The Unlikely Lady (10 page)

Jane considered Daphne's words. It was diverting, wasn't it? This must have been how Cass felt last autumn when she was pretending to be Patience Bunbury. Cass had mentioned to Jane that it had actually been freeing to pretend to be someone she was not. As Patience, Cass said, she could act however she liked and the devil may care about the consequences.

The mask on her face and the loss of her spectacles made Jane feel a little lost, but also a little reckless, a bit free. As if tonight she was not Miss Jane Lowndes, wallflower extraordinaire, but Miss Ice Blue Domino-wearing Party Goer. And Miss Ice Blue might get up to absolutely anything. Especially while in the care of a nonexistent chaperone.

What did it matter that she could barely see a thing? Tonight, she intended to enjoy herself nonetheless. Now, where was a teacake when she needed it?

Daphne helped her maneuver through the crowd until they came upon two blurs speaking to each other. She recognized the voices of her closest friends. Lucy was a blur of crimson and Cass a blur of pink.

Lucy spoke first. “There you are, Janie. I've been searching for you. You wouldn't believe how many handsome gentlemen are here this evening. I daresay Captain Swift, er, I mean Swifdon, has good-looking friends.”

Jane nearly snorted. “Indeed, I would not believe it, because I cannot see anything. I wouldn't have made it at all if Daphne hadn't helped me find you. They might as well all be trolls as far as I can tell.”

Cass laughed. “You poor dear.” She squeezed Jane's hand and turned to Daphne.

“Tell me, and please be honest, how horrible is this red spot on my nose?” Cass asked her future sister-in-law.

“It's barely noticeable,” Daphne replied.

“I doubt that. I fear we'll be obliged to set another seat at the banquet table on the day of the wedding to accommodate it,” Cass said.

“It's hardly that bad,” Jane replied. “I cannot even see it.”

“Yes, but you're blind as a bat,” Cass replied. “And as to that, thank you for helping Jane find us, Daphne.”

“My pleasure,” Daphne replied. “Doesn't she look like a dream? She even caught the eye of Lord Owen.” Daphne's voice took on a subtle cajoling tone.

“Owen?” Cass replied. “You must be jesting.”

“I take great offense to that,” Jane replied. “I might not be able to see anything, but I can still
hear
you.”

“I beg your pardon,” Cass said, true regret in her voice. “I just cannot believe … Well, you do look entirely different from how you normally do, Jane. But Owen, he's a—”

“No need to explain,” Jane replied. “I was hardly attempting to attract his attention. I was looking for you two and then teacake … in that order.”

Lucy's tinkling laughter followed. “When I gave you that mask earlier, I completely forgot about your spectacles. Take it on my good authority that there are indeed a large number of good-looking gentlemen here. It's really too bad you're a confirmed spinster.” Lucy sighed as if she really did think it was too bad. “I'd be ever so much more efficient at finding you a husband than at convincing your parents you're to remain unattached. Your mother is quite single-minded.”

“Don't I know?” Jane replied. “Now, would one of you kindly point me in the direction of the refreshment table?”

“I shall do even better than that. I shall escort you there myself,” Lucy replied.

Jane supposed the flesh-colored blur that appeared at her side was Lucy's arm, so she wound her hand over it and allowed her friend to escort her toward the teacake. Jane waved in Cass and Daphne's general direction as she left them behind.

“Don't get up to too much trouble,” Daphne called.

“Yes, and you may want to avoid Owen,” Cass added, with a laugh. “He can be quite charming when he sets his mind to it, or so I'm told.”

Lucy dragged Jane toward the refreshment table before stopping short. “Ooh, there's Garrett. I wonder if
he'll
recognize you.”

 

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Garrett should not have allowed Owen Monroe to talk him into a stiff bit of straight liquor. “To toast the happy couple,” Owen had said, and of course, one small drink had turned into two and two into three, and that in addition to the brandy he'd drunk earlier. Garrett was feeling very little pain. He detested small stiff drinks. Owen Monroe, however, never met a drink he didn't like. Nor was there a bottle of liquor he wasn't intimately acquainted with.

