Chapter Twenty-Two

Morvoren

Music and light spilled down the steps from Denby Castle's enormous double front doors. Both stood wide open to welcome in the chattering guests, a splendidly liveried footman in a powdered wig to either side.

Arm in arm with Ysella, Morvoren approached the haughty gaze of these footmen, trembling in her dainty silk shoes lest they spot her for an imposter. But they let her pass unchallenged, and, feeling very much like Cinderella, she found herself standing open-mouthed just inside an enormous hallway, staring at a wide staircase that rose to a galleried landing high above her head. Scores of imposing oil paintings that were probably by old masters hung on the walls of hall and staircase alike, all their carefully executed eyes fixed accusingly on her. Or so it felt.

"The Viscount Ormonde, Lady Ormonde, the Honorable Ysella Carlyon and Miss Morvoren Lucas," boomed another liveried man. Heads turned, and hot color suffused Morvoren's face. She hadn't been expecting a formal announcement like this, and now it felt as though every human eye in the wide hall, as well as those of the paintings, were on her, weighing and measuring, and finding her wanting.

For a house that possessed no electricity, the interior of Denby blazed with light from what might have been a thousand candles burning in chandeliers and on branched candelabras in wall alcoves, throwing a warm, golden glow over everything.

People milled everywhere, chattering gaily. Gentlemen of all ages and sizes, dressed for the most part like Kit, mingled with a few more soldiers in their bright red dress uniforms. Ladies stood about everywhere in the most gorgeous of gowns, either on the arm of one of the male guests, or in small groups with their heads together, fanning their pink cheeks and laughing. Some were old ladies with heavily powdered faces and long feathers waving from their elaborate hairstyles, others were of middle-years with the proportions of galleons in full sail, attended by slender young women like Ysella, under what must be strict chaperonage.

Ysella's hold on Morvoren's arm tightened again. "Oh, just look at all the beautiful gowns. And isn't that Henry Lockhart over there looking so handsome in his regimentals, standing with my dear Caroline?" She beamed at Morvoren. "I must introduce you to Caro. You'll adore her, just as I do, I'm sure."

So that was Caroline Fairfield, the young lady Kit's mother had lined up for him. Morvoren considered her with interest. A tall young woman with light brown hair and an intelligent face, she had been engaged in conversation with a young man in the red uniform of an officer, but right now seemed to have noticed the arrival of the party from Ormonde.

She neatly disengaged herself from young Henry Lockhart, and approached across the crowded hall. "Ysella! Kit! How lovely to see you here. And Lady Ormonde, how charming you look in that color. It so suits your complexion. My mother will be overjoyed to see you."

Her soft brown eyes moved on and settled on Morvoren, full of sparkling curiosity.

Morvoren returned her gaze, as curious about Miss Fairfield as she seemed to be about her.

Kit smiled, a genuine, friendly smile, and with a shock Morvoren realized that something existed between these two. Could it be love? How would she feel if it was?

Kit took Caroline's hand. "Caro, how lovely to see you. May I introduce Ysella's friend, Miss Morvoren Lucas?" He paused, looking at Morvoren. "And Miss Lucas, may I introduce Miss Caroline Fairfield, an old family friend."

But was that all she was? The green goblin of jealousy rose in Morvoren's heart, much to her surprise. And embarrassment.

"Miss Lucas, how lovely to meet you," Caroline said, and, releasing Kit, she held out her elegantly gloved hand.

After an infinitesimal pause, Morvoren took the offered hand in hers and shook it. "And you, Miss Fairchild."

"Oh, do please call me Caroline," Miss Fairchild said, her smile surprisingly friendly. "Everyone else does, and it feels so stuffy to be called Miss Fairchild—as though I were an old maid on the shelf."

Ysella's eyes twinkled. "I'm sure you will never be that."

Did she mean Caroline and Kit would soon be marrying? Morvoren looked up at Kit, but he was staring over their heads further into the hall toward where music was cascading through a pair of wide double doors.

