Chapter Twenty-Three

 

With the solemnity of a knight emerging from a vigil, Serena dressed for the masked ball. The gown that Madame Montellier had crafted was nothing shy of a work of art. Silver lace woven in metallic threads cascaded in echoes of a bridal gown but she looked like a woman marrying the man in the moon. She was a creature of ice and silvery fire. The dress’s bustle was encrusted with hundreds of clear glass crystal beads to capture the light and refract like diamonds.

The dress for this ball was one she’d chosen with deliberate care. The layers of shimmering lace in the bustle and along the décolletage made it a more youthful style than her usual cut silks and clean lines. Tonight, she purposefully evoked her youth, highlighting it and making a tasteful echo of the debutante she once might have been.

“It’s a wintry waterfall, isn’t it?” Pepper sighed as she rearranged the folds of the short train. “Every man in that room is going to fall under your spell tonight, your ladyship.”

“Do you have the tiara ready?”

Pepper nodded and pulled it out. The current fashion leaned toward heavier jewels but Serena had selected a delicate headpiece that appeared to be carved from ice, as if the tiny diamonds would melt if a human hand touched them. Nested atop a careful arrangement of plaited braids, one long ornate braid encircled with a silver ribbon trailed down her back.

“You’ll want your diamond choker,” Pepper asserted.

Serena shook her head. “No. I’ll wear the long silver chain and nothing else.”

“Not even the earrings?”

Serena smiled. “Not even the earrings.” She wanted nothing to detract from the bare lines of her shoulders and the firm white column of her throat.

Pepper lifted the long silver chain over her head, the filament so fine it was like a spider web that the gold ring strung on it almost appeared to float magically through the air. It was a simple ring inlaid with pale blue topaz and diamonds. It disappeared in between her breasts and Serena smiled. That little ring was the one that Phillip had given her to celebrate their wedding and now against her heart, it was a talisman to signify her love for the man and the strength of the bond between them.

The ritual of dressing calmed her but Serena could not deny her nerves. Pepper was as anxious as she was, her hands trembling as she knelt to help Serena step into her silver slippers. “Mistress. No matter what happens, I hope you’ll…”

“Pepper.”

“I just want you to be happy.”

Serena sighed. “I will be.”

Pepper stood. “You think he’ll cry like a toddler?”

She did her best to smile. “My life would feel complete if he did.”

“Well, best get on your way then.” Pepper held very still. “Good luck.”

“Thank you, Pepper.”

She started to leave but Pepper called out, “The mask! Here! We nearly forgot it!”

Serena took the matching scrap of silver lace and walked out without looking back. She wasn’t comfortable with maudlin scenes and any more delays tempted her to say too much. She did not trust her voice to good-byes.

Mr. Quinn waited for her downstairs. “Donavan has the carriage outside, your ladyship.”

“And the additional security for the house?”

“All in place.”

“Good. I’ve asked the twins to keep watch on the streets outside. I do not expect any trouble to trail me home but I want every possibility covered.”

Quinn took every instruction in stride. In her service, she suspected the man had seen more than most butlers in London. She squared her shoulders and walked from the house and down the steps to the carriage.

Let the games begin.

 

Milbank’s was a unique pageant without equal in the London season. The costumes dazzled in variety but also in the vast show of wealth and glittering themes. Serena handed over her wrap to the waiting footman and then spotted no less than three Greek gods, two mermaids and one bold guest who had decided to dress the part of dragon complete with wings and a long tail that snaked behind him.

Serena was a vision of understated elegance in comparison and she was glad of it. Tonight was not the night to get lost in the crowd and in a sea of colors, the purity of her choice held a magic of its own.

She spied one or two ladies in the Black Rose and took heart. Then she spotted Harriet and had to stop herself from crying out in surprise. The Widow of Stone had transformed into an English Rose. In a dress of deepest pink with an underskirt of green silk embroidered like leaves, Harriet was a blushing flower and as pretty as any woman in the room. Her blonde hair was studded with pink sapphires and diamonds like dew and even her gloves were dyed to a pink to match. Perhaps she was the loveliest of ladies, as the change stirred reaction from everyone she passed.

