Masquerade (18 page)

Her tongue felt glued to the top of her mouth. The gown was far more elegant than any she had ever owned, its fabric so soft and silky it begged to be touched. Instinctively Sophie knew the gown would shimmer and shine in a darkened, lamp-lit room. It would, quite simply, be stunning—and make its wearer equally fetching.

She found her voice. “Oh, Mother—I couldn’t. I-I—well, I just couldn’t, that’s all.”

Their mother laughed, and for a moment she sounded so girlish Sophie could almost see her wearing the treasured garment. Hugging Sophie close, she said, “Oh, but you can. And you will, my dear. Rachel and I will help you make the gown over, won’t we?”

“Of course we will. You are going to be the top of the trees in this gown, Sophie,” Rachel said. She sighed dramatically, sliding a palm down the full skirt. “Mark my words; you will set tongues wagging when you wear this on Valentine’s Day. Oh, yes…tongues will wag.”

In for a penny, in for a pound. Besides, the gown is oh-so lovely…

****

Just before midday a letter arrived from Miss Wentworth’s hostess. They were sitting in the parlor when it was delivered.

Wendy folded the letter and put it down on the table beside her. She shrugged her slender shoulders. “I fear I must depart. As much as I enjoy being here with all of you, my hostess has finally returned to Town and begs me to come to her. Had I known what fun it would be to visit with you, I might not have agreed to spend this time with her. But I did, so I must, I suppose, move along.”

“We have enjoyed having you,” Rachel said diplomatically. She looked over the edge of her book, and smiled. “And the time flew by with you here!”

“Yes, it has, hasn’t it?” Sophie murmured.

Her mind strayed to the scarlet dress still upstairs on her bed. It hardly seemed real that it belonged to her. While the makeover would take hours and more talent than she had, she was sure with some help she could turn the gown into something truly spectacular.

“I have also thought the days passed too swiftly while I was in your company. We have not done so many of the things I thought we might do…” Wendy, dressed today in a peach sarcenet dress which made her look as bright as a spring flower, stared dejectedly at the rug. She shook her head sadly, sending her blond curls bouncing along her shoulders. “So many fun things we haven’t attempted…”

Sophie paid her no attention, eager for the guest to be on her way so she could work on the ball gown, but Rachel rose to the bait.

“What kind of things did you have in mind?” Rachel dropped her book onto her lap, and leaned toward Wendy. They sat in chairs on one side of the hearth, while Sophie sat on the other side. “I wasn’t aware you had other plans, different fun things to do on these dreary days of winter.”

With a smile, Wendy nodded. “Oh, yes. I’m one of those types—you know, a planner. My Aunt Doris says I’m never without a scheme—she is my guardian, and knows me almost better than I know myself. She’s right. I do always have some kind of arrangement in mind. It is, I daresay, prudent to have advance ideas in the event they are needed.”

Sophie hadn’t given Wendy enough credit. It was apparent that the young woman had more beneath her shimmering golden cap than she let on.

Closing her book and placing it on the table beside her, Sophie commented, “I must say, I did not take you for a—as you put it—‘schemer’. Why, you look so…so…”

“Guileless?” Wendy supplied with another shrug. It was as if she had heard the observation before, and was prepared for it.

Too late Sophie saw she had put her foot in it. There was no way to smoothly extricate herself so she nodded. “I suppose that is what I was attempting, however clumsily, to say. It doesn’t seem a favorable remark, does it? I assure you, I meant no disrespect.”

“None taken. It isn’t as if I don’t know what people are thinking. After all, I do have eyes—even if they are forget-me-not blue!” Wendy gave a small giggle. “I see what people think when they look at me, and when they speak to me. I cannot help my hair or eyes—or anything about how I look. That doesn’t mean I don’t also have a brain. I don’t possess a superior mind, I will admit, but I am capable enough of formulating ideas and…well, planning.” Another fast giggle. This time Sophie wasn’t at all bothered by the sound. When she glanced at Rachel, she saw tolerance on her face as well.

“What sort of plans did you have with regard to your stay here? What other things would you like to do while visiting with us? You are still a visitor in our home, so there is no reason we cannot carry out at least one more of your plans.” Sophie was curious to know what seemed so important that Wendy looked downcast at the prospect of leaving before her arrangements had been carried out.

