A Masked Deception (19 page)

“You are looking very lovely, my dear,” Brampton commented softly close to her ear.

“Thank you, Richard,” she said calmly.

The tenants of the estate clustered on the lower lawn, close to the dance floor, watching eagerly the rare spectacle of a large gathering of the upper classes in all their evening finery. They set up an impromptu cheer as the earl and countess approached, leading the way.

Brampton signaled the orchestra and the dancing began. He led Margaret onto the floor to begin the first country dance. The musicians had been instructed to play far more country dances than was usual at a ball, so that everyone would have a chance to know the steps. Soon the floor was crowded with dancers making up sets, simple starched country gowns jostling the finest satins and lace.

Charles danced the first set with Charlotte, then danced in turn with each of the ladies of the house party and of the other invited families. He was desperately avoiding the clutches of Susanna Kemp. Annabelle, meanwhile, was dancing more frequently with Ted Kemp than would have been allowed at a formal London ball. She might have been surprised had she known that the male house guests had a bet on as to how soon a betrothal announcement would be made.

Charlotte was in a determinedly gay mood. As usual, she did not lack for partners. She danced every dance, including one with Devin Northcott. It was a country dance; inevitably they were separated frequently by the various movements of the dance. It was most frustrating. There seemed to be as little chance for conversation as there had been that afternoon, when they had been lying side by side on the grass.

“You are looking particularly delightful this evening, Miss Wells,” he said as the music first struck up.

“Thank you, sir,” she replied. “You are very kind.”

And the dance steps forced them to move off in different directions.

“Your sister and brother-in-law have excelled themselves today,” he commented the next time they were together. “This is a magnificent gala.”

“Yes, is it not?” she replied brightly.

And again they were headed in opposite directions. And so it continued. It was not a situation conducive of the growth of a courtship.

Charlotte waited with barely concealed impatience for a waltz. Finally the musicians began to play one. She looked quite brazenly across the floor to where Devin was conversing with the town doctor and his wife. He turned in her direction and began to move away from his companions. Her heartbeat accelerated.

“Miss Wells, I have been waiting for a waltz so that I might ask you for the honor,” announced a smiling Rodney Langford, stepping into her line of vision.

She turned on him a bright smile. “How delightful!” she lied. “It would be my pleasure, sir.”

She watched with chagrin over her partner’s shoulder as Devin waltzed by with Meg in his arms.

At least she was glad it was Meg, rather than some simpering miss who would be batting her eyelids at him. Charlotte could have screamed as she smiled affably and chatted gaily to the unsuspecting Rodney.

Brampton was also watching his wife and Devin circle the floor, his feelings very similar to those of Charlotte. He had given the instructions for mostly country dances, yet he had insisted on a few waltzes. And he had had his wife very much in mind when he had given those orders. He wanted to make this evening a very special one for him and her. Tonight, against this unusual and magical setting, he hoped to begin wooing her love. And he had very much wanted that first waltz. He let his eyes stray along the edge of the dancing floor until they lit on the plump and pasty daughter of Sir Leonard Petrie, a fairly distant neighbor. A few moments later he was bowing gracefully over her hand and leading her into the dance.

Devin succeeded in securing the next waltz with Charlotte by the simple expedient of reserving it with her ahead of time. He held her formally, almost at arm’s length. She danced with eyes lowered, quite unlike the vivacious and friendly Charlotte he had known before Bram’s infernal brother had returned from the wars. Was she embarrassed, or was she just uninterested, dreaming of the younger, dashing soldier?

He inclined his head in the direction of Bram, who danced by holding his wife rather indecently close. Neither of them appeared to notice either him or his partner. Were matters improving in that strange relationship? He hoped so. He liked the sweet little countess and he certainly did not like to think of her running around London in disguise, without proper escort. Nor did he like to think of her in his own bed with Bram, like a common lightskirt.

Devin had made several unsuccessful attempts to initiate a conversation with Charlotte. Desperate, and knowing that the dance would soon end, he suggested that they take a walk—“to get away from this dreadful squeeze for a little while.” He was almost surprised when Charlotte agreed without argument.

Her heart, in fact, was thumping so painfully that she was having a hard time catching her breath. She had been so anxious to catch his attention tonight, yet she had found herself stupidly tongue-tied whenever he had tried to draw her into conversation. Perhaps she would find it easier if they strolled away from the crowds. She placed her hand through Devin’s arm and felt safe and protected.

Devin had known Brampton Court since childhood, almost as well as he knew his father’s estate. He knew where there was a path through those nearby trees leading to the lake half a mile distant. And he knew that a little way into the trees was a small lily pond, with a rustic bench close by. Given the picturesque setting and the moonlight and the glow from the lanterns, which would extend that far, he felt that he had a good chance to find out if Charlotte’s affections could be reclaimed from Charles Adair.

Charlotte also knew about the lily pond and the bench; she had been at the court for a few weeks. She also knew that it was not proper to go walking with a man unchaperoned in such a place. But it was a night when many of the rules seemed to have been relaxed. She allowed herself to be led.

They walked among the trees and immediately entered a different world. Lantern light and starlight were filtered darkly through the high branches; the sounds of music, voices, and laughter, though not blocked out, were muted. Everywhere was the smell of wood and leaves.

Devin held his arm close to his side, Charlotte’s trapped beneath it. They became more and more aware of each other, their soft footsteps and the faint rustle of her gown the only nearby sounds. By unspoken consent, neither of them said a word. The pond was not far into the trees. Devin would not have been so indiscreet as to lead her far from the company.

When they reached the small clearing, Charlotte detached her arm from Devin’s and sat down on the bench. He seated himself beside her and took her hand in his. They sat so for a few minutes.

