A Scandalous Countess: A Novel of the Malloren World (39 page)

That eliminated the many other women in classical robes, presumably portraying one goddess or another. Some wore wreaths of flowers or Grecian tiaras, while others carried cornucopias or sheaves of wheat. He gave careful study to one in a gown and headdress encrusted with fruit and flowers. Would Georgia be cunning enough to wear such an ungainly outfit? Not even to win a wager. Nor would she attempt to portray a cornfield, like another lady, who was leaving a trail of ears of wheat.

So where was she?

And would she recognize him?

He didn’t care if he won or lost, but pride demanded that he present a challenge, so he now regretted having chosen to portray Neptune, god of the sea. The hint was too broad. He hoped he was disguised by the overlarge robe, belted so that it bunched about him in a way that made him look fat, and by the simple fact that his headdress concealed much of his face.

He’d made sure it covered the damaged part, at least.

The seamstress who worked for the theater had cut green cloth into seaweed shapes and attached them to a hood as hair, with some hanging around his face. In addition, she’d made a green mask that came down on both cheeks, concealing his scar. With Nugent’s glue, he’d stuck on a gray beard and mustache, which itched. The trident was also a nuisance, but he’d be able to abandon it when the dancing began.

“I challenge you, sir,” said a husky foreign voice. “You come to a masquerade of peace, weapon in hand.”

He looked at the masked woman, who was magnificently dressed in a green silk gown.

“You, ma’am, don’t seem to be in costume at all.”

Her painted lips smiled. “Green is the color of hope, sir, and fertility, and as hostess I have the right of challenge. Your weapon, if you please.”

He bowed. “Madame Cornelys, you and your talents are famous. And clearly well deserved.”

“Flattery is all very well, Lord Neptune, but in the spirit of this event, I am confiscating all arms.”

She held out an imperious arm, and he surrendered his trident.

“Delighted to oblige, ma’am. It’s a damnable nuisance. But how will you confiscate the ladies’ beauty?”

She passed his wooden trident to an attendant servant, who already had a sheaf of such. “There, you gentlemen will have to survive as best you can.”

She swept off on her mission, and Dracy realized how cleverly this was being managed. Even more than the ball at Hammersmith, this masquerade brought together the many fractious sides, but to talk, not fight, so anything close to a weapon was being confiscated.

A wooden battlefield and toy weapons. How long it seemed since he’d said that to Georgia, when she’d come to London to equip him for the ball. The weapons were real, she’d warned him, and she’d been correct. Real, and often concealed.

Which was she? He needed to be by her side.

Nearby, a woman said, “Shaldon! In virginal white. How droll.”

Dracy turned to see a man in Elizabethan dress, and as the Queen Bess confronting him had said, in pure white. The costume showed off magnificent legs, which the woman was frankly ogling.

But here was someone he’d been seeking—one of the men at the Maybury duel, and perhaps a crony of Vance. For some reason Shaldon didn’t encourage the queen, who flounced off.

Dracy moved in before some other lady tried her luck.

“Sir Harry Shaldon, I believe?”

“Hardly in the spirit of the masquerade, Poseidon.”

“Neptune, which amounts to the same thing. Can I breech protocol for a moment to speak with you?”

Shaldon wore only a narrow mask, so it was easy to see annoyance war with curiosity. “A moment and no more,” he said at last. “Shall we go apart?”

They went together to a quieter part of the house. Later it would be used for trysts, but at the moment the guests were all enjoying the charade.

“I beg your pardon for accosting you, Shaldon. I’m Lord Dracy, and if you’re to be in Town tomorrow we can simply make an appointment.”

“Dracy? Your horse beat Fancy Free.”

“It did, sir.”

“Alas, I plan to ride to Lambourne tomorrow as soon as I rise. Or without sleep if the night provides lengthy amusement. Is it a matter I can help you with now?”

There was no choice but to be blunt. “I’m attempting to help Lady Maybury by discovering more about the duel.”

“Got you in her web too, has she? If you’re poking into the reason for the duel, I don’t believe Georgia Maybury had a liaison with Vance, but you’ll never prove it.”

“Were you at the duel as a second?” Dracy asked.

“No.” After a moment, Shaldon said, “It bothered me, so I went along to see fair play. We were all rolling drunk the night before, but I sober up quickly. I thought to talk them both out of it, but Vance said he’d been challenged, and Maybury was sticking to it. You know the way some weak men get when pushed to it?”

“Yes.”

“Vance was making light of it, anyway. Implying—though later I couldn’t pin down the words—that it would all be for the form of it. Kellew, Maybury’s second, was little use, as I expected. Green from the drink and trembling with nerves. I went along to keep an eye on things, but everything was done correctly. It was a fair fight.”

“If it’s fair when a skilled swordsman fights an unskilled one.”

Shaldon shrugged.

“It wasn’t
for the form of it in the end, was it?” Dracy asked. “I read the inquest. Your testimony didn’t reveal much, but from Kellew’s words, Vance struck to kill. Was that nerves speaking?”

He thought Shaldon wouldn’t answer, but in the end he said, “No, I think Kellew was right. Poor man’s been a wreck over it ever since.”