"I see Rafe Huxley over there. I'll leave you ladies in Mama's safe hands. If you'll excuse me?" And he was gone.

Well, at least he didn't seem to have shown much interest in remaining by Caroline's side. That was a blessing.

Lady Ormonde shook her head in what looked like exasperation. Perhaps she too was wondering why Kit hadn't hung about near the young lady she'd selected for him as a bride. Morvoren couldn't help the smug feeling welling up inside her. Which was quite ridiculous as there was no way she could have Kit herself.

"This way, girls," Lady Ormonde said, wielding her fan. "We shall go into the ballroom and see which young men are present, and I shall find dear Diana."

"Caro's mama," Ysella hissed. "My mama's dearest friend."

Lady Ormonde shepherded all three of her charges into the ballroom, an enormous, gilt encrusted room with tables and chairs around the edges and dancers already prancing elegantly in the middle to the accompaniment of an ensemble of musicians. Wide-eyed at the spectacle, Morvoren allowed herself to be guided toward one side, where a redoubtable matron stood talking to an elderly gentleman.

They stopped talking as Lady Ormonde approached and both turned to face her, a wide smile on the lady's face and a slight frown on the old gentleman's, as though he were having trouble placing them all. Why did Morvoren get the impression the frown was directed at her?

"Diana, my dear," Lady Ormonde exclaimed, and was off into a flurry of introductions in explanation of why she had arrived with so attractive a stranger in her party. "And may I introduce Lord Russell, who is our member of Parliament and also a local magistrate."

Lord Russell, who must have been over seventy, eyed Morvoren through a single eyeglass, that one eye magnified alarmingly to look much larger than the other. "Well, demmit, you're a fine-looking young woman," he said. "If I were twenty years younger, I'd be takin' you out onto the dance floor right now, Miss Lucas. You mark my words."

This clearly required a reply. "Why thank you, sir," Morvoren managed, groping for polite words but very glad he wasn't twenty years younger as that would still have made him old enough to be her father. "I'm sure I would've enjoyed dancing with you very much." She was improving at polite banter.

He tapped his right foot with his silver-topped walking stick "Gout, m'dear, or by gum I'd still be makin' a try for you." And he winked at her.

"Ysella, Miss Lucas!"

Morvoren swung her head around and for once was glad to see Captain Carlyon coming their way, clad also in the bright red of a soldier's dress uniform. And very handsome he looked in it as well. If she hadn't come across him previously and taken his measure, she might have been tempted into finding him attractive.

He bowed to Lady Ormonde and Mrs. Diana Fairfield, who gave the slightest of curtseys back. "Aunt Elestren, Mrs. Fairfield, you put the young ladies to shame. If only I were ten years older."

"You flatterer," Mrs. Fairfield said, batting her fan rapidly. "I know you're here to engage the girls in a dance, not us, so get on with it. You have no need to practice your fancy words on two old ladies."

Lady Ormonde chuckled. "Mind who you are classing as an old lady, Diana. I feel I could dance till dawn with any of the young men here tonight."

Before Captain Carlyon could continue though, another of the older ladies swept across the ballroom to them, the three-foot-long feathers perched in her hair waving in the breeze of her passage. "Elestren, my dear, thank you so much for coming. A ball at Denby would be nothing without you." She bestowed an indulgent smile on the Captain. "Fitz, my dear, as if I wouldn't know where to find you—dancing attendance on the prettiest girls in the room."

The captain bestowed a smart bow on this woman. "Mama."

So this was his mother, the flighty young thing who'd run off with a penniless army officer for love.

"Lady Elizabeth, you're looking very well," Lady Ormonde said with a genuine smile. "You must remember Ysella, although I believe the last time you saw her she was still in the schoolroom."

