A Mistletoe Masquerade

cannot but see is an obstacle to your happiness.'

They fell silent, gazing into the fire. Rowan stretched out a hand and picked up a buttered teacake, biting into it as though into his lordship. 'Is your stepmother to accompany you?'

'No. Godmama said that would be certain to put Lord Danescroft's back up and that she will chaperon me. Even Papa was forced to agree, given what a good match it would be. Stepmama was furious.'

Rowan licked butter off her fingers and pondered the idea that had crept, fully formed, into her head. 'Remind me who your godmother is.'

'Lady Rolesby.'

'Hmm. She has not seen me since before I went to Vienna with Papa. I doubt she would recognise me now-nor would anyone else, come to that.'

'No,' Penny agreed. 'For you have grown so much. You were pretty before, Rowan, and you are truly beautiful now. But what has that to do with anything?'

Rowan ignored the compliment: Penny had always admired her vivid looks. 'Why, I shall go as your dresser. The servants always know everything-I will hear all the gossip, investigate Lord Danescroft and prove how unsuitable he is for you!'

'Oh, Rowan!' Penelope's unremarkable face lit up. 'Would you? Could you? I don't expect there is anything to find out about him really, but it would be so wonderful to have someone with me to confide in. But what are your plans for Christmas? Surely your father cannot have intended for you to simply go home alone?'

'No, Aunt Moore in Yorkshire is expecting me.' Rowan grimaced. 'I will write and tell her I have been invited to a house party full of eligible young men and she will be delighted. My handwriting can be atrocious if I try-she will not be able to read where we are going.'

'I am supposed to leave in ten days. Is that enough time, do you think?'

'To learn to be a dresser? Surely it must be? How hard can it be?'

'Miss Maylin? You cannot be serious-have you met her mother?' Lucas Dacre, Viscount Stoneley, crossed one booted foot over the other and stared at his friend. 'She's the most vulgar, scheming creature in creation.'

'Stepmother, I understand. But how do you know her? You've hardly been back in the country ten days.' The Earl of Danescroft raised an eyebrow. It was the greatest show of emotion he had exhibited since he had wrung Lucas's hand three days before. Lucas kept his own face bland, hiding his anxiety at the change in his friend. The last time he had seen him, five years before, he had been his groomsman and had danced at his wedding.

Now Will was gaunt, unsmiling, his expressive brown eyes shuttered, and all the joy had gone out of him. It was hardly surprising: Lucas had spent several hours at his club, buried in the newspaper archives, familiarising himself with the scandal Will obviously had no wish to speak about.

He had not been surprised to discover that Belle had proved to be as careless with her husband's heart and honour as she had with his money. He had tried to hint at her character when he had seen Will becoming attached- it had led to the only row they had ever had and he had held his peace from then on. I told you so was not going to be helpful now.

'I went to a reception at Fotheringham's last night. Frightful bore, but I promised Mama I'd look them up when I was in Town. Lady Maylin was such a sight- all purple satin and plumes and vulgarity-that I asked who she was. Then I overheard her in loud conversation with her cronies. Such a catch she had engineered for her dear Penelope. Such wealth, such a lineage. I removed myself-if I had known she was talking about you I would have stayed longer behind my potted fern.'

The Earl grimaced. 'My grandmother has assured me she will not be invited to Tollesbury.'

'Your grandmother, if you will pardon my saying so, must be all about in the head if she thinks a daughter of that house will be suitable for you.' Or deserving of you, Lucas thought bitterly. Will needed someone to love him, not a gold-digging nonentity who just happened to be sufficiently on the shelf to swallow the scandal in return for the title and the wealth.

'I am assured Miss Maylin is not at all like her stepmother. And she is apparently good with children. Louisa needs a mother.' Will might have been describing the appointment of a governess. There was no animation in his voice, no emotion.

Lucas felt the anger stirring inside him. This was the friend who had always seemed to be laughing, the man who had helped him out of scrapes more numerous than he could count. His best friend-the brother he had never had-who deserved someone to cherish him, someone to bring the laughter back. Someone to thaw his heart.

'And if she proves not to be what she is reported to be?' he asked harshly.

'Then I would not offer for her.' Will looked surprised he needed to ask. 'I cannot settle for anyone who would not be a suitable mother for Louisa.' He shook his head. 'But there is no fear of that: I trust my grandmother's opinion.'

'I'm going with you.' Damn it, all he can think about is whether his new wife will make a good mother to the child. What about himself? Wasn't he hurt enough last time?

'But you haven't been invited.' Then Will shrugged. 'No doubt it will be easy for you to secure an invitation. Even though you've been in the West Indies all this time no one will have forgotten you. And they will be unsurprised to see you again, now you have come into the title.'

'They'll have forgotten me sufficiently not to recognise me, I hope. At least so long as they see me where they would not expect to.' Lucas smiled, flexing his fingers. He imagined them curling around Miss Maylin's greedy little throat, but he kept his tone amused. 'I shall go as your valet, Will-below stairs they know all about their masters' and mistresses' dirty linen, and I'll wager are more than willing to gossip about it. After a few days there I'll know every secret your Miss Maylin has to hide, believe me. And if Perrott will entrust me with his blacking recipe, you'll have a decent shine on your boots into the bargain.'

Ten days later

It was important to remember one's place. Miss Maylin's dresser, a young lady calling herself Daisy Lawrence, clutched the morocco jewel case to her midriff and stood amidst the shabby valises and the old trunk that made up her mistress's luggage. In front of her the dressers serving Lady Meredith Hughes and the Honourable Miss Geraldine Mather were already supervising the footmen. The impressive sets of matching luggage in their care were carried up the stairs to the guest bedchambers with respectful attention.

They had arrived after she had, but here at Tollesbury Court, as everywhere in polite society, servants took the precedence accorded to their employers. Miss Penelope Maylin was very far down the social ladder indeed, which meant that her dresser waited with patience until her betters had been attended to.

Fires blazed in the hearths facing each other across the flagged floor at the other end of the vast baronial hall. You could have roasted an ox in either, Daisy thought, but at this end of the chamber Cook might safely store the evening's ices and jellies with no fear of them melting. Her toes in their jean half boots were frozen, and she could only be thankful that she did not suffer from chilblains. Yet.

Between the fires the guests were being greeted by their hosts and passed on to the care of the Groom of the Chambers, who was organising footmen to lead them to their rooms. It all took time, and a knot of people formed between the hearths while they shed cloaks and muffs and chatted amongst themselves. There, too, rank was plain. Miss Maylin stood uncomfortably close to the heat, too meek to dodge around the formidable bulk of an older lady who was determined to get as close to her hosts as possible.

Penny-Miss Penelope, Daisy corrected herself- was roasting, whilst she was freezing. At this rate she was not going to be upstairs in time to have anything unpacked by the time Miss Penelope got to her room, desperate for a change of clothing and a cup of tea. On top of that, hairpins were sticking into her scalp, her head ached from the severity of her braided hairstyle, and she was as badly in need of that tea as her mistress. But it would surely be her turn next; the other women were vanishing upstairs, dressing cases in hand, without a backward glance at their humble colleague.

There was a stir near the front door, another draught of icy air around Daisy's ankles, and footmen bearing down on her with yet more luggage. Shiny, expensive luggage. Lots of it. Drat. Fuming, she stood aside to let all six of them past. And sauntering along in their wake, a handsome dressing case in hand, was an individual Daisy had no hesitation in recognising as a very superior valet indeed.

He was tall, he was dark, he was lean, and he moved not like a man who spent his life polishing boots and