Page 5 of Beneath the Devil’s Mask (The Hidden Hearts Collection #4)

“I was not aware that I had a downstairs maid, let alone one named Emily, but I will take your word for it,” Mandell said. “Now what is all of this to do with me? I am not the girl’s father to be giving my blessing.”

“No, but it would be much more convenient for John to be part of the same household as his bride. Alas, I am not in a financial position to take on any more servants. I thought, that is I hoped, you might be persuaded to employ John.”

Mandell frowned. “Sometimes, Nicholas, the interest you take in the affairs of your servants borders on madness.”

“Then you refuse?”

Mandell knew he certainly should. He kept only a small staff at his London house.

Nor did he think that Nick’s tendency to meddle with the lower orders should be encouraged.

This incident was a minor one, but as a member of the House of Commons, Nick was forever pressing for reforms to alleviate what he deemed the misery of the working class.

“What the boy does not understand,” Mandell’s grandfather would frequently growl, “is that reform only leads to idleness and dissatisfaction amongst the poor. From there it is but a step away to revolution.”

The danger of revolution was one of the few points that Mandell and the Duke of Windermere agreed upon, born of a shared pain. The old man grieved for the loss of a beloved daughter, Mandell for the mother he had barely known.

Mandell started to refuse Nick’s request, but his cousin looked so hopeful. It seemed churlish to disappoint Nick over such a trivial thing. The fate of the nation could hardly be affected by permitting the marriage of one insignificant servant.

Mandell vented an exasperated sigh. “Oh, the devil! What is another footman more or less?”

Nick brightened. He leapt up to shake Mandell’s hand. “Damme, Mandell. You’re a capital fellow.”

“Now is there anything else you think I should do?” Mandell grumbled. “Perhaps arrange a wedding breakfast for the happy couple?”

“You needn’t go as far as that, but a small gift might be nice.”

At Mandell’s dark look, Nick grinned. “Only jesting,” he said.

Their business concluded, Mandell and he stepped past the curtain, returning to the ballroom. If anything, the gallery seemed more crowded than before.

“What a damned crush this is,” Mandell said. “Is there anyone interesting present tonight?”

‘The Prince Regent is here, and your grandfather.”

“I said interesting.”

“Oh, you mean ladies,” Nick chuckled. “Well, the Beaufort heiress is here and the Countess Sumner’s sister is back in town, having set aside her mourning at last,”

“And who might she be?”

“You remember. Lady Anne Fairhaven, Sir Gerald’s widow.”

”Oh, yes, the deadly proper Sir Gerald Fairhaven. I did not even know that he was dead, but given how dull he was, it would have been difficult to tell.”

“You knew his brother Lucien had inherited the baronetcy. How did you think he got it if Sir Gerald was still alive?”

“I did not give the matter much consideration. Sir Lucien is not exactly one of my bosom companions. None of the Fairhavens have ever interested me much. As I recall, the lady Anne seemed not much livelier than her late husband.”

“Lady Fairhaven is certainly quiet, but I never thought her dull,” Nick said. “In fact, there is something quite appealing about her. She has the most remarkable sad eyes.”

“I wouldn’t know. The lady never let me get close enough to her to find out. I rather think she has a strong disapproval of men with libertine propensities.”

“Certainly, Lady Fairhaven is a woman of great virtue.”

“Indeed? I suppose that could be an amusing way to spend an evening, trying to discover exactly how unassailable that virtue might be.”

“Leave Lady Fairhaven alone, Mandell. She does not need you tormenting her. I hear she has come through a bad time of it since her husband died.”

“All the more reason she might welcome a little diversion,” Mandell said. “Perhaps I shall seek her out, unless, of course, you’ve a mind to try your own luck with the lady.”

“No! You know I am not in the market for a wife.”

“Neither am I.”

“That is exactly my objection,” Nick said hotly. “Lady Fairhaven may no longer be a debutante, but I don’t think she knows much of the world, certainly nothing of the sort of sport you seek. There is still an innocence about her.”

“Ah, but that is the trouble with innocence,” Mandell mocked. “For most of us, it is such a temporary state.”

Not giving his cousin a chance to retort, Mandell sauntered off, leaving Nick glowering after him. But far from harboring any thoughts of seduction, Mandell intended only to pay his respects to his hostess, then escape this den of heat and noise as soon as possible.