The newcomer, one of most galleon-in-full-sail of all the ladies present, and whose stays must have been working in overtime, bowed her head, making her feather headdress dance and bob. "My goodness. She's grown so extraordinarily pretty. But how could she not have, with you as her mother? She's the image of you as a girl. I could take you for sisters." Her gaze moved on to Morvoren, her delicate eyebrows slightly raised.

"May I introduce Miss Morvoren Lucas, a friend of Ysella's who is staying with us for a while." Lady Ormonde looked at Morvoren. "Lady Elizabeth Carlyon, my dear sister-in-law, the captain's mother."

Lady Elizabeth extended a plump, white-gloved hand, which Morvoren took. She bobbed a graceful, she hoped, curtsey, her brain cogs whirling. So, this was indeed the duke's daughter who'd run away with Kit's rakish uncle Robert. With her matronly figure and rather doughy face, she didn't look the sort to throw caution to the wind with a penniless younger brother and adventurer, but appearances could be deceiving. Perhaps he'd been as dazzlingly handsome as his nephew. Running off with Kit for a love tryst was an attractive proposition.

"Charmingly pretty," Lady Elizabeth said, as Morvoren rose from her curtsey to find her eyes fixed on the necklace Kit had lent her. "And such lovely eyes, brought out to perfection by your necklace, my dear. Do I not recall seeing that on the wife of the fifth viscount?"

Ysella had rehearsed Morvoren in how to reply to exalted people. "Thank you, Lady Elizabeth," she said, with all the demure manners of the Regency young lady she wasn't. "Lord Ormonde has loaned it to me just for the evening as I had nothing else to wear." Her secret felt as though it were written across her forehead in capital letters of fire. Imposter. Charlatan. Fraud.

But Lady Elizabeth's attention had moved on already and was back to Lady Ormonde. "Do come into the card room with me and let us play a hand of whist together. Jasper is in there and he can be such fun when he's in a good mood. He returned from London the moment he heard Papa was to hold a ball. He's here on the look out for a new wife who can give him sons, I've no doubt."

"Do excuse me, Diana," Lady Ormonde said, casting a reluctant glance at Ysella and Morvoren. "Would you be able to keep an eye on my girls for a while? You know how much I enjoy a hand of cards."

Mrs. Fairfield bowed her head to her friend. Presumably a duke's daughter took precedence over a mere Mrs. "Of course I will. Haven't you done the same for me enough times? The girls will be safe with me."

With no further look for any of them, Lady Elizabeth whisked her friend away, leaving Ysella, Caroline, and Morvoren standing beside Mrs. Fairchild.

Ysella turned back to her cousin Fitz. "You were about to ask us all to put your name in our dance cards, were you not, Cuz?"

Captain Carlyon, now his mother had departed, regained his voice. Who'd have thought him a man likely to be cowed by his own mother? But she had possessed the air of the sort of woman a man wouldn't want to cross. That no one would want to cross, really. Maybe it had been she who'd seduced the late Uncle Robert.

A cluster of other young men had joined Fitz by now, looking eager to have their names entered on the girls' dance cards. Could they possibly be keen to procure Morvoren's name as well, or were they all here for Ysella and Caroline, both of whom they must know?

Quite a crowd was gathering.

"Miss Carlyon, may I have the first dance with you?"

"Miss Fairchild, might you reserve the cotillion for me?"

"Could you introduce us to your lovely friend?"

Morvoren felt her cheeks start to glow again as their voices clamored over her head, all talking at once. Most confusing.

She took her dance card and tiny pencil out of her reticule and studied it, not wanting to look up into the sea of eager faces, and not really wanting to put down any of their names on the card. Both of her feet had definitely turned back into left ones again and she wouldn't be able to remember how to dance a single step if she had to dance with someone other than Kit.

A lean, tanned hand settled on hers, warm and reassuring.

She raised her eyes and gazed into Kit's face.

