Chapter Three

"The lamb is very good," Terrence remarked, popping another morsel of the roast meat into his mouth and chewing appreciatively.

"I suppose it is," Malcom murmured, pushing food around his plate with little appetite.

"You've hardly eaten anything. At least try the roast potatoes, old chap. They really are tasty."

"I'm just not hungry," Malcom replied, but he relented enough to appease Terrence by eating a small piece of the lamb. It tasted like ashes in his mouth. He quickly swallowed it and washed it down with some claret.

"That's better," his friend said approvingly, tucking into another potato with gusto. "Now, tell me, why so gloomy, Mal? You're as cheerful as a wet day in winter. I mean, you're not exactly a barrel of laughs at the best of times, but I've seldom seen you this sombre."

"You know how I hate being in town. All the prying eyes and wagging tongues. And this house doesn't improve my mood," Malcom admitted, feeling a little guilty at being such a poor host.

"So, why on earth did you agree to come?" Terrence asked. "And as to this house," he added, pausing to glance around the luxurious, lamplit study, "you can always come and stay at my place. No bad memories there."

"Mmm, thank you. I might take you up on that," Malcom said, grateful to Terrence for his continued friendship. Most of his old friends had fallen away over the last six years, driven away by his increasingly dark, antisocial demeanor. "But the place stands empty for much of the year, and I feel I ought at least to visit from time to time, make sure everything is in order. It's what my parents would expect." He drank some more claret to drown the thought.

"You still haven't told me what Madeleine said to get you to agree to come up," Terrence persisted, helping himself to more gravy.

"The Collins' ball," Malcom said simply, knowing Terrence would understand.

"Ah! Of course. Let me guess what she said." He put down his fork and, adopting a high falsetto, comically mimicked their cousin. "‘Malcom, you owe it to your parents' memory to attend this year. You have snubbed my invitations the last six years, and I refuse to put up with it any longer. It is the Collins ball, for goodness sake, held in honour of your parents' memory, your own dear mother and father. It is embarrassing having to explain each time why you are absent. I absolutely insist you attend this year. Why, even the Prince Regent himself is expected to attend.'" He laughed at his own wit.

"You have her to a tee," Malcom had to admit, quirking his lips in the ghost of a smile.

"Am I right?"

"Almost word for word."

"But why this year when you have withstood her pleas so staunchly before?" Terrence asked, his twinkling eyes full of curiosity as he gazed across at Malcom.

Malcom shrugged. "She barged into my study and refused to leave until I agreed to attend," he explained.

"Yes, she does that sort of thing, doesn't she? She dislikes not getting her own way. Like it since childhood, if you recall."

"Hmm. So . . . here I am. Reluctantly."

"Well, never mind, old man. I'm going to the ball as well. We can go together."

"You and me and about a thousand other people," Malcom said with distaste.

"Well, there is that," Terrence admitted, well acquainted with Malcom's dislike of the Ton and attending the Season's social events.

"And as my mother's only son, I fear I shall have to put up with a lot of the usual nonsense. The gossips will be out in force, no doubt."

Terrence laughed. "You sound as if you're about to be thrown into a pit of poisonous snakes. But you're right, old fellow. Everyone will want to catch a glimpse of the famous Beast of Lindenhall. Grrrrr." He pantomimed a menacing snarl.

"Oh, don't you start," Malcom said without any real rancor. "I know what they call me behind my back. But since I have no respect for their opinions, I really do not care."

Much to his relief, however, they were interrupted by a brisk knock at the door.

"Come in," he said, unsurprised when Carlton appeared in the doorway with a bow. "What is it, Carlton?" he asked, grateful for the interruption.

"I apologise for disturbing you, Your Grace, My Lord, but Lady Collins is here and asking to see you," Carlton said.

Malcom threw his napkin down in a sudden rage.

"What is she doing here?" he said through gritted teeth. "She knows I hate it when she arrives unannounced like this."

"You'd better let her in old man, or you'll never hear the last of it," Terrence told him.

"But what does she want? I've agreed to go to her blasted ball. Isn't that enough?"

"Clearly not." Terrence turned to Carlton. "Is she alone, Carlton?

"She is, My Lord."

"Best let her in then," he told the butler, while Malcom rose from his seat, wanting to escape but knowing it was hopeless.

"Let her in, Carlton," he ground out, trying to steel himself for yet another demand on his time and privacy from his cousin.

She swept into the room in her ballgown, a bejeweled vision in primrose silk, clearly on her way to some party.

"Boys! So, here you are, hiding away in this gloomy study," she cried brightly, peeling off her gloves. "Oooh, is that claret?"

"Yes, it is." Mindful of his manners despite the unwelcome intrusion, Malcom pulled out a chair for her at the table and poured her a drink.

"Thank you, dear. I am so glad to find you in residence, and with Terrence too," she declared, setting down her gloves before taking a sip of the wine. "Mmm, very nice." She beamed at them both as Malcom resumed his seat with an air of desolation.

"To what do we owe this unexpected pleasure, dear cousin?" Terrence asked gaily to Malcom's secret annoyance. Do not encourage her!

