The Earl of Soothcoor smirked, then nodded in agreement. He raised his wineglass in salute at his host. “Never had much use for frogs, but if I had half your money, Stefton, I’d hire Gascoullet away from you.”
The Marquis smiled cynically at his two friends. “And I thought it was my company that drew you two so often to my table. My conceit, it seems, knows no bounds. I should fire Gascoullet and seek repentance.”
“Ha! You’d have to have a bit o’ conscience first,” the Earl advised. He reached for the port bottle in the middle of the table. “I’ve a mind to forgo Lady Oakley’s ball this evenin’. Bound to be a squeeze. I don’t mind tellin’ you. I’m not ready to stomach this Season’s crop of marriage-minded purse-hunters.” He shook his head dolefully. “What do you say to us staying here, drinking more of your excellent port, and trying to take your money in a few rounds of cards?"
"Ordinarily, I’d willingly fall in with such an admirable plan. But not tonight, my friends. Not tonight,” the Marquis repeatedsoftly, a ghost of a smile pulling up one corner of his finely-chiseled mouth and burnishing his gray eyes to a silver glitter.
“Eh—what’s this, Stefton?” the Earl exclaimed, straightening in his chair. A shock of lank black-and-gray hair fell over his pale blue eyes. He pushed the offending locks back with an impatient movement while his gaze rested on his host and close friend.
“A woman, no doubt,” the Captain hazarded.
“I trust you're not still sniffing after that Panthea bitch’s tail.”
Stefton raised a quelling eyebrow at his friends. “Gentlemen, you talk as if I were some quivering stud eager to mount.”
“Hardly,” countered Captain Chilberlain. “More like the devil out to collect more souls.”
“Ah, Chilberlain, your understanding almost pleases me. In this instance, however, I believe I shall be more in light of a fairy godfather,” he urbanely proposed.
“You, Stefton, a fairy godfather? Get on with you. I’d as lief believe you’d entered the clergy,” declared Soothcoor.
The Marquis smiled. “Take comfort in the knowledge my Cinderella does not wish to go to the ball, whereas Perrault’s did.”
“Damn it, Stefton, you’re too bloody obscure,” protested the Earl.
“No, wait, Soothcoor, I think I have it. Your Cinderella has no use for princes or devils, perhaps?” hazarded Captain Chilberlain, leaning back in his chair and propping a well-shod foot on the cream-colored silk seat of an empty chair.
“It seems implausible, does it not?”
“And so your interest is piqued. And perhaps pride offended?”
“My dear Chilberlain, now you are like the gossipmongers who speculate, then spread speculations as truth,” Stefton drawled darkly. “Careful lest I feel obliged to cut your acquaintance.”
Chilberlain feigned dismay, and the Earl laughed. “To friendship!” he toasted. “And women.”
“Amen!” said the Captain.
Soothcoor and Stefton laughed, clinking glasses with the Captain like the three musketeers. The Earl never took his eyes off Stefton as he downed his wine. He wondered what exactly was the nature of the madcap mischief Stefton proposed. He shook his head. Society thought they knew the Marquis of Stefton, with his formal, urbane manner, his dry cutting wit, his unremitting boredom. They were deceived. Soothcoor had followed in his trail for too many years to be lulled into accepting his social persona. Followed him through high and low adventures.
Stefton was an able dissembler, that was true. But most of all, he was consistent. He did not play with innocents. He ignored them. That’s why the Earl was worried.
“Well, then, how are we to know Cinderella?” Chilberlain asked after downing his glass.
Stefton shook his head, mockingly disappointed in the Captain. “By her rags, of course. How else?”
The Captain nodded, a wry smile twisting his handsome features into deep amusement that lit his brown eyes, crinkling their corners into fans on his tanned face. “And what magic spell is yours to cast?”
“My spell is to make her the belle of the ball, despite appearances. To have Society dance at her feet without knowing why. It should make for a most amusing evening.”
“Sounds like a mass of bacon-brained nonsense to me,” complained the Captain good-naturedly.
“And definitely the work of the devil in you. But what about your fair victim?” asked Soothcoor, a frisson of unease crossing his thin countenance. It was not like Stefton to seek voluntarily to harm an innocent.
“What about her?”
“Are you being fair to her? To thrust her so into the light?”
A feral grin spread across the Marquis’s features. “I believe she will enjoy it. She is one woman who will not succumb to fits of vapors or tears. She will be more inclined to want me to ignore her, as she will strive to ignore me. And that is what will make it all the more amusing.”