That's what Garrett got for spending time in Owen's company. He'd wanted to clear the air with Monroe after that hand of cards last autumn and forcing him to pretend his sister was
not
masquerading as a woman named Patience Bunbury at Lucy's house party. Owen had insisted he was no longer angry with him. Garrett had won fair and square, after all, but Garrett suspected Owen was getting a bit of his own back by ensuring Garrett awoke tomorrow morning with a devil of a head.

Drinking was Owen's forte. Garrett should have refused that last drink. Or three. He had to get away from the study and the drinking to clear his head a bit. Now here he was wearing a bloody emerald-green demimask along with his black evening attire and staggering into the Morelands' ballroom.

He braced a hand against the wall and scanned the crowd. Bloody difficult to tell who was who with everyone wearing blasted masks. Thank Christ, Isabella had stopped him earlier and identified herself. She was wearing a ruby-red gown that was a bit too … distracting for his taste. He'd quickly excused himself without asking her to dance, which she was clearly hinting at, and made his way to the study where Monroe had got him in his drunken clutches. At least Garrett knew enough to stay away from the ruby-red gown he saw bobbing along the far side of the room, besieged by a contingent of hopeful male escorts.

“Garrett, there you are!” came Lucy's bright voice. He pulled his hand from the wall and turned to face his cousin.

“You must meet my friend Miss … Blue.” Lucy turned in a wide circle, obviously looking for her friend. “Now where did she get off to? I swear she was just here.”

Garrett grinned at his cousin. “Are you certain she exists? She's not like Miss Bunbury, is she? Or
Mrs
. Bunbury?”

Lucy plunked her hands on her hips and scowled at him. “Of course she exists. I'll just go find her and be back. I'm greatly looking forward to you meeting her.”

Lucy had a smile on her face that indicated she was up to something, but at the moment, Garrett's dizzy head was more pressing than whatever scheme Lucy had concocted. No doubt this was her inelegant attempt at matchmaking. “Fine. Go and fetch her. I'll just be … over here.”

A large potted palm rested near the wall across the room, a tufted chair situated behind it. Garrett had spied the space earlier. He intended to seek it out and relax for a moment.

Lucy quickly blended into the crowd while Garrett headed for the palm. When he reached it, he realized, to his chagrin, it was already occupied by a woman. A woman wearing a stunning shade of light blue with a domino mask to match.

“Good evening,” he said, bowing to her.

“Good evening,” came the woman's steady reply.

For a moment he wondered if she was Miss Blue. In his head, she was. Garrett bowed to Miss Blue again. Frankly, she'd looked like a blue blur to him at first. But when he lifted his head and took her hand, he was immediately intrigued. Miss Blue had dark-brown eyes, soft dark hair that framed her face, a pretty face from what he could see of it behind her mask, and was—ahem—well endowed. Quite well endowed. He forced himself to look away from her d
é
colletage. But really, what red-blooded male could keep from looking at
that
?

“Do I know you, sir?” she asked.

There was something familiar about her voice, but with the ringing in his head, he couldn't quite place her. “No, I don't know you, and you don't know me. This is a masquerade, is it not? As it should be.” Where all that nonsense had come from he had no idea. He was being charming. On purpose. Quite a shock, especially to him.

“Then I suppose it's nice to meet you, whoever you are,” she said with a musical laugh. It sparked a memory he couldn't quite place in his hazy brain.

“The pleasure is entirely mine, my lady,” he replied with the most roguish grin he could muster, the one that made him popular with the ladies in London.

Miss Blue opened her mouth to speak. “Oh, I'm not a lady, I'm—”

“Shh,” he said in a husky voice, daring to put his finger to her lips. They were warm and soft and— He shook himself. Best not to think about that. “You're a lady tonight. You're Lady Blue.”

Her laughter followed again. “Very well, and you are? Lord Green?”

“I like that name. I like it very much.” He executed a sweeping bow, though how he managed to right himself afterward was anyone's guess. “Would you care to dance?” Dancing probably wasn't the best idea, but how could Garrett resist a pairing with a charming, lovely, well-endowed young woman?

