Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5

“ A masquerade ?” William dropped the invitation. “You are jesting, surely? Do I look like a popinjay to you? A dandy perhaps?”

“No,” Colin crossed his legs. The light flowing in from his mullioned study windows turned his brown hair a burnished bronze. “You look like a man who severely needs female company, the good kind, not the women of night kind, not the paid courtesan that could spill your secrets kind. You need clean entertainment, Arlington. Do you even remember how to waltz?”

Narrowing his eyes, William added, “Do you remember how to shoot a pistol? Keep pushing me and you might meet me at dawn.”

Rolling his eyes at the empty threat, Colin poured another splash of brandy into his glass. “I know you’re busy running around from bed to gambling parlor and playing this masked boxer, but for heaven’s sake man, try to repair your reputation with proper channels.”

Plucking the invitation, William fiddled with it, then said, “I’m not as free as I used to be, Thornbury.” He took a mouthful of whiskey and added, “I am joining the Circuit.”

“What?” Colin asked. “You’re becoming a lawyer? I knew you studied rhetoric at Oxford, but I had no idea you were willing to help people.”

This time, William rolled his eyes. “The other Circuit.”

It took Colin a hair longer than William expected him to catch on, but when he did, his mouth fell open. “ That Circuit?” he dropped his voice to a strangled whisper. “The grand battle of prizefighters? Are you mad?”

“Yes,” William replied, then shrugged. “Or desperate, you could say. There is no difference. I just need to clear off my debts that are accruing interest every day, and there are only so many assets I can sell off without losing my family’s legacy altogether.

“If properly executed, it is the swiftest way to rebuild my fortune after I gambled away a good amount of money from the family coffers. Now that I have a shot at redemption, I will take it.”

“But…” Colin paused to consider. “…what if your true identity comes out? We know you have your pseudo-persona of the Masked… what was it again?

“ Marauder .”

“But what if your true identity is revealed?” Colin leaned in. “This reputation you are trying to rebuild might be dashed if it gets out. A gentleman boxer is… unheard of, and surely you know that.”

Tracing the rim of his glass with the tip of a finger, William replied, “I might make a new trend. Who knows, and it matters not to me. My history will always be in the back of people’s minds, and I don’t think a damn thing will shock them anymore.”

“This is dangerous.”

“I know.”

“You may get grievously injured.”

“I am aware.”

“You may die.”

Taking another drink, William recalled another moment when he had woken up on the floor of his home, drunk on a mixture of liquor that had sent him into a torpor of agony and praying for death.

“Not something I have not faced before,” William replied.

Ruffling his hair, Colin crossed his legs and sighed. “Well, if you’re ready to sign yourself over, at least take a night of upstanding entertainment before you do.”

“You’re never going to let over on this damned masquerade, are you?” William drawled.

“No,” Colin laughed. “I would strong-arm you into it if I had to.”

Snorting, William took a drink, “I would love to see you try. But since you asked so kindly, I will be there, only do not expect me to come as any simple character either.”

Stalled, Colin asked, “What will you come as?”

“You’ll see.”

“I think it's time you rejoin the le beau ton, my dear,” Eleanor said while fixing her skirts. “I have an additional invitation to Baron Thornbury’s masquerade, and I am giving it to you. ”

“What?” Bridget asked, eyes dropping to the card Ellie had just plopped in her lap. “A ball? Ellie, you know I cannot—”

“You can and you will,” Ellie said calmly, “Sometimes I think you’ve forgotten that you are still a lady of the ton, and you still have the right to dance and mingle and enjoy the advantages your birthright gives you.”

“I…” Bridget traced her fingers over the gilt leafing in the corners. It had been a long time since she had held an invitation like that; years ago, they used to come by the dozens. “…don’t have a costume, or a dress.”

“It is in ten days’ time, surely you have time to put something together?” Ellie asked, her brows lifting.

Biting her lip, Bridget thought of the few dresses she still had, and she remembered a white gown she could adjust into something presentable—only, she needed a few things. “Would you be able to secure a couple of things for me?”

“Whatever you need, dear.”

Sitting on her cot, she ran her hands over the soft silk of an ivory dress she’d purchased years ago. It was dated, but she could alter it to hide those flaws. Her eyes dropped to the bags of dove feathers Ellie had acquired for her. It would be an easy task to turn the simple dress into a stunning angel costume.

She heard the soft shuffle of her godmother’s slippers on the corridor beyond and she lifted her head when the older woman came to the door, two cups of tea in hand.

“Do you have a minute, sweet girl?” her godmother, Lydia Turner, began, resting both cups on the end table. “I would like to talk to you for a moment.”

‘Sure, Aunt,” Bridget used her preferred honorific while shifting on the bed. “Please sit.”

While edging into fifty, her godmother, who she called her aunt, a spinster by choice, sat and handed one cup to her. “Do you think it is time to rejoin the world beyond these walls and the seamstress shop?”

Slowly, Bridget sipped the tea. Though this was the second brewing of the leaves, it still held its essence.

“Lady Eleanor said much of the same to me today,” Bridget nodded to the dress lying on the bed. “She gave me an invitation to a ball in a sennights time. I am trying to see if I can get a few things together.”

“Oh,” Lydia blinked. “Why, isn’t that just wonderful of her. I am so glad you still have supportive friends, my dear, and you are thinking of going, are you?”

“Yes,” Bridget replied, swallowing down her nervousness. “It will be good to mingle with the others while I have the chance.”

Patting her hand, Lydia nodded. “That’s good to hear. You know I only want the best for you, dear. I know life took a turn you never expected, but I am pleased with seeing how you reacted to it, how you’ve taken the hardships and risen above them.”