“Harriet! You are wearing pink!”

“And why not?” Lady Lylesforth bristled defensively. “It is a costume ball, Lady Wellcott and one is encouraged to…be different than the every day.”

“You can be any version of yourself that you choose to be, dearest.”

“So you keep telling me.” Harriet reached up to touch her hair. “Is it possible that this version of myself could now go home?”

“No. After dearest.”

“After what exactly?”

Serena looked up to realize that Sir Adam Tillman and Lord Trent were heading toward them. Adam had forgone a costume and wore the finest evening clothes, his only nod to the eccentricities of their host being a simple black mask. The earl on the other hand, wore a red velvet opera coat studded with red sequins and beads, with two painted red horns poking out from his hair.

The Earl of Trent was Lucifer for the evening and Serena had to swallow hard at the hysterical bubble that rose up in her throat. Pepper will never believe me when I tell her…

“Lady Wellcott,” Geoffrey greeted her first, making a bow with a huge theatrical flourish of his coat. “You have brought out the devil in me!”

Adam shook his head behind him and Serena wondered how many hellish puns he’d endured already. “Hardly an accomplishment I should boast of,” Serena teased then smiled at Adam. “Sir Tillman. May I introduce you to my dear friend, Lady Harriet Lylesforth? Harriet, this is Sir Adam Tillman.”

Adam began to take Harriet’s hand when Lord Trent scoffed, “Do my eyes deceive me or has the Widow of Stone decided to play the part of a fallen flower?”

Adam froze at his uncle’s affront and Harriet’s gasp of fury was unmistakable. “I wonder what is sadder, Lord Trent? The notion that your rudeness no longer surprises or that you neglected to choose a donkey’s ears and tail for your ensemble to more appropriately match the fact that you are a jackass!”

Before Geoffrey could compose a reply, Harriet lifted her hand to reveal a folded fan. “I neglected to break your nose last time, your lordship, but I’m sure I can do better!”

Serena laughed as Geoffrey’s face turned a shade of red only a degree or two lighter than his coat.

“W-would you like to dance, Sir Tillman?” Harriet asked, then pressed her fingertips to her own lips, surprised at her own cheek. “It will spare me from my very first public brawl…and I would be very grateful.”

Adam smiled. “I’m happy to oblige and may I say, you may have no greater admirer than myself, Lady Lylesforth, though I did mistakenly expect…someone a great deal older from my uncle’s intimidated descriptions of Lady Wellcott’s indomitable friend.” He raked a hand through his hair, “But any woman who can set the devil on his heels and look so beautiful doing it—it is a feat.”

Harriet blushed, but took his arm. “The feat is in not kicking him in the shins. Shall we?”

Adam made a subtle glance at Serena, hesitant to leave her alone in Trent’s company but Serena smiled and waved off the pair. “Go! His lordship will need a few minutes to recover so you may safely waltz before the next round.”

Adam escorted Harriet toward the ballroom, and Serena admired the sight of them together. Perhaps there will be a slice of happiness taken from the night…for them both.

“God, what a harridan! Serves him right if he comes off that dance floor with a black eye to show for that ridiculous act of chivalry,” Geoffrey growled.

“Why do you provoke her like that? What could it possibly gain you?” she asked.

“I don’t know. Women like that with their noses in their air, wound so tightly in propriety for propriety’s sake that they can scarcely breathe—they defy a man to make a mistake to prove themselves superior.” His forehead gleamed with a sheen of perspiration and his words tumbled out faster and faster. “You could read their thoughts if they had any! Shallow creatures who sniff and sniff but what else can they do?”

As he went on and on, Serena tipped her head to one side, watching his anger gain momentum into a tirade without purpose. He spoke of abstracts, of the judgment of women he had never actually met and grossly condemned them all to grisly ends for imaginary insults he’d never suffered.

When she was fifteen, it was this kind of rant that would have driven her to hide in her room. At twenty-five, he looked as frightening as a child stomping his feet and throwing a useless fit.

