The Jealousy Revelation
The Bancroft masqueradeball transformed Lady Bancroft’s already opulent ballroom into a fantastical dreamscape. Gold and silver decorations caught the candlelight, creating an ethereal glow, while masked figures in elaborate costumes moved through the space like creatures from myth and legend.
Amelia adjusted her Venetian mask, its emerald plumage matching her gown. She’d chosen the costume of Artemis, goddess of the hunt, with a silver bow slung across her back and a crown of delicate silver leaves woven through her upswept hair.
“You look magnificent,” Charles murmured as they entered the grand ballroom.
Amelia’s breath caught as he removed his cloak. He’d chosen to come as a Roman gladiator, the costume both elegant and imposing. A burnished bronze breastplate covered a fine white shirt, with decorative leather straps crossing over his shoulders. A short crimson cape was draped artfully from one shoulder, and leather arm guards adorned his forearms, leaving only a glimpse of his muscled arms exposed. A simple golden mask covered the upper half of his face, and a ceremonial sword hung at his hip. The overall effect was striking—suggesting the power and strength of a gladiator while maintaining the decorum expected of a marquess.
“As do you,” she managed, her mouth going dry. “Though I wonder if your choice of costume isn’t a touch theatrical?”
His grin flashed, white against his tanned skin. “A masquerade demands theatricality, my lady. Besides, the alternatives were worse. Patrick suggested I come as Bacchus, complete with grape vines and little else.”
“Thank goodness you showed restraint,” she replied dryly, though her eyes lingered on the defined muscles of his arms.
She had known, of course, that her husband kept himself in excellent condition—fencing required significant physical prowess—but seeing even this modest evidence in the strong line of his forearms and the way the breastplate accentuated his powerful chest made her cheeks warm beneath her mask and stirred something possessive beneath her ribs.
They made their way through the crowd, stopping occasionally to exchange greetings with acquaintances. Amelia noticed the appreciative glances directed at her husband from various ladies and found herself unconsciously moving closer to him. His hand settled at the small of her back, warm and steadying.
“There are the Lancasters and our brother,” Charles observed, guiding her toward where Elisha and her husband stood conversing with Steven.
Elisha, costumed as Cleopatra, greeted them with a warm embrace. “You both look wonderful! Though Charles, I’m surprised Lady Bancroft hasn’t swooned at the sight of your bold dress.”
“She’s made of sterner stuff,” Charles replied with a laugh.
“The costume suits you,” Steven acknowledged with a nod to Hereford before kissing his sister’s cheek. “Though I’m sure half the ladies present will be scandalized.”
“Only half?” Charles raised an eyebrow. “I must try harder.”
“Let me fetch you both some champagne,” Charles offered after a moment. “You’ll want refreshment before the dancing begins in earnest.”
As he moved away toward the refreshment table, Amelia seizedthe rare opportunity for a private word with her brother.
“Steven, while we have a moment alone—I’ve been meaning to ask you about Crown Street Textiles. Do you know if Malcolm Phillips still maintains his law offices on Fleet Street?”.
Steven’s brows furrowed with concern. “Are you investigating your accident?” he asked, studying her face carefully. “After all these years?”
She met his gaze steadily. “I need to know who was responsible for such atrocious factory conditions, who was willing to risk my life and numerous others.”
He nodded slowly, understanding darkening his features. “The ownership will be deliberately obscured,” he said, his voice pitched for her ears alone. “These manufacturing concerns build labyrinths of management companies and investment trusts specifically to shield the true proprietors from liability.”
“Which is precisely why I need Malcolm’s expertise,” Amelia said. “His understanding of corporate structures might help me navigate the maze.”
Steven considered this for a moment. “Malcolm’s office is still on Fleet Street. He would be a valuable ally in this pursuit. His practice has grown considerably since you last met—he’s developed quite a specialty in untangling these corporate webs.” He placed a reassuring hand on her arm. “I’ll write to him tomorrow and arrange a meeting. Perhaps Wednesday next week?”
“Thank you,” Amelia replied, gratitude softening her voice. “This means a great deal to me.”
The Lancasters turned toward them after finishing their conversation. “I’ve received excellent news regarding our railway project. The final approvals were granted last week,” the duke said smoothly.
“All thanks to your marriage,” Steven added, offering Amelia a smile that held both gratitude and a touch of guilt.
Amelia nodded, allowing the shift in topic. It was comforting toknow that her arrangement with Charles had yielded tangible benefits, although her personal price was yet to be fully realized.
“The railway will transform transportation throughout the region,” Lancaster continued, his enthusiasm evident. “Goods that once required weeks to move will arrive in days. The economic implications alone are staggering.”
“Not to mention the humanitarian aspects,” Elisha added, her eyes brightening. “Vulnerable women can be moved to safety with unprecedented speed and discretion.”
“The investors are already projecting returns well above our initial estimates,” Steven noted. “And the employment opportunities for local communities will be substantial—station masters, ticket agents, porters, not to mention the construction workers needed to build the lines.”