"Well, I am just on my way to Lord and Lady Pargeter's musicale, and I thought I would drive by the house and see if you were here, Malcom. I admit I was worried you would try to find an excuse for not coming to the ball and stay lurking out in the country. But here you are! "

"Yes, here I am," he repeated hollowly. "So, now you know, you can be on your way."

"And you are coming to the ball?" she asked, her lovely blue eyes fixed on him, concealing the steel inside.

"Let me assure you, cousin, Malcom and I shall be attending together," Terrence put in. "You can rely on me to make sure he gets there in one piece."

Madeleine smiled, and even Malcom had to admit she was still a very beautiful woman. She had lost her much older husband in her early thirties, inheriting a substantial fortune. With no children and no apparent inclination to remarry, over the years, Madeleine had become quite the merry widow, building a reputation as a patron of the arts, famous for her exquisite good taste and glittering social gatherings. Though he resented her interference in his life, he cared deeply for her just the same, just as he knew she cared for him. Like Terrence, she was one of the few people who still bothered with him.

"But will he behave when he gets there?" she asked, taking another sip of her claret.

"I am civilised enough to understand the necessity of proper etiquette habits, if that is your concern," Malcom replied with a touch of wit.

She laughed a tinkling laugh. "You know exactly what I mean, Malcom. You will be the center of attention, apart from myself, of course, and Terrence here. I trust that you will honour your parents' memory in a manner befitting their stature. All the single ladies will be after two such eligible gentlemen as yourselves, and you will be required to dance and entertain them as well as be polite to the other guests."

"I know," Malcom replied with the air of a man on the way to the gallows. The thought was nauseating. He shot Terrence a warning look, anxious that he should not tell Madeleine anything about what they had been discussing before her arrival. He was not reassured at all by the wink he received in return.

"We are both gentlemen, Maddy, I think we can be relied upon to behave correctly," Terrence said.

"You, I can rely on, Terrence," Madeline said before turning a hard gaze on Malcom that seemed to bore into him. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat as she went on, "But this recluse has shunned such fine company for many years now, and I fear his social skills may be, shall we say, a little rusty."

Malcom bristled at that, though he knew there could be some truth to the accusation.

"Am I not doing as you wish, Madeleine? I am here in London, just as you wanted, and I have agreed to attend your wretched ball. Do you have to come here and torment me as well?" he asked, despising the plaintive note in his voice.

"You see, that is exactly the sort of attitude that worries me. You dare to call the event held in your own parents' honour ‘wretched'? How can I be sure you will comport yourself as befits a gentleman who is a member of my family?"

"My manners have not entirely deserted me," he protested. "I am not going to be rude to anyone, rest assured."

"You will not hide away in the billiard room as soon as you arrive?"

He sighed, for he had planned on doing exactly that. "I promise I will not."

"You will be sociable and dance with the young ladies?"

"Yes, I will." Oh, God! What am I saying?

She smiled beatifically. "Very good. I have your word as a gentleman?"

"You have my word." That rankled his sensibilities.

"Excellent. Well, it seems I have got what I came for. Unless you wish to accompany me to the Pargeter's, I shall leave you two to your gloomy, bachelor evening."

"We are quite happy with the gloom, cousin," Terrence said. "And who knows, after attending the ball, we may not be bachelors much longer."

Madeline rose and clapped her hands like a pleased child. "Wonderful, though I admit I am skeptical on that score when it comes to Malcom." She quickly drank the remaining claret and pulled on her gloves before adding, "Still, we can but hope. And remember, it is a masquerade ball, so you will need your masks and costumes."

"We are aware, cousin," Terrence assured her as she headed for the door, giving them a cheery little wave. Terrence leapt up and opened it for her.

"Good night then, my dears. I shall see you on Saturday, bright and early." She swanned out through the door, and Terrence closed it behind her, accompanied by a deep sigh from Malcom. He put his elbows on the table and his head in his hands.

"What have I let myself in for?" he asked mournfully as Terrence resumed his seat.

After pudding, which only Terrence partook of, Malcom was persuaded by his cousin to repair to the billiard room for a few games.

"The beauty of it being a masquerade ball is the anonymity," Terrence said, lining up a shot. "You'll be wearing a mask and a costume. None of those ladies Madeleine is threatening you with will know who you are. And if they don't know your identity, how can they gossip about you or pursue you?" He took his shot, and with a loud crack, the white ball collided with the blue, sending it straight into the pocket.

Malcom eyed the remaining balls, figuring out his next shot. He was already resigned to losing. Because he chose to live such a reclusive life in the country, Terrence got much more practice than he did. He positioned himself to pot the green.

"I suppose you're right," he conceded, looking down the cue. "One brief anonymous appearance can't draw too much attention." He took his shot . . . and missed.

"Bad luck, old chap," Terrence sympathized, but Malcom did not miss the smirk on his cousin's face that signaled his satisfaction at wringing the admission from him, and at the missed shot.

He ran his hand through his hair distractedly, wondering for the hundredth time what on earth he had let himself in for.