"Morvoren," he said, executing a smart bow. "I seem to remember that you promised me the first dance tonight." He glanced at the other young men. "I'm afraid you gentlemen will have to wait. The first dance is taken."

Morvoren took a sideways glance at Caroline, but she was busy writing down some young gentleman's name on her own dance card, and appeared not to have noticed Kit's knight in shining armor gesture.

"Of course I haven't forgotten," Morvoren said, as Kit took hold of her hand. "Thank you, Lord Ormonde." And he whirled her away onto the dance floor.

"Sir Roger de Coverley," Kit said, as they took their places. "Your forte, I believe."

Morvoren managed a nervous smile, but the fact that she was dancing for the first time in public with Kit as a partner made all the difference. She knew the way he danced, she knew he could hide her mistakes, she knew he would be tolerant of her treading on his toes. She smiled at him as they made their bows to one another.

The moment they were dancing, she forgot her fears. The music, louder and more elegantly played than Old Jacko's fiddle, soared, and Morvoren soared with it. On their last day of practice, she'd felt as though everything had come together, and now it did again.

"I told you you'd be fine," Kit said, as they came together again to make an archway for the other dancers to pass underneath. "Just think of everyone else as faceless chairs. And remember that no one ever notices if you make a mistake."

Morvoren dimpled, happier than she'd been all week. "Thank you so much for bringing me to this ball. It's-it's more than I could ever have hoped for. The lights, the room, the gowns the ladies are wearing. It's all like a fairytale."

His eyes twinkled. "You are an odd sort of girl, if you don't mind my saying so. Have you never been to any kind of dance in your entire life? Your upbringing must have been very sheltered." He frowned. "And very different to most young ladies. Riding astride, for a start." He was keeping his voice down low as the rest of the dancers skipped beneath the arch.

Morvoren couldn't answer, as the next part of the dance parted them.

In between their bouts of action, for this was a long dance, she faced Kit across the dance floor, which gave her a good opportunity to appreciate him.

He had to be the handsomest man in the ballroom. Tall, slim but strong, with delectably wide shoulders that had needed no padding from his tailor, and such a good dancer. Who'd have thought doing complicated steps in an old-fashioned dance would make a man seem so attractive?

He was unlike any other man she'd ever met. Perhaps it was the knowledge that under all the mannerisms of the gentleman, and that veneer of respectability he presented here at Ormonde, hid the soul of an adventurer engaged in smuggling in the home of his heart. The romance of his illusion had her snared, like a fish on a line, only one that didn't want to wriggle and escape.

At last, the dance came to an end, and, pink-faced with exertion, Morvoren allowed Kit to promenade her around the ballroom and procure glasses of lemonade for them both. As they passed along one side, cool night air came spilling in through tall French windows standing open onto a lamplit terrace, and several couples had already ventured out into the moonlight.

"You didn't yet tell me about your upbringing," Kit said, as they walked. "I'm curious as to why you're so different from any other girl I've met."

Morvoren bit her lip. What to tell him? Would she ever be brave enough to consider revealing the truth? No. Especially not here. He'd think she was making fun of him. "I had liberal parents," she tried. "Eager to allow me all the freedom I wanted. Eager for me to have as good an education as possible." She paused. "For a girl."

His dark brows rose, and he looked as though he would have said something, but they were interrupted. By Captain Carlyon.

He came striding over, looking a little flushed in the face, with Ysella on his arm, also becomingly flushed. "Kit, you're hogging the prettiest girl in the room, apart, of course, from you, Ysella. Let someone else have a chance. Miss Lucas, Morvoren, if I may call you that as you are as good as a cousin, almost. I'd be enchanted if you'd allow me the pleasure of this next dance."

Morvoren couldn't miss Kit's face darkening, nor the stiffness in his arm as he relinquished his hold on her. "Of course," he snapped. "I bid you good evening." And he was gone.

Before she knew it, Kit's cousin had swept her out onto the ballroom floor again and they were dancing the cotillion.