Page 47

A MASQUERADE UNMASKED

I t was extraordinarily vexing to Saye that Aurelia should receive the felicitations and congratulations for what promised to be an unparalleled event.

The idea had been his; the dance master had agreed to come on his name; and the Yellow Escubac had been chosen by him to be the signature drink of the party.

Aurelia, unimaginative bird that she was, had whinged that the guests ought to be served a more customary ratafia besides, but Saye had rejected that outright.

“The moment you said customary, you lost me,” he informed her.

Then there was the matter of his costume. The time he had put into thinking of it was not inconsiderable, and the fortune it had cost him not insubstantial. But worth it? Indubitably.

He had chosen Gatto as his mask, but not the cat alone; he had a masque con gatto veneziano , two masks in one—the first, a handsome man, the second a cat, heavily bejewelled and elegantly perched atop the face of the man.

It was also twice the dose of cleverness—not only was his Gatto the match to Lilly’s, but the cat wore a collar of aquamarines and diamonds that was, in truth, an engagement present.

He would propose, Lilly would accept, and then she would receive her gift.

But it would be the proposal itself which would be truly outrageous. Naturally, his first inclination was to fill a room somewhere with exotic flowers, set off fireworks, have the opera singer serenade her, something with true éclat. It had been Darcy who had rather put a damper on all of that.

“I have always supposed that you hide behind your excess,” he had said. “Better to stupefy and amaze than allow some proper romantic frailty to show. Have you considered that she might appreciate being acquainted with your sensibilities?”

Darcy did say the stupidest things sometimes, and Saye had not scrupled to tell him so—but dash it all if that accursed brother of his had not got in on the act, stroking his chin like some great philosopher and opining, “’Tis rather a terrifying business, to lay oneself bare before a woman.”

But the de rigueur quip about the miniaturised flute Fitzwilliam kept in his breeches had gone unheard.

Darcy was all grave and instructional, telling them all, for the thousandth iteration, “I can assure you, when Elizabeth and I went walking that October afternoon, right at the very moment I knew was my chance to offer a second?—”

“Bah! Do we need to hear this again?” Saye had cried out. In truth, it had become almost physically painful to him to be subjected, once again, to the tales of Darcy’s courtship of Elizabeth.

“I am saying it required a great deal of courage, because not only did I need to bare my soul, I needed to do it with the sounds of her vehement refusal yet in my ears!”

“In this we are equal. Lilly has refused me twice.”

“Those were nothing to how Elizabeth refused me.”

“Oh? How might you have liked it if she refused you in your very own home?” Saye retorted.

“Are we truly going to compete for who was rejected the most violently?”

“I am only saying there is no more grievous insult to a man than to be cut down on the very floors his ancestors trod.”

And somehow amid various boasts, insults, dares, and exclamations over the meaning of true courage, Saye had found himself betting his cousin and brother that he would have his beloved’s hand with nothing to recommend his suit but his own flawless exposition of charming vulnerability and humble entreaty. Blast!

He supposed he might find solace in the fact that it was sure to astonish her.

He had procured an unfair advantage for himself, of course, by making certain that she would indeed be Gatto.

And so she was, a pretty little puss with a painted and twinkling mask that matched her gown and the rose-coloured domino she wore.

It was a new dance, one he had commissioned especially for the affair— Viscount Saye’s Hornpipe .

“Very similar to Parker’s Hornpipe ,” he told his guests with a smirk, “save for the repeated thrusts up the middle.”

He was one of the few who was truly practised in the dance; only he and Fitzwilliam had known about it since the very notion occurred to him.

Everyone else had learnt it the day prior, when he had commissioned the dance master to come out and teach it to everyone in the house; Saye had enjoyed it very much when the dance master had informed them all, “Gentlemen, you must be prepared to aid the ladies in the upshot during the climax.”

“One must never stumble during the climax,” Saye had added, to the very great mirth of his brother and, shockingly, Sir Phin. Evidently the rest of them were virgins.

Now he was here, with Lilly’s undivided attention. “They say dancing is a first step towards falling in love,” he remarked to her, shortly after they began.

“That seems impossible, at least for a lady,” she said. “After all, we must accept any man who asks, or else risk sitting out the evening complete.”

“And that is quite unfair for us all,” Saye replied.

