Chapter Two
Navan knew Alexander was ahead of him in the line waiting to be admitted into Lord and Lady Godfrey’s ball.
The evening was proving to be quite the squeeze, as he had overheard several of those who also waited refer to the event, and it was all because of the rumored presence of the mysterious Marquis of Honfleur at the ball.
Navan turned his attention in the direction of where a middle-aged man was assisting a young lady to the ground from his carriage.
Like it or not, and Navan assuredly did not approve of his reaction to the girl, his heart hitched higher and his groin tightened in interest. The girl was reportedly Honfleur’s niece, not the daughter, which meant it would be Alexander’s domain to court the lady, as Navan had been assigned the French lord’s daughter to woo.
However, Navan would gladly switch with Marksman.
Even so, he found the young woman’s apparent innocence and the lady’s countenance endearing.
She is frightened out of her wits, he thought as a desire to protect her lodged in his chest.
He overheard several whispers regarding the costume the young woman wore and the elaborate mask she had slipped on over the upper portion of her face when prompted to do so by her uncle.
The mask had gold trimming, as did the costume she wore, that is, if one could call what she wore a costume.
She was dressed as if she had just stepped from a sheik’s tent, rather than a carriage.
Part of her midsection was covered with a sheer netting.
As English women made the conscious choice not to show an ankle or too much cleavage, this woman’s garb was assuredly a statement being made by her uncle.
Without a doubt, it had its impact on the men in line.
More than one raised an eyebrow in interest. Including him, all the males stood straighter so they might watch the girl’s progress from the coach to the receiving line, though Navan told himself his interest was purely based on the government’s investigation.
However, the shortness of his breath said otherwise.
Customarily, his string of female companions, including Julia, all resembled a British lass, not an Irish one, for he had always felt his homeland was treated as an unwanted half brother.
Foolish as it might sound to many, he never thought of his keeping an English mistress as anything more than a man satisfying a need.
He most assuredly never considered it a political protest regarding how the British used and abused his homeland, but, now that the idea had found a footing, Navan was no longer so confident.
He knew without a doubt that he could not seduce an Irish girl, though many could use the coin he provided Julia.
He simply could not imagine satisfying his base desires with an Irish lass unless he meant to marry the chit.
“Quite a looker, though scandalous,” Lady Shanley complained.
For some unknown reason, Navan did not want the girl to be the object of gossip, or should he say, more gossip than normal.
“I have it on good credit that the young woman is not Lord Honfleur’s daughter, who was supposed to accompany the marquis this evening.
The girl at his lordship’s side is his niece, a poor relation who serves as a companion to Lady Caroline Moreau, the marquis’s daughter.
Lady Caroline’s travel has been delayed and the costume was made for the daughter, though it would be scandalous on many women.
Likely it was quickly altered for the niece. ”
“How do you know this?” Lady Shanley asked, though the woman appeared to be delighted to learn something the others gathered about did not possess.
“I still have relatives in France,” he declared, knowing his family name was common among those originating from Norman and French Huguenots.
“Like you, my lady, I was curious regarding Lord Honfleur’s arrival.
Therefore, I wrote to cousins in St Helier to inquire of what they knew of the man.
I was delighted to learn that the marquis’s daughter was a bit shorter than the niece and was dark of head.
Black hair, in fact. The girl at the gentleman’s side is his niece, daughter of his half-sister.
His lordship raised the girl as a playmate, and, later, companion to his daughter. ”
“I appreciate the information, my lord,” Lady Shanley said. “I shan’t press my daughter to befriend the girl nor my son to call upon her for a possible courtship.” Her ladyship leaned closer to ask, “Do we know when the marquis’s daughter shall arrive?”
Navan tilted his head to the side as if he were sharing a secret. “The young lady is to leave France on Monday.”
“Much appreciated information, my lord.”
Navan felt guilty in sabotaging the girl’s prospects. As far as he knew, Honfleur might also mean to finance a Season for his niece, as well as the one for the man’s daughter; yet, what he knew of the man said otherwise.
