Hecate snickered. “It’s only fast if you keep company with people like Mr. Seton-Mowbray. I shall be with Heather and Margaret Basset, and their Mama, Lady Eugenia Basset.”
“Ah,” said Kitty, not reassured in the least. “Well, I shall be there as well, so perhaps we can keep each other company.”
“And will Mr. Seton-Mowbray be attending, dear?” Aunt Violet’s question was far too casual.
“I believe so, Aunt, but I shall be in the company of Lord and Lady Standish. Louise invited me to accompany them some time ago.”
“Hmm.” Aunt Venetia looked coy. “Well, a masquerade does allow for a little more flexibility, shall we say, in your social interactions. I’m sure he’ll have time for a dance or two with you.”
Kitty sighed and glanced at Hecate. “She won’t give up hope.”
Hecate grinned. “A woman of perspicacity. And you might do well to heed her words.”
“What?” Kitty’s eyes widened.
Her sister merely smiled.
“Sometimes, Hecate, I could just lean over and box your ears.” Kitty felt her teeth grinding together. “When you say things like that, it is really annoying—to the point of violence.”
“Keep that fire burning, Kitty. It’s what makes you strong and important.”
Kitty snorted. “To whom?”
“To all of us. Your family. You have inherited much of strength of our father.”
“Dear God, don’t even think that.” Kitty’s mouth dropped in horror. “I want nothing from that terrible man.”
“None of us do, dear,” soothed Hecate. “But we have some of him within us, just the same. You have strength, courage and a mind of your own. Quite different to Richard, and he’s your twin. So you must ask where those characteristics came from, if not the Baron?”
“Well this is all quite fascinating,” interjected Aunt Venetia. “But I’d much rather hear if you will be wearing costumes this evening?”
Kitty took a breath and let Hecate’s words settle in the back of her mind. She would explore them later, she knew, but not with Aunt Venetia looking hopefully at the two sisters. “A mask and my domino for me,” she answered. “The deep purple will match my gown if I decide to remove the cloak at any point.”
“I’m going to do that as well. I managed to borrow a lovely pale blue one from Lydia Revenhall. She decided that green was more her colour.” Hecate chuckled. “She’s quite wrong, of course. It will make her look sallow. But since Lord Foster’s son Archibald will be in attendance, she’s quite determined. It would seem his favorite colour is green, and thus…”
Venetia nodded her approval. “Her mama is looking out for her future, and the blue will suit you admirably, Hecate.”
As the conversation drifted into talk of colours and fashions, Kitty allowed her mind a brief moment to wonder if Max had a favourite shade…
~~~~*
The swirling fog and occasional drizzle hadn’t dampened the spirits of those invited to the DuClos masquerade that evening. Max made the observation as his carriage pulled up into the line of carriages disgorging their occupants at the imposing front steps, becoming one of line that threatened to clog traffic all the way to Regent’s Park.
After fifteen minutes, he took matters into his own hands, grabbed his mask and hopped out. “I’ll make my own way from here, Harris. You find a spot somewhere near the door, all right?”
“Yes, sir.” The driver gave his master a respectful nod and gratefully steered the horses out of the long line. Max knew he’d be more likely to find a place close to the steps and thus be able to depart with less fuss and bother. Always a goal of the Seton-Mowbrays. Max had toyed with having that phrase “no fuss and bother” translated into Latin and incorporated into some kind of family crest. But he wasn’t sure the College of Arms would look favorably upon it.
It was the matter of moments for Max’s firm stride to eat up the distance from his carriage to the grand portico and the impressive doors of Steenmere House, the current residence of the DuClos family. Comte Arnaud DuClos and his wife Natalia were welcoming their guests, standing amidst a profusion of exotic flowers. Their perfume was overwhelming, and Max barely managed to restrain a sneeze as he bowed over the hand of his hostess.
“Ah, Monsieur Seton-Mowbray.” Her voice was a sensual purr, her eyes glittering at him through a mask that must have held about a thousand small diamonds. “I trust you will enjoy the evening.” Her décolletage was barely decent, her breasts full and luxuriant, and he was treated to a revealing view as she breathed in deeply after her comment to him.
“Indeed, Madame. I’m sure I shall.” He smiled, allowing her to believe anything she wanted.
Her lips parted. “Très bient?t, mon ami.”
He moved on, knowing the line behind him was growing. And listening. As far as he was concerned, there would be no “very soon”, nor was he her friend. He had other prey this evening, and he wondered if she had arrived yet.
“Max, dear chap.”
The hail from behind him was not particularly welcome. He turned. “Evening, Dancey.”
“I haven’t seen much of you lately,” commented the younger man, moving alongside Max as he walked toward the ballroom.
“I’m sure we’ve both been busy.” It was a curt response, but the only one Max felt like making.
“Indeed.” Miller-James sounded hesitant. “Well then, I’ll be seeing you later, I’m sure.”
“Of such wishes are dreams made,” answered Max obscurely. He found his distaste almost palpable and wondered at himself as the other man left his side. Had he developed a conscience? Was he growing old? Shaking off the horrid notion, along with the urge to find a mirror and check for grey hairs, he found a spot at the side of the ballroom and surveyed the swirling throng.
They were waltzing, and although the dance was still regarded as rather shocking by a few, it had been wholeheartedly embraced by the many. The brilliant mêlée of colors, costumes, gems and feathers was the result, moving like the surface of some fantastical lake buffeted by a strong wind.
Since identities were concealed by masks and costumes, Max had no idea who might be clasped in who’s arms, or what husband might be holding another woman far too close—right under his wife’s nose. Many men had opted for the safe anonymity of black—as had Max. The folds of his cloak and the mask hiding his features offered the chance to enjoy a dalliance with anyone of his choosing.
But there was only one woman his gaze sought amongst the crowd. And he knew, if she was present, he would be able to distinguish her from the throng.
He’d discovered there was something about Kitty Ridlington that lifted her above the rank and file of the Ton. He was eagerly anticipating the opportunity to find out what that something was.