Page 40 of Maid for the Duke

‘You cannot take your maid as your guest.’

‘No one will know who you are. It is a masked ball, Amelie. Tonight there is anonymity.’

Amelie looked at the mask that had been tucked inside the package. ‘This is hardly going to conceal my identity.’

‘It is enough to create uncertainty. No one knows who you are; it is not as if anyone will be looking out for you, trying to catch you in there.’

‘They will be looking for you. England’s most eligible bachelor attending a ball in Cambridge… I would imagine all the unmarried young women for fifty miles will be clamouring for an invitation.’

He grimaced. ‘You may be correct, but that does not mean we cannot go. I have become adept at avoiding husband-hunters at these sorts of occasions.’

He could see her hesitating, eyeing up the dress. It was a beautiful garment, made by a talented modiste. He wondered if she had worn such a dress to the country dances when she had been an eligible young miss herself. It was a world away from the old grey sack that she had been wearing for the last year as she went about her duties as a housemaid, which he had prised away from her a few weeks ago.

‘At least put the dress on, and try the mask—see if you think it is anonymous enough.’

She bit her lip, looking down at the beautiful fabric in her hands one final time and then nodded, excitement already lighting up her eyes.

Amelie was upstairs in her room for well over an hour. He knocked at the door a couple of times, eager to see if the dress fitted and whether she felt comfortable enough in the mask to agree to go to the ball that evening