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“But Papa,” Serenity said, “what am I to do if he wishes to dance with me? He is Lord Thorpe’s brother. Will I not offend Lord Thorpe if I outright refuse his brother?”

“There will be no dancing this evening. Lady Darlington has her own ideas about a masque. We will all mill around and vote on costumes and eat from the sideboards and the occasional little trays that are brought round.”

“Oh yes, I had forgotten. But if I refuse to dance with Lord Charles at some other place, will I not have to sit out?”

“If Lord Charles finds the opportunity to attempt to dance with you, feel free to refuse on my account. Do not sit out, we do not give a toss for the ton’s more stupid rules. Lord Thorpe will not give a toss for his brother’s feelings. In fact, I suspect he’ll be flattered.”

“I cannot imagine having such a hateful relationship with my sisters.”

The duke snorted. “That’s because there is no property to inherit. If there were, you’d all be clawing each other’s eyes out.”

“We certainly would not!”

“Or something like it,” the duke said, laughing. “Anyway, I know from my own experience that a second son feels badly used. Your uncle spent most of our childhood looking very injured. Hard to be around, really—he was always staring at me as if I ought to apologize for landing on the sheets first.”

The carriage had rolled to a stop. They were here. Now that they were here, Serenity did feel the littlest bit foolish to be dressed as a bee. She supposed other ladies would come as queens or otherwise looking lovely. Even a milkmaid would be far more charming.

“Papa,” she said, “I suddenly feel that I look ridiculous.”

“Nonsense,” the duke said. “One of the benefits of being a duke’s daughter is one never has to consider anybody else’s opinion.”

Her father often said so. It was just hard to believe it was true. She very much cared what Lord Thorpe would think. Perhaps she ought to have dressed in a costume that made her look pretty.

But then, she could not forsake the bees. Because she was a first-rate idiot!

*

Roland had been let down by the weather in the morning. It had been raining hard and not even the most hopeful imagination could claim it a misting. As the hour of eleven had approached, he’d looked out the window and willed the rain to stop but it ignored his wishes entirely.

He spent the rest of the day attempting to read and thinking ahead to the masque that was to be this night.

Though he only wore a simple domino and black half mask, he always did feel a bit ridiculous at these masques. He’d not even attended last year and only heard later that Lady Patience, Lady Serenity’s sister, had collapsed on the floor and had been taken home.

He never did hear what had ailed the lady.

This year, though, he had come. He’d asked Lady Serenity if she would attend last night and she’d said she would. So of course, he would come. He’d even arrived on the early side.

He milled round Lady Darlington’s ballroom, greeting people he knew and ever keeping an eye out for Lady Serenity.

Rather than the lady he sought, he saw his brother enter the ballroom.

Charles wore what he could only guess was a costume of Richard the Lionheart—gold crown, burgundy velvet, ermine-lined cloak, and a dark blue tunic with a large white holy cross leaving not much doubt.

Roland supposed Charles meant to say something by it, as he always did.

Perhaps it was the idea that Richard the Lionheart was not a firstborn son and yet had succeeded to the throne, just as Charles ought to have succeeded to the dukedom. Or maybe it was a comment on Charles’ perceived bravery and daring being very like that king.

He looked away, as he did not much care what Charles was trying to say.

As always at Lady Darlington’s masque, the evening would consist of food and drink being brought round on trays and sideboards lining the room to fill in any gaps.

The orchestra would play music, but softly and there would be no organized dancing.

Though, he’d heard that Lady Underwood and Lord Welscott had daringly waltzed a few years ago.

Perhaps not unsurprisingly, neither Lord Underwood nor Lady Welscott had been enthusiastic to hear of it.

The food served at the masque would be in very small portions that did not require a knife and fork, mostly consisting of thin sliced ham with cream cheese rolled into a small packet, or the same small packet made with beef and horseradish cream, tiny puff pastries, squares of hard cheeses, boiled and chilled prawns stuffed with herbed butter, toast points topped with dill and Scottish salmon, rolls, and miniature cakes.

It was an exceedingly odd menu, but he supposed a hostess must be hard-pressed to come up with items that could be passed round on trays.

In any case, the wines and champagnes that came round were always first rate.

Tables were scattered throughout the ballroom and the end of the room was lined with the voting booths, each manned by a footman.

At some point in the evening, everyone was to cast their votes on the costumes present—most elaborate, most original, most beautiful, most historically accurate, most like the person who wore it, and et cetera.

He cast his eyes back to the doors, and then he saw her.

Lady Serenity. Her costume was not at all what he’d expected.

He had supposed she’d do what most ladies did.

They took the opportunity to stand in a particular alluring attitude.

They might be queenly, or a coquettish maid, or an alluring sultana.

The costumes were all meant to complement the lady’s looks in ways that ordinary dress could not.

Lady Serenity had come as a bee. It really was both a dreadful and somehow endearing costume. There was nothing at all flattering about it and the colors were awful, but she came off very charming.

