Major Lord David (2 page)

Hayden was heir to it all. He might call it what he chose.
Yet David reflected that few inns could boast Braughton’s extensive number of beautifully appointed guest suites.

Just now the festive ballroom was a spectacle indeed-such
a melding of motion, music, and merry anticipation that any
observer’s heart would have instantly lightened. For David,
who had missed the occasion for far too many years, the sight
was doubly welcome.

He knew the duke and duchess celebrated not only the holiday but his own return from Paris. He also knew that his parents intended that this time the homecoming be permanent. To be
home was his desire as well; it had been his dearest goal for
six long years. He had held this vision of Braughton in dreams,
on every tedious march, through every campaign, for all the
years of war on the Peninsula. Its realization had been delayed
last fall, when his colonel had recommended unexpectedly
that he accompany Wellington and the occupying allied forces
to Paris. But the terms of his return here to Leicestershire
were the sticking point, for his father was suggesting, however
discreetly, that his second son, Lord David, should be thinking of marriage. And the duke had gone so far as to select,
most efficiently and carefully, the bride.

David sighed as he stood pensively at Hayden’s side. In keeping with the spirit of the evening, his brother had donned an
elaborate mask, one that covered his eyes and extended on either
side of his face into gilded rays-portraying the sun, perhaps, or
possibly the mane of a lion. Either role would have suited him.
Despite the mask Hayden was unmistakable, given his distinctive flaxen hair, his tall form, and his immaculate clothing. In
town, some wags even called Hayden “His Resplendence.”

“I never tire of looking at that man,” one masked lady whispered as she and a gaping companion passed in front of their
post. David knew the two women referred to Hayden. Yet his
brother appeared oblivious, his attention fixed on the opposite
side of the ballroom, where a lively country dance had just
commenced.

“And what draws your interest so, Myles?” David asked.
They were of a height, such that when the mask turned to him,
David met the hooded look in Hayden’s level blue gaze.

“Love,” he said, and his lips rose in a grin. He nodded toward their cousin Charles Cabot and his new wife.

“Chas and Meg,” David agreed. “Yes” Though the pair
now stood apart in the midst of the dance, their attachment
was palpable. Yet they had come alarmingly close to losing
their future together-and their very lives.

“A good job, that, David,” Hayden remarked. “Chas might
have died but for your care”

David shook his head. “He could not have died, knowing
Meg awaited him.” He followed the two in the energetic figures of the dance. “No wonder Chas smiles so. Were I similarly blessed, I’d want the world to know it. Watching them is
a pleasure, gratifying to us all. I’m happy for them”

Hayden stared at him. “You’re fickle, David.”

“Why so? I met Meg Lawrence on her wedding day. She’s
now as close as we shall ever come to having a sister. And I’m
a practical man, Myles. I would never have had a chance with
her.”

“Well, you see, that is where I must wonder.” Hayden paused.
Behind the mask his expression was indecipherable. “‘Twould
not have been a bad match,” he mused aloud.

“That you say so tells me it would have been far from good.
You are too cynical, Myles. I’ll wager someday you’ll regret
it.” David pointedly looked back at the dancers. “You could
not have made Meg as happy.”

“Oh, I know that. That is one of the regrets. But happiness
is your standard, is it?”

“Unless one is a completely selfish beast” Again he looked
to his brother’s hidden eyes, so strangely mirroring his own.
“Why did you not take a chance with her, then? You’d seen
Meg Lawrence years before Chas ever met her.”

“I believed her taken-another’s property. And I was slow
to consider it. Complacent, I ‘spose. Grandmere would call
me worse. I hadn’t Chas’ pluck.”

David sighed once more. “Perhaps it was not quite right,
else you would have tried.”

“I suspect ‘twill never be `quite right.’” Hayden attempted
to ease the mask upon his nose. “Yet I must marry this year. I
must settle. I shall be thirty-two.”

David laughed. “Is it a prescription, then? Heaven forbid
that you should ever let your heart rule your head.”

With a dismissive sound, Hayden returned to reviewing the
ballroom.

“Has Father been after you as well?” David pressed. He
wondered if their father’s plans extended to matrimony for both
of them.