She sighed and looked away, openly expressing her disinterest and disapproval of his conversation. She was rewarded with the distant sight of Phillip across the crowded ballroom. Like Adam, he had foregone an elaborate costume for the night, instead wearing a simple green mask to blend in to the throng. He flashed her a quick grin, an encouraging look that defied her fears. He was not hurtling himself toward her in a jealous or protective fit. He was simply there for her, just as he’d promised.

Here for me.

Please God. Let him not be punished for it.

“Lady Wellcott?”

She turned back to Geoffrey. “I’m sorry, Lord Trent. What were you saying?”

“I was saying that I am sorry for spoiling what should have been a playful and light beginning to our night.”

“You are the master of games and play though I marvel that I am the only one to see it.”

“Come now, you of all people know that the best games are the ones we play out of sight and where none can see. Or even better, the gambit that others can see but not believe.” Geoffrey held a hand out to her. “Would you care to dance with me, Lady Wellcott?”

She nodded her assent, lightly taking his arm.

“You are not as good at hiding your cards as you think,” he said. Trent leaned over to whisper as they moved toward the dance floor, “I heard a rumor recently. A snippet of gossip that made my heart stop, Lady Wellcott.”

“Did you? What was it?”

“I was led to believe that you told someone else that you had hopes of a marriage—indeed that you aspired to be a countess.”

“People talk too much.”

“It was too good a secret to keep. Adam will be devastated when he learns of it but that’s to be expected.”

She looked at him in surprise. “He is your nephew, Lord Trent. Do not wish him ill.”

“I wish him nothing but now you will dance with me, Lady Wellcott.” He pulled her into the dance, breaking into the pattern without waiting for the next tune and certainly without a single thought to the awkward disruption to the dancers already enjoying their promenades. He hauled her against him and began their turns, his expression one of complete triumph. “I don’t care how the boy fares!”

She gave an apologetic look to several couples over his shoulder but allowed him to lead her in the dance. “So bold, sir!”

“I cannot stop thinking about you, Serena. Not after…that was a wicked little game you were playing, to flirt so outrageously and leave me dangling like a schoolboy in the rain. Though I was hardly dangling, was I?”

“Lower your voice, Trent. Flirting was one of the skills you insisted that a lady of quality should possess. You cannot complain of it now.” Serena found that it was all she could do to stay on her feet as his movements became more and more manic. She’d thought of the hours ahead, of the game’s moves and countermoves, but this—this was like trying to saddle a horse in full gallop. Lord Trent needed no spur to move ahead.

“True! What a fool I would be to fuss over perfection!” He laughed. “God, what a pair we make!”

“A pair?” She smiled up at him. “A pair of what do you suppose?”

“Enough of these coy looks, woman. You made your desires clear enough yesterday and then sent me away to cool my heels. I spoke to your father at Sudbury’s last week and he made it equally obvious that he wishes to see you happy. As you said, you do nothing in half measures, so I have paved the way.”

“You spoke to Northland? On what topic exactly?”

“We will craft a future together that will shake the foundations of this world!”

“Will we?”

“What say you? A summer wedding? Shall we spend our honeymoon at Oakwell Manor and rechristen our lives with your return to your rightful place at my table?”

She deliberately stopped dancing, sending small ripples of unrest through the room as her sudden halt completely disrupted the steps of graceful couples around them. The earl’s expression grew anxious and a bit impatient.

“Lady Wellcott? Are you unwell?”

“You wish to marry me?” she asked in open astonishment, loudly enough to gain an immediate audience of rapt eavesdropping dancers.

“Yes. As I said,” he spoke, his confidence reasserting itself. “It is your joy that has overwhelmed you into this clumsy stop. Understandable, of course!” He glanced around at his peers. “I apologize. The lady was overcome.”

“Your lordship,” she said, then leaned in to whisper in his ear, words that only he could hear. “I am overcome at this unexpected lapse in your intellect. If I am to be Countess, why would I ever need to marry some wrinkled little bag of a man with a fraction of his vitality left to him when I can marry the young and handsome heir to that self-same estate and title and enjoy all that a marriage bed has to offer?”