“Why did Vance kill Maybury?”

“Devil if I know,” Shaldon said. “He had to flee the country over it.”

“You know that to be true?” Dracy asked.

Shaldon frowned at him. “You think he might still be in England? No one’s seen him since, and he’d not be able to stay away from his haunts this long. Anyway, he sent a letter from Cologne, didn’t he? Even turned up at Lady Thretford’s ball.”

“In fact, it did not. That was all rumor. Do you know his handwriting?”

Shaldon snorted. “What? You think we exchanged letters? A scrawled IOU and that’s about it. Now, if you’ll excuse me…”

“You have no desire to rescue Lady Maybury from unjust scandal?”

“I don’t tilt at windmills, Dracy, and I recommend you cut free before she traps you too into fatal folly. Adieu.”

Dracy had to let him go. He’d learned nothing new but had one detail confirmed. Charnley Vance had deliberately killed Lord Maybury.

“A dove, Georgie?”

Georgia turned to the broad-shouldered man in white Tudor dress. “How did you know me, Shaldon?”

“Your hands.”

Georgia frowned over that. She’d left off her wedding ring but not thought that her hands were themselves recognizable.

“I
should have worn gloves. What does your costume have to do with peace?”

“It’s white like a flag of truce, and shows off my legs remarkably well.”

“Do you think Queen Bess dictated trunk hose for her own enjoyment?”

He chuckled. “If I were monarch I’d dictate trunk hose for ladies,” he said. “You’re remarkably well covered. I remember that goddess costume.…”

She rapped him with her fan. “Don’t play games like that. I need to ask you something. Did Charnley Vance ever write to you?”

“What?”

“Do you know if he had family? Family he might write to.”

“Dammit, Georgie, there wasn’t anything between you two, was there?”

“No!” She was hard put not to shriek it. “No, Shaldon, no. It’s to do with trying to find him, to make him tell the truth about me.”

“Like that Neptune over there. Leave it be. It’ll blow over.”

“That Neptune?” Georgia smiled at the baggy-robed god with seaweed hair. Not a bad attempt. “Thank you, Shaldon!”

“Thank me with a kiss?”

She chuckled. “It can only be a peck,” she said and tapped his chin with her beak. Then she headed toward Dracy, victorious. Fifteen minutes of power…

“The dove of purity. A perfect choice.”

Sellerby.

She considered ignoring him, but he was odd enough these days that he might call after her. She turned to exchange a few polite words.

But heaven help her, he was dressed as an angel, complete with robes, halo, and rather awkward wings. At the
thought of the Annunciation, she had to fight a giggle. She didn’t quite succeed.

“I amuse you?” he asked coldly.

“I do apologize, Sellerby! Only a remembered joke.” She glanced behind. Dracy had gone.

“At my expense?”

She turned back quickly to him. She was being appallingly impolite.

“Of course not,” she said kindly. She knew Dracy now and would easily find him once she was rid of Sellerby. “I can’t explain. You know such jokes don’t survive a second outing. It’s a splendid costume. I compliment you.”

He inclined his head. “Yours too is well-done, but your perfect lips need no enhancement.”

“All part of the game of disguise. Now I must go—”

“And yet I knew you.”

She paused to ask, “How?”

“I have my ways.” He smirked, and she had a sudden suspicion.

“Bribing servants? Sellerby, I’m shocked.”

“The rules of fair play do not apply in love or war.”

“But as this is neither, adieu, Angelicus.”

He grabbed her arm. “You’ve neglected to provide the dove with wings, Georgie. Won’t it be hard to fly away?”

“A bird can also walk,” she said, trying to pull her arm free. “Stop this. People are noticing.”

“Noticing one of our lovers’ games.”

“I was never more serious, my lord. Let me go.”

He released her and she turned to walk away. She’d taken only one step when a tug on her gown halted her. He’d put a foot on her dovetail train.

Without turning, she said, “Release me, sir, or I will scream.” She was obliged to speak loudly and could have wept with fury at being made the center of a scene.

At least he obeyed. She whirled to give him a very sharp piece of her mind, but found him red faced and
choking, because a Neptune was dragging him back by the wings, which were supported around his neck.

Dracy! But, by the stars, he looked fit to do murder.

“Let him go!” she cried.

Dracy did, adding a shove. “Fly away, angel, or you might find yourself with your fellow, Lucifer.”

Sellerby turned on him, fists clenched, but Madame Cornelys swept in. “Gentlemen, gentlemen! This is a festival of harmony. Will you fight over a dove?”

Someone drew—compelled—Sellerby away. Another man attempted the same with Dracy, but Georgia went to him. “Thank you, my lord Neptune.”

“I couldn’t see the dove of peace assaulted, especially tonight,” he said clearly for all to hear.

“And I shall reward you with the first dance,” she said, offering her hand.

He took it, kissed it, and then led her away from the stares and whispers.

“I would like to kill Sellerby,” she hissed.

“You might have good reason to.”

But she’d remembered the wager. She paused to grin at him. “I know you, Dracy.”

“I already knew you.”

“You can’t prove that.”

“Would I rescue just any dove? You’re too fond of birds, my sweet.”