He offered his arm and Lady Blue merely nodded and took it without saying a word. Garrett pulled her into his arms just as a waltz began to play. Thank God for his many drunken nights of revelry in London. He had experience dancing and appearing to be sober when he was anything but, though mostly in his much younger days.

Lady Blue, it turned out, was a young lady of few words. Pity that. Weren't the loveliest ladies the ones who rarely spoke? The most annoying ladies, such as Miss Lowndes, were the ones who wouldn't
stop
speaking. He shook his head. Why was he thinking about Miss Lowndes at a time like this? Where was that woman at any rate? No doubt she'd begged off, claiming a headache, and was ensconced in the library with a book. He searched the ballroom. At least Isabella was still far across the room.

This was exactly what he needed, a harmless flirtation with a lady. His guilt over Isabella and his annoyance with Miss Lowndes had him feeling out of sorts. He was usually charming with ladies. Charming and friendly, certainly welcomed. Miss Lowndes was the only woman who seemed to dislike his company and Isabella was the only beautiful woman he could remember whose company he rebuffed.

For all that Lady Blue didn't speak, she was a proficient dancer, but the waltzing was making his dizziness worse. He needed to stop before he spun this divine young woman straight into the refreshment table. Bad form, that. “Would you care to go for a walk?”

“A walk?” Her voice was slightly breathless. The niggling feeling in the back of his mind remained. He'd heard that voice before.

“Yes. I find that dancing is a bit too … much for me at present,” he replied.

She hesitated. “Where shall we walk to?”

“The gallery?” he offered. A walk in the cool corridor outside the upper floor might be just what he needed. He could pretend to show her the portraits on the walls and hopefully shake off this stupor.

“Very well,” she agreed magnanimously.

Garrett pressed his lips together to keep from sighing his relief. She was gorgeous and agreeable. A delightful combination.

They stopped and moved off the dance floor. Garrett put his hand against the small of her back and ushered her in front of him out of the ballroom and into the quiet corridor. “This way.” He pointed toward the right where they rounded a corner and proceeded up the staircase to the gallery.

“Do you know the Monroe family quite well then?” the lady asked. She leaned on his arm a bit heavily and he could have sworn she tripped a little on the way up the stairs. Was she in her cups too?

“Yes, actually. I've known them for years. I was raised not far from here. How long have you known them?”

“I've only known Lady Cassandra since her come-out. She's marvelous.”

Another familiar niggle, but he brushed it aside. He was certain he'd know
this
beauty if he'd met her before. The alcohol was doing funny things to his mind.
Blast that Monroe
.

When they came to the end of the corridor, Garrett stopped and gestured to the portraits. “Here we are.”

“There are so many of them. Though I must admit, I find them difficult to see. Who's that?” She gestured to one in particular.

“It's the second earl, I believe. There's an even better rendering of him in this drawing room.” He pointed toward a door down the corridor. “Care to see it?”

*   *   *

Jane didn't know what to think. First, the handsome stranger in the green mask had asked her to dance. Well, from what she could see of him, he was handsome. Then he had asked her to view the gallery with him. Now, if she didn't know better—and she
didn't
know better—she'd think he was asking her to go into a drawing room with him,
alone
. It was beyond scandalous and inappropriate.

And it was absolutely perfect. She'd wanted a scandal to present itself and present itself it had, in the form of Lord Green.

Jane shivered. What was it about taking off her spectacles that made her feel so … scandalous? Perhaps it was because a handsome gentleman had never shown the slightest interest in her before? Perhaps it was because she'd never had the slightest inclination to return that interest? But there was something about this tall, dark man that made her want to go into the drawing room with him alone … even if they were only going to view an old painting. Not that she didn't like paintings—she adored the British Museum and spent absolute days there getting lost among the displays, carefully studying the lines of the Rubenses and the strokes in the Gainsboroughs. She could examine a Botticelli for hours on end. But she seriously doubted a painting of Cass's ancestor would keep her attention longer than a moment or two. Not to mention she couldn't see a thing at present. No, it was Lord Green who was keeping her attention.