Love Became Theirs (2 page)

At last she heard Papa's voice in the hall and hurried out. He exclaimed with pleasure at the sight of her, and paid a compliment to Mama, who had also hurried back, so as not to keep them waiting.

He was in a genial mood tonight, Rona was glad to see. Papa had an uncertain temper, which became unpleasant when he was thwarted. He spoiled and indulged his wife and daughter, showering costly gifts on them. But he expected to be obeyed.

In fact, he reminded Rona of Henry VIII, the bullying Tudor king who had also smiled when he got his own way, and turned nasty when he did not. When he had been choosing his costume, Rona had suggested Henry VIII to him, half fearful, lest he should suspect her of satire. But he had embraced the suggestion eagerly, and seemed unaware that it might have a personal application.

"What splendid ladies," he said now. "I shall be the envy of every man there."

They, in turn, complimented him on his magnificent appearance, and the atmosphere was very jolly.

As the maid was settling the cloak about her shoulders, Rona became aware that her parents were whispering.

"Have you told her?" she just heard her father ask.

"Just a hint," replied her mother. "I'm sure she understands everything."

'But I don't understand anything,' thought Rona. 'What's going to happen that I'm supposed to know all about? Who is it that has been 'particular in his attentions', and if I've enjoyed them so much that Mama has noticed, why haven't I noticed?'

It was strange to be moving towards such a mystery, but she soon forgot that in the pleasure of the ball. It was high summer and they travelled to Westminster House in an open carriage. Normally Mr. Trafford enjoyed the stares of onlookers, interpreting this as admiration of the family's wealth. But tonight he was less at ease.

"They're daring to laugh at us," he muttered.

"Well, you can't blame them, Papa," chuckled Rona. "It's not every day that they see Henry VIII and Queen Elizabeth riding together."

He scowled, and now he thought of something else that displeased him.

"Did you have to wear that wig?" he asked. It completely covers your hair."

"It's eighteenth century, Papa. In those days they wore wigs, men too."

"But your own hair's so pretty." His grudging voice robbed the words of generosity.

Luckily they were soon at Westminster House, where a stream of other carriages, also bearing colourful characters, were also arriving.

As soon as they entered the great house, they heard the sound of music coming from the ballroom at the back of the house. Crowds of strangely dressed guests were streaming along the broad hall to where the Duke and Duchess stood in the doorway waiting to greet their guests. They exclaimed in delight at the Trafford family, and Rona saw the Duchess cast a knowing eye over her diamonds.

Then they were inside the ballroom. At first Rona felt almost giddy from the bright lights and the whirling couples. There was Cleopatra, dancing with a Sultan in gold robes, and Anne Boleyn dancing with a bear, while King Charles I shared a glass of champagne with a parrot. It all looked like enormous fun.

"Ah, look who I see," said her father, suddenly genial again.

Rona followed his gaze to Lord Robert Horton. He was a handsome man whose looks, Rona had always thought, were spoiled by a permanently superior expression. He was dressed as a Regency dandy, with a high neck cloth, knee breeches and swallow tailed coat. There was no doubt that it suited his elegant figure.

Lord Robert's estate ran beside the Trafford estate, and he had several times stayed with them at The Court, their country house. He rode to hounds with her father and flirted with any married women who happened to be in their party, but it was rare for him to speak to Rona, whom he had seemed to consider unworthy of his lofty attention.

Lord Robert had seen them and was making his way towards them. Over his face he wore a black silk mask, which he removed as he approached.

"Sir, ladies." He made a neat bow. "A pleasure to see you. Miss Trafford, may I beg the first dance?"

Rona was about to make an excuse, for Lord Robert had never been a favourite of hers, but her father hurried to speak first.

"Certainly you may. You make a delightful couple and I think you will both be an example of good dancing to the rest of the party."

Lord Robert laughed.

"That's a compliment I don't usually receive from you," he replied, "especially when we're in the hunting field."

