The Black Mask (12 page)

In the doorway, she paused to glance at Sir Augustus in what Rose, exiting behind her, could only think of as an intriguing fashion. Paige held herself with her body half turned toward the general, her eyelashes modestly lowered. Then she raised them slowly, turning the full force of her lustrous eyes on him.

“Don’t linger too long,” she said, a little more breathily than usual.

The general, still on his feet from the ladies’ rising from the table, pulled his heels together smartly, bowing from the waist, his hand at the salute. “At your command, my lady.”

Once in the drawing room, Rose looked with concern at her aunt. “Are you feeling well? Your voice has become quite hoarse. I noticed the candles were smoking rather a lot.”

“I’m perfectly well,” Aunt Paige said, smiling in that way that made Rose feel like a perfect child, and passed on to the absorbing subject of their costumes for the upcoming masquerade.

After retiring for the night, Rose posed in front of the mirror, pretending she had stopped in a doorway mimicking the pose and action of her aunt. Lips straight or only faintly smiling, head held slightly to the side, lashes slowly down, then slowly up. What was there in all that to make a man snap to attention? Perhaps it was just the way Aunt Paige did it; that and the way General Sir Augustus O’Banyon felt about Aunt Paige.

Nevertheless, Rose practiced once more, imagining she stood before a man who was falling inexorably in love with her. What emotion would transfigure a cynical expression then? Would Sir Niles drop the quizzing glass he’d raised to inspect her coldly? How had Sir Niles crept into her scenario?

Rose said her prayers with extra attention. Sir Niles had no place in those.

In the morning, Aunt Paige came into Rose’s room while she was still in bed. “You don’t want me this morning, do you, darling?”

“No, Aunt. Where are you going? You look very fine.”

Paige ran her gloved hand over the stuff of her long pelisse, cut into points at the hem and trimmed with green velvet braid. “I’m calling upon the duchess.”

“Which duchess? Oh ...that duchess,” Rose said, enlightened.

“These calls for her husband to resign his post! Absurd. I could hardly believe what I read in the news this morning. I’ve been remiss in not calling up on her sooner. If I can, I shall prevail upon her to go driving with me. We shall cut down Bond Street and I shall order the top put down so everyone can see us.”

“Can you wait while I dress?” Rose asked, throwing aside the coverlet. “I shan’t be but a moment.”

“You are very sweet. I know she would adore meeting you. She always has young people visiting her. But until I know which way the
ton
is going to swing, I think it wisest for you to wait. I will convey your regrets with some story of a slight indisposition. She’ll understand. She’s been a part of London society for years and years and knows all about the value of a sudden stomach grippe.”

“But I don’t mind what they think of me any more than you care.”

“Oh, I care very much,” Paige said. “Not what they say about me. I don’t care about
that.’“
She snapped her fingers, the sound muffled by the green suede glove. “But I care what they say about you. An old widow may visit whom she pleases and no one will speak a word in censure. But a young girl on the brink of marriage must always take care. Besides, weren’t you riding with Rupert this morning?”

‘Yes,” Rose admitted. “He’s coming back at ten.”

“Don’t exhaust yourself. The Yarborough affair may go on until three in the morning, and it would be a shame to miss any by yawning.” She patted her niece’s cheek and set out.

Rose often borrowed a young mare from Benjamin Quayle, Rupert’s wealthiest and wildest friend. Ever since hearing Rupert complain he hadn’t been able to bring his horses down, Quayle had made him free of his stables. Any privilege of Rupert’s was naturally, in his mind, extended to his well-beloved if meddling older sister. Mr. Quayle didn’t seem to mind, and his grooms were grateful that the horses received extra exercise while eating their heads off in London.

Rupert had turned off the main bridle path for a moment to speak with friends. Rose continued on alone for a few hundred yards, letting the mare dawdle while she waited for Rupert to catch up.

A little farther on, a man stood on the path. Rose blinked in surprise. She hadn’t noticed him earlier, so it seemed as if he’d sprung from the underbrush. No doubt some irregularity in the road had hidden him. She rode nearer, preparing to nod in acknowledgment as she passed.

Then, too quickly to be seen, he grabbed at the headstall, bringing the ambling horse to a stop. “What are you ... Colonel Wapton?”