“Well…” Wendy looked down at her toes. They peeked out from beneath the hem of her dress, her satin slippers an exact match to the peach fabric. She wiggled her toes, her brow creased in concentration. Finally, she lifted her gaze, a titter escaping her bow-shaped lips. “We could make more peanut brittle, as I have another bag of peanuts in my trunk. But, we’ve already done that so perhaps it wouldn’t be a good idea. We could go up to my room—rather, your guest room—and do our hair. I have no sister, so doing hair is something I enjoy playing at when I’m in the company of other women. It is so sad to curl one’s own hair in solitude, don’t you think?”

A mute nod was all Sophie could muster. She was dumbstruck, staring at Wendy’s gorgeous golden tresses and wondering what in the world anyone might “do” to make such unrivaled beauty better than it already was.

Rachel jumped on the idea, and Sophie was glad one of them had wit enough to respond.

She silently, but enthusiastically, thanked her sister.

“What a splendid idea! I have been wondering—although I didn’t want to appear forward, so I didn’t ask—just how you manage to turn those curls at the nape of your neck. They’re so becoming, I would love to know how to achieve the look.”

Wendy giggled. “It’s nothing, I assure you. Why, I have a whole pile of French fashion magazines up in my trunk. They illustrate hair designs we’ve never seen before. I could easily show you how to manage some of them, if you would like.”

“I would very much appreciate that,” Rachel said with a small gasp of delight. She clapped her hands, turned to face Sophie and asked, “Wouldn’t that be grand, Sophie? Wouldn’t you love to learn a new hairstyle—something no one else has seen yet? Why, we will be originals! Don’t you just love the idea?”

With the upcoming St. Valentine’s Day dance heavy on her mind, Sophie answered without pause. She gave a brisk nod and said, “I do, actually. Yes, I definitely do love the idea of a new hairstyle. Lead on, Wendy. We’re right behind you.”

****

“You’re absolutely certain the young lady I danced with on New Year’s was the sister of your Miss Teasdale? Quite certain?” The duke paced his library like a caged animal. His long legs, clad in tight black breeches, looked like pistons as his lengthy stride made short work on the distance from wall to wall. With every sweep past the fireplace he sent a current of hot air into Colin’s face.

Waving his hand before his nose, his eyes closed tight against the occasional flying ember, Colin said, “Blast it, John. You are going to set me alight if you don’t cease that infernal pacing of yours. You are as bad as a bellows, pulling heat and all manner of debris from the fireplace. Come, man, find a seat. I cannot talk with you trying to roast me alive.”

If the duke minded being ordered about in his own house, it didn’t show. With a small grunt, he scowled and sat in the chair opposite Colin. Then, like a grudgingly obedient schoolboy, he waited—for a scant half second. Then, he demanded, “You
do
know which woman I speak of, don’t you? She was lovely, like a delicate wildflower, willowy and with the sweetest scent about her hair. Well? Are you certain or not?”

“Yes, I’m certain. As I’ve told you—time and again, I might add—you danced with Miss Rachel Teasdale, Sophie’s younger sister.” He crossed an ankle over the opposite knee, sat back against the chair, and waited. He knew John well enough to know the assurance wouldn’t be sufficient. There would be more questions forthcoming—possibly
many
more.

Colin hadn’t visited with the intention of being grilled on the Teasdale sisters, but since his arrival that was precisely what had happened. It seemed his good friend had been smitten by the same love bug which had bitten him—only, if it was possible, harder. John’s preoccupation with Rachel would have been cause for teasing had he not felt the same way with regard to Sophie.

On one hand, John’s feelings came as a surprise. On the other, they were so easily understandable he couldn’t be shocked. Rachel was a bright young woman with much better than average looks. She was, he had to admit, very pretty—in a delicate sort of way. That kind of beauty appealed to some men, bringing out their sense of chivalry and desire to protect what appeared in need of protecting. A smile crossed Colin’s face.

Wait until you find out just how capable of protecting herself our Rachel is
, he thought as he watched John wrestle with his feelings.
You may be surprised by the sturdiness of your wildflower.

