Page 21

Chapter Twenty-One

The Masquerade Ball

Home of the Earl and Countess of Berridge

A week later

“What inspired your costume, Olivia?” Elsa asked, having been too busy chasing villains to attend the meeting where the ladies shared their ideas.

Olivia smoothed her hand over her forest-green gown. “ Hamlet . Ophelia’s connection to the natural world spoke to me. I wanted my costume to reflect the idea that all things return to nature in the end.”

“She spent hours sewing the silk leaves onto the mask,” Joanna added, her admiration evident. Dressed in a pale blue gown and gold mask, the Countess of Berridge embodied the grace and strength of Helen of Troy. “The green complements her red hair beautifully.”

The Marquess of Rothley certainly agreed. Along with Mr Daventry and the Earl of Berridge, he had chosen to show his face. Despite conversing with the men, his gaze kept returning to Olivia.

Daniel entered the grand ballroom and joined Mr Daventry. She would recognise her husband’s strong, purposeful strides anywhere. He wore a black silk mask—the same one he had worn when he made love to her only hours before.

Elsa smiled to herself, the thought of those lonely nights at The Grange feeling like a distant memory. She shuddered, wondering what might have happened had she not found the courage to visit town.

“Will you dance tonight, Olivia?” Elsa asked, curious if Rothley would ever sign his name on the lady’s card.

Olivia’s sad sigh was haunting. “I prefer to listen to the orchestra play.”

Sensing the lady’s unease, the countess offered a comforting smile. “My husband knows every man here. You might not recognise their faces, but their intentions are strictly honourable.”

“Lord Rothley has forgone a mask,” Elsa added. “And you do share a deep love of sombre verse. I know he was keen to discuss the topic.”

Olivia’s smile was fleeting. “A lady should know her place in the world and not mistake kindness for courtship. I wouldn’t want the marquess to feel obligated to ask me to ride in the park.”

Joanna laughed softly. “The marquess is not swayed by expectation. He seeks what he desires, regardless of convention.”

Except the lord desired very little.

His cynical view of life would see him lonely in his dotage .

Olivia nodded thoughtfully. “Then if the marquess desired to dance, he would have been the first man to sign my card.” She glanced across the ballroom. “If you will excuse me, I promised Miss Barker I’d fetch her some lemonade.” Keen to make an escape, she slipped away into the crowd.

“Rothley is as stubborn as a mule,” Joanna grumbled when Olivia was out of earshot. “Have you noticed how often he’s looked at her tonight?”

“Yes, it seems to have become a habit.”

“Sadly, he will never do more than look. He’s allowed his anger to fester for a decade, and now it clouds his judgement.”

Betrayal affected people differently. Some went to great lengths to reinvent their lives, driven to prove their worth. Others lived with a stake through their heart and the organ never stopped bleeding.

“Perhaps the more you encourage the marquess to attend events, the sooner he might forget the woman from his past.”

Joanna nodded. “That’s what I’m hoping.”

With the promise to discuss the matter later, Elsa went in search of Clara. She visited the retiring room, but The Crimson Contessa was not hiding there. Clara wasn’t dancing or taking refreshments.

“Have you seen Clara?” she whispered in Daniel’s ear, resting her hand on his arm. “It’s my turn to make sure she’s not off on some daring adventure.”

Daniel turned to her, his hand settling on her waist. “She was sittingon a bench in the garden, studying the dratted list she’s made.”

Elsa cautioned him to lower his voice. “I promised Clara we were the only ones who knew about her thirst for adventure. ”

“Adventure? More like a path to ruination. Are you sure it’s wise to let her loose in London?”

Elsa hesitated. It wasn’t wise at all. But wisdom wasn’t what Clara was chasing. “Clara needs to see that her life isn’t over just because her scars are visible.” She remembered the light in Clara’s eyes during their conversation, how she had come alive, glowing from within as she spoke about her list.

“As long as she does nothing foolish while we’re away in Chippenham,” Daniel said. “Can you at least caution her to wait until we return to town before she indulges in one of her escapades?”

“I think it’s safe to visit Thorncroft. Clara wants to add a few more tasks to her list before she begins making solid plans.” She glanced at the open terrace doors, the gentle breeze and festoon of pretty lights a romantic lure. “Would you care to stroll around the garden with your wife while we secretly watch Clara?”

Something in his dark eyes said he wanted to do more than stroll. “Do you need to ask?” He clasped her hand and led her through the French doors onto the terrace. “How much longer must we stay?”

She didn’t raise her mask but hoped the sensual curl of her lips conveyed her eagerness to be alone with him. “Another hour at most. Did Mr Daventry have any new information regarding Miss Denby?”

“Her family petitioned to have her committed to an asylum, claiming she’s mentally unstable, not a calculated criminal.”

Elsa drew a sharp breath. “But that’s ridiculous. Only a sane person could construct such a web of deception.”

“That’s what Sir Leopold said when he presided over the case. The truth about Clarence Denby’s death went against her, and the judge sentenced her to spend twenty years in Newgate.”

Given the brutal and inhumane conditions, Miss Denby might not survive her time in gaol.

Mr Graves, sentenced to hang for the murder of Mr Carver and Lord Grafton, would visit the gallows next week. No one would be punished for the untimely death of Clarence and Cynthia, but Lord Denby believed his grandfather was to blame.

“Daventry accompanied a jury to Edenberry, where they recovered Carver’s body. They assumed Graves buried him there, and Daventry supported the theory.”