He could not make heads or tails of the duke’s costume. Was he in a vicar’s surplice going up in flames?

He hurried forward. “Your Grace, Lady Serenity.”

“Ho there, Thorpe,” the duke said.

Lady Serenity gave a pretty little curtsy. Or as pretty a curtsy as one could do in piles of drab flannel.

“You are a bee,” Roland said. “It is charmingly original.”

Lady Serenity laughed and said, “Our housekeeper warned me to be on the lookout for false flattery and here it is. I feel a little bit ridiculous, especially now that I am in view of so many fine ladies arrayed in splendor.”

“Serenity has an obsession with bees,” the duke said, “best to know about those sorts of oddities up front.”

“Papa,” Lady Serenity scolded.

“Gracious, Serenity,” a lady said to Roland’s right. He turned to find Lady Marchfield frowning.

“Aunt,” Lady Serenity said, not looking particularly delighted to see her.

Lady Marchfield sighed. “Lord Thorpe, please pretend you’ve never set eyes on this concoction of a costume. I will guarantee that it was the duke’s uncouth housekeeper’s influence that led to it.”

“It was not Mrs. Right’s idea, though,” Lady Serenity said. “I thought of it on my own.”

“She’s very fond of bees,” the duke said, “which you would know, Lady Misery, if you spent ten minutes attempting to understand your nieces rather than scolding them all about one ridiculous thing after the next.”

Lady Marchfield seemed taken aback by this idea, as Roland imagined she must be. The lady sniffed and said, “I had intended to introduce Serenity to the Countess of Pembroke. She is Lady of the Bedchamber to our dear queen and a very influential woman. I think I will put it off, considering.”

“Take my daughter to meet the countess or I will tell everyone I am dressed as your vicar, going up in flames to meet the devil, as that poor fellow thought it preferable to spending another minute in your company,” the duke said.

Lady Marchfield stiffened.

Roland supposed the duke really would tell people that, and he supposed Lady Marchfield knew it.

“It is your housekeeper that has gone to the devil, I will remind you,” she said. “I have rescued Mr. Cremble from her clutches but do not imagine you have heard the end of it.”

Roland assumed that meant the butler had departed the Nicolet household under unusual circumstances.

“Ha! Why would I imagine I’ve heard the end of it? There never is an end to your nattering. Now, get going to find Lady Pembroke. I wish to have a private word with Thorpe.”

“Shameful!” Lady Marchfield muttered. “Come, Serenity, I cannot say what’s got into your father, but he is somehow more offensive than usual. I’d not have thought it possible!”

Roland might have been shocked by the duke’s and his sister’s exchanges if he’d not been witness to it before. What private word did the duke wish for, though?

He watched Lady Serenity being marched off by her aunt, her charming white organza wings bouncing behind her. He looked enquiringly at the duke.

“Your brother has sent a preposterous letter to my household,” the duke said.

Roland felt his jaw clench. Charles never stopped making trouble, it had turned into his life’s work.

“The idea of the letter was to convince me that it was you who got that housemaid in trouble and it was all hushed up.”

“Did he, now,” Roland said.

“He did, but as it happens, your brother’s star does not shine very bright in the sky.

It was clumsily done and he very obviously gave himself away on quite a few fronts.

One, the account of the circumstances you gave at your dinner, which he did not challenge, was that you had just returned from school and discovered the girl had been thrown from the house. ”

Roland nodded. “That is true.”

“Seems rather impossible that the girl was in early pregnancy, then. Had you meddled with her over your last school break she’d have been well along and you did not have time to meddle with her when you arrived. You’re an Oxford man, I presume?”

“I am.”

“And your estate is in Suffolk. Quite the lengthy trip during term to meddle with a maid, unobserved no less. Had you been interested in such things, I suppose you might have located a lady more conveniently situated. You are not interested in such dalliances, I hope?

“No, Your Grace,” Roland said. He thought he knew what the duke wished to hear, which was nothing but the truth anyway. “I would never disgrace my future duchess in such a manner.”

“As I thought. Now, on to number two, the letter claimed to be from a lowly servant, but if so, that servant inexplicably attended Oxford or Cambridge, such was the sophistication of the language and composition. Three, that lowly servant either stole paper from his employer or spent all his wages on it, as it was very fine quality and sealed with good wax. Four, the top of the sheet was cut off, indicating a monogram had been removed. Five, I was just arriving to the house when the letter was delivered by a porter wearing livery from The Albany. And finally, six, and I did find this the most hilarious, this supposed lowly servant ended the letter noting that everyone wished that Charles, the second son, had been the heir.”

“That devil.”

The duke nodded. “I have not told Serenity, nor will I. Though, I have told her to avoid him when she can and that he’s not to be trusted.

In any case, Lord Charles did not get anywhere with it.

” The duke took that moment to punch his arm.

“What about you? When are you going to get somewhere with it? Something to think about, Thorpe!”

With that, the duke grabbed a glass of wine off a passing tray and strolled off.