The only thing Bridget could muster was a faint smile.

“I know you still have hope for a husband,” Lydia continued, “and I do pray such a man will come about, but I hope you know, if the circumstances never align, you can live a fulfilling life still.”

While her godmother was right, the thought of living without companionship tore at her. While many ladies in the ton vied for the top bachelors in the Season, dreamt of being wed to the richest lord, having all the comforts riches could give them, traveling the whole world, buying the biggest jewels and gowns; Bridget did not.

Her dreams were simple: all she wanted was a husband to love. He didn’t have to be extraordinarily handsome or exorbitantly rich, just nice, decent, and understanding.

She wanted an upstanding sort of man who wouldn’t mind her flaws and who would enjoy spending time with her, doing ordinary things. To have a place where she would feel safe and always belong.

“I know, Aunt,” she said, picking at her skirts. “If anything, I just want to enjoy myself as best as I can. And… and as for a husband, as much as I desire to be happily wed, that is… I suppose that is God’s plan.”

“That’s the spirit, my dear,” Lydia replied, while gently easing off the bed. “I shall leave you to your work.”

Looking down on the gown, Bridget reached for a bag of cured feathers and touched the smooth, silkiness of them. Wonderful . They would do. Pulling out her needle and thread, she went to work, the first night of many to come.

The moment Colin laid eyes on William, or rather the costume he wore, the glass in his hand slipped and shattered at his feet.

The Baron, dressed like Robert the Bruce, gaped. “Good God, man, are you trying to send half my guests into paroxysms?”

Lifting his horned mask off, William shook out his hair. “They all term me as a devil, so why not show them what they believe?”

“But must you have a horn on your mask—” Colin’s eyes dropped to William’s feet. “—and modified your shoes into hooves?”

“It’s part of the fantasy,” William grinned, brushing the half-cape from his shoulder. “The Devil is the Cloven Hoof, is he not? So there should be a hoof somewhere.”

“You are incorrigible,” Colin scoffed while waving over a waiter and taking two flutes from the tray. “Please tell me you will be sensible tonight and not seduce an innocent inside the kitchen cupboard.”

Slanting an eye to his friend, William asked, “And what on earth would cause me to be in your kitchens? Do you think I have a dash of cooking sense?”

“No, but you do have an uncanny ability and sense of spying who is corruptible, or have you forgotten your nickname from four years ago? They monikered you The Ravisher for a reason,” Colin fiddled with his Ottoman Sultan’s robe. “It is not as if you were raiding apple orchards.”

Turning, William glanced at his reflection in a nearby mirror—the onyx of his breeches, boots, and linen shirt were only broken by a gray waistcoat with red piping, a lurid red cravat, and a ruby pin. The horn on his demi-mask was made of stiff paper, curved into a wicked point, painted bloody red, and curled over his tousled hair.

“We shall see,” William promised him while surveying the floor. He saw mermaids, goldfish, queens, and goddesses galore, costumes he had expected. He could not measure how bored he was with them.

“Am I late?” Andrew’s voice cut in and both turned to see the Viscount clad in de rigueur dinner attire as the demi-mask he wore felt like an afterthought.

“Very,” Colin didn’t hide his displeasure. “And you couldn’t dress for the occasion?”

Glowering, Andrew replied, “Be glad I came at all.”

Ignoring his friends, William leaned on the balustrade and looked over the guests below. Even with the plethora of masks and cloaks, he recognized some ladies, some he had kissed, some he had taken to bed, barely enough of them memorable.

“Must I be so jaded?” he muttered, sipping champagne.

An errant thought came to him—maybe he was not jaded, maybe he was just tired, tired of the thin veil of self-righteous superiority from the ton when he knew the men and women were downrightly savage.

The men were animals in smart suits and society ladies were the most cutthroat, ready to rip another lady’s reputation to shreds, backstab and seduce their way to the top whilst smiling and sipping tea with their pinkies lifted.

“Does true innocence and guilelessness exist in this world anymore?”

From his position so high, he saw the doors open and a lady entered, her pure white costume a beacon to his eyes, her feather-trimmed gown accentuated her angelic grace, the white perfectly draped over her petite slender frame. The neckline exposed her creamy shoulders, the rounded swell of her breasts, and her tight, nipped-in waist.

“Who is she…” he stared.

“What?” Colin turned to him. “Who are you speaking of?”

“I don’t know,” William replied while stepping away from the balustrade and stepping toward the doors, and grasping another glass of champagne on his way down. “But I will find out.”

He wound his way through the throngs of guests, his eyes honed on the young angel. When he neared, he saw the majority of her face was covered by a white lace mask, leaving mostly her eyes, a part of her cheekbones and lips revealed. The blond wig she wore fell silkily over her shoulder and the ringlets quivered as she looked around.

“You look a little lost, my lady,” he said quietly.

Her eyes, so big and pure, found his face and her lips, rosy and full, parted on a breath, and he noted the bottom one had an inviting—and faintly familiar—divot at its center. She stared at him with rich blue eyes.

Swallowing, she said, “I don’t think it is wise to take advice from a Devil.”

“Spoken like a smart lady,” William smirked wickedly while offering her the glass. “But what if this Devil is looking for redemption from an Angel? Surely, you can help the most sullied of souls.”

“I am not sure I have divine powers, my lord,” she replied. “And even if I did, I am unsure I could cure you. If a gentleman dresses like the Cloven Hoof, certainly, he has done some wicked things.”

The strains of the waltz came from the orchestra, and William extended a hand and asked, “Would you do me the honor of your first dance?”