"You are now in a field of beautiful women," Mr. Trafford said. "If you ask me, although I am prejudiced, I think my daughter wins the race."

"Of course she does," Lord Robert agreed. "That's why I am determined to open the ball with her and she is undoubtedly too pretty to be anything but the belle of the evening."

He spoke so fervently that Rona was astonished. Since when had he thought her so pretty? During his last visit to The Court, her parents had given a ball and he had not even danced with her, although, as the daughter of his hosts, she was entitled to that courtesy.

She would have liked to refuse him this dance but she was now in an impossible position. Neither did Lord Robert wait for her answer, apparently thinking that her father's consent made it unnecessary.

Before she knew where she was he had replaced his mask, put his arms round her and drawn her on to the floor. He danced very well, and at first she had to concentrate on equalling him.

As she grew more confident, she had time to look around and she became aware that she was being watched.

A man dressed in a Harlequin costume, was standing by the French windows, his eyes fixed on the dancers – no, on
her
, she realised. As she was swept around by the dance she lost sight of him, but then another turn would bring him back into view.

And he was always looking at her.

It was as though nobody else existed in the room.

He was a tall man, with a lean figure that was admirably displayed by the close fitting, diamond patterned costume. On his head was a black tricorn hat, around his neck was a small white ruff, and his face was largely concealed by a black mask.

It was strange, she thought, that she should be so certain that he was watching her, when she only glimpsed him now and then, and he was too far away for her to see his eyes properly. All she could discern through the slits in his mask was a gleam, and yet she knew, beyond a shadow of doubt, that the gleam was for her.

It was as though the Harlequin was speaking to her in a strange, silent language that only they could understand. There was something slightly sinister about him as he stood there, very still, almost as if he were warning her of something.

"Miss Trafford!" Lord Robert was addressing her with a slight edge on his voice.

"I'm sorry," she said hastily. "What did you say?"

"I complimented you on your appearance, but you made no answer."

"I beg your pardon. I was absorbed in admiring – admiring everything around us," she finished. It was the best she could manage.

"You must be very absorbed not to hear me say that you are the most beautiful girl here tonight."

"Why, how can you know how I look when my mask conceals so much of my face?" she asked trying to sound light-hearted.

"But I have seen your face before," he reminded her, "so naturally I know that you are beautiful, despite your mask."

Rona tried to look flattered, but this plodding attempt at gallantry set her teeth on edge. There was something about the heaviness of Lord Robert's mind that reminded her of a suet pudding.

She murmured, "too kind," and turned her head as the French windows came into view again.

But the Harlequin had gone.

She forced herself to pay attention to Lord Robert's ponderous conversation. It was as though he had read a book on 'How to make light conversation at a ball.' He was following the instructions dutifully, but it was hard going for them both.

"This party is brilliant," he said. "It's just like the ones your father and mother give. They always manage to make everyone they entertain feel they are stepping into fairyland."

"Do you really think that?" Rona asked. "I thought when you were last staying with us in the country, you found it rather dull."

"Not at all. I enjoyed every moment of it, especially riding your father's horses. They are some of the best I've ever encountered."

"I hope you said that to Papa," Rona replied trying to sound amiable. "He loves being complimented on his stable."

"Your father and I understand each other pretty well," said Lord Robert.

She frowned. The words might have been meant pleasantly, yet somehow they grated on her.

To her relief the music was ending. She tried to disengage herself, but he kept his arm around her waist.

"I hope you will grant me the next dance as well," he said.

"You are too kind, but I don't think I should do so," she said, trying to sound firm.

"Your father will not object."

"But I will object," she said, becoming annoyed.

His brow darkened. "You object to dancing with me?"

"I object to being taken for granted. Will you please release me?"

He hesitated and she was sure he was on the verge of refusing when a voice startled them both.

"There you are! I've been looking for you."

The Harlequin had appeared, as if through a trapdoor. He danced right round the two of them before seizing Rona's hand.

"You promised me the next dance," he said. "Don't say you've forgotten."

