The Wedding Season (18 page)

“T
his isn’t going to work.” Philip dismounted his borrowed steed in the darkened woods some fifty yards from the imposing, three-story Bennington Manor. He adjusted the heavy brown wig and broad-brimmed hat that resembled something Charles II might have worn a century and a half ago. Then he struggled to secure the ties of the ankle-length cape he’d nearly lost during the six-mile gallop, and before that, almost tripped over as he descended the stairs at Devon Hall.

Wilkes had fussed as he had dressed Philip, saying these old leather breeches were too stiff and snug and would limit his movement, as did the sword and wooden pistol at his sides. But nothing could be done, for they must make haste to the masquerade, with no time to find something more suitable.

Some highwayman he made. Philip grunted at his own foolishness in agreeing to Jamie’s scheme. He’d be fortunate if he didn’t get shot for wearing this ridiculous disguise.

“Of course it’ll work.” Jamie tied his horse’s reins to a low-hanging willow branch. “Come along.” His beckoning wave was barely visible in the fading twilight. The brass
buttons on his father’s old uniform did catch a spark of light from time to time, but his short hair did no justice to the costume unless covered by the black bicorn hat. A naval officer who served during the American rebellion should have a long queue, Jamie had complained, but no proper hairpiece could be found in the attic.

Looking ahead to their destination, Philip took in the illuminated scene. At the back of the manor house, Chinese lanterns were strung across the terrace and around the vast back lawn, all the way to a stone boathouse beside a black lake. Countless costumed attendees mingled or wandered about the property. It all made for a grand event unlike anything Philip’s family had engaged in. Was this something every peer was expected to do?

He followed Jamie, who walked across the field toward the house as confidently as if it were daylight. From time to time, he stepped around a boulder or stump and tossed a cautionary word to Philip.

Twenty yards from the lighted area, they came upon a masked wood nymph and a hooded faun. At Jamie’s “tsk-tsk,” the couple beat a hasty retreat back toward the house. Philip felt his heart sink to his stomach. Did Lord Bennington know what went on at his party? Did he care? What did that say about the claims this wasn’t to be like Midsummer Eve, where all manner of wickedness took place? More important, what did it say about Miss Elizabeth’s safety?

“Quit hunching over.” Jamie thumped Philip’s back, almost knocking the wind from his lungs. “Relax. We’re not sneaking in. We’re walking in as if we own the place. After all, I am an invited guest. Who’s to say I cannot bring a friend?”

“Oh. Right.” Against his better nature and his former concerns, Philip gave himself permission to enjoy this adventure.
After all, he meant only to walk about and observe the frivolities, not participate. Unless offered, he wouldn’t so much as taste a dessert or accept a light drink. And he certainly wouldn’t dance. Faster than anything else, that would mark him as one who didn’t belong here. The dance master Mama had engaged years ago had given up in despair when Philip’s feet refused to cooperate.

“I see two Caesars and an Apollo.” Pru stood on tiptoes and peered across the crowded ballroom. “But I don’t see a Mark Antony.”

Elizabeth laughed into her stiff mask and felt the warm breath gust back against her face. “How can you tell the difference?”

Pru tilted her head. “Caesar always wears a laurel wreath and a toga. Antony wears the uniform of a Roman soldier.”

“Of course.” Elizabeth sighed and once again felt her own breath return on her. “Oh, Pru, we’ve spent far too much time avoiding Lord…that person. We’re not enjoying ourselves at all.” She spied a newcomer dressed rather soberly in a long black coat and dark breeches. Beneath the mask that covered only his eyes and nose, she recognized his familiar smile, and his neatly trimmed brown hair was unmistakable. “Come with me.” She looped an arm around her cousin’s waist and shoved her toward the gentleman.

“Where? What? Oh!” Pru tried to stop, but Elizabeth propelled her forward.

“Good evening, Mr. Smythe-Wyndham.” Elizabeth noted with satisfaction the young vicar’s surprise and, perhaps, caution, as evidenced by his hesitation to return the greeting. “We did not expect to see you this evening.”

“Ah, Miss Elizabeth.” He gave her a slight bow. “I would
recognize your voice anywhere. And may I assume this lovely shepherdess is Miss Prudence?” He bowed to Pru, who seemed suddenly dumbstruck.

“You have found us out, sir.” Elizabeth nudged Pru. “I was just telling my cousin we’re not enjoying this evening much at all. But now that you are here, perhaps we can find a quiet spot and chat.” Where she would leave the two of them as soon as possible. Then, if the vicar did not see what a jewel Pru was, he did not deserve her.