Skirting the edge of the gallery in his search for the countess, Mandell collided with the corpulent form of the Prince Regent. His Majesty’s frock coat glittered, overdecorated with the jeweled ribbons of far too many orders. He stared at Mandell, the prince’s florid features turning even redder.

“My apologies, Your Highness,” Mandell murmured. He stepped back a pace and sketched a bow that was correct but still lacking in deference.

The prince’s jowls quivered and he stared straight through Mandell.

He ambled past without a word of acknowledgment.

The cut was unmistakable, but Mandell’s lips creased into a smile.

He knew that he had never been a favorite with the Prince of Wales, not since the time George had been named regent due to his father’s madness.

So many others had crowded around the vain prince, flattering, and offering their congratulations, that Mandell had been unable to resist expressing his condolences instead, along with a wish for the old king’s speedy recovery.

Amid his triumph, George had been obliged to look a little ashamed of rejoicing over his father’s misfortune.

The prince had never forgiven Mandell for that.

The greeting Mandell received from Lily, the Countess Sumner, was far warmer. Traversing the length of the room, Mandell spotted her, hovering over some young woman seated on a silk-covered chair.

At the sight of Mandell, Lily closed the distance between them with outstretched hands. A fading beauty, she made far too free use of the paint pots, but her figure retained a voluptuous charm.

“Mandell,” she cried. “You came after all. I vow you are a most welcome sight.”

“Am I? I had begun to wonder.” He carried her fingertips to his lips.

She laughed. “Oh, you mean your reception from the Prince Regent. Aye, I saw it all. You must not mind His Grace. The poor man is sadly put out. He was the focus of attention amongst the ladies until you walked in. You must have a dance with me later. I have all manner of interesting gossip to share with you.”

“Not about Bert Glossop, I trust. I have heard more than enough on that score.”

“Oh, no, something far more interesting.” She leaned forward to whisper behind her painted chicken-skin fan. “The Prince Regent has left off wearing his stays.”

“And just how would you be knowing that, my lady?” Mandell asked.

“Because one can no longer hear him creak when he walks. How else should I know it, you naughty man?” She closed her fan and rapped his wrist.

A laugh escaped Mandell, one of genuine amusement.

The rest of London might be in an uproar over murder, but trust Lily Rosemoor to be more interested in the regent’s stays.

Mandell had always been more at ease with the countess than with other women.

He liked his mistresses younger and not quite so giddy.

She preferred her lovers blonde and more poetic.

So their relationship had never been hampered by any sexual tension.

With the ease of long acquaintance, Lily linked her aim through his. “Come, Mandell, there is someone you must make your leg to. You will never guess who has returned to London. Anne, my darling little sister.”

She tugged Mandell over to the chair where the young woman sat, staring pensively down at the floor tiles.

Mandell had never taken much notice of Anne Fairhaven, but she appeared as he remembered her, pale and prim, her fair hair done up in a crown of braids.

The style was perhaps a little too severe, but it drew attention to the slender column of her neck.

Clad in a high-waisted lavender gown, she was like a fine pastel lost amidst the brightness of more garish oil paintings.

“Anne,” Lily called gaily. “Do but look who has arrived.”

Lady Fairhaven glanced up. Mandell experienced the shock of more recent recognition as the candleshine played fully over her delicate features.

Impossible that it should be so, but Anne Fairhaven was the woman who had been weeping by his gate.

She had been half lost in shadow then. Her hair tumbling free had made quite a difference from her usual prim style.

But there was no mistaking those violet-hued eyes.

They were clear now, only the shadows beneath bearing testimony to her former unhappiness.

Before Mandell could move or speak, Anne shot to her feet, a blush staining her cheeks.

“My lord,” Lily said. “You do remember my sister, I trust?”

“Of course,” he said, managing to gain possession of Anne’s hand. “The virtuous Lady Fairhaven.”

“The wicked Lord Mandell,” Anne countered, snatching her fingers free of his grasp. “Excuse me, Lily, my lord. I was on the verge of retiring to the card room. There is someone I must speak to.”

For the second time that night, she fled from Mandell without a backward glance. Her gown, demure as it was, clung to the willowy curves of her hips. She moved with a grace that was somehow far more alluring than the exaggerated sway of bolder women.

“I declare,” Lily exclaimed. “Whatever got into her? Mandell, what have you done to frighten my poor Anne?”

“Nothing.” Mandell smiled. “Yet.”