He preferred a woman who didn’t look always in need of rescue, someone strong and intelligent but who didn’t hide her attributes behind a screen of exaggerated feminine frailty. A woman who knew her mind, spoke freely, and delighted in even the smallest pleasures. He didn’t believe he could ever fall in love with a woman who demanded constant attention, didn’t know herself, or who couldn’t find joy in ordinary events.

Or a woman who didn’t send his blood boiling whenever he drew near her.

Sophie had all the attributes Colin found most endearing, yet she had no idea he was interested at all in deepening their association—even though he fairly tore her clothes off every time they met. He must have given off some hint—although he couldn’t recall ever having done so—that she wasn’t ravishing and much more than an acquaintance.

Damn it all. He was sick and tired of being the best friend. The time had come to step into the shoes of the man who claimed her heart. And damn it all, he had every intention of making that dream their reality.

He spoke the question echoing in his mind aloud. “How?”

John’s brow furrowed, and he cast a puzzled glance across the room. “Hmm? How what?”

“Oh—right! You didn’t’ hear the rest of the question, did you?” Colin put his hand on the chair’s arm and held tightly. His knuckles strained as he squeezed, his tension exiting his body with more force than he was aware of. “How will I get Sophie to accept my offer? Because that is, I have adamantly decided, what I’m going to do. No more shilly-shallying…I want to marry her. Confound it! How will I get her to see it is a good idea—no, it is
the best idea
for both of us—when every time I see her I seem to dig a deeper hole for myself? Good God, John, she is hardly even speaking to me. There’s no way she will consent to be my wife—not now, anyhow.”

“You have my chair in a death grip. I fear neither of you will survive if you don’t relax.” The duke nodded to the chair’s arm, and the white knuckles on Colin’s right hand. He didn’t continue until the grip subsided. “That’s better. I knew you were serious about her, but I admit I didn’t know just how strenuously you care for the woman.”

“Oh, I care, all right. I care more than I can say,” Colin said softly. He folded his hands in his lap, conscious of not tightening the grip to a furious degree. “I can hardly stand it that she is so annoyed with me. It drives me to distraction, but what can I do?”

John raked a hand through his hair, setting the strands on their ends so they stood up off his head like the quills of a porcupine. He looked deranged, but Colin was loath to point that out. The look in his friend’s eyes evoked compassion.

“You have fallen for Rachel, haven’t you? I didn’t realize you were so enamored of her.”

A slow headshake. “I didn’t, either. She captivated me from the first dance, of course, but I’ve been enchanted by other dancing partners over the years. None of them have caused me this much consternation. They’ve been merely passing fancies, and none have given me a sleepless moment.” He raised one eyebrow and stared at Colin. “That is, none until your Miss Teasdale. She just won’t vacate my mind—a purely incommodious state of affairs.”

Colin knew all too well how it was to have a woman invade a man’s head. He sympathized with John, but he could not help him.

He suspected that John didn’t want help. From the glow in the other man’s eyes, Colin inferred it might be Rachel who could very well need assistance. He’d seen the expression on John’s face before. It meant he’d spotted something he wanted. And what the duke wanted, he typically got.

“She is not ‘my’ Miss Teasdale,” Colin pointed out. “She is, it seems to me, well on the way to being ‘your’ Miss Teasdale.”

His answer was a growl. Then, the duke rose and began to pace again, and Colin realized he had, perhaps, chosen the wrong place to seek romantic advice. How could John be of any service regarding Sophie when all he could think of was Rachel?

Chapter 12

Frigid January gusts had given way to gentler—although still chilly—breezes by February twelfth. Watery sunlight streamed intermittently from behind sluggish clouds, a hint of patchy blue sky making the day seem less foreboding than those of the previous month.

Sophie smiled, her mood as light as a soap bubble. Had there not been slushy piles of melting snow lining the sidewalk she might have been tempted to skip a few steps, her exuberance was so intense. Spraining an ankle wasn’t on her to-do list so she wisely kept her feet solidly on the ground, although her heart skipped a beat every time she thought about her improved circumstances.

It was as if her ho-hum existence had given way to one much more fascinating. The change was welcome.

Rachel butted Sophie’s shoulder with her own, causing them both to step sideways. Narrowly avoiding a brownish lump of dubious origin, Sophie exclaimed, “Rachel! What are you doing? I nearly stepped in that—that…well, I nearly soiled my boots, thanks to you. What are you thinking, shoving me so unexpectedly?”