“Tomorrow! Oh, but you cannot leave so soon! Your journey—you travel at your leisure, do you not?”
Maura cleared her throat. “Yes, but—”
“Then stay! I have a masquerade planned tomorrow night,” declared the baron. “It would please me to no end if the two of ye would attend. It would please me even more if you would come stay at the manor with me now! I have a house full of guests already—and room for more.”
This was exactly what Maura had wanted. Exactly as she hoped. But the baron was clearly a man of great, hearty, and welcoming demeanor, and she winced inside at her deceit. She liked him, she truly did, and lying to him was like the scraping of tooth upon stone.
But then she thought of the Black Scotsman.
She bit her lip. “I’ve never been to a masquerade before, Uncle.”
Murdoch was frowning. Pretending to consider, as she well knew. “Well—”
“Come now,” said the baron. “Never been to a masquerade! Why, almost a sin, it is, for our lovely Lady Maura to miss such an event! I implore you, stay, the both of ye now! I’ve a room full and more of costumes that you may choose from.”
Murdoch arched a wiry brow and heaved an exaggerated sigh. “Ye know I cannot refuse ye, girl.”
The baron had let out a laugh. “Then do not, man!” He clapped Murdoch on the shoulder. “I shall send a man over for yer things as soon as I arrive home—”
“Oh, but we are quite comfortable here for the night, are we not, Uncle?”
Murdoch nodded. They both knew better than to appear too eager.
It was perfect. So very perfect.
“At least for the night of the masquerade, then,” the baron had insisted. “Please, you will offend me deeply if you refuse.”
Murdoch extended a hand. “Then we have no choice but to accept your gracious offer. But we will be off, bright and early, the morning after.”
So it happened that she was here, in the baron’s home.
Beneath the same roof as the Black Scotsman.
The sound of Eileen’s cheery voice brought her back to preparations for the masquerade. “Shall I tighten the back laces of your vest, my lady?”
Maura clasped her hands around the bedpost.
“Goodness, my lady, never before have I tended a lady with so tiny a waist!” the girl marveled as she began her task. Maura scarcely heard.
Knowing the Black Scotsman—she might as well leave off trying to think of him otherwise—was here, somewhere, sent a skitter of anxiety all through her.
Eileen guided her to the dressing table, chiding her. “Do not frown so, my lady. A woman’s brow must be smooth as a baby’s bottom. Can ye imagine that? I never believed it until I tended a lady from England. Beautiful she was, with nary a wrinkle. It was achieved, she informed me, by neither frowning nor laughing. And if a smile must be displayed, it must be done only with the most demure sense possible.” In the mirror behind her, the girl demonstrated. “Her face was wooden. She even walked aboutas if she had wooden sticks for legs!” She started to laugh, then clapped a hand over her mouth. Her eyes widened. “Oh, forgive me, milady—”
But Maura was laughing along with her. She realized it was the first genuine laugh she’d had since Papa’s death nearly ten days ago. Perhaps, she decided cautiously, the luck of the McDonough had already begun to change…for the better.
“The baron,” said Maura. “Does he entertain often?”
“Oh, two or three times a year.” Eileen picked up a hair brush. “A house party later in the summer. It’s lovely then, milady, ye should see it! All green and bright with flowers. He keeps the garden exactly the same as when his dear wife was alive, ye know. And usually another house party during hunting season.”
Eileen ran the brush through Maura’s hair. “Such lovely hair ye have, milady,” said the girl. “So thick and dark and shiny. Will ye be leaving it loose beneath yer scarf?”
Maura nodded. Eileen had already proved to be a font of information. Her father was the head groomsman for the baron. She was the eldest of eight children and had been in the employ of the baron for three years.
“And this party? The masquerade?” Maura edged her back to tonight’s event. “Will there be many guests?”
“A fair amount. The baron’s friends from Dublin and neighbors mostly,” Eileen supplied. “And the masquerade is in honor of the duke. His father and the baron were great friends,ye know. The duke’s father often came to fish, and the duke has continued the tradition every few years, I’m told.”
The girl already knew how she and her “uncle” had met the baron, because of Maura’s letter regarding the baron’s late wife. Maura feigned innocence. “The duke?” she queried. “I wasn’t aware there would be a duke in attendance.”