“Not at all.”

David considered that as he also surveyed the merrymakers. “You frighten me sometimes, Myles,” he commented at
last. “I wonder if there is a woman in the world who might
trump your sense of duty.”

Hayden answered only with silence. Again David found his
own attention caught by the slim, shapely woman dressed as a
Spanish senorita in colorful, tiered, ruffled skirts and a lacy
mantilla with combs. But the mantilla could not entirely cover
her lustrous chestnut hair, nor could her black domino hide a
creamy complexion and delicately bowed lips. David had
tracked her much of the past hour. He’d noticed her walk. It
was perhaps the least self-conscious walk he had ever seen in
a woman-modest, yet light and free, with nothing of feminine feints or flirtation. Because of the senorita’s presence at
the ball, David had been looking forward with considerable
expectation to midnight’s unmasking.

“Speakin’ of duty,” Hayden said, breaking in upon his
reverie. “Have you spoken to our neighbor Caswell yet?”

“No” David’s high spirits immediately plunged. “Why
should it be my task, when he seeks the interview? Father
might present me at any time. I’ve seen him over there, with
Caswell and two of his sons and half a dozen other neighbors. If they wish to acquaint me with the girl, let them get on
with it. I’ve not been hiding. Meantime, this is my homeand a holiday.”

“Indeed, little brother. And you have a certain role-as a
host.”

“I’ve been about it! I’ve danced with every matron in the
place and not touched a drop of anything stronger than the punch. If I want a trot with the chestnut filly before confronting
Sir Moreton Caswell, what’s wrong with that?”

Hayden shrugged and looked at the senorita. “Do you know
who she is?” he asked.

“I expected you to tell me that”

“You assume I know everybody in the place, even masked?”

“Quite frankly, yes. You are usually aufait with most matters, Lord Hayden. But I believe I might wait for midnight’s
revelations. It wants only twenty minutes to the hour.”

Hayden sighed. “Deuced uncomfortable,” he muttered,
pushing the mask an increment higher above his nose.

“You might have dispensed with the contraption. Everyone knows perfectly well who you are. Chas certainly did not
bother, and I knew my regimentals would betray me”

“More than your regimentals, perhaps, Major. But unlike
you, I am sharing in the spirit of the occasion.”

David laughed. “Mon frere, you are unexpectedly agreeable. Grandmere will suspect you have been tamed. `Without
teeth!’ Le marquis sans dents! Le marquis manque!”

People turned to look at him. He’d been told he had a pleasant
laugh. Yet David was not aware of laughing all that oftencertainly not during the past few years. He supposed the compliment was meant to encourage him, like commending the smile
of a shy wallflower.

His laugh attracted the attention of another bystander. Masked
Squire Melrose, singular in his stoutness, sidled up to David’s
side. “Lord David!” he boomed. “Will you be treating us to a
song tonight?”

“I had not planned on it tonight, Squire.” David nodded politely. “I have not had enough punch”

“Not enough punch? Well! That is soon remedied, surely? I
shall bring you a cup.” As Melrose trundled off in the direction of the refreshments, Hayden groaned.

“Now you are in for it. Are you in good voice, or must we
tolerate the usual?”

“Your support and encouragement are always so welcome,
Myles,” David commented dryly.

“Compliments are not my function.”

“Oh? What is?”

Hayden shrugged. “I am your brother.”

David silently wondered just what filial obligations Lord
Hayden deigned to acknowledge. But as for singing-perhaps
singing would not be that bad. Many years ago, David used to
sing frequently.

“I shall sing if pressed,” he conceded. “Since you reprimand
me, I shall attempt to participate in the esprit de parti.”

Hayden grinned at him and nodded in the direction of the
dancing senorita.

“You might skip over now to ask the lady, before you are
forced to yodel. Granted, she is a bonny bit. But what in particular appeals to you?”

“In particular? I believe she reminds me of Mateo”

“Mateo? Your horse? The one you lost at Salamanca?”

“The same,” he admitted, smiling. “He was a beautiful chestnut.”

“I thought I needn’t school you in your approach, David.
But as you liken the lady to a horse, perhaps I must. ‘Twould
at least justify spending such a sobering amount of time on
New Year’s Eve speakin’ to my own brother!”

