“Well, yes, there is,” Kenna admitted somewhat reluctantly. “I began to think how much this masque meant to Yvonne. She won’t have her season for another year or two and this is a greatevent,anopportunity.And I took it away from her. So of course I thought I could make things right again.”
“Of course,” Rhys and Nick said together, identical inflections in their voices.
Kenna ignored them. “It came to me that Yvonne is everything angelic. Sheisbeautiful, don’t you think? Everyone remarks on her nose,” she added as if it explained everything.
At that moment acute embarrassment prevented them from seeing any part of Yvonne’s face as she had buried it in her hands.
Rhys raised one dark eyebrow. “Whereas remarks on your nose make some mention of other people’s business.”
Kenna was unperturbed. “Exactly. So it came to me that she must not miss her chance to attend this evening’s masque. Youwillhelp, won’t you? It’s not as if we shall ever be found out. It’s a masque after all. I know I can find some sort of costume and her face will be hidden.”
“Even the nose?” Nick asked, giving Yvonne a fond hug as she remained hidden behind her hands.
“Especially the nose,” Kenna answered with assurance. “Will you help?”
Nick shrugged and looked at Rhys. “What do you think? Has a year on the Continent jaded you or are you up to Kenna’s intrigues?”
Rhys studied the toes of his polished Hessians for a long moment while Kenna held her breath and Yvonne dared to peep between her fingers. At length, an enigmatic smile lifted the corners of his mouth. He scanned Kenna’s expectant features slowly and when he responded his voice held a touch of something very young. “I never tire of Kenna’s intrigues.”
Kenna laughed brightly and bounded from her bed, throwing her arms about Rhys’s neck. The wing chair teetered uneasily under the force of her enthusiasm but Rhys managed to keep it righted and returned the affectionate embrace. “It is so good to have you home again!”
As soon as she said the words Kenna wished she could have taken them back. She lifted her head in time to catch the flash of pain that paled Rhys’s strong features.
“It’s all right, sprite,” Rhys said softly. “This has always been my home.”
That was true enough, Kenna thought, but it didn’t make it right. Rhys had relatives, but no family. He had a home, but no homeland. And the glimpse of aloneness that Kenna had surprised in his eyes reminded her that it still had the power to cause terrible hurt. Rhys’s father was Roland Canning, a shipping magnate of no small influence and greater wealth in America, and though Kenna had never met him, indeed, had no desire to meet him, she knew from Rhys that he was regarded well by Boston society. Mr. Canning was a political noteworthy in his own country and had once served as ambassador to England. Kenna had learned from listening to her father speak that Roland Canning was raising his son to follow his lead and Kenna found nothing objectionable about a father’s desire to see his son successful. But the powerful Mr. Canning had two sons and Rhys was not the one oft remembered and adored.
Roland Canning could forgive his heir anything and his younger son nothing, beginning with the death of his beloved wife at Rhys’s birth. So it was that while Richard was raised in America under the doting eye of his father, Rhys was sent to his maternal great-grandmother’s stately home in England. The duchess of Pelham made no secret she had no patience and little affection for a lad she considered too brash and rebellious, too thoroughly American for her tastes, and promptly discharged Rhys to boarding school. Her duty done, she forgot all about him, and her man of affairs saw to Rhys’s allowance and needs. Kenna had overheard her father once say that it must have been a relief for the headmaster when Nicholas had befriended Rhys at school. Until that time it fell on the poor fellow’s shoulders to find excuses to keep Rhys in school during the holidays. Once Rhys became Nick’s fast friend they were into so many scrapes the man no longer needed excuses, he had reasons. But Nick, ever the finder of stray pups and blessed with a quick mind that usually relieved him of all responsibility for their care, managed to bring himself and Rhys to Dunnelly Manor one Christmas ten years ago. It then fell to Kenna and her father to make it a home for him.
It was an easy enough matter for each of them. Lord Dunne had a fondness for all children. He loved their enthusiasm and courage and noise, above all, their laughter. It had been his wish, as well as his wife’s, to have a dozen in his home and until Catherine’s untimely death it had seemed possible. It was a doubly cruel blow that Lady Cathy had been carrying their third child when a carriage accident ended her life. Dunnelly Manor was still in mourning for her ladyship when Nicholas brought Rhys Canning home, but Lord Dunne made him welcome, ready to take Rhys under his wing as if he had been his own. He never mentioned that on that first acquaintance Rhys’s solemn gray eyes were so like his Cathy’s that it ached for him to look at the child.
Kenna was only three when Rhys first visited Dunnelly and she had no inhibitions about crawling onto his lap when he was introduced to her in the nursery. Rhys was eleven at the time and had no experience with persistent, curious, and adoring urchins. He held her rather awkwardly and took much good-natured teasing from Nick that he had made a conquest, but Lord Dunne saw it was more likely Rhys had been conquered by his flame-haired daughter. Had they but known it, when Kenna startled Rhys with an affectionate, if somewhat wet, kiss on his cheek they were witness to the first spontaneous smile that had lighted Rhys’s face in years. From that moment on Nick and Rhys were rarely seen about Dunnelly Manor without Kenna in tow. If Nick chafed a bit at having his sister dog their every footstep, he never voiced his objections. If Rhys didn’t mind having her in his pocket, he reasoned, then why should he?
Kenna glanced over at her brother and smiled at the path of her thoughts. Poor Nicky and Rhys! At some point over the years they had become her keepers and her champions, ready to assist her in any piece of work and take the consequences upon their own heads. She knew of no one else, save perhaps her father, who would have taken the assignment without a costly bribe.
Kenna gave Rhys a brief hug and straightened, smoothing her well-worn dressing gown. “You don’t have to worry that I’ll land you in the suds this time,” she said earnestly. “No one ever has to know that Yvonne was at the masque.”
Rhys grimaced at Nick. “I felt better about this thing until she mentioned not landing us in the suds,” he said wryly. “Have you noticed events rarely go as she plans them?”
“Rarely?” Nick asked. “I should think it’s never. Do you remember—”
Kenna stamped her foot, “If you are going to recount ancient history I am going to ask you both to leave. Faith! Yvonne would think me a hapless wretch if I let you two go on.”
“She is not very discerning if she hasn’t discovered that on her own,” Nick said. “She can’t have forgotten the tower incident so soon.”
Yvonne came out from behind her hands and nudged Nick’s ribs gently. “Kenna, I know you mean well. You always do, but I’m not certain this is such a good idea. If I were found out Mama would be most distressed and your father would feel obliged to punish us.”
Kenna waved her hand airily. “You are defeated before we begin, Yvonne! I tell you, there is no one who will know save the four of us. Nick and Rhys would never give you away. You do want to go to the masque, don’t you?”
“Above all else, but—”
Kenna clapped her hands together as if all was settled. Nick leaned his head close to Yvonne’s and confided, “In time you will learn to state your objections first. Kenna has little patience to hear them out once you’ve admitted a desire for her outcome.”
“Would she have listened?” Yvonne asked as Nick helped her to her feet.
“Probably not. But at least you have voiced the folly of the venture one more time.” Nick patted her hand. “Don’t give it another thought. Rhys and I won’t. Damnable waste of gray matter. It’ll be a great lark, you’ll see. Kenna’s schemes always are.”
Kenna was fairly dancing with excitement. She urged Rhys out of his chair and pushed him in the direction of the door. “We’ll go to the attic. There’s bound to be something suitable in one of the trunks. None of you are going to be the least sorry! Yvonne will beradiant.”
