Chapter 2
Your late wife kept a secret. Host a masquerade ball, and I shall reveal it.
Pierce stood behind his desk, staring at the anonymous letter. He read it twice, his mismatched eyes narrowing as a familiar chill settled over him.
There was no signature, no explanation, nothing that indicated who had written it or how the writer knew anything about Augusta.
He rose abruptly and strode from the study, the letter folded tightly in one hand.
"Mrs Norris," he called, his deep voice carrying through the corridor. His housekeeper appeared moments later, composed as ever, a woman of sixty who had served the Ravenfield estate since childhood and knew more about its inhabitants than most would ever dare confess.
"Where did this letter come from?" Pierce asked, holding it towards her. "There is no mark upon the seal, and I want to know precisely how it reached this house."
Mrs. Norris adjusted her spectacles before examining the letter. "It arrived with the afternoon correspondence, Your Grace," she replied, returning it carefully. "The messenger brought a stack of letters as he does every day. Nothing appeared unusual about it."
Pierce frowned, and she watched him with the sharp understanding that had made her indispensable to the household. "If I may say so, Your Grace, you look as though someone has just informed you that the roof is about to collapse."
"Something considerably worse may have happened," Pierce replied darkly.
He returned his gaze to the letter, and memories he had spent two years trying to bury rose with painful clarity.
Augusta Fitz, daughter of the Earl of Dawkster, had been his wife, though theirs had never been a marriage of affection.
She had fled Ravenfield Manor while carrying their child, and Pierce had never seen her again.
Her death had left him with questions he could not answer and a haunting sense that he had failed to protect her. Now this anonymous writer claimed Augusta had kept a secret, and demanded that he gather half of London beneath masks if he wished to learn it.
A knock sounded before Pierce could speak again. Mrs. Norris turned towards the door and opened it, revealing a young gentleman with dark brown hair, green eyes, and the careless confidence of a man who had spent his life avoiding responsibility.
"His Lordship, Nathaniel Vernon, Earl of Brydges," she announced.
"Nathaniel," Pierce greeted, his expression softening only slightly as his best friend entered.
At twenty-six, Nathaniel was the second son of the Duke of Northton and had spent most of his life living in the shadow of his flawless elder brother, which had encouraged him to become a celebrated rake rather than attempt to compete.
"Mrs Norris, we shall dine early tonight. Lord Brydges will be joining me."
Nathaniel arched a brow as he removed his gloves. "I am? Well then, that sounds good to me, as long as we have port before. I could use a libation."
"You are going to need something stronger," Pierce said, turning towards the study. "When I show you what arrived today, you may require the entire bottle."
Nathaniel's amusement faded slightly. "That sounds intriguing."
"Follow me."
They entered the study, a masculine chamber lined with dark polished wood and tall bookcases filled with leather-bound volumes.
A broad mahogany desk stood before the fireplace, while two deep leather chairs faced the flames, and a globe rested upon a side table beside silver decanters.
Heavy curtains framed the tall windows, shutting out the grey London afternoon, while portraits of Pierce's ancestors watched from the walls with stern expressions.
Pierce took the letter from his desk and handed it to Nathaniel without a word. He poured a generous measure of brandy into each.
Nathaniel unfolded the letter and read it slowly, his green eyes narrowing as he reached the final line. "What is the meaning of this?" he asked.
"I do not know," Pierce replied, handing him one of the glasses. "It arrived today. There is no marking upon the seal, nothing to identify the sender, and Mrs. Norris received it with the ordinary correspondence."
"Odd and callous," he added after a moment, his mouth tightening. "I assume it is nothing but a joke." Yet even as he spoke, Pierce knew he did not entirely believe his own words.
Nathaniel took a sip of brandy and considered the message again.
"It may be," he said, lowering the glass, "as the ton did not treat you kindly after Augusta vanished.
They all blamed you." His tone carried none of the careless humor he usually employed when discussing society, and Pierce's jaw tightened at the memory.
"Indeed they did," Pierce replied quietly. "You were the only friend who stood by me and helped me look for her."
He could still remember those months with uncomfortable clarity, the endless searches, the inquiries made at inns and coaching stations, the desperate hope that had slowly given way to exhaustion.
"Yes, for months and months we searched," Nathaniel said. "Yet I thought the idle gossip had died down and people had moved beyond it." He looked at his friend carefully. "It has been two years, Pierce. Surely no one still cares enough to trouble you with such nonsense."
Pierce took a drink, allowing the warmth of the brandy to settle in his chest before answering. "So is this a joke in poor taste, or is it real?"
Nathaniel frowned. "You should dismiss it as nonsense."
Pierce looked towards the fire, watching the flames move behind the iron grate. "I cannot yet ignore the possibility that someone knows the truth about Augusta."
Nathaniel straightened, his expression becoming more serious. "But her own father delivered the news to you that she perished. Do you not believe him?"
Pierce's fingers tightened around his glass. "At the time, I did," he admitted, his voice low. "But it has always haunted me. There was a funeral and a gravestone, but her father shut me out. I was only told that she perished in childbirth and that the child did not survive."
