Page 82 of Regency Whispers: Scandalous Matches

The Kiss That Made Her Countess

Laura Martin

To my boys, everything is so much more fun with you

Chapter One

Northumberland, Midsummer’s Eve, 1816

Not for the first time that evening Alice felt ridiculous. She glanced down at the borrowed dress, the hem splattered with mud, and the delicate shoes. If they ever made it to Lady Salisbury’s ball she would trail dirt all over the ballroom floor.

‘Come, Alice. We can’t stop now,’ Lydia called over her shoulder before vaulting over a wooden fence. Alice followed a little more slowly, wondering how she had been dragged into this madcap plan. ‘We’re almost there. I swear I can hear the music.’

With as much grace and elegance as she could muster, Alice climbed over the fence, closing her eyes in horror as the material of her dress snagged on a protruding nail. There was the sickening sound of ripping fabric as she lost her balance and the dress was tugged free.

‘Lydia, wait,’ Alice shouted, looking up to see her friend plunging head first through a hedge. She had no choice but to follow, grimacing as she spotted the ripped area near the hem of her dress. Hopefully she would be able to mend it and clean it before her cousin even noticed the dress was missing.

She paused before the hedge, wondering how Lydia had made her way through the dense foliage, and then a hand shot out and gripped her wrist. Lydia was giggling as Alice emerged, an expression of surprise on her face, and soon Alice was laughing too.

‘Just think, in a few minutes we will be whirling across the ballroom in the arms of the most handsome bachelors in all of Northumberland,’ Lydia said as she gripped Alice’s hand. ‘Maybe there will be a dashing duke or an eligible earl to sweep you off your feet.’

For a moment Alice closed her eyes and contemplated the possibilities. It was highly unlikely she would meet anyone at the ball that could save her from the impending match that made her heart sink every time she thought of her future.

‘My last night of freedom,’ she murmured.

Lydia scoffed. ‘You make it sound as if you are on your way to the gallows.’

‘That is exactly what it feels like.’

‘Surely he is not that bad.’

Alice screwed up her face and gave a little shudder. ‘I am well aware I have lived a sheltered life so have not come across the scoundrels and the criminals of this country, but Cousin Cecil is by far the worst person I have ever met.’

‘Perhaps your parents will not make you marry him.’

‘I doubt they will save me from that fate.’ Tomorrow Alice’s second cousin, Cecil Billington, was coming to stay for a week with the single purpose of finalising an agreement of marriage between him and Alice. As yet he had not proposed, but Alice was aware of the negotiations going on in the background with her father. She hadn’t dared enquire as to the specifics; even just the idea of Cecil made her feel sick.

‘Then, tonight will have to make up for the next forty years of putting up with Cecil.’

Lydia grabbed her by the hand and began pulling her over the grass again. The house was in view now, the terrace at the back lit up with dozens of lamps positioned at equal intervals along the stone balustrade. Music drifted out from the open doors, and there was the swell of voices as those escaping the heat of the ballroom strolled along the terrace.

‘Someone will see us,’ Alice said, feeling suddenly exposed. There was only about thirty feet separating them and the house now, but it was all open lawn, and by the time they reached the steps leading up to the terrace it would be a miracle if they made it even halfway unobserved.

‘Then, let us act like we belong. We more than look the part. If we stroll serenely arm-in-arm, I wager no one will pay us any attention. We are just two invited guests having a wonderful time at the Midsummer’s Eve ball.’

Alice considered for a moment and then nodded. ‘You are right. If we try to creep in, it will be obvious immediately. The only way we have half a chance is by pretending we are meant to be here.’

Instantly she straightened her back and lifted her chin, trying to mimic the poise and confidence of Lady Salisbury, the hostess of the sumptuous masked ball. Sometimes Alice would catch a glimpse of the viscountess stepping out of her carriage or taking a stroll through the extensive grounds of Salisbury Hall. She looked regal in her posture and elegant in her movements, and Alice tried to copy how she held herself and how she walked.

‘Wait,’ Lydia called and slipped a mask into Alice’s hand. It was delicate in design, only meant to fit over the upper part of the wearer’s face. White in colour, it had an intricate silver pattern painted onto it, a collection of swirls and dots that glimmered in the moonlight. Alice put it on, securing the mask with the silver ribbon tied into a bow at the back of her head. She looked over to Lydia to see her friend had a similar mask now obscuring the top half of her face.

Lydia slipped her arm through Alice’s, and together they strolled slowly across the lawn. Despite her urge to run, Alice knew this ruse would work best if they moved at a sedate pace. No one blinked as they ascended the stairs onto the terrace, and Alice heard her friend suppress a little squeal of excitement as they reached the doors to the ballroom.

Neither girl had ever been to a ball like this before. On occasion they would attend the dances at the local Assembly Rooms, but even those were few and far between. Once Alice had begged her parents to allow her and her sister to stay with some friends in Newcastle to enjoy the delights of the social calendar there, but worried about their daughters’ reputations, her parents had refused.

‘This is magical,’ Alice whispered, pausing on the threshold to take everything in. The room was large and richly decorated. The walls were covered in the finest cream wallpaper. At set intervals there were large, gold-framed mirrors, positioned to reflect the guests on the dance floor and make the ballroom seem as if it were even bigger than it was. From the ceiling hung two magnificent chandeliers, each with at least a hundred candles burning bright and illuminating the room. In between the mirrors on the walls there were yet more candles, flickering and reflecting off the glass and making the whole ballroom shimmer and shine.

The assembled guests added to the vision of opulence, the men in finely tailored tailcoats with silk cravats and the women in beautiful dresses of silk and satin. The theme of this masked ball was the Midsummer celebrations, and many of the guests had dressed with a nod to this in mind. Some women had freshly picked flowers woven into their hair or pinned to their dresses as they normally would a brooch.