Chapter 12

“Wherein Ella’s star is in the ascendant.”

Hareton House had once belonged to the Abbey of Bury St Edmunds. The original medieval dwelling had been demolished at the beginning of the eighteenth century and the current marquess’ ancestors had begun construction of the new and astonishing building before them. Heavily influenced by Italian design, it was unusual, elegant and, right at this moment, filled to the brim with the shining stars of the art world.

“Heavens,” Patience said, the word more than a little stunned as she echoed everything that Ella was feeling.

For just a moment she quailed, knowing at once why her father had forbidden her to attend the affair when he’d got wind of her plans. Ella had felt a little thrill of victory at ignoring him. He had no say over her behaviour now, and her husband wasn’t even here to tell her no, so they could both go to the devil. Yet the nervous niggle of doubt that her father may have had a point remained.

There was a rather excitable air to the assembled company as the usual manners of a ball went out the window under the discreet concealment of swirling dominoes and masks, and a garish display of costumes of all varieties.

Fortune tellers jostled with shepherdesses and goddesses. Priests and nuns and Turkish sultans rubbed shoulders with Harlequins and hermits, tinkers and kings from all centuries. The music and the chatter and swirling colours were daunting, and somewhat overwhelming.

“You are not to dance with anyone unless I’ve identified him first,” August said to Ella, looking as though he regretted allowing his wife to talk him into attending at all. “Your grace,” he added in a rush, realising he was giving orders to a woman who far outranked him.

Ella nodded her agreement. The poor man was in a difficult situation, he really had no authority over her, yet if anything happened to her in his care the duke—one of his best clients—would hold him responsible. As it was, Ella was happy to stick to him and Patience and soak in the experience.

She pulled the red silken hood of her domino a little further over her face, though the matching silk mask covered most of her face. Her dress beneath was a simple white muslin gown, startlingly innocent against the blood-red silk that covered it.

A deep voice resonated behind her, sending shivers coursing down her spine. “Well, well, Little Red Riding Hood. How perfectly charming.”

Ella looked up as an imposing black domino towered over her. Dark eyes glittered behind a black mask and she blinked up at him, recognising the voice.

“Ranleigh, is that you?” August asked as the man turned to him.

“In the flesh,” Ranleigh replied with a rueful smile. “Am I so easy to distinguish? Here I was believing I was ripe for a night of debauchery with none of the consequences.”

August laughed and clapped him on the back.

“I am sorry to disappoint you, your grace. The air of a duke shines through even that impenetrable disguise.”

Ranleigh gave a sigh of disgust and tutted at August’s words. “I knew I ought to have gone for a Roman emperor,” he said, sounding so ridiculously dejected that Ella couldn’t help but laugh, which was, of course, his intention.

Pleased with himself he held out his hand.

“Care to dance with a wolf?” he said, giving her a smile that showed too many teeth in an obvious attempt at a wolfish grin.

“Yes,” Ella replied, enjoying herself. “I rather think I do.”

Ranleigh guided her into the crush, shielding her from the worst of the enthusiastic partygoers as they made their way to the dancefloor.

He made a sweeping bow, looking elegant and rather mysterious in his black silk cape and mask. Ella curtsied and allowed him to move her into the dance.

For just a moment she forgot about Oscar, about her guilt and her fears, her worries about gossip and the future and simply lived in the moment. The music swelled about them, the air alive with laughter, and Ella was transported away from her every-day cares, delighted as the duke spun her around, her hood falling back to reveal her hair.

Too soon the dance was over, and they halted, Ella laughing and breathless as she stared up at the duke. His dark eyes were on hers, suddenly intense.

“My word, duchess. Your husband really is a fool.”

She flushed at the tenor of his words, at the force underlying them, knowing he was making her aware of his interest, but hardly daring to believe it.

“Don’t look so appalled,” he said, laughing a little, a self-deprecating smile hovering about his mouth. “I know where your heart lies, and I would bring Rothborn back to you rather than play the villain. I cannot pretend I’m not tempted to send my conscience to the devil, however.”

Ella snorted and took the arm he proffered. “I think you do a fine job at bolstering my confidence, and for that I thank you.”

She went to move out of his hold as the music had long since stopped and another dance was about to begin, but Ranleigh held her firm in his embrace, frowning at her.

“Good Lord,” he murmured, sounding rather astonished. “You still doubt my sincerity?”

She laughed, truly believing he said such things to make her feel better. “I think you enjoy flirting and would capture the interest of any woman, sixteen to a hundred, simply because you can.”

