Richard nodded as he watched the famous singer curtsy while Lady Duncaster made her way toward the stage with a lovely bouquet of roses. Glancing over his shoulder, he looked toward the French doors leading back inside the house, and then toward the spot where Rotridge was now standing. Catching Richard’s eyes, the earl narrowed his gaze before inclining his head in silent greeting. A menacing smile played upon his lips, tugging at the corners of his mouth until, with a jerk of his head, he turned away, pushing past the people who’d been sitting next to him. “Stop,” he said, his voice slicing through the fading applause and demanding immediate silence.
Lady Duncaster halted and turned toward him, her eyebrows arched in question. “Yes?”
With heels clicking sharply against the stone-slab tiles, Rotridge made his way toward her. “While I was away in London, I made a wager in White’s betting book.” His eyes surveyed the guests as he progressed toward the spot where Lady Duncaster was standing. “It is a wager that can only be settled by MissCavalani herself.”
“How intriguing,” Lady Duncaster said as she looked toward the woman still standing on the stage. Her face was painted white, her lips a bright shade of red, and her eyes outlined with black kohl. The gown she wore was Elizabethan in style. On her head she wore an elaborate wig embellished with crystal beads.
“I could not agree more,” Rotridge said, “for you see, it is a matter of MissCavalani’s actual identity.”
A murmur rose from the crowd. Richard squared his shoulders in expectation of what would undoubtedly happen next.
“Do you not find it strange that the most celebrated opera singer in England has never been seen by anyone, except for on the stage? One would think that she would have acquired a protector by now—that many young gentlemen would have made any number of desirable offers in order to claim her.”
Clenching his fists, Richard forced himself not to react to Rotridge’s statement. As far as everyone knew, he wasn’t speaking of Mary, but of Lucia. And yet, Richard felt the insult like a punch to the stomach when Rotridge looked in his direction and said, “Welcome back into our midst, Mr.Heartly.”
Tightening his jaw, Richard muttered his thanks for the sake of those present. Had he been alone with Rotridge however... A staying hand touched his arm. “Calm yourself,” Lady Foxworth murmured. “You must not allow him to rile you.”
“As for MissCavalani,” Rotridge continued in a measured tone that seemed to capture everyone’s attention with the promise of revealing a marvelous secret, “I would like to propose that she is not of Italian descent or that she is even a foreigner, for that matter. Indeed, I propose that she is not even of lowly birth, but a peeress in disguise.”
The gasp that rose from the crowd was immediate. “Outrageous,” some said. “Impossible,” others said.
Rotridge held up his hand to silence them. “There is only one way for us to discover the truth, and that is to ask for MissCavalani to remove her wig and face paint.”
“Have you no shame?” Lady Duncaster asked.
Rotridge inclined his head. “Unfortunately I have a great deal of money at stake, for you see, I have even gone so far as to name the lady whom I suspect MissCavalani to be.” Responding to the horrified look on Lucia’s face, he allowed himself a victorious grin. “Let us dispense with the pretense. It is time for you to reveal yourself,Lady Mary.”
Murmurs snaked their way through the onlookers. Lucia took a step back and shook her head. She looked to Lady Duncaster with wide imploring eyes.
“This is preposterous,” Richard said, voicing his opinion.
“Why?” Rotridge asked. “Because she happens to be your fiancée? Congratulations, by the way. I have no doubt that the two of you will be very happy together. After all, you do share a fondness for masquerades, do you not?”
“I ought to challenge you for your insolence,” Richard said.
“You may do so after I have proven to everyone that the woman standing on that stage is none other than Mary Bourneville.”
“You are making a grave mistake, Rotridge. One that is presently damaging both MissCavalani’s reputation and Lady Mary’s as well.”
“Then perhaps you would care to explain Lady Mary’s absence this evening?”
All eyes turned on Richard. He became acutely aware of his family’s pained expressions but chose to ignore them. Somehow, he had to remain focused. He could not allow for anyone to suspect that Rotridge might be right. “She went to collect a shawl for her aunt.”
“An hour ago?” Rotridge’s voice was mocking now. “Are you really so naïve that you would think I might believe that?”
“Stop it!” The order was spoken by Lucia. All eyes turned toward the stage. “His lordship is correct in one regard. I am not a foreigner. Cavalani is a stage name.”
“I knew it,” Rotridge yelled.
“But I am not of noble birth,” Lucia added, “and I am not Mary Bourneville.”
Calculated fury seemed to seep from Rotridge’s eyes. “Yes you are!” Striding past Lady Duncaster, he climbed onto the stage, his superior height dwarfing Lucia’s more delicate frame. Leaning away from him she looked as though she wished to flee, but her large skirt made movement difficult and before she could go anywhere, Rotridge’s fingers were in her hair, dislodging the wig until a mass of golden locks emerged.
A collective gasp filled the air as everyone stared at the woman before them.
“Are you quite finished?” Lady Duncaster asked as she too stepped onto the stage and snatched the wig away from Rotridge’s hand.
“I...” He stared at Lucia, then at the wig, and then at Lucia once more. “I do not understand. You were supposed to be—”