Lord Robert's lips tightened.

"It's quite impossible that Miss Trafford – "

"No, that's too bad of you," Harlequin rushed on, ignoring him. "Come along, you're not getting out of it now."

Before she could catch her breath, he pulled her free from Lord Robert's restraining arm and swept her away. The music struck up again and they were whirling, whirling around the floor in a dizzying waltz.

"You shouldn't have done that," Rona said when she could catch your breath.

"Why not?"

"He knew I hadn't promised you a dance."

"Nonsense, you promised me at our last meeting."

"Did – did I?"

"I find it very sad that you should have forgotten," he said, sounding hurt.

"But we've never met before. You're playing tricks."

"Of course. That's what a Harlequin does. He's a master of tricks. He can dazzle with deception, and read people's minds. That's how he knows when a damsel is in distress, and needs him to come to her rescue."

"I don't know what you – " she began to say primly.

Then she stopped. This mysterious man really did seem able to read the thoughts she was trying to conceal, so perhaps it was useless to try to deceive him.

"Was it that obvious?" she asked with something close to despair.

"I saw you enter the ballroom. I saw him advance on you like a predator pouncing on a lamb, a tethered lamb, since you were given no chance to refuse. Henry VIII was very determined to make you accept, wasn't he?"

"Yes, I'm afraid he was. He's my father. I suppose he thought it would be rude for me to refuse."

"Or maybe he's trying to marry you to the fellow."

"Oh no," she said quickly. "He knows that I have no particular liking for Lord Robert – "

"I wonder if he does know. He doesn't look to me like the kind of man who interests himself in other people's feelings if they run contrary to his own."

This gave Rona an uneasy feeling. It was so completely true of Papa.

Harlequin could read people's secrets. But surely he could not be right about her father wanting her to marry Lord Robert? She tried to silence the memory of certain signs and remarks that had made her uneasy that evening.

"Was that why you were watching me?" she asked.

"Because you thought I was a damsel in distress?"

"Yes, I wanted to see if my first impression of you had been correct. Your initial reluctance might not have meant very much. You could have been madly in love with him, but had a violent quarrel."

"I can't imagine any woman being madly in love with
him,
" she said frankly.

"Nor I. And when I saw you dancing together, I knew that wasn't the explanation. You held yourself stiffly, and kept your distance. People don't dance like that when they're in love."

"Indeed?" she said, slightly offended. This fellow was growing impertinent. "You think you know all about it?"

"Harlequin knows all about everything," he said outrageously.

"Then I think you must be quite insufferable," she said, trying not to laugh.

"I am," he said at once. "Completely insufferable. Most people want to kick me after quite a short acquaintance."

This time she did laugh. It was impossible to stay annoyed with this joker.

"That's better," he said. "You have such a pretty mouth. It ought to laugh often. It's a shame that I can't see more of your face, but your mouth will do – for a while, at any rate."

"You are shameless, sir," she said, trying to sound severe.

"Totally shameless," he agreed promptly.

"If we were not wearing masks, I could never listen to you talking like this."

"You're right. One can say almost anything from behind a mask. I can say, for instance, that among the many subjects on which Harlequin is an expert, is love. You don't love that man, and he doesn't love you. Don't let them make you marry him."

"There's no question of my marrying him. Nobody but you has even thought of it."

"I only wish you were right, but you are not. I simply want to put you on your guard."

"That's very kind of you, and although I disagree, I am grateful to you for rescuing me. Now, please tell me who you are. Without knowing your name I shouldn't even be talking to you, much less dancing with you."

He was silent.

"Sir, I insist that you tell me your name."

"My name is Harlequin, and I am a lover of fair ladies. I sigh at their feet, I kiss the hems of their garments as they float past. I watch and protect them, and rescue them from danger."

"I never heard of Harlequin as a lover of ladies," Rona replied, briefly abandoning the attempt to make him serious. "He's a joker and a trickster, who has to be rescued when he himself gets into a muddle."