The arm beneath her hand tightened, the muscles flexing as he stared down at her. Ella felt a flush creep up her neck, so hot it no doubt matched the scarlet domino. Before she could gather her wits and realise the man had meant every word, he’d leaned down and kissed her.

His large hand captured her face, his thumb stroking her cheek as his mouth pressed against hers. Lips as soft as her own stole her breath with ease and just as quickly drew back.

Ella stared up at him, stunned into silence.

“I swore to be your friend, Ella,” he said, his voice low. “So, you have my vow that will never happen again, but don’t be so damned foolish as to believe men do not desire you or that you have no power here. Rothborn may be blind to what is under his nose, but I can assure you, the rest of us are paying great attention.”

He moved on, guiding her back through the crowd as if nothing had happened. Ella, however, felt dazed. Her first kiss! That it hadn’t been Oscar who had given it to her made her heart ache, but Ranleigh’s words gave her hope. If she could gain the interest of an experienced man like the duke, perhaps her own husband wasn’t such an impossible task.

If Patience noted the flush to Ella’s cheeks when she returned to them, she did not remark upon it, much to Ella’s relief. Whether or not it had been his purpose, the duke’s flattering attentions had done wonders for Ella’s confidence and she began to look at the world with fresh eyes. To her astonishment, Ranleigh was right. There seemed an endless line of prospective dance partners anxious for a moment of her time, all vetted rather severely by an increasingly harried Lord Marchmain. Not only that, the admiration in their eyes had been marked and rather intriguing.

The rest of the night passed in something of a daze as Ella danced and laughed and had a rather wonderful time. As August was so strict in sending off anyone he thought unsuitable, there was no danger to her, yet the masks and the rather clandestine and scandalous edge to the evening made everything mysterious and exciting and dreadfully romantic.

At last, they conceded defeat. Patience swore her feet would never be the same again, and Ella had to admit to exhaustion. It had been the most wonderful night.

Arm in arm, the two ladies made their way outside to find their carriage. August guided them and did his best to pick a path without exposing them to what appeared to be a bacchanalian scene being enacted in the moonlit gardens. All the darkest corners appeared occupied, and Ella could not help but see couples locked in embraces, and still others disappearing further into the darkness. She suppressed a little sigh of regret that she might never know what it was to be kissed in the moonlight but refused to be downhearted or allow the thought to diminish the joy of a delightful evening.

As they moved on, she saw the familiar figure of George Jones, a footman from her father’s estate. What on earth was he doing here? The guest list might be wide-ranging, but even so. She almost went to raise her hand and call out to him when she remembered she was supposed to be discreet herself and held her tongue. As she watched, however, he ducked under a shadowy archway and she realised he was meeting a lover.

Ella smiled, feeling more than a little envious at the romantic rendezvous, as she glimpsed slender arm, encased in a long white silk glove as it reached for him. A bracelet caught the moonlight, the unusual diamond-and-pearl design glittering and sending shock charging through her like a bolt of lightning. She gasped.

“Ella?” Patience asked, looking at her with concern. “Whatever is the matter?”

Ella swallowed and shook her head, keeping her eyes on the path ahead.

“Nothing,” she lied, willing her heart to stop beating so fast, as it made her feel sick. “I… I trod on a stone. The soles of these slippers are not made for gravel paths.”

Patience agreed and noted the appearance of their carriage ahead with a sigh of relief.

Once in the secluded darkness of the carriage Ella allowed herself to remember the elegant white-gloved arm, and the familiar image of her sister’s bracelet, which seemed branded upon her mind.

***

Two days later, Ella found herself at an informal rout party in the company of Mintie, Fluff and Patience and August. Mintie and August had hit it off at once, both being shocking flirts but quite obviously deeply in love with their partners. Their banter was hilarious and had everyone in peals of laughter as August pretended to have fallen for her charms and the dowager made out she was as old and haggard as Methuselah.

Ranleigh and his friend the Earl of Falmouth were also present. Ella blushed to remember the last time she had encountered the earl—when he’d stumbled upon her and Oscar—but the man was charming despite his severe appearance, and quick to introduce her to his lovely wife.

Falmouth’s wife, Céleste, was a hoot. A beautiful blue-eyed blonde, the French émigré stole the hearts of everyone she met with little more than a whisper of her charming French accent. Under the somewhat intimidating and protective gaze of her husband, she circulated the room with Ella on her arm. She knew everyone, and everyone knew her, and before the end of the evening Ella had met so many interesting people her head quite spun with it. There had been invitations at every turn and she hardly knew how she would fit everything into the coming days as her diary grew full to bursting.

