Miss Burton Unmasks a Prince (20 page)

She lifted her chin and straightened her shoulders, wishing she could completely dispel the gloom that seemed ever present when Carlo was not. Meg shook her head. She could not allow her mind to travel down that path again. Not if she had any intentions of a pleasant evening.

She met the other ladies in the conservatory. Lucinda looked beautiful and ethereal in her green wood nymph gown, with flowers and twigs artfully woven into her hair. When she saw Meg, her bright eyes narrowed, and Meg felt a small thrill of victory. Although she had suspected it at the time, Lucinda’s expression confirmed that her suggestion for Meg’s costume had not been offered out of kindness, and she was disappointed to see that Meg did not look as dowdy as she’d hoped.

Helen was an enchanting Cleopatra. Her white gown was cinched at the waist with a gold belt, and a crown in the shape of a cobra wrapped around her light brown hair. She held an equally spectacular golden mask in her hand. When she saw Meg, Helen hurried toward her and took her hand. “Meg, you look stunning,” she said. “You will certainly attract many gentlemen admirers.”

“As will you, Helen. I believe the station of Queen of the Nile suits you.”

Helen smiled shyly.

The countesses entered the room in flowing robes of Greek goddesses, with laurel leaves in their hair. Both women looked beautiful, but Meg was amazed at Lady Featherstone’s transformation. She practically glowed.

Meg was so taken aback by the countess’s newfound radiance that she was startled when Helen spoke. “Meg, did you hear Lucinda’s question?”

“No.” Meg turned toward the elder Poulter sister. “I’m sorry, Lady Lucinda. I am apparently very distracted tonight. Would you mind repeating yourself?”

Lucinda’s sharp face retained its pleasant expression, but her eyes squinted slightly in a look of irritation. “I asked if you had heard Mr. Newton declare that he would claim my hand for the first dance? He is partial to me, you know. But, I shall of course reserve a dance or two for the prince.”

“How fortunate for both gentlemen,” Meg said, determined not to allow Lucinda’s words to bother her. The prince surely deserved to dance with Lucinda after the rude way he’d been avoiding them.

“And I do hope the two of you have your share of dances,” Lucinda said to Meg and Helen, though her attention was on her own reflection as she turned to study her figure in the window behind them. “It would be a very hard thing for you to be overlooked.”

Before Meg could think of a reply, Serena entered the room. She was breathtaking in her red and black ruffled dress with a veil of lace held in her hair by a red mantilla comb. She already wore her black mask, and the red ribbons that hung from it curled into her thick dark hair.

“Oh,” she said, clapping her hands. “
Todos se ven perfecto!
You all look perfect!” She admired each lady in turn, complimenting their costumes and tying a dance card to their wrist.

When she turned to Meg, Serena reached for her arm. She tied the silken cord to attach the dance card and a small charcoal pencil to Meg’s wrist—beneath the ruffled cuffs of Meg’s costume.

Meg lifted her arm, admiring the booklet. An elegant eye mask was drawn on the cover beneath beautiful calligraphy wording.

Charles Benton Bramwell, Duke of Southampton, and

Princesa Serena Antoinetta Bramwell, Duchess of Southampton,

welcome you to the Masquerade Ball.

Thornshire Castle,

Monday, March 30, 1812.

Meg started to open the cover, getting only a glimpse inside before Serena took her hand and reclaimed her attention.

“Meg, you are so beautiful, but your smile, it is missing.”

“I must be more nervous than I realized,” Meg said and attempted to lift her lips into what she hoped resembled a cheerful expression. If only Serena’s accent did not sound so much like Carlo’s.

“I know you will have a special night,” Serena said and kissed Meg’s cheek.

She turned to the group. “But I must meet my husband and welcome our guests.”

“And your brother?” Lucinda said. “The prince still plans to attend?”

“Yes, Rodrigo, he will attend tonight.” She squeezed Meg’s hand once again and departed, walking with her chin raised and back straight and leaving Meg in awe of Serena’s beauty and grace. She was the perfect hostess.

Lady Featherstone and Lady Vernon helped the young ladies fasten their masks, and the group descended a back staircase to meet the gentlemen in the great hall. When they arrived, there was such a crowd of people, and all of them with their faces concealed, that Meg could not immediately locate Daniel.