He stiffened and began to pull away but she subtly kept hold. “Am I not all that you wanted in a woman? Is it not you who taught me that vanity was to a woman’s credit and would not Adam look prettier on my arm when I am the lady presiding over Oakwell?”

She let go of him and stepped back, her face an innocent guise of anxious horror, just as the orchestra began to falter as the scene playing out on the dance floor took over the room. “I am so sorry to disappoint you—and so publicly but you’ve pressed for an immediate answer and…I cannot marry a man I have long seen only as a dear uncle.”

“You, bitch! You godless little icy bitch!” His eyes glittered with malice as he roared in fury. The music came to a grinding and awkward stop and the entire party turned to watch the show. “I made you! I own you! You are my creature! Do you hear me?”

Serena pressed her fingertips against her lips. “I don’t…understand. I was your ward but…I did not think it implied…ownership.”

“You will never preside as countess over what is mine! I’ll murder you both before I allow it!”

“I…my prayers did not…I would never have aspired to…such a thing!” Serena shook her head slowly. “You should not give rumors credence, your lordship! I have no designs to marry anyone and Sir Tillman well knows my choice.”

“You are garbage! I plucked you out of that orphanage and made you what you are! I fed and clothed you and provided a roof over your head and saw that you had more education that any of these slack-jawed apes! And for what?”

Gasps and cries of protest ringed the ballroom, and Serena faced him undaunted. “I have learned that it was at my father’s request that you took me into your house. I am grateful for your Christian care, Lord Trent.” She lifted her chin a defiant inch. “I was not aware that the gift came at so high a price or I would have gladly starved to death.”

“Lady Wellcott,” one of the men stepped forward to offer her his arm. “Come away. The earl has forgotten himself in his disappointment.”

“Yes, the poor man!” she said and gave the earl a look of open pity. “I am so sorry, Lord Trent.”

“I’ve forgotten nothing!” The earl raged, striking the man’s arm away from her to seize Serena’s upper arm in a cruel hold yanking her back against his chest. “Don’t touch her! She has fooled you all with her ridiculous charities, pious displays and the title her father secured her! She plays the lady well, doesn’t she? But she is nothing! Nothing! Do you hear me?”

Serena closed her eyes as if in shame stumbling against him to whisper, “To see you braying to marry garbage and a whore…what would Warrick say?”

Gasps were the last warning she had before a cursing Trent launched himself at her. Serena tried to hold him off but his hands had seized her throat in a relentless vise fueled by raw fury and loathing as he drove her to the floor, his knee pinning her down in a ruthless assault. She struggled unable to scream as her plan yielded success she had never dreamt of. A torrent of vile hateful speech ripped out across the room, his claims so outrageous, so poisoned, that no matter what elements of truth they may have held, it was all lost.

“Bitch! Die a whore then! Die with nothing! Die and know you did not get the better of me! You did not win! I win! I always win!”

His audience heard only a madman and reacted slowly to save poor innocent Lady Wellcott as the surreal tone of it all held them in place. The Earl of Trent was going to murder a woman in front of them because she had refused him. It was like something out of a penny dreadful but disbelief and shock froze them in a tableau for a few critical seconds until the tide turned. Only Phillip and Adam were in motion from the start—but each man fighting against distance and the crowd to reach the earl and save her.

Her skull met with the floor and she marveled at the pain. Black sparks swam into her vision as she fought for air, unaware of the melee above her, the shouting of so many voices chiming in all at once. Women were screaming, men were yelling and the tenor of all of it was a symphony of a wolf-pack baying for the earl’s blood.

It was chaos.

It was perfection.

If he killed her, he was destroyed.

If she survived it, he was destroyed.

She lost consciousness, the sparks yielding to an airless darkness that felt like black velvet pouring up through her skin.

Imagine that. So strange…

Dying happens inside of you first and then the world sees it later.