“Your grace is becoming quite a sensation. The sight of you tooling those flashy black horses like a top sawyer in that impossibly high Phaeton of yours is the talk of Newmarket.”

A flutter of warm breath against her neck made her skin flicker with awareness and her stomach drop as Ranleigh’s voice whispered in her ear. She turned a little and looked up at him.

“Well, I try to keep from allowing Rothborn to snatch all the headlines,” she replied, the words somewhat bitter.

Ranleigh chuckled and moved to stand beside her. “Does it occur to you, Duchess, that your errant duke well knows about your rapid rise to the heights of the ton and is feeling a little … discomposed?”

Ella arched one eyebrow at him, too cynical of the gossip still circling her reputation to put much faith in her increasingly positive press. She still didn’t believe that the beau monde considered her the height of fashion and watched with slavish attention. That she never doubted the verity of the stories of her husband’s exploits was likely unfair of her, in the circumstances, but it was what it was.

Oscar had been mentioned several times in the scandal sheets for attending the most glamorous events or, more often, for some reckless sporting endeavour. However, he’d not been mentioned so much of late and, far from being reassuring, this only made her worry the more. Had he feathered some little love nest with a new mistress, perhaps?

Ella told herself she didn’t care. She was making her own way, carving a life for herself, just as Oscar had told her to. What did it matter to her how he spent his time?

The lie sat heavy and cold in her heart, and she could never seem to dislodge it.

Ranleigh moved closer. “Rumour has it you have me eating out of the palm of your hand. Did you know that?”

Ella felt hot all at once and refused to meet his gaze. Yes. She knew it. That many believed the duke was pursuing her was a rumour that had reached her ears some days ago.

“They seem to think my heart is at your feet. Are you going to grind your heel, sweet?”

“Don’t call me that,” Ella said, flushing hotter still. “And don’t be so provoking. We both know your heart is nowhere near my feet and I haven’t the slightest power over you. Do stop this foolishness before someone overhears you.”

Ranleigh chuckled, quite unembarrassed. “Now, now, don’t pluck a crow with me. I don’t write the scandal sheets and, besides, I cannot believe you wouldn’t be thrilled if Rothborn came charging back home and called me out.”

Ella gaped at him, horrified. “Of all the idiotic suggestions! You must think me an unnatural creature indeed if you believe seeing one of my dearest friends and my husband fight a duel would please me!”

Ranleigh paused, surprise in his eyes. “Have I really that honour?”

She stared up at him, giving a little huff of irritation. “When you are not acting like a shameless rake, yes. Odious creature,” she added, shaking her head.

To her surprise, Ranleigh gave a bark of laughter, and she smacked him on the arm with her fan.

“Stop it, everyone is looking and there will be even more rumours to discredit.”

“My apologies,” he said, the words serious even as his eyes lit with pleasure.

Sending Ranleigh off with a flea in his ear and a demand to fetch her a drink, she smiled as Mintie came and took her arm.

“I hope you don’t mind, darling. I promised you would play loo with me after supper. We needed a fifth player and I felt sure you would oblige me.”

“Of course,” Ella replied.

Mintie sighed and looked at her, reaching out to touch a curl of hair. “Look at you,” she said, looking misty eyed. “Have you heard there has been a rush of young ladies cutting their hair short to emulate the dashing Duchess of Rothborn?”

Ella blinked. That one she hadn’t heard. “Surely not!” she exclaimed, too startled to laugh.

“It’s true,” Mintie replied, chuckling and shaking her head. “I knew you would captivate, given the chance.”

“But I have done nothing remarkable,” Ella protested. “In fact, I try my hardest to be unremarkable. All I do is turn up at a variety of social events and do my best not to make a spectacle of myself.”

Mintie gave her a mischievous look, pursing her lips for a moment. “Yes, dearest,” she said with the utmost seriousness. “But you do it with such style.”

Ella sighed. Privately she thought the world ought to have better things to do, but she knew well enough how the ton worked by now.

“If only my son wasn’t such a blithering idiot and would come home.”

Mintie’s voice was plaintive and Ella could do nothing but echo the sentiment, though not aloud. She took care to allow no one to know how much she longed for her husband to come home.

“My word,” her mother-in-law murmured, smiling now. “The poor boy won’t know who you are.”