Honfleur was hustled into the line of guests, being placed before more influential members of the haut ton, but only less than a handful complained and departed. Instead, the line pressed forward to hear what the marquis said to their host and hostess.
Meanwhile, Navan held a strong desire to finish the evening in Julia’s bed to burn off some of what frustrated him.
Yet, he feared Julia’s sweet countenance would be replaced by that of a red-headed beauty, who appeared to be as awkward and unsure of herself as he often felt behind the smile he presented to society.
Audrey attempted not to touch her face. Her cousin Caroline’s maid had used a pencil, the type to draw a fake mole upon one’s face, to create a weblike design about Audrey’s eyes, providing the illusion of wearing a mask, even when she had removed the red-and-gold one she carried in her hand.
The markings had hurt as they had been put in place, and she wondered if she would ever be able to scrub the design from her forehead and cheek without removing part of her skin.
Mathild had even used a special paint-like substance from the Orient to decorate Audrey’s nails—not that she planned to remove her gloves unless her uncle insisted upon her doing so.
“Relax your shoulders and lift your chin,” her uncle warned under his breath as they entered the line of those awaiting admittance into Lord and Lady Godfrey’s grand masquerade.
“Yes, sir,” she responded while swallowing the nervousness spreading steadily through her chest. This was Audrey’s first foray into English society, and she did not want to disappoint her uncle, for it had been he who had instructed her in how to create the most gossip possible, leaving a bold impression on all who viewed her.
This was more than a bit confusing to her, for others avoided any marked recognition, but she would never question any of Uncle Jacobi’s decisions.
However, from what she knew of English society, even in a mask, she should be presented as a potential virginal bride, especially if her uncle desired the proper connections, which he did.
In truth, she did not know why her Uncle Jacobi wished her to create a scene; however, she owed him much and would not wish to know his disfavor.
More importantly, she could never repay him for the gift of his protection when Audrey had been at her most vulnerable.
She wore red, the color of a fallen woman, when, in reality, she had never known a man, not in the carnal sense of the word, nor even as a friend.
Naturally, Audrey was familiar with a number of men, for her uncle had an unacknowledged army serving him, and, therefore, serving her as well.
Yet, not servants in the exact sense of the word, as it was used in England.
Audrey was well aware that, back in France, her Uncle Jacobi employed many to do his bidding, and she suspected also to watch her every move, especially since their arrival in England from the Continent.
Audrey did not know exactly how to explain when things between her and her uncle had changed, but they had.
At times, it also felt as if he considered her to be his enemy, which she most assuredly was not: She owed him her life.
“Lord Honfleur,” Lady Godfrey said with a titter of obvious delight, for the woman would claim the pleasure of saying she was the first hostess to entertain the Marquis of Honfleur at her fête.
“My lady.” Her uncle bowed over the woman’s hand, offering an air kiss several inches above her ladyship’s gloved knuckles for effect. “Merci de m’avoir recu. I be much honored by your reception.”
The woman trilled her response. “I am equally honored, my lord.”
Uncle Jacobi tugged Audrey closer to his side, but he continued to speak to Lady Godfrey. “Pardon, madam. Mon anglais n’est pas aussi parfait que je le sou haiterais. My English be not so perfect.”
Audrey wondered why he would declare himself not able to speak English well, for he was English by birth, or so she had been led to believe; yet, she swallowed the remark rushing to her lips.
Honfleur continued in what could only be called a pretense of broken English. “Madam, I mean, my lady, permettez-moi, to present ma nièce, Miss Moreau.”
Lady Godfrey reached out a hand to Audrey. “Are you not handsome? Lord Honfleur will require a sharp sword to keep the young gentlemen from whisking you away.”
Audrey could defend herself with a variety of weapons; yet, she said in a slow, exaggerated enunciation demanded of her by her uncle, “The… honor… is… mine… my lady.”
The people behind them edged closer, and Lady Godfrey frowned at their forwardness, but she gestured towards the ballroom. “Please enjoy yourself.”