign proclaiming his earldom across his forehead.
“Well, if it isn’t the earl himself.”
Rose jerked straight. A group of men hovered near a terrace door.
Again, their costumes didn’t allow recognition, but their earnest conversation and body language were intriguing, and she edged her way closer.
They slipped out open glass doors to a large terrace beyond.
She found a small alcove and hung nearby in the hopes they would reveal their identities.
Hallandale had to be there somewhere, and this was as good a place as any to glean some sort of information.
Even it if was of the elimination variety.
“Don’t be a chucklehead. Who’s going to find out?”
Rose didn’t recognize the voice. Clearly, he was the taunt-or.
“Leave him be, Stockton.”
The earl? Surely not! But he was young, had inherited his title after leaving Cambridge and the country, if her memory served.
“It’s not your neck on the line. My brother—”
“Half brother,” Stockton said. “He’s nothing but a hector.”
“No argument there,” the taunt-ee muttered. “Bastard is as closefisted as Shylock.”
“Think he’s scamming those boats coming in from the East India Company?” another unrecognizable voice said.
The conversation was fascinating, and Rose edged nearer.
She glanced around and froze. She may not have recognized anyone, but the tall coxcomb heading in her direction must be Shufflebottom.
No one wore ruffles at his cuffs like the marquis.
She was feet away from another door that led heaven knew where, but it was, truly, her only escape.
She stole through and found herself in a darkened hallway that would prove dangerous if the wrong person happened by—or caught up to her.
The comfortable but horrendous shoes sounded clunky on wood planked floors.
Quickly stepping out of them, Rose scooped them up and took off—apparently, she’d shed all ladylike behavior when she’d donned her maid’s uniform—and opened the first door she came to.
Silently, Rose latched the door behind her then fell against it, her head thunking on the English oak, her heart pounding.
Now what?
Through slitted eyes, she caught a movement behind a large mahogany desk situated between large bookcases.
Her first thought: She’d no idea Shufflebottom could even read.
Her second: The figure, clad in all black, was dark and menacing.
He straightened to an impressive height and moved slowly around the desk as if fearing she would scream the house down.
His black domino cut an imposing picture aided by the form-fitting mask he wore. Her pulse spiked, but the initial panic leveled to something that didn’t suffocate her.
Fight or flight? Dark hall or bluff her way through this unfortunate encounter? “Did you find what you’re looking for?” The annoying breathlessness of her voice had her gripping the knob at her lower back.
Just in case.