“Miss Wells—Charlotte, did I embarrass you this afternoon?” he asked finally, breaking the silence with an abrupt and nervous voice.

“In the race?” she asked, raising her eyes to him. “That was not your fault, sir. It was just Charles being mischievous.”

“Would not for the world cause you pain,” he said, and when she kept her eyes lowered to her lap, he raised her hand to his lips.

Charlotte looked up at him, her lips parting in unconscious invitation.

“I always knew that,” she whispered, and waited in terror and excitement for the inevitable.

Devin kept hold of her hand as he lowered his head to hers and took her lips in a slow kiss. Charlotte became suddenly aware that she was gripping his hand very tightly. She released it and his lips with a little “Oh!” of surprise. They looked into each other’s eyes for a few moments; then it was Charlotte who put her arms up around his neck and invited his second kiss, deeper and more fervent than the first. She pillowed her head contentedly on his shoulder when he lifted his head again, and waited expectantly for his declaration. He kissed her temple, her ear, her neck where it joined her shoulder, her throat.

“Tell me you have been only flirting with Charles Adair,” he murmured finally, laying his cheek against the soft curls on top of her head.

“Flirting?” Charlotte’s body stiffened slightly. Any man who had been more into the petticoat line than Devin Northcott would have immediately recognized the danger signs. Devin was in blissful ignorance.

“You are young and devilish pretty,” he continued, running his free hand up and down the soft skin of her arm, “and this is your come-out Season. Ain’t unnatural that you should try out your charms on several young men. I am not angry with you. Hope you can tell me, though, that your feelings for Adair are no deeper than simple flirtation.”

“I am much obliged to you, sir,” Charlotte cried, tearing herself out of his arms and rising from the bench in order to sink into a deep curtsy in front of him. “What charming compliments. I am young and pretty. I beg your pardon, ‘
devilish’
pretty, I believe you said. And I am a flirt? And you forgive me, sir? You are not even angry with me? I do wish you had chosen a less dusty spot for these charming declarations, Mr. Northcott, for I feel I should sink to my knees and kiss your feet in gratitude.” Her voice was quite shrill by this time.

Devin was by now also on his feet. “Charlotte, my dear,” he said aghast, reaching out a hand to her, “believe me, I did not mean—”

“That I am young and
devilish
pretty? Oh, make no apology, sir. I know it was the night and the moonlight that made you speak so foolishly.”

“Charlotte, I—”

“Want a little more
flirtation,
sir? My apologies, but you have had your quota for tonight. I must rush back to the ball and find more young men to flirt with.” She turned with a rustle of skirts and started toward the pathway.

Devin grasped her by the arm and jerked her around, none too gently, to face him. “Charlotte, will you stop behaving like a child and listen to me?” he began, not too wisely.

“Sir, do
children
flirt?” she asked icily, tossing her head.

“No, but they sometimes get a good thrashing,” he parried, matching ice with ice.

“Threats, Mr. Northcott?” Charlotte asked disdainfully.

Devin expelled an exasperated breath. “Women! Deuced if I can understand them,” he said.

“Might I suggest that you not even try, sir?” she suggested.

“Miss Wells,” he said with a formal bow, having built up a fresh supply of ice, “allow me to escort you back to your friends.” He extended his arm, which she ignored. Back straight, shoulders back, chin high, and heart crying in mortal agony, Charlotte stalked along the wooded path ahead of him until they reached open ground. Before Devin could take his leave of her, she was in the midst of a gay crowd of young people, her hand being eagerly solicited for the next country dance.

Lord Brampton had also succeeded in getting the partner of his choice for the second waltz of the evening. For hours, it seemed, he had spent his energies on ensuring that his tenants and his guests were enjoying themselves. He felt no guilt now in devoting himself to his own pleasures. He took his wife in his arms and let the music create its own rhythm in their bodies. She was a divine dancer; he had noticed that on previous occasions. She was so light on her feet, so tiny and slender, so receptive to the guidance of her partner, that a man could relax and lose his fear of treading on her toes or the hem of her gown, or of losing her altogether on an intricate turn.

Brampton held his wife quite close. In the semidarkness of his own garden and in the midst of people who were bent on having a good time rather than eyeing one another for food for gossip, he did not care if he was being slightly improper. He held her so that their bodily vibrations touched, even if their bodies did not. He noticed with interest and some hope that she made no effort to put a greater distance between them. After a few minutes, in fact, they were both lost to their surroundings, aware only of each other and of the new and fragile rapport between them.

Brampton was brought back to earth when he found himself staring into the toothy grin of one of his younger tenants. The lad yelled over the sounds of the music and the conversation, “We’m hopin’ you does this every year, your lordship.”

Brampton grinned. “I am glad to know you have enjoyed the day, Tad,” he said.

He looked down into his wife’s quiet face. “Do you have any pressing duties to perform after this dance, my dear? Shall we walk up into the rose garden? I believe we might find some solitude there.”

Margaret was surprised, though she did not show her feelings. “It would be good to get away from the press of people for a while, Richard,” she said. She took his arm and leaned on him as they strolled from the dance floor up the sloping lawn toward the house, past the refreshment tables, where they smiled and nodded to friends, and finally angled off into the rose garden.

It was one area that had not been lit for the evening. Brampton knew that it was a favorite spot of his wife’s. He had not wanted it to become public property on that evening. But it was still an area of great beauty. The heady perfume of roses hung on the night air. Bushes and blooms were caught by the moonlight and the fountain of water spouting from the mouth of a fat and naked cherub and falling into a stone basin sparkled.