“Why should I have the same chance of acceptance as say…old Jolly over there?” He gave a discreet little point towards Jolly Rawlings, an amiable fellow of good fortune who nevertheless appeared, always, to be garbed in clothing that was simultaneously too large and too small.

Even now, he stamped about inelegantly, his mask askew and his domino doing nothing to disguise the unruly shock of red hair atop his head.

“I have quite truthfully never seen the man well in looks.”

Lilly giggled and then frowned. “Bad boy. He is your friend!”

“And an excellent fellow he is—just badly dressed.” Saye smiled at her. “A hopeless case, sartorially, but I do not doubt he will make someone an excellent husband.”

“Playing matchmaker? A peculiar diversion for a man most think is not the marrying kind.”

“I cannot argue with them,” he said. “Indeed, I have always found the notion of marriage quite unappetising.”

The conversation had come just to the spot he wished it to and then, from nowhere! Blasted Georgette, all full of teary-eyed joy and hell-bent on destroying his domino and forcing them to step out of the set—his dance! “Kindly unpeel yourself from my person; you are crushing my velvet!”

“Georgette, what on earth are you doing?” asked Lilly.

Georgette had him in a half-hug, gazing up at him tenderly. “You are the very best of men, Saye. ”

“Pray do not speak so.” There were creases, obvious wrinkles, in his velvet. He gave her his most thunderous scowl. “You will ruin me. Now leave me to your friend.”

“You are wonderful, and you deserve to be hugged.”

“I do, but not by you. Besides, Darcy wrote to your father as well. Go and hug him and leave me alone.”

Georgette laughed and said, “I most certainly shall thank him, from the bottom of my heart, but we both know it was your idea, and for that, I love you.”

But she had not done. She insisted on kissing him, whispering as she did, “But not nearly as much as Lilly loves you—and definitely not in the same way!” Then at last she left, nearly skipping away. At least her last words to him had made him forgive her a little.

“What was that about?” Lilly asked curiously.

“I am sure I do not have the least notion. Woman troubles?” He smiled. “Let us return to our dance. It is very nearly time for the decisive and final thrust, and we surely do not wish to miss that. No one wants to be left unsatisfied.”

The intended entendre was unnoticed. Lilly’s curiosity was fixed on her friend. “Obviously she is happy Anderson is returned, and happy to be engaged—but what did you have to do with it?”

“Nothing.” Saye took her arm and gently prodded her back towards the dancers, joining the end of the line as they waited their turn to thrust.

Lilly turned and gave him a look, the blue of her eyes seeming somehow sharper, more unyielding.

It was most peculiar—as if she already knew, but wanted to make him say it, or something like that.

He heaved an enormous sigh. “Well, Hawkridge is dreadfully high in the instep, but you must have known that.”

“He had always seemed perfectly amiable to me, until I learnt this week that he forbade Georgette from marrying Mr Anderson.”

Saye shrugged. “He does fancy himself as a man of fashion, or at least what passes for one among gentlemen of that age, but absolutely abhors anything unseemly.”

“Like Anderson’s helpless children,” Lilly said with a charming little frown. So charming it was, in fact, that Saye forgot to reply for a moment. “And his family history.”

“Quite right.”

“You have had a hand, then, in persuading Georgette’s father to overlook Anderson’s peculiar fondness for the little unfortunates? But you count yourself a man of fashion too—do you not? How can you reconcile it?”

“You are quite wrong, my darling girl,” he said. “I am decidedly not a man of fashion. Rather the fashions are of me.”

That made her both laugh and roll her eyes, but as the pattern dictated that they move, she was unable to press for more. Relieved, he hoped she would say nothing else about it—but the way that she cast a little glance towards him told him her curiosity had not been sated.

She held it until the dance was finished. “But how could you persuade your mother’s cousin to accept a man he was so thoroughly set on disliking?”

“Why must you be so fixed on this? Look.” He gestured towards the windows at the side of the room, through which a nearly full moon could be seen. “Shall we take some air?”

“You are being impossible,” she told him.

“Well, as that is his specialty, one can hardly expect otherwise.” Aurelia had arrived, peevish and irritated, to demand her elder brother’s attention. “Saye, you are needed immediately.”

“Where is your mask?” Saye asked.

“Who cares!”