Page 40

“I wish we had another example of his hand.” Daisy squinted at the letter. “This isn’t even signed.”

“Well, we haven’t.” Livie flopped down on her back. “Oh, Daisy, what if I have to marry Mr. Cassio? I think I’d rather die.”

“Which would be worse? To marry a man who wants you and possibly damage his career, or marry a man who wants you only so that he can have a career in the first place? To me, there’s no question,” Daisy said. She turned the letter over. “The major doesn’t have to remain in the army. His family is clearly substantial. There’s a crest on the letter.”

“We suppose we could look him up in Debrett’s Peerage,” Livie said. “Though Father more or less announced that I was going to marry Cassio.”

“You shouldn’t listen to such twaddle,” Daisy counseled. “I would never allow you to marry the first mate of a boat. Your father has obviously lost his head due to the stress of imprisonment.”

“His letters have been talking about Cassio for several years,” Livie said hollowly, pointing to the trunk at the bottom of her bed. “I didn’t pay them any mind, because it never occurred to me that Cassio had anything to do with me.”

Daisy was peering at Joshua’s letter. “The crest has unicorns to the sides and a lion on top. There are always unicorns, aren’t there? You’d think they could be more original. If I was making a crest, I’d place my mare in the middle … with a rooster on her head! That would stand out.”

Livie shrugged.

“No one can force you to marry,” Daisy consoled. “If need be, I shall ask Mother to give you the mantel clock downstairs. Lord Argyle will be at your feet in no time, given how he prattled on about that timepiece.”

For foolishly sentimental reasons, Livie had been keeping Joshua’s card in her pocket ever since she’d told Peter the major’s address. She held it in the air. “His address might offer a clue to his family.”

“Oh, of course,” Daisy said, running over to take it from her. “We can ask—”

Her voice broke off.

“What?” Livie asked.

“He’s—he’s—”

“He’s what?”

“He’s related to Lord Paget. He must be if his address is Paget House,” Daisy said.

“Lord who?” Just then, the name registered. Before Daisy could answer, Livie sat up and gasped. “Lord Paget! From the Battle of Waterloo?”

“Waterloo-Shmatterloo,” Daisy cried. “The same Lord Paget who will preside over your father’s trial as Lord High Steward!”

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

THE SECOND MASQUERADE

THE DUCHESS OF TRENT’S ANNUAL MASQUERADE BALL

Livie pulled her crimson domino cloak tightly around her shoulders as she stepped down from a hackney cab in front of the Duke of Trent’s mansion. Light spilled from a large window at the front of the manor, and she could see costumed people milling about inside. Thankfully, a fair number sported colored dominos, so she and Daisy wouldn’t stand out.

“Fiddle-faddle!” Daisy exclaimed, hopping down to stand beside her. “I was certain that the duke and duchess would have opened the ball by this hour so we could sneak in without encountering the reception line. They aren’t dancing yet, are they?”

As Livie shook her head, the door to the ducal mansion swung open and a butler appeared on the threshold, waiting for them to make their way up the walk.

“Ugh,” Daisy murmured. “I’m so nervous that my knees are wobbling.”

“You surprise me! You’re usually the first to be up for a lark.” Livie pulled a coin from her reticule to pay the driver, wishing him an excellent evening.

“This is more than a lark,” Daisy said morosely. “My mother will eviscerate me if the Duchess of Trent recognizes us.”

“It was your idea! Besides, Her Grace would think it funny.”

“If the Duchess of Trent—who has known us for years—identifies either of us, it won’t matter if she bursts out laughing. My mother will not be amused.”

“The ball is crowded with masked guests,” Livie pointed out, nodding at the window. “We can remain on the far side of the room.”