The tall young man looked strangely haggard as he glanced over his shoulder down the road. His eyes were sunk in his head, and black lines seemed carved beneath them. He wore several days’ growth of beard, and the limp collar of his shirt under the frieze coat he wore testified to his lack of laundry.

“Are you alone?” he asked in a rapid whisper.

“No, Rupert is with me. What are you doing here? What is the meaning of this?” She wanted to ask
Why do you look like this?
but
didn’t dare. He looked hagridden, hunted, and dangerous.

“I had to see you.”

“You could have called at any time.”

“No, I couldn’t.” He glanced down the road again. Rose was glad to hear the echo of hoofbeats. “I have no right to ask any favors of you,” Colonel Wapton said. “I had hoped ... one day... but never mind that now. Can you meet me here tomorrow? The same time?”

Something in his haunted eyes made her agree. It was the same impulse that led her to give a hungry child a penny for a bun. “I don’t know. Not the same time. I shall be later than this. There’s a masquerade tonight.”

“I’ll wait.” He seemed to melt into the bushes beside the bridle path as Rupert called the “view-halloo” from behind Rose.

“Whatever are you dawdling about for?” he asked. “Let’s have a real run!”

“I should like it above all things,” Rose said, aware Colonel Wapton must be watching her. In the instant before she clapped her heels to the mare’s side to follow Rupert, already well away, she saw the colonel’s desperate eyes staring at her from the depths of the bushes.

Rose faced a stranger in the mirror. Her long, gently waving hair had been parted in the center and allowed to fall unimpeded over the robe of stiffened red silk. The high collar made her neck look longer than ever, while the intricate black and gold embroidery along every edge of the costume added a sumptuous gleam to her gestures. But the scandalous touch that set Aunt Paige to laughing with delight and Rupert to scowling in brotherly disgust were the trousers.

“Oh, come, Rupert,” Aunt Paige said while Rose stood by feeling like an overdressed doll. “They’re hardly as wicked as you make out. Men wear far more revealing clothing every day of their lives.”

“It’s hardly the same thing. Inexpressibles are
de rigueur
and
always will be. But those ... those ...” He stuttered a little and then stood upon his dignity. “As her brother, I think it’s outrageous.”

“Rupert, you’re acting like an old maid,” Rose said. “You can’t even see my ankles, and girls have been wearing their skirts higher than that for the entire Season. I hardly think my underpinnings are going to cause much of an uproar.” Only a very few inches of the tightly wrapped satin trousers were visible under the long robe, and they were the same soft red silk.

So, indeed, were the slippers, complete with curled toes.

“Actually,” Rose said upon further consideration of her reflection, “I show much less of myself in this than I do in my usual ball dresses. At least one can’t see so much of my bosom.”

Rupert rubbed his temples. “I
suppose it’s useless for me to forbid you to leave the house.”

“Don’t be so Gothic,” Aunt Paige said. “You sound as if you should be a grandfather, born sometime in the sixties and more censorious than a church full of Puritans.
I
know. Our father was just like that.”

“Of course, I defer to your judgment, Aunt,” Rupert said. “You are the only judge of what is suitable for Rose. But I’m dashed if I like it. My friends are going to be there tonight. What are they going to think when they see m’sister swanning about in that frightful rig-out? You don’t even have a mask.”

“Show him your veil, Rose.”

Rose lifted a sheer length of red silk from the end of the bed and laid it over her hair. Then she swathed the extra length over her nose and pinned it at the side with a tiny golden pin headed with a small ruby.

“There,” Paige said. “No one will recognize her.”

Rupert appealed to his sister. “Come on, old girl. Put on a decent dress. You’ve bought half a dozen pretty ball dresses since we’ve come up to town.”

“It’s a masquerade,” Rose reminded him. “What role would I be playing? The bumbling country cousin?”

‘You can wear a loo mask and a domino and look charming. Most of the other girls will be wearing the same thing. You won’t stand out a particle. Won’t that be more comfortable than having everybody staring and whispering?”

She just gazed at him, the same obstinate firmness to her mouth she’d used whenever he’d cajole her in the nursery.

“I can’t wear a loo mask because you borrowed mine,” Rose pointed out sensibly.

