She had not yet seen Jessica at her aristocratic best. She probably would later tonight. But Mary would not be intimidated anyway, he suddenly realized. Her eyes would look past every barrier to the good that lay within any person she met.
Except when there was no goodness to be seen.
Manley Rochford was dressed as King Arthur, complete with a golden crown encrusted with paste jewels and a black mask. His wife—unfortunately, considering her rather plain, matronly looks, a number of guests remarked behind their hands or fans—appeared as Guinevere, also with a mask. Several people did not know them, but since most had come in the hope of catching a glimpse of them and perhaps making themselves known to them so that they would be the more assured of receiving invitations to the grand celebrations they were said to be planning, they were soon pointed out to everyone by those whodidknow.
Anthony Rochford was unmistakable in a billowing, all-enveloping domino and a mask that covered three-quarters of his face, for the entire costume was a glittering gold embellished with sequins. And who, anyway, could mistake that smile even though it proceeded from almost the only part of his body that was not covered?
Masquerades were always amusing, Jessica thought, for of course very few people went unknown to everyone else. The few exceptions were almost always those people whom almost no one knew anyway. She recognized friends and acquaintances wherever she looked. And family members, of course. And they were all here—except Harry, who had returned home to the country yesterday. Even Grandmama and Great-aunt Edith and Miss Boniface had come, partly because wild horses could not keep them away on this particular occasion, Grandmama had told her, and partly because they had undertaken the important task of looking after Mary until she was needed later, which might or might not happen. Mary sat now, resembling a mischievous elfin blackbird, between Boadicea—Grandmama—on her left and someone who was either a dragon or a giant robin—Great-aunt Edith—on her right. Miss Boniface, like many of the other guests clad in a domino and mask, hovered behind them.
Some members of Jessica’s old court found her out—it was not difficult—and swore to broken hearts and other silly things like the determination to challenge Gabriel to pistols at dawn. A few of them danced with her.
One thrilling moment came when the golden domino bowed before her, solicited her hand for a dance, congratulated her on her recent marriage, and proceeded to look tragic while they danced. In other words, his smile was not in evidence except when he looked at other women, which he did a number of times. He smiled with dazzling intensity at Estelle, who was partnered with Adrian Sawyer, Viscount Dirkson’s son. He smiled without ceasing when he danced the next set with Estelle and then swept her off in a flourish of gold to introduce her to King Arthur and Queen Guinevere.
A marquess’s daughter would do quite nicely, it seemed, when a duke’s was no longer available. The father was making much of Estelle, who made a very pretty mermaid, with feet that peeked discreetly from beneath her multicolored tail. Her mask matched it.
“I am crushed,” Jessica told Avery and Anna between sets.
She waltzed with Gabriel not long before midnight. He was tense and grim faced, she could see, though he did not miss a step. She was feeling the fluttering of nerves in her stomach too.
“One could almost believe,” he said, “that he is expecting to inherit a king’s title.”
“I suppose,” she said, “he has been something of a nobody for most of his life, Gabriel. And he had almost no expectation either until recent years. Both you and your cousin, not to mention your uncle, stood between him and the title—and fortune. Does he have money of his own?”
“I think not,” he said. “He was always eager to live upon the hospitality of my uncle and aunt at Brierley.”
“The unmasking is to happen after this set,” she told him, as though he was not well aware of that fact for himself.
“Yes,” he said. “It may all come to nothing, you know, Jessie. It may be a massive anticlimax.”
“But only we will know,” she said. And all the Westcotts and those with family connections to them.
The music came to an end. Had that last waltz of the set been shorter than the others? It did not matter. It was over, and Lady Farraday, assisted by her husband’s hand, was climbing to the orchestra dais and raising her arms for silence. She got it after a few moments of excited murmurings and hushing sounds from everyone else. She looked around the ballroom, clearly enjoying the drama of the moment, and slowly removed her own mask. The obligatory gasp of surprise was followed by the equally obligatory round of applause.
“Yes,” she said when it had died down. “It is I. And this is the moment when I get to discover if I have been entertaining a roomful of total strangers and impostors all evening.” She waited for the laughter to subside. “My lords and ladies and gentlemen, it is time to remove your masks and reveal your identities.”
There was a great deal of noise and laughter as everyone complied and looked around at one another and pretended astonishment at discovering acquaintances they had not identified until that precise moment.
Manley Rochford, as they had hoped, aroused particular interest now that everyone could admit to knowing who he was. And he was standing, conveniently enough, almost in the center of the ballroom. Well-wishers gathered about him to shake his hand or to curtsy. He smiled graciously upon them all, a rather handsome King Arthur without his mask. His son, still glittering even withouthismask, stood smiling at his right hand while his wife hovered at his left.
Gabriel looked steadily at Jessica and offered his arm. They approached that most dense group of guests together and a pathway opened before them, perhaps because the space had been occupied by Avery and Anna, Elizabeth and Colin, Alexander and Wren, Boris and Bertrand, and Sir Trevor and Lady Vickers.
Manley Rochford looked graciously upon the two of them, prepared to receive their homage.
“Hello, Manley,” Gabriel said.
Twenty
Manley looked somewhat startled at being so familiarly addressed. His smile faltered for a moment, but he nodded graciously at them both.
“Mr. Thorne, Papa,” Anthony Rochford said. “I have told you about him. And Mrs. Thorne—Lady Jessica Thorne.”
“Ah, yes.” Manley’s eyes rested upon Jessica. “I understand congratulations are in order. And Mr. Thorne.” He made them a slight bow.
“GabrielThorne,” Gabriel said. “How are you, Manley?”
Manley frowned in puzzlement. “Do I know you?” he asked—and Gabriel saw the beginnings of unease in the man.
“A long time ago,” he said. “Thirteen years ago and more.”
