Jo Beverley - [Malloren] (44 page)

Diana had broken down and told Elf all, which was a huge relief, even though Elf hadn’t been able to assure her that Bey would see reason. She twisted her hands together. “He wouldn’t … wouldn’t kill himself, would he?”

“No!” exclaimed Elf, though she turned pale. “No, truly, he wouldn’t. It would go against all he believes.”

“So would marrying me, apparently. I received a note from him. The king gives me permission to return north tomorrow, unwed.”

“Oh no!” Elf took Diana’s hand and dragged her to the sofa, then poured her wine. “Port?” Elf queried, but she passed it over.

“It’s a particular favorite of mine,” said Diana feeling tears ache around her eyes. “Sent specially by Bey. I hoped …”

Elf eyed the crystal decanter, then poured herself some and sipped it. “His special sort. Be honored. From the Quinta do Bom Retiro.”

Diana recognized the name, and the butler had presented it with reverence, but she said, “He would hardly send me inferior wine.”

“He had no need to send any,” Elf pointed out, looking more cheery, “and believe me, he doesn’t supply this to every guest.”

“A sweet farewell, then. And ordered this morning, apparently. It means nothing.”

Elf cocked her head. “You and Bey both like lemon water, too, you know.”

“So?”

“So, you are extraordinarily well suited!”

“Many people like lemon water.”

Elf waved it away as if Diana had missed the point. “And you knew where he’d be. In the workshop. Bryght talked to him there. I couldn’t really follow what happened—I don’t think Bryght told me everything—but he did seem to think something had happened.”

“Good or bad? But you don’t need to persuade me we are suited.” Diana laughed. “What a weak word! He is the blood in my heart and the breath in my mouth. I know I am the same for him, but what if he holds to his resolve?”

At last, Diana told Elf the thing she’d held back, the feeling she’d had last night that Bey was desperately fragile.

“You want to break him, don’t you?” Elf asked, but she looked worried, too.

“No,” Diana said. “I’ve realized I don’t. I want him freed of the shell that imprisons him. But I want
him
to be whole. What if I have broken him? What if that’s why he’s behaving so strangely?”

Elf bit her lip, but then said, “He’ll be at the masquerade. His sense of duty would never let him abandon that. We’ll find out then.”

“I’d kill myself rather than destroy him.”

“And he’d do the same for you. Let us pray, instead, for life.”

Diana sighed, and took a deep drink of the magnificent port. Then she put the glass aside and stood. “Help me on with the costume then. It is time for Diana to hunt.”

There was no formal dinner before the masquerade, since in theory everyone wanted their costumes to be kept secret. However, Diana found herself swept into a family dinner with Bryght, Portia, Elf, and her husband, and was soon on first-name terms with everyone. It was clear they all accepted her as Bey’s bride, even though they had doubts that there would be a wedding. A strange state of affairs, but it made dismal sense. As if she were the affianced bride of a man who had died.

Bey apparently was in his rooms and alive, but no one had spoken to him since Bryght, and when Elf had knocked, Fettler had politely denied her admission.

After a flurry of concern, the family had resolutely not spoken of it, and most of the conversation had been about their northern trip. Diana was struck again by the seriousness with which they took their business affairs. Portia shrugged and said that she had enough to do with a child to raise, but Bryght was deeply involved with the northern canal systems, and with plans for them farther south. Fort was in charge of some kind of partnership between himself and the Mallorens to do with wine and spirits. He was also clearly developing his own family’s business affairs, with an eye especially to his younger brother Victor, soon to return from time in Italy.

Her own knowledge of northern industry, of lead mines and wool production, was absorbed greedily. By the time the meal drew to a close, she realized new wounds threatened. She genuinely liked the Malloren family and their spouses. They already felt like a family of her own, and losing Bey would also lose her this.

Fort was to her right, and he squeezed her hand. “I’m tempted to call him out for the pain he’s causing you. But then he’d kill me. No,” he corrected her wryly, “that’s not true. He’d let me kill him to save Elf from pain, which of course would be stupid because Elf would enter a nunnery and weep forever more.”