Meg kept a hold of Helen’s hand as they became separated from the rest of their group. Guests laughed and greeted each other, comparing costumes and expressing their excitement for the Season. Meg and Helen wove between people, emerging from the crowd and skirting around the edge of the entryway near the staircase. Meg stood on her toes and scanned the room, looking for her brother’s red hair. She froze for a moment as a man turned toward her.

He was dressed completely in black, his face partly covered by a black mask. The way he stood—shoulders lowered, chin raised, and back straight—seemed familiar, and when their eyes met, he smiled. Carlo?

She shook her head, irritated that she’d even had the thought.

When Meg turned her eyes back, the man was lost in the crowd, and she reprimanded herself. Carlo was not here. She needed to stop pining away and imagining him in every gentleman she saw.

A moment later, Helen tugged on her hand and indicated that Lucinda, Lord Featherstone, and Daniel were approaching. Meg cringed as she remembered her last meeting with the earl.

Daniel smiled at Meg beneath his mask. “Good evening, Queen Bess.” He wore a simple waistcoat and jacket in dark gray. Furry wolf ears extended from the top of his mask. He turned toward Helen. “And a lovely Egyptian ruler as well. I will need to watch my behavior tonight in the midst of so many monarchs.”

Lord Featherstone took Meg’s hand, and she reluctantly turned her attention to him, mustering a semblance of a smile, even though his touch made her scalp prickle. She was glad for the mask that hid her face.

The earl wore a doublet and hose; a large sword hung from his waist. The mask did not hide the startling blue of his eyes. “And you are . . . Romeo?” Meg ventured.

The earl made a “tut-tut” sound, shaking his head. “Miss Margaret. Tonight, I am not a lover but the brash fighter, Benvolio, set to duel with Tybalt.”

Meg would have actually found herself surprised if the earl
hadn’t
confused his Shakespeare. She pulled her hand away, closed her eyes, and did not even attempt to point out that Benvolio was a peacemaker while it was his cousin, Mercutio, who fought Tybalt. When she opened them, she met Daniel’s gaze and saw from his obvious attempts to hide his smile by pressing his lips together that he had also noticed the earl’s mistake.

Daniel winked before offering his arm to Meg and following Lord Featherstone and Helen up the grand staircase. Meg lifted the front of her heavy skirt to keep from tripping.

They waited in the hallway as each person was announced upon entering the ballroom. The earl and Helen stepped through the doorway, and the herald called their names: “Anthony Devon Poulter, Seventh Earl of Featherstone, and Lady Helen Poulter.”

Daniel’s mouth raised in a smile. “Are you ready, Meg?” he said. She actually thought a flicker of nervousness crossed over his expression.

Her own mouth had gone dry, and she held onto Daniel’s arm tightly as they walked into the ballroom.

“Mr. Daniel Burton and Miss Margaret Burton of South Carolina, America.”

Meg clamped her teeth tightly to keep her mouth from falling open as they walked into the ballroom. She had obviously been too involved with her self-pity to give much notice to the enormous amount of work that had gone into preparing for the ball.

Every surface glistened. Candlelight made the crystal in the chandeliers and sconces gleam, and it reflected from the mirrors. The gold-leaf of the wainscoting and the warm-hued wood floors made the room glow. Tables were arranged along the walls with long tablecloths and vases overflowing with flowers. The music that filled the air came from a small orchestra at one end of the room.

Meg could not take her eyes from the crush of people. The elegant gowns, hair pieces, sparkling jewelry, and embroidered waistcoats made the formal gatherings in Charleston seem more like barn raisings.

She still gazed, spellbound by the beauty of the decorations and the refined guests filling the ballroom, when Lord Featherstone stepped into her line of sight. He lifted the hand that was not on her brother’s arm and opened Meg’s dance card.

The earl’s touch made Meg’s muscles tense. She was glad her brother was next to her.

Lord Featherstone’s gaze lifted to Meg’s and then back to the booklet he held. “I see your waltz has already been claimed.” He tugged on her arm as he moved the charcoal pencil to write on her dance card. “I shall have to content myself with the minuet. If we’re lucky, we will find ourselves in the same group for the cotillion.” He released the book but retained his hold on Meg’s hand until she pulled it from his grasp.

Her waltz had been claimed? Surely there was a mistake.