Then she took a deep breath and confessed to them both, “I don’t care to look like everyone else. I want to be unique, special, and fascinating. I want every man there to swarm about me like bees to a hive. I want to come home with four proposals of marriage and at least one of an indecent nature.”

“Brava!” Paige said, clapping her hands. “Excellent. You’ll be engaged before the evening is out!”

Rupert paled. “What would Mother say if she could hear you two now?”

“Heaven knows, Rupert. But I know we’re going to be terribly late if you don’t hurry into your costume.”

“I can’t wait to see it,” Rose said gently, throwing him a crumb of comfort. She would have had to be insensible not to have heard him and his valet discussing ways and means to outfit him for tonight. His main secret was yet to be revealed, but Rose’s maid had been constantly appealed to for various small things that appeared on a ladies’ vanity.

Even when he finally emerged from the hands of his man, there was nothing to be seen of Rupert’s costume except a dashing smile. For the rest, he was swathed, neck to ankles, in a black domino cloak.

“That’s not fair,” Rose said. “I can’t criticize you as you did me.”

‘You’ll just have to wait and see.” He came farther into the drawing room where Rose was waiting. “Where’s Aunt Paige gone?”

“Her hair needed another pin.” Rose heard her aunt’s step and stood up. She didn’t tell Rupert she had found her trousers just as shocking as he had the first time she’d put them on. But neither did she mention she found them extremely comfortable.

Stepping into the carriage, for instance, though her long robe was very like a dress, she felt less in need of the footman’s hand to balance her as she put her foot on the carriage step. Dancing would be interesting, she thought.

“I didn’t compliment you enough on your costume, Aunt,” Rose said as Paige slipped in beside her. “You look wonderful.”

“You don’t think it’s too much?” she asked anxiously. “I’m not a young girl anymore.”

“But you’re not a dowager either.”

“No, thank heaven.” Aunt Paige smiled and gave a discreet tug to her neckline. “A shepherdess wouldn’t have been my first choice, but when Miss Abrahms said she couldn’t do Queen Elizabeth in time, I had few options. Besides, you are exotic enough for two. I shall reconcile myself to shepherding you.”

Considering Aunt Paige’s costume made the most of her creamy rounded breasts and trim waist, attractions this year’s fashions largely ignored, Rose wondered if she wouldn’t be shepherding ravening wolves away from her chaperon.

When they arrived, however, Rose realized she’d been foolish. General Sir Augustus O’Banyon was more than capable of protecting his prize. He had chosen to wear his uniform, glittering with every order he’d won in a long career, with a mask. His red hair and accent were very much in evidence.

“Here’s a damnable thing,” he growled. “I knew the young men of Britain weren’t capable of much imagination. Who wants ‘em to be? Following orders has brought us to where we are today. But one would hope they’d show a trifle of initiative.”

“Why, Sir Augustus, you’re in a pother,” said Aunt Paige, perhaps a little put out he’d not noticed her costume. “What’s amiss?”

Just then, Rupert came up, throwing back his domino.

“Good gad, it’s another of ‘em!”

At the top of the staircase that lead down into Mrs. Yarborough’s ballroom, Rose felt as though she could make a similar exclamation.

Out of the hundred or so men present this evening, at least half of them had chosen to come as The Black Mask. The floor looked as if ink had been poured on it. Some men were in full formal attire, only with black shirts added to their black coats and breeches. Others had chosen a more adventurous, even piratical look, wide black shirtsleeves and sashes adding a Spanish note. Some wore capes, others many-caped coats like highwaymen. A few wore broad-brimmed hats, but everywhere she looked she saw black masks and Black Masks.

“Oh, dash,” Rupert said from beside her. With his tall, lean physique, he could carry off his extremely debonair version of shirtsleeves and black inexpressibles. His sash was red, which made his waist look very tapered beneath his wide shoulders.

“Never mind, dear.” Rose said. ‘You’re the best of them all.”

“So I should hope.” His despair that his costume had been copied on such a wide scale faded after a moment. “Oh, good gad, there’s Sir Percy Gore-Harbridge. He’s as fat as a flawn. Can you imagine him swooping through a lady’s bedroom window? She wouldn’t know if he were there to raid her jewel case or her larder.”

“Will you be able to find your particular friends?” she asked, knowing once he’d done his duty dances, he’d be off with his cronies.