Page 27 of The Gilded Masquerade
“If I may … it is rather exhilarating. I hope you locate the mysterious guest.”
“Let us hope it is not too late.”
“I suspect the young woman and her aunt will make an after-ball call to her ladyship?”
“Likely. Unfortunately, I cannot be present to see her unmasked,” he said.
“Yes, quite ill-fated. Then I shall deliver the book in their absence from the inn upon their arrival to Pemberley. Perchance, your most trustworthy coachman would drive me in one of the lesser recognized equipages?”
“Splendid idea. I must call upon Lord Denman so I will ready the parcel for delivery before departing.”
“Very good.”
“Grayson, I trust this will not make you uncomfortable, but … it appears you possess an aptitude for this sort of endeavor.”
“It does appear so. There is something else.”
“Yes?”
“Her name is Lizzy.”
Grinning, he made a mental note to reward his new-found ally with something special—perhaps a watchmaker’s lathe. “Please see to the lad’s reward. Thank you, Grayson.”
Grasping the edges of the ledger, he smiled softly, whispering, “Lizzy.”
Elizabeth? Eliza? Lizbeth? Felicity? Lizette? This would be one riddle he would enjoy solving.
Lounging back in his armchair, the very one she had clung to upon discovery, he recalled their second scandalous moment in the bookstacks before the end of the ball.
Chapter X
Midnight Trespass
Was there no escaping the rapacious Miss Penelope Crossworth of the neighboring Clanswell Hall? He felt the woman’s presence like the itching annoyance of stinging nettle blistering upon his back. As the night drew to a close, her suggestive discourse, heated gazes, and flirtatious batting of her eyes grew more persistent. One might assume she suffered from palpebral spasms of unusual animation brought on by a photophobia. Mother may have intended for Clanswell’s heir to find a suitable match, but had she not considered the unfortunate situation of the sister who had set her sights upon him since their youth? Without a proper matchmaking female relation to direct Miss Crossworth’s navigation of the ton, the woman was past her prime with no prospects and deemed a burden to her father and brother.
He would not lower himself to unkind thoughts about the lady’s looks beyond that she bore an exacting resemblance in both face and temperament to her father, the widowed Lord Crossworth. His lordship, an unmitigated buffoon, had misspent his family’s fortune and was a revolting landholder and patrician to his tenants’ needs. Also, to his unfortunate chance, the man was frightful looking with a nose so large it preceded him into the room. There was no costume in which to disguise the three residents of Clanswell Hall for they all shared the same proboscis affliction.
“Pardon me, Miss Crossworth, I must excuse myself for host duties,” he said with a bow, straight away leaving the ballroom for … peace … and solitude. Peace from her, from the music, and from ruminating over the woman in gold and his forthcoming decision about Anne.
Exiting the ballroom, his gaze focused down the hall, the road to his salvation.
“Darcy!” Someone called out.
Turning, he smiled at his perpetually cheerful friend, Dr. Charles Bingley, bounding down the staircase.
He would rather continue his escape, but he had yet to properly greet Charles, and Anne’s health was a paramount concern.
“Charles, season’s greetings! It is good of you to make the long trip. Has the footman seen to your belongings?”
“Indeed, he has.”
“Pray, have you eaten? The ambigu is exceptional this evening.”
“I have, thank you. Her ladyship has outdone herself, again.” Charles turned his sunny disposition to the evergreen tree and the creche on the table beside it. “Christmas at Pemberley is always a remarkable spectacle.”
“Quite. It has finally returned following my father’s passing.”
Charles studied him. “It is good to see you, my friend. My sister waits with bated breath for my letter explaining all of Pemberley and Lady Anne’s finery and, of course, news of you—the subject of much gossip in London.”