“But, Beth.” Pru broke free from her grasp. “Perhaps Mr. Smythe-Wyndham wishes to…to—”

“Not at all.” He smiled at her, his attention at last where it should be. “Do you know of a proper place?”

“This way.” With one hand, Elizabeth grasped his forearm, perhaps a bit too familiarly for a vicar, and with her other hand clutched Pru’s. Urging them through the crowded room, out the door and down the stairs, she guided them to the drawing room. There older adults played whist or talked or read. She settled them into two empty and adjacent chairs and crossed her arms in satisfaction. “There.”

Mr. Smythe-Wyndham, so poised and relaxed in church, removed his plain black mask and stared at her, his high cheekbones flushed with color. Pru removed her mask, as well, and revealed a complexion infused with radiant pink.

“Beth!”

“You will excuse me? I must, um, must—” Rather than invent a lie, she spun on her heel and hurried from the room. At the door, she turned back, noting with more than a little satisfaction that her cousin and the vicar were laughing.

At last, something good to come of this evening. Mr. Smythe-Wyndham could not be a finer shepherd for his flock, but he required a shepherdess to assist him. Prudence
Moberly was a paragon of Christian womanhood, the perfect choice.

Following the sounds of a string quartet, Elizabeth strolled toward the back terrace, hoping to find a quiet but visible corner to while away the rest of the evening. She found a pleasing spot on a small stone bench near the musicians, where Chinese lanterns provided the proper amount of illumination.

Some guests had gone to great expense for their costumes. Satins and silks, wigs and hats, furs and even armor. She laughed to herself at the thought of a medieval knight trying to manage a reel or the Roger de Coverly. And there was a golden-masked Louis XIV, the Sun King resplendent in his bright yellow satins, golden shoes with four-inch heels and a high silvery wig that made him appear over six feet tall. Few men reached such height or possessed such a kingly bearing. Who could it be? Other than Papa and her Uncle Moberly, whom did she know with such an imposing stature?

Mr. Lindsey? Why, Elizabeth could just picture Jamie’s machinations here. Had he not promised some mischief with his silly wave and impish eyes as she was leaving home? But where would they have found the costume? This was no mere homespun disguise.

She started to rise and make herself visible, but caution kept her seated, even as curiosity kept her eyes upon him. With an elegant turn, he surveyed his “kingdom,” and when he fully faced her, he stopped. A slight nod, like Mr. Lindsey’s? A hesitant step in her direction. Then a firm march.

Elizabeth’s heart leapt and her pulse raced. She stood and curtsied.

His bow nearly toppled his wig, but with an artful hand he caught and righted it. Wordlessly, he reached out, and she placed her gloved hand in his, receiving upon it a kiss
through the metallic gold mask. He gestured toward the wide terrace, and she permitted him to lead her through the crowd and across the tiled surface.

“Your Majesty.” She tried to disguise her voice with a French accent, but chose not to speak that language in case Mr. Lindsey had not learned it. “How nice of you to visit our humble soiree.”

He answered with a gracious nod and continued their journey. As they wended toward the south corner, a slight misgiving came over Elizabeth. She stopped.

“Your Majesty, where are you taking me?”

He placed a gloved hand over his heart and the other against his forehead, palm out, as if hurt by the question.

“We will not leave the lanterns or the sight of other people?”

He shook his head.

“Très bien.”
No, not quite “very good,” but what could happen on the lighted terrace with other people around? She took his offered arm once again.

The back corner was darker than she’d expected, for several of the Chinese lanterns were unlit. But still, other people stood some small distance away. They stopped at the terrace’s concrete banister, another safeguard, for if this proved to be no gentleman, he could not drag her into the nearby darkness. She laughed aloud at such imagining, brought on no doubt by all the costumes and hidden identities.

He tilted his head in question.

“I was just amused by my own foolishness.” She gazed up at him, almost losing her hair in the process. “My goodness, how did our ancestors manage with these dreadful wigs?”

He chuckled in response, and a shiver ran down her spine. Rather than the deep baritone of Mr. Lindsey, it was Lord Chiselton’s tenor.

“Oh.” She stamped her foot, more frustrated with herself than angry with him. “You are quite the trickster, my lord. Mark Antony, indeed.”

Now he laughed in earnest. Removing his golden mask, he snickered. “And when you did not find me in that role, did you despair?”