Nathaniel slowly set his glass aside and crossed the room, placing one hand upon Pierce's shoulder with unusual solemnity. "I know you, Pierce," he said quietly. "Once something is planted in your mind, you do not let it go."
Pierce looked at him, saying nothing, because he knew his friend was right.
"So you know what you have to do."
Pierce's brow furrowed. "What?"
Nathaniel's mouth curved into a faint smile. "You host the ball."
Pierce stared at him as though he had suggested they invite the Prince Regent to conduct the investigation personally.
Nathaniel continued regardless, his confidence returning. "If there is something to learn, you will get your answers. And if there is nothing, then you have nothing more than a pleasant party and a chance for me to seduce the eligible debutantes."
Pierce's eyes narrowed.
"Perhaps a few bored wives as well," Nathaniel added with a shrug.
Pierce glared at him.
* * *
Unlike his guests, Pierce wore no costume. He had deliberately chosen to remain unmasked, preferring to observe the people moving through Ravenfield Manor rather than become part of the spectacle himself.
From the edge of the ballroom, he watched couples glide beneath the glittering chandeliers.
Every mask concealed a face, but Pierce had always been more interested in what people revealed through their behavior.
He made his rounds with measured patience, searching for anyone who appeared to be watching him too closely or behaving as though they possessed some secret knowledge about Augusta.
He had barely crossed the ballroom when Lady Samson intercepted him, her smile bright and unmistakably flirtatious.
"Your Grace," she said, lifting her fan as she examined his face, "I have always thought your eyes extraordinary."
Pierce gave her a polite nod, already anticipating where the conversation would lead.
"One blue and one green," she continued, leaning closer, "it is almost unfair that you should possess such an advantage over the rest of us.
" She laughed softly before adding, "After almost two years of mourning, surely it is time to find another duchess.
Your estate cannot remain without an heir forever. "
"My estate will manage," Pierce replied evenly.
Lady Samson's smile faltered. "But surely you do not intend to remain alone."
"I do."
She blinked at him, apparently unused to being dismissed so directly. Pierce felt no guilt.
I had fulfilled my duty once before and have no intention of marrying again.
He had entered one marriage because circumstances required it, and the result had left him with questions that still haunted him. He would not willingly place himself in such a position a second time, nor would he permit society to decide that his loneliness was a problem requiring correction.
Across the ballroom, Pierce caught Nathaniel's eye and gave him a look that required no explanation. Nathaniel immediately understood, crossing the room with the ease of a man who had spent years rescuing his friend from unwanted conversations.
"Lady Samson," he said with a charming bow, "you appear to be without a partner, and I should be honored to remedy that unfortunate circumstance."
She brightened at once and accepted his offered hand, allowing Nathaniel to lead her towards the dance floor.
Pierce watched them for a moment before retreating towards the gentlemen's smoking room in search of something considerably stronger than port.
He opened the door and stopped. The room was in complete chaos.
A mysterious woman dressed as the goddess Flora stood near the center, surrounded by gentlemen who appeared to have forgotten every rule of respectable behavior.
What in the name is this?
Her costume was elaborate, her face concealed behind a delicate mask, and every man in the room was staring at her. Her costume hugged her curvy figure in all the right places, with her low neckline revealing more than she should.
"I am looking for a gentleman willing to accompany me back into the ballroom," she announced boldly, though Pierce noticed the nervous movement of her hands. "Remove my mask before everyone, and kiss me publicly. The more scandalous the kiss, the better."
A chorus of amused murmurs swept through the room. Someone laughed, while another gentleman muttered that if she were willing to kiss a stranger before an entire ballroom, he could only imagine what she might be willing to do in private. The woman stiffened.
"Nothing more," she declared loudly. "I want nothing more. I have personal reasons for demonstrating that I have been compromised, but there will be no private arrangement."
The teasing only became bolder.
Pierce saw her shift backwards as several gentlemen began to circle her.
"Enough," he said.
The room fell silent.
"Every one of you, out."
Several men protested, but Pierce's expression ended the discussion. One by one, they filed past him, their amusement replaced by irritation and curiosity. The mysterious woman watched them leave with an expression of growing horror, and when the door finally closed, she turned upon Pierce.
"You have ruined everything!" she exclaimed furiously. "That was my only chance!"
"I have just saved you from making the greatest mistake of your life," Pierce replied.
"You have no right!"
"And you have no idea what those men would have done had I not entered."
Their argument grew increasingly heated until Pierce finally reached forward and removed her mask.
He froze.
She is beautiful.
Her dark eyes were wide with outrage, her dark hair framed her face, and dimples appeared faintly in her cheeks despite her anger. Pierce stared for one moment longer than he intended.
"Lady Margaret," he said slowly. "Is it?"
She nodded.
"Why are you doing this?" he asked.
Margaret's defiance faltered. "I am pledged by contract to be married in one week to a man that I despise. I believe that only public ruin can save me from it."
"I understand," he said quietly, and he meant it.
Margaret searched his mismatched eyes. "So will you help ruin me?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. "Now?"
Pierce stared at her.
For the first time that evening, he was tempted to break his own rules.
His eyes focused on her quivering lips.
Mm, so ready and willing.