All the tension drained from her body. “Thank heavens. I know Mr Daventry said not to worry, but I feared you would be charged with concealing a murder.”

He smiled, a smile that made him look dangerously handsome in the black mask. “We can move on with our lives and never need think of that night again.”

She would still think about those dark moments during times of reflection. She wouldn’t have married Daniel if not for Miss Denby’s licentious antics.

“I wonder if Miss Denby cared about the men she used.” She had manipulated both her lovers—Mr Carver to spy and ruin the Tylers, Mr Graves to silence those who threatened to confess.

“Denby said his sister changed the day Carver revealed what he’d overheard during your parents’ secret conversation. Given Carver’s frequent trips to town, Denby suspected the two were conspiring and hoped they were searching for proof of your lineage.”

Lord Denby had been quite helpful, all things considered. If Elsa inherited Wendlow Follies, he needed her to pay him a portion of the profits. Moreover, it was his fault Lord Grafton was dead. He’d been gossiping with his family over breakfast and mentioned the lord was living in squalor at The Salty Gull.

“The love of money is the root of all evil,” she said, bracing her hands on the stone balustrade and staring out into the moonlit garden.

She spotted Clara sitting on the bench, dressed as The Crimson Contessa. A man in a dark velvet coat and a silver-and-black harlequin mask stood beside her.

“It’s only Rutland,” Daniel said, following her gaze.

“But I told him Clara was at home nursing a megrim.”

“He’s no fool. Besides, the more eyes on Clara the better. I’ve told Rothley and Rutland to take turns playing chaperone while we’re away.”

Elsa pursed her lips. Clara would be furious. She yearned for freedom and would see it as proof that her blind eye marked her as fragile in everyone’s eyes.

“Rothley plans to take Clara to James & F. Green and demand a confession from the assistant,” Daniel said, amused.

“But you said the constable secured a confession and proved Miss Denby had bought the cologne and later bribed the assistant to alter the card.” The man had been dismissed, though not before giving a detailed statement.

Daniel chuckled. “Rothley wants to return every bottle of cologne and jar of shaving soap he’s ever bought from them and ensure they know he despises liars and frauds.”

Elsa laughed under her breath. “Perhaps Clara should add that to her list, marching into shops and delivering scathing lectures.”

“Rothley can dismantle a reputation with nothing more than the twitch of a brow. By the time he’s done, they’ll wish they’d never opened their doors.”

And yet those the marquess really wished to punish had eluded him. She touched on her brother’s shocking revelation. “Do you believe Magnus saw Justin Lovelace in Geneva?”

Her brother was prone to exaggeration. Indeed, Mr Daventry said he was likely attacked by a footpad in Port Noir.

“Rothley is rarely wrong about anything, though people have spent a decade trying to convince him otherwise. I pray Justin is dead. If he’s not, he’ll wish he’d never been born.”

Despite the certainty in Daniel’s voice, Elsa knew Lord Rothley would not rest until he had answers. That kind of obsession never brought a man peace.

Thoughts of men and peace drew her gaze to the oak tree at the bottom of the garden, and the night she stormed into the countess’ ballroom and thrust two shillings into her husband’s hand. The night she changed her fate forever.

“So, Daniel,” she said, her voice carrying a teasing edge, “what did you get for your two shillings? I would hate to think you’ve been cheated.”

“Walk with me,” he said, giving an appreciative hum as his gaze lingered on the upper curve of her breasts, “and I’ll tell you.”

Elsa took his arm, allowing him to guide her down the steps and into the garden, where the air was heavy with the scent of blooming roses. She gave a silent nod to her mother, a gesture to a love that lived beyond the physical world.

“Should we not keep our eyes on Clara?” she said, anticipation stirring within her as Daniel led her behind the broad trunk of the tree. “In that daring dress, many men have looked her way tonight.”

Daniel pressed her back against the tree, where the soft strains of a waltz drifted from the ballroom, and the moonlight lent an ethereal quality to their lovers’ liaison. “Rutland is with her. He’ll make sure she’s safe. He would kill any man who tried to hurt her.”

“It can’t be long until he announces his betrothal to Miss Woodall.”

“Let’s not talk about morbid things, not now I have you all to myself.”

He reached behind her, his fingers deft as he untied the ribbons of her mask. It slipped away, forgotten, as his mouth found hers—hot and urgent. The kiss was anything but careful. It stole her breath, scattered her thoughts, and chased the chill from the night air.

There was hunger in his eyes as he pulled away. “I’m no longer the man who would settle for a chaste kiss,” he said, his voice a husky whisper. “The need to have you makes me insatiable.”

He stroked her cheek with the backs of his fingers and brushed her hair behind her ear. Somewhere beyond the garden, music and laughter drifted faintly, but here, in the shadows with him, nothing else existed.

“I’m no longer the woman who keeps secrets,” she said. No longer the woman who waited at the window, hoping he would come. Though this man still left her heart pounding. “Now I’m not afraid to tell you I love you. I’ve always loved you, Daniel.”

His grip on her waist tightened. “I love you. More than I could ever express in words.” His lips found hers again, slower this time, more deliberate, as if he needed to savour every second.

When they finally parted, their breaths ragged, he whispered, “Do you know what I got for two shillings, Elsa?”

“No. What did you get?”

Daniel captured her chin gently. “A lifetime of moments like this.” His gaze softened as he traced his thumb over her bottom lip. “A family and a future, a future with you. And that, my love, is priceless.”