“I beg your forbearance, Hayden. Though I must admit I’ve
enjoyed our limited exchanges these past six years”

“Indeed.” He bowed deeply. “My pleasure, my lord.”

“Mine, my lord.” David returned the bow and watched
Hayden stroll off to a knot of guests. They had always amused
each other; David trusted his own affection was returned. But
like their father the duke, Lord Hayden revealed little of his
feelings. Their grandmere claimed that Hayden grew coldera claim David had disputed. But the heir to Braughton was unmistakably reserved.

The dance set was ending. The senorita had come closer. Proximity only enhanced her attractions. Through the last
strains of music and the laughter and chatter, David could
hear the great clock in the hall strike the three-quarter hour.
With reckless resignation, he moved toward the amber-haired
beauty. He thought, with a certain practicality, that he must
satisfy the urge to dance with her-or be forced to sing.

The senorita was fanning her flushed cheeks while speaking to her partner, young Frank Farrington, the vicar’s son.
Though Farrington had also disguised much of his face, his
skinny neck and prominent Adam’s apple betrayed him.
David bowed before focusing entirely on the lady. Her black
satin mask frustrated him. Her eyes looked dark and longlashed, but he could only guess at their color. Everything else
about her was perfection.

“Senorita, me permite-may I have this next dance?”

“Oh! My lord … Major …” Her voice was sweet. She was
surprised. “I regret-that is, this gentleman..

Farrington had the good grace to yield. “I would not keep
you, miss, from the guest of honor,” he said, and he nodded to
David. “My lord.”

David offered the girl his arm, noting with satisfaction that
the senorita’s fingers held no wedding ring. And she was
tall-her face was close, closer than he’d anticipated. He had
to concentrate on taking a place in the set as the orchestra
struck the opening chords. Near to, her hair looked like
streaming silk, the color of rich caramel.

“Querida,” he said, as they passed in the dance. “Nos conocemos. We have met before.”

“You know me?” Again she was surprised. And her anxiety
intrigued him, for despite the masks, this house party consisted
of few who were unknown to one another, though David had
been away long enough that many were now less than familiar
to him.

“I meant only that you and I were never intended to be
strangers,” he reassured her.

“We are not strangers”

“No,” he agreed, smiling. “We are of one mind.”

He thought she was also tempted to smile.

“You have met me before, Major-Lord David.”

“Never! I can only ever have paid you the most minute attention. I should have remembered. And my memory has never
been faulted.”

“‘Twas some time ago. I have known you and your brother
many years.”

“Hayden too, then? I am not certain it is such a recommendation that you know Hayden” With a quick, unreasoning jealousy, he wondered how well Myles could know this beauty; he
certainly had not let on. In the dance David let his hand skim
her arm lightly and too forwardly.

She moved away.

“I see your cousin, Charles Cabot,” she said.

“You know Chas as well?”

“Of course. He used to live here at Braughton for a time. I
remember him riding a huge white horse named Falstaff.”

David almost missed a step. “You must have been very
young! Falstaff has been dead these eight years!”

The senorita bit her luscious lower lip. “The lady with
Charles tonight … is very lovely. Even with the mask, she
is … she is . . “

“Indescribable. Yes, that’s Meg. Only someone as exceptional as Chas could do her justice-in any sense. Someday
perhaps I shall tell you their story. Her father is Sir Eustace
Lawrence, the barrister. Have you heard of him?”

She shook her head. “I’ve not been much in the world these
four years, my lord.”

“And why is that?” he asked softly, again bringing her arm
close against his in the dance. “Have you just escaped from
the seraglio? Or have you been held, like Rapunzel, in some
distant tower?”

She smiled even as he led her, slowly and carefully, away from the end of the line of dancers, toward a curtained alcove
at the room’s edge. As a son of the house, David knew every
secret spot. And he intended to touch one of those irresistibly
silky curls of dark chestnut hair.

“You must tell me,” he said, drawing her gently into the
shadowed window embrasure, “how you can know Hayden and
yet not be much in the world. The two states would, to my mind,
be mutually exclusive.”