Daniel excused himself and made his way toward a group that most likely contained the latest object of his affections.

Lucinda joined them, and Meg was relieved for an excuse to move away from Lord Featherstone. She turned toward the women and opened the booklet that hung from her wrist.

“Did you see the prince?” Lucinda asked. “He was here with the duchess. I am determined that he shall dance with me.”

Meg scanned the page, her gaze moving down the list of dances. Lord Featherstone had signed his name, reserving the minuet, but as she continued down the page, she saw another line had been marked. The waltz was to take place directly after midnight, once the company removed their masks. Her waltz had indeed been reserved. She studied the signature, attempting to decipher the graceful script and wondering if perhaps Serena had given her the wrong dance card.

Lucinda gasped, and when Meg looked toward her, she saw that Lucinda’s gaze was focused on the card in Meg’s hand.

“Meg, why did you not say anything?” Lucinda raised her eyes, a glare marring her face.

Meg looked from Lucinda’s scowl to Helen’s wide eyes. “I don’t know what you—”

“Why did you not tell us that you are to waltz with the prince?”

Meg stared at the signature upon her dance card. It could not belong to Prince Rodrigo, since she had never been introduced to the man. Serena
must
have confused the dance cards.

Lucinda’s glare was pure poison as she stared at Meg from beneath her mask.

“There must be a mistake.” Meg turned her gaze instead to Helen. “I don’t know how the prince’s name came to be on my dance card.”

Lucinda took her sister’s hand and pulled on it. “Come, Helen. I should not like to waste my time with a concealing wench any longer.” She practically dragged Helen away from Meg and toward where her mother stood talking to Colonel Stackhouse.

Meg did not allow Lucinda’s words to bother her. She glanced back at the card. She would sort this out. She searched the room and finally found Serena standing arm and arm with the duke. They were speaking to a round, balding man. The man wore a fur-lined cape and a golden crown and even carried a scepter. Meg knew he must be Prince Rodrigo. Of course he would choose a costume that reminded everyone of his royal status. She decided that she would wait until Serena moved away from her brother before approaching her with the dilemma of the erroneous dance card.

Meg turned and nearly collided with a man dressed in black. “Pardon m—” she began, but she did not finish. Even behind a mask, his dark eyes made her heart skip a beat and her chest fill with fire.

“Carlo. What are you doing here?” she whispered.

A slow smile spread beneath his black mask, exposing the familiar dimple in his cheek. “I had hoped to dance with you.” He lifted her hand just as the music changed, and then he led her toward the floor. “You look beautiful, Margarita,” he muttered, just loud enough that only she could hear.

Meg’s pulse sped up, and she worried Carlo would feel it in her hand. She allowed herself to let go of her fear for him and enjoy this moment. Her first dance at her first ball, and it was with the man of her dreams. Once they were in position, she glanced toward him. How had he done this? Did nobody notice him slip into the ballroom? She could well see how he would not be recognized. His jacket fit as smartly as any gentleman’s in the room, stretching across his broad shoulders. He held himself with poise. Confidence seemed to flow from him. And with the mask to disguise his features, he surely had fooled anyone who might have wondered. Carlo looked every bit the aristocrat.

Carlo’s gaze remained upon Meg’s face, and she thought the night could not possibly become more enchanting. The music began. Carlo bowed then reached for her hand. They moved through the steps of the dance, and Meg felt as though she were in a dream. Carlo guided her through each turn elegantly. Whenever their hands met, Meg’s heart raced, and when they separated, she could not wait until they touched again. How did a stable hand become such an accomplished dancer?

The dance ended much sooner than she would have liked, and Meg took Carlo’s hand as he escorted her from the floor. The magic of the moment passed, and Meg began to worry. She looked around the room, finding the balding prince, and tugging on Carlo’s hand to change their direction. If he were to be recognized, it would be a disaster.

“Thank you,” she said when they reached the outer edge of the room. Her throat became tight when she realized that she would never have the chance to dance with Carlo again. She would leave for London in the morning.

When he released her hand, it felt cold.

A group of women stood nearby, and occasionally one of them would steal a glance at Carlo. Meg saw that Lucinda was among them, and their eyes met briefly. Lucinda’s gaze moved to Carlo, and her eyes narrowed.