“Not in the least.” Removing her mask, she turned to leave.

“Wait.” He touched her arm. “Do not abandon me.” His woeful tone stopped her. “Did I not say I have a question to ask you?”

Facing him, she offered the kindest of smiles. “Yes, Lord Chiselton, you did. But what you did not do was speak to my father first.”

He blinked and gaped, a study in surprise. “Why, Miss Elizabeth, why ever would I wish to speak to your father?”

Now
she
blinked and gaped but only for an instant before realization struck her. “Clearly, I made an error.” She once again turned to leave, but he wrapped one arm around her waist. She gasped. “You must let me go, my lord.” Why had she ever thought this self-centered popinjay could make her happy?

He tugged her close and bent forward. “But will you not kiss me first? Those lovely pink lips—”

“And that was the question you wished to ask? You wanted to kiss me?” And no doubt, much more. This man, this peer of the Realm, had nothing but dishonorable intentions toward her. She, a respectable lady and the daughter of a British naval hero.

Tears stung her eyes as she struggled against his tight grip. He was nothing but a rake and she a silly girl who should have known better. What a harsh truth to discover
that a man could possess a noble rank and yet be utterly devoid of a noble nature.

“Release me.”

His chuckle was anything but pleasant. “But, my dear, I am the Sun King. By divine right, I own the world and everything…and everyone in it.”

“U
nhand her, sir.” Philip gripped the hilt of his sword, more to steady himself than to threaten the overdressed golden peacock holding Miss Elizabeth to his chest in such an inappropriate manner. The way she leaned away from him and the alarm written across her beautiful face generated anger such as he hadn’t felt since learning of Whitson’s betrayal. But now, as then, he must control his rage or do irreparable damage.

The brigand turned and revealed his identity, but Philip experienced neither surprise nor alarm. From what he’d seen of Chiselton, his misuse of a lady was perfectly in character.

The scoundrel raked him up and down with a venomous look. “Ah, so the common highwayman hopes to rob the Sun King of his prey.”

“This is hardly a game, Chiselton.” Philip glanced over his shoulder for support, but Jamie was nowhere to be seen. Removing his mask, he turned back. “Unhand her. Now.”

“Mr. Lindsey.” Miss Elizabeth’s plaintive tone both gladdened and strengthened him. “You came, after all.”
She shrugged away from Chiselton and moved around him toward Philip.

“I say.” Chiselton’s vicious sneer as he watched her unmasked his true nature. He possessed not the slightest degree of respect for her. “Do not presume to give me orders. Do you have any idea of how completely I can ruin you?”

Philip moved between the man and Miss Elizabeth. “Ruin me, then, Chiselton. But you will do no harm to this good lady.” He offered her his arm. “Shall we find your Aunt Bennington, Miss Elizabeth? She’ll want to know what mischief her nephew has been up to.”

“Oh, yes.” She gripped his forearm as if it were a life-line.

“Lindsey!” The threat in Chiselton’s tone could not be missed.

Philip wanted to walk away. Should walk away. But somehow found himself facing the viscount again.

“My aunt will not believe you. And what does it signify if she does?” He waved his hand in a careless gesture. “Miss Elizabeth has always desired my attentions, have you not, my dear? I was merely granting her wishes.”

Miss Elizabeth gasped and swayed, which gave Philip something to do rather than strike the viscount. He steadied the lady, breathed out a hot, angry breath and led her toward nearby French doors. A footman opened them, and they entered the crowded parlor.

Miss Elizabeth leaned against him, and he feared she’d faint. But even in the dim candlelit room, he could see that her flushed face reflected anything but faintheartedness.

“Are you well, Miss Elizabeth?”

“I am now.” She straightened and exhaled crossly. “Very well and angry as a Fury.”

Her blazing blue eyes and the prim set of her lips
confirmed her recovery. “That’s the spirit.” What admirable courage this lady possessed! “Shall I escort you to Lady Bennington?”

She gazed up at him, and her charming dimple appeared at the corner of her smile, lifting Philip’s heart. “I thank you, Mr. Lindsey, but what Lord Chiselton said is true. Aunt Bennington would never believe him capable of anything but the most proper behavior.” Her smile disappeared as she released a wistful sigh, all fire gone.

“But you are a lady and her niece. Would she not—?”

“Her niece by marriage. He is her own blood, her late sister’s son.” She gave a little shrug. “And, of course, he is a peer. His word would likely be taken over anyone else’s.”

“Lord Bennington, then? As your father’s brother—?”

Again, she demurred. “Uncle Bennington has enough to manage with my cousin Sophia’s debacle.” She cast an apologetic glance at him. “And no matter how well-connected my father may be, I fear Lord Chiselton would win any suit.”

“I have observed that inequity.” Philip clenched his jaw. “Well, then, please permit me to escort you to some safe company in this immense house.”

She shook her head, and her wig swayed. “Perhaps I should retire for the evening.”

He read the weariness in her eyes. “Very well. But I’ll escort you to someone who can accompany you.”

“I say.” Jamie bounded up to them, an amber drink in hand. “Where’ve you been, old boy? Why, Beth, there you are. Somehow I knew you two would find each other.”

“Jamie!” Again, Miss Elizabeth’s cheeks flushed with color, and Philip felt warmth returning to his own face.

“So, what’ve you two been up to?” Jamie took a sip of his drink, wrinkled his nose and set the glass on a nearby
table. Although liquid sloshed onto the table, this time Philip wouldn’t clean up after him. “Beastly stuff, that.”

“Just so.” Philip again offered his arm to Miss Elizabeth. “May I take you to a friend?” She set a hand on his sleeve.

“What?” Jamie eyed them both.

To her credit, Miss Elizabeth didn’t decline to answer, but gave her brother a brief account of Chiselton’s actions.

“I say.” Jamie posted fists at his waist and frowned. “Shall I call him out then?”

Philip sucked in his cheeks to avoid laughing in shock at the lad’s admirable but foolish offer.

“And ruin all your prospects?” Miss Elizabeth shook her head, and all joy left her face. “No, brother dear. I shall avoid him at all costs.” Her forehead wrinkled. “And I shall return home early tomorrow long before he has slept off his…merriment.”

With Jamie’s assistance, they found Miss Prudence, who was just bidding Mr. Smythe-Wyndham
adieu.
After pleasantries all around, including an invitation from the vicar for Philip to visit the parsonage, the clergyman and the ladies said their goodnights and retired in their respective directions.

Philip watched Miss Elizabeth ascend the front staircase with a mixture of sorrow and relief. Although her posture conveyed a degree of melancholy, she hadn’t been harmed physically.

Like Jamie, Philip very much desired to call out Chiselton. But for him to do so would further impugn the lady’s character. And his feelings for the lady would not permit him to cause her even the lightest distress. He could deny it no longer—he loved her. And while it had not been in his plans to seek a wife at this point in his life, surely this match had the Lord’s blessing. Otherwise, why would he have felt
compelled to do something so rash and uncharacteristic as to barge into this party uninvited? Why, for no other reason than to save her from that beast. Yes, the Lord’s hand was at work in their relationship, and that gave Philip considerable consolation over having to leave her here.

Elizabeth trudged up the first flight behind Pru, fully aware that Mr. Lindsey was watching. But she could not improve her posture or her mood, nor turn and join Pru in waving to him from the top step.

On the second floor, they made their way to their bedchamber where Ginny welcomed them, cooing pleasantries. With costumes removed, nightrails on and hair brushed and braided, they bid their lady’s maid good night, sending her off for a bit of fun with the other servants. At the door, Elizabeth called her back.

“Yes, miss?”

“Do avoid the guests.” Elizabeth gave her a meaningful stare. “The male guests, I mean.”

Ginny’s eyes widened. “Yes, miss.” She bit her lip and frowned. “Never have to worry about that at Captain Moberly’s house, now do I? Thank the good Lord.” She spun around and hurried toward the back stairs.

Truly weary at last, Elizabeth let her eyes fill. “Yes, thank the good Lord,” she whispered. For surely God had sent Mr. Lindsey just in time to stop Lord Chiselton from whatever mischief he had in mind.

Elizabeth related her sad tale to her cousin, who was a dear for not saying, “I told you so.” But Pru did rise and bolt the door before surrendering to sleep.

Tired though she was, Elizabeth did not find rest. While tonight had taught her much, it also confounded her. From the first, she had tried to find Mr. Lindsey inferior to Lord
Chiselton in both manner and character, but had been unable to do so. And tonight had proven beyond a doubt who was the better man. Even before their last encounter, she had felt uneasy with Lord Chiselton, the man she had once hoped to wed.

And yet now it was the noble Mr. Lindsey whom she would gladly marry, should he but ask.