Elf, on his other side, swatted at him, but she didn’t look amused. “He’s doing the best he can, Fort.”

“He’s making life into a labyrinth, as usual. I know all your hearts are bleeding, but I have to confess to a degree of satisfaction to see Daedalus lost in his own maze.”

It was an interestingly perceptive way to view it, and pointed to a truth. Daedalus was the only one who truly knew the way out.

T
he masquerade came to life on its own, it seemed, designed by a master hand and executed by efficient servants. By the time the family emerged from their meal, the public areas of the house were mysteriously underlit, though at the top of the main stairs an artificial moon shone in welcome. In the entrance hall a solitary flautist played, a haunting, mysterious sound to greet the excited, whispering guests.

Elf took Diana’s hand and led her to slip among the masked guests. “You want to experience this as it is designed to be experienced,” she whispered.

“Why?” Diana asked, but Elf wouldn’t say.

As they climbed the stairs, a Harlequin stepped up beside her. “Diana the huntress? You can hunt me, my lovely.”

Not the man she was interested in. “Perhaps later, if you find me again, sir.”

Would Bey be blending with his guests, or waiting in the ballroom as the master of this performance? She pinned her faith to Elf’s belief that he would be here somewhere. He had to be.

Would she recognize him? She felt she must, but if the disguise was deep enough he might succeed in hiding from her. She began to scrutinize everyone.

Most people were not heavily disguised, and it was easy to tell they were not him. Some, however, were wearing the Venetian costume of encompassing cloak, hat, and mask which made it hard to recognize the person beneath.

She studied lips, hands, and voices.

No, he wasn’t among those around her.

Aware of nervous cries ahead, she passed through a Grecian arch into the corridor outside the ballroom. No sight of the portraits tonight, for it had been turned into a sort of maze, with twisting passageways just wide enough for one person.

Daedalus, indeed.

The walls of the passageways were painted gray, and a gray cover hung over, only high enough to let a tall man pass. Some light filtered through the cloth from above, but it was still an eerily dark, enclosed, serpentine route. Though she knew where she was, and that she was in no danger, Diana still felt pressed in and threatened. She heard giddy female exclamations around her, and manly reassurances.

All part of the game.

Elf was just behind her, and whispered, “Just wait till you see this!”

They stepped out of the maze and into night.

Not black night. Starlit night, where more ethereal wind instruments played.

The whole room must have been hung with dense black, and against it, stars had somehow been devised. Larger lights made planets, including Saturn and its rings. In the center, however, hung another huge moon, realistic markings clear and perfect.

“How is it done?” she whispered to Elf as they moved into the room among gasping guests. She felt cloth beneath her feet, and realized the floor was covered in black, too.

“A sphere of white glass painted with the shadows of the moon, and with oil lamps inside. We used it at a midsummer night’s ball a few years back, and the maze even longer ago. This is nearly all put together from old stock.”

But, Diana thought, circling to take it all in, this was the work of a master hand, and he’d been supervising this even as he dealt with all the other matters.

She explored one of the small grottoes that had been made along the walls, where silver trees and branches glowed under concealed lights, and benches invited.

“We have those for all the masquerades,” Elf said. “Just give them a new coat of paint.”

Diana looked at her. “You don’t want me to be impressed?”

Elf shrugged apologetically. “I don’t want you to think he’s superhuman.”

“I don’t. Where is he? Do you know what costume he’s wearing?”

“No,” said Elf. “Honestly.”

“I’m going to find him.”

Diana set off to circle the room, studying faces as best she could in the dim light, listening to voices, above all letting a secret sense hunt for him. In one corner she found a Grecian temple on a dais, unilluminated as yet, and wondered briefly what part that would play. She went on her way, hunting, hunting …

Pausing to look up again at the miraculous moon, she found that from this side, a ghostly face smiled down. The man in the moon looking amused at human folly.

