Page 10 of A Duchess to Unravel (The Devil’s Masquerade #3)

CHAPTER FIVE

“ Y our behavior last night was completely inappropriate, Theo,” Tristan stated, “I told you. I told you how important last night was to us, and yet you still had to interrupt and make a scene!”

Theo’s face remained impassive at her brother’s early morning tirade, but on the inside, she flinched. Yes, she knew last night was important. It was why she wanted to sit it out in the first place.

She calmly picked up her fork, plucked up a bit of fish, and daintily chewed on it, as if she did not have a single care for what he said.

“Did I make a scene?” She asked innocently, “Or did you and your other guests make a scene by not allowing a woman to enter your conversation? Seems to me if you all had not been so old fashioned there would have been much that could have been learned by all.”

Tristan narrowed his eyes at her, and she noted the dark circles under them.

It caused another bout of guilt to wash over her stomach, taking away her appetite.

She had not spoken to anyone, even her friends, after she went back inside last night, just simply walked up the servants’ stairs as not to be seen and sequestered herself in her bed.

She had not slept, though, her mind too busy mulling over Alistair’s offer. And his touch.

Now she wondered if her brother had been unable to find rest as well.

“Perhaps if you had not barged in on the conversation and been more polite, you would have received a better reaction,” Tristan replied, his tone biting. “You could have been softer, more demure, like all of the other ladies.”

Theo tsked her tongue and grinned.

“ All of the other ladies?” She asked. “Since when has Ophelia ever been demure? Or Ambrose’s wife, Barbara?”

“They are not my responsibility, Theo,” Tristan said through gritted teeth, his hands tightening on his fork and knife. “And last night your behavior embarrassed this family.”

“Oh, stop,” Theo insisted, “You are the only one embarrassed. You wanted to impress the new Duke of Caldermere last night, yes? Strike a deal or two with him?”

Tristan’s jaw worked in agitation, but he nodded.

“And did you?”

He rolled his eyes.

“Yes,” he begrudged.

“Are you seeing him today or in the near future to finalize those contracts?” Theo asked.

“Today,” he agreed, looking as if the admission pained him.

Theo tilted her head and leaned forward, enjoying how much this was torturing her brother.

“And did he say anything in regard to my behavior ruining the meal for him after he returned from apologizing to me?” she asked, more for her own curiosity than to prove him wrong.

“No,” Tristan bit out, working his jaw, “In fact he said he found your company refreshing.”

Theo tucked her relief deep inside and shrugged as if she did not care, leaning back into her chair.

“Well then, it seems I am correct,” she replied haughtily.

Tristan closed his eyes and breathed through his nostrils, looking as if he was trying to grapple with his rising agitation.

The sight of him as such made her giggle, and her appetite renewed, she took another bite of her breakfast. She’d forgotten how much fun she used to have arguing with her brother.

“Either way,” Tristan pressed on, his eyes snapping open as soon as he heard her giggle, “This behavior must be at the very least suppressed until you find a match. I received some other news last night, and it seems the matter is a bit more pressing than we predicted.”

Theo’s triumphant smirk faded slowly.

“What do you mean?” She asked.

“Our new Duke is not only excellent in business but also highly perceptive. He has his ear to the ground for a wealth of information, and last night he told me of a masked party that was discovered by a journalist. Can you guess which one?” Tristan asked.

She did not have to guess. But she did have to pretend this was new information. Just as Alistair had obviously pretended that he heard the news from a secondary source, and not seen it unfold with his own eyes.

“I know I said I would let you find a match on your own,” Tristan went on after she did not speak, “But perhaps my assistance would move things along.”

Theo’s brow tensed and she frowned.

“If there has not been anything written about yet then there won’t be,” she replied, “There is no need for me to rush into a marriage.”

“You have that much trust that another Masquerade member would not sacrifice you in order to save their own reputation?” Tristan asked.

“There might have only been one journalist, but now that word is out, others are going to start hunting members down, coercing those identified to reveal other members. If I recall correctly you weren’t always a strict obeyer of their rules, Theo. Did you not take off your mask once?”

Though panic skittered up her spine, Theo gave another careless shrug. “I do not recall.”

Tristan’s expression darkened.

“One of us is lying, dear sister, and it is not me.” Tristan stated, his tone laced with warning.

“I do not know what you speak of, brother,” she replied, trying to appear careless.

Tristan’s fist slammed into the table, startling her.

“Do not play a fool when I know you are not!” He roared. “You attended the Masquerade far more often than you’ve let me know, haven’t you? You are known there, sought after, even.”

“My alias is known, I am not,” she fired back, throwing her cloth napkin upon the table.

“How many times?” He demanded. “How many times have you gone alone? How many times did you risk your reputation by being careless?”

“As many times as I needed!” She shouted back, losing control of her emotions. “Our mother was dying, Tristan, a horrid, slow death, and we were forced to watch it! Do you have any idea what that did to me?! How lonely it made me feel, how it had me wishing, needing to be someone else?!”

The anger in Tristan’s eyes fled, replaced with pity.

“Theo,” he said softly. “I know it has been a hard year, that you have struggled--”

Theo shot to her feet, the skirts of her sage green day-gown rustling against the table.

“I am done with this conversation,” she stated, shoving her chair back.

“We should talk about this,” Tristan insisted, rising from his own seat.

“Perhaps,” she agreed, “But not to one another. I am going to go to Rose’s.”

“Theo, do not go,” Tristan implored, “Not like this.”

“You bade me to reunite with my friends!” She shouted, turning to him as she reached the door. “That is what I am doing.”

“Theo, please,” he implored, coming around the table after her.

Theo spun, thrusting her palms into the dining room’s double door to throw them open, and walked with a quickness to the foyer. She called for her hat and parasol as she made her way to the door and snatched them from the butler just as he pulled them from the hook for her.

She kept her quick pace as she moved down the walk in front of their house, until she reached the front gate, and only when she made it to the street where others were walking did she begin to slow down.

They stared at her oddly, making her feel bare, as if they could see her pounding heart, her pain.

Yet she raised her head defiantly, tied her hat under her chin, raised her parasol, and walked with pride to Rose’s house.

“Theo,” Rose said with surprise when she came to the door.

“May I come in?” Theo asked readily, forgoing pleasantries. “Your butler said I must wait outside for you. Quite rude.”

A look of uncertainty crossed over Rose’s face, and she bit her bottom lip.

“I ... umm …” Rose murmured.

“Rose, darling? Who is that?” Rose’s mother called from inside.

Rose let out a sigh, and Theo’s worry for herself instantly evaporated.

It had been a long time since she’d had any conversations with her friends about their lives.

The last she’d heard from Rose was that her mother was growing painfully insistent, but the look on Rose’s face presently spoke to more than that.

“It is Theo, Mama,” Rose called back. “She has asked me to Promenade with her.”

“I’m sorry,” Theo apologized, “Is this a bad--”

Theo stopped talking as the door suddenly swung open wider, and Rose’s mother came into view, smiling far too wide, eyes far too watery and bright. And the scent of gin wafting strongly from her person.

“Why, Theo Briarwood,” Rose’s mother sighed, then pouted. “You poor girl. Losing your mother like that. Come in, come in.”

“We were just going for a walk, Mama,” Rose reiterated.

“Pshh, you can wait a few moments,” her mother slurred, reaching for Theo’s arm.

Theo gave Rose an apologetic look as she was pulled inside, but Rose only shook her head and gave her a small smile.

“My, my, tell me how you have been,” her mother insisted, “We have not seen you about in ages!”

“Oh, well, you know. Mourning tends to … isolate a person at times.” Theo struggled to respond.

Inside and now so close to her, the scent of gin was stronger, as were the signs that Lady Gravesmoor was not doing well. Her light blonde curls were frizzy and unkempt, her cosmetics, usually so well put on, were smeared on her cheeks and lips.

“Poor thing,” she pouted, pulling Theo into a tight, extremely out of character hug. “There, there. All will be well. I know death, darling, and it is a hard thing to deal with indeed. But you will find your way.”

Theo supposed they would know that as well, seeing as how Rose’s father and her mother’s husband had passed three years ago.

According to the gossip sheets, Rose’s mother had bounced back quickly from his death.

Now seeing her like this, though, Theo doubted that that was true. The woman was a mess.

“Yes, I suppose I will,” Theo agreed politely, thankful when Rose was able to pry her mother’s arms away.

“You know what I keep telling my Rose and I will tell you: what will help with that feeling of loss is the feeling of gain. As in gaining a husband,” Lady Gravesmoor said matter-of-factly. “You two would be so much better off if you would finally marry.”