For the morning papers had carried notice of the unexpected marriage of Mr. Gabriel Thorne, that American gentleman who had so aroused theton’s interest and curiosity over his recent, unexplained return to England after an absence of several years. And he had made nothing short of a brilliant marriage, his bride being Lady Jessica Archer, daughter of the Dowager Duchess of Netherby and sister of His Grace of Netherby.
The news would have been sensational enough even without one additional factor. But therewasan additional factor, for it had been generally believed among thetonthat Mr. Anthony Rochford, soon-to-be heir to the earldom of Lyndale, had been in hot pursuit of Lady Jessica and that she had favored his suit. And who could have doubted that? The gentleman, even apart from his prospects, was gorgeously handsome—all the ladies were agreed upon it. His smile! And exceedingly charming besides. Again, his smile! Yet Lady Jessica had confounded all predictions and married Mr. Thorne, who had rivaled Mr. Rochford in the contest for favorite of thetonbut had never quite equaled him. Mr. Thorne, after all, was not about to become heir to anything, least of all an exalted title.
And both men were attending the masquerade—Lady Farraday confirmed it to all who asked. Indeed several members of Lady Jessica’s family, not to mention Lady Vickers, seemed downright eager to pass on the information to anyone who would listen, even to those who had not asked for it. Both men were to attend the masquerade. So was Lady Jessica, of course.
Who could resist all the potential drama inherent in a love triangle? How would Mr. Anthony Rochford react to his first sight of Lady Jessica as a married lady? And how would he react to the sight of his rival for her hand? The man who had bested him.
And would he recognize them before midnight?
Would anyone?
Would anyone recognize Mr. Anthony Rochford himself?
Even those few people who had accepted their invitations but had half decided that they would not go to something that was sure to be a sad squeeze decided that after all they must attend.
Lady Farraday’s ball had become the most anticipated entertainment of the Season.
Mary was the only one who needed a heavy disguise, for she was quite a distinctive figure to those who knew her—and presumably Manley and his wife as well as their son had seen her a time or two. She rather fancied the nun’s costume that was presented for her review among a few other possibilities. It would cover all but her face from eyebrows to chin and would enable her to hide her bad arm.
“Hmm,” Jessica said when Mary tried it on. “Your face is still recognizable, Mary. We must add a mask—just a half one. Full masks are horrid things. It becomes hard to breathe, especially in a stuffy ballroom. Black, I think.” She added the mask to Mary’s disguise and took a step back.
“The bandit nun,” Gabriel said, and Mary laughed merrily.
“The bandit nun,” she said. “I like it.MayI choose this costume, Jessica?”
Surprisingly—verysurprisingly—her face had lit up with delight when Gabriel had asked if she had ever wanted to go to a masquerade. And when he had explained to her what the plans were for Lady Farraday’s ball, she had first looked very serious, and then had lit back up and looked like an excited child in anticipation of a treat, seated as she had been in that chair, which was many sizes too large for her. Her feet did not even reach the floor.
“Provided I will not have anything to do except sit and watch—until after midnight,” she had said, “I will do it. Will I be able to wear a costume?”
“It is imperative that you do,” Gabriel had told her, and she had smiled from him to Jessica and looked very pleased indeed with the world. “You will be quite safe, Mary. I will see to it.”
“I know you will,” she had said. “What an adventure I am having. Did I tell you that Ned and his elder son are staying at my cottage to look after my animals until I return? They are very kind. So is Ned’s dear wife for allowing him to do it.”
“Do you wonder that I love her, Jessie?” Gabriel asked that night when they lay in bed, relaxing after making love. Perhaps it was not the wisest thing to say of another woman to one’s brand-new wife.
“I do not,” she told him. “I think, Gabriel, she must be an angel. And what a foolish thing to say. How embarrassing.” She laughed. “But she must be.”
He turned onto his side and kissed her. Hard. And for perhaps the first time since returning to England he was consciouslygladhe had come. Even with all the challenges ahead, he was glad.
Gabriel chose a black domino for his costume, with a black half mask. It was neither an imaginative nor a very effective disguise, but that would not matter. He did not care if everyone recognized him—as everyone surely would—as long as Manford and his wife did not until midnight. He did not even care if he was pointed out to them as Gabriel Thorne. It was unlikely that after thirteen years they would know him just from the lower half of his face.
“Oh,” Mary, the little bandit nun, said when she saw him on the evening of the masquerade, “you do look splendidly handsome, Gabriel. Does he not, Jessica?”
“Be still, my heart,” Jessica said, smiling brightly at him and fairly rocking him back on his heels. She herself had already been looking disturbingly gorgeous in her deep pink domino and matching mask even before she added the smile.
“Mine could not grow stiller if it tried,” he said, his eyes fully upon her. “It has already stopped.”
Mary clapped her hands and laughed with glee.
“And as for you,” he said, “you look very fierce, Mary. Who has ever heard of a nun with a mask? She can only intend mischief. You must stop smiling, however, if you hope to frighten everyone.”
Shedidstop smiling. Suddenly, so did all of them. For this was it. The confrontation they had planned with such meticulous care together with Jessica’s family, who had insisted, against his better judgment, upon being involved. The most carefully thought-out plans, of course, often went awry. Everything depended upon Manley’s being there tonight. They had all done their part to see that he would be. There was nothing else they could do on that front but wait and see.
There was a knock on the sitting room door and Horbath reported almost immediately that her ladyship, the Dowager Countess of Riverdale, awaited Miss Beck in her carriage outside the hotel doors.
“She will be kind,” Gabriel assured Mary before escorting her downstairs. “She can be a bit intimidating, but she admires your courage. She told Jessie so.” He worried about poor Mary, who had lived most of her life as a hermit, her companions almost exclusively of the animal kingdom. She was to sit for most of the evening between the dowager and her sister.
“But of course she will be kind,” Mary said, not looking nearly as nervous as Gabriel felt and Jessica looked. “She is Jessica’s grandmama, is she not?”
