The Shy Duchess. Amanda McCabe
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Название: The Shy Duchess
Автор: Amanda McCabe
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Историческая литература
isbn: 9781408923122
isbn:
“I had assumed those stories were made up out of whole cloth. I didn’t realise you actually were with her at the park. Did her touch freeze when she took your arm, Nick?”
Her hand had been quite warm. Warm and delicate, trembling slightly as she took his arm. And she smelled like summer roses. “Don’t be a fool, Stephen. She is not actually an ice princess, no matter what those bacon-brains at the club say.”
“It seems she’s called that with good reason, though. I’ve never seen a lady so quiet and still. They say—”
“Enough!” Nicholas shouted. “I do not want to hear any more about Lady Emily. Surely we know well enough what it’s like to be the objects of idle gossip. We shouldn’t subject an innocent lady to unfair slurs.”
“I—yes, of course. You’re very right, Nick,” Stephen said, looking nonplussed and quite sorry. “I certainly don’t want to be unfair to Lady Emily, especially if you like her.”
“I don’t like her. I’m just sick of the gossip. It never ends.”
“And you’ve been working too hard, Brother. We’ll have a merry time at Vauxhall tonight, it is just what you need. Some wine, some music, some pretty women—you’ll be yourself again in no time. And I will help you more, I promise.”
“Just make your racetrack scheme a great success. And perhaps you’re right, I just need some fun,” Nicholas said. But deep inside he was not so sure. His family thought a bit of fun would solve any trouble, but maybe that wasn’t so true any longer. Another night out, among noise and crowds, seemed the last thing he wanted. There was never a moment to think, to understand.
Then again, maybe thinking was the last thing he needed.
He tossed the charm back to Stephen, who caught it neatly, and reached for his discarded mask. The bright lights of Vauxhall were drawing nearer as they crossed the bridge, the press of carriages thicker around them as everyone headed for the masquerade.
Nicholas tied the mask over his face, and drew the hood of his black cloak closer. He would drink some of Vauxhall’s excellent arrack punch and find a pretty woman, as Stephen suggested. Maybe a plump, soft redhead, someone very different from a delicate, porcelain-doll blonde, and forget himself with her. It had been much too long since he did that.
And then tomorrow, he would no longer be haunted by a pair of solemn green eyes.
“Oh, Emily, isn’t it terribly exciting?” Jane whispered as they stepped through the turnstile into Vauxhall, the dense line of revellers dispersing on to the walkways.
Emily twisted her head about, taking in her surroundings. It was exciting, strangely so. She hadn’t expected very much from this outing—she had heard and read so much about the pleasure gardens she was quite sure she knew what it would be like. She’d thought it would be a mere curiosity, something to see once and be done with, since she could not get away from Jane’s invitation once her mother gave her permission.
But reading and seeing were two different matters. The gardens were astonishing, like something in a dream. It was a different world from her day-to-day existence of duty and sense. Here she didn’t have to be Emily. Here she could be anyone at all.
Maybe that was the real point of any masquerade. To escape for a time.
She held on to Jane’s arm as they followed her sister down the entrance pathway, and tried not to stare open-mouthed like some green country girl. Off to their right was the Grand Quadrangle, their destination, and she could glimpse it through the carefully spaced trees. Thousands of glass lamps, their globes faceted to make the light sparkle, shimmered from the branches, casting an amber glow on the costumed crowds as they passed beneath them.
“It’s like something from the Arabian Nights,” Emily murmured. “It can’t be quite real.”
“I can’t believe we’re here,” said Jane, tugging the folds of her Greek-goddess costume into place. “However did you persuade your parents to let you come?”
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