“A shame to have to use an artificial one, when there’s a real full moon sailing the skies outside.”

A painful shiver of delight spiking down her spine, she turned slowly. He was all in black, and she couldn’t tell any details except that his mask was a black mirror of her own, so that his paler skin made a crescent moon amid total darkness.

“How did you know about my mask?” she asked.

“Am I not the omniscient
éminence noire
?”

“Is that what you are? The costume?”

“Not precisely. I’m lord of the night. Literally and figuratively. I even have stars.” He raised his hands, and with astonished delight she saw that he wore a large, glittering jewel on every finger.

She thought of her own naked hands with regret, but before she could comment, he said, “Come, let us play the part of gods, and start the celebration.”

He sounded light in spirit, and there were those rings. Could she hope? She went with him, dizzy with anticipation, frustrated by uncertainty, then surprised when he turned behind
a secret panel and ran lightly up some dark stairs to where musicians sat.

At his command, the winds ended their faerie music and an introduction to the minuet began. He drew her down the gallery away from the musicians and their candles, then parted a dark cloth so she could see the moon straight on, and the clever containers that gave the star effect. It didn’t steal the magic. As long as he was by her side, the magic could never end.

She could also see the dancers, as he’d implied, from a godlike eminence.

“It pleases you?” he asked.

She turned to him. “It pleases me.”

So tempting to say more, but he was still a mystery to her, and she would not throw away this moment. Instead, she dared to slide an arm around his waist then turned back to watch the merrymakers down below, him warm by her side, his arm around her now.

She’d never experienced this before, this comfortable twinning in the peaceful, private dark, unthreatened for the moment by urgent problems.

But then, as the first dance came to an end, she realized something, and had to speak. “Could de Couriac be here?”

“No. All the guests have had to unmask for a moment as they entered, and Stringle—the man who captured you—is there to check.”

“Didn’t people object?”

“They were told it was for the safety of the king. That’s him, by the way, in the Roman armor with the gilded helmet. And for this event, all other entrances are guarded. You are safe.”

It was his safety that worried her, but she did not say so. Instead, knowing him safe, she returned to happy thoughts. “I could stay up here forever, here with you.”

Dangerous thoughts. She wondered how he would react.

He held her a little closer. “Sometimes the gods are kind. I apologize for avoiding you today. We could have spent the day—”

“Don’t. Don’t put yourself always at my service.”

But did he mean it was the last day? That he’d let her leave tomorrow?

He turned to her. “I am always at your service. Are you not at mine?”

Breath caught. Where was that leading? “Of course. But sometimes I need to be alone. I would grant you that freedom, too.”

He raised her hand and kissed it, and at the look in his eyes, her heart burst into speed.

Surely that meant—

A trumpet blew.

Diana jumped with surprise and looked down to see that the Grecian temple was illuminated now, and the grassy sward held an adult and children sprawled around in sleep. They all wore wings. Cupids?

“What’s happening?” she asked.

He was laughing, perhaps a little wildly. “My special surprise for you,” he said unsteadily, “but come too soon. I must have lost track of time here with you, love.”

“Love?” she said, but he had taken her hand and was hurrying her to the stairs.

She pulled back. “Stop. What were you going to say?”

He pulled her close and kissed her quickly. “It will keep. Come. You will enjoy this.”

With a helpless laugh, Diana let him take her downstairs, back into the crowded ballroom, but once there, they were stuck. Everyone was pressing toward the temple, seeking the best view. Short of rude violence, they could not get close.

“You see,” he said, and she still heard laughter, “efficiency exploded to pieces. You were supposed to be in pride of place.” He moved backward instead, and swung her onto a gilded bench in a grotto. Then he leaped up beside her, and they had a wonderful view.

His lightness in movement and expression, the look in his eyes just before they were interrupted, all made her tremble with hope, made her long to demand that he complete what he’d been about to say. Now.

But she could wait. And perhaps this was all part of it, for Cupid was the god of love …

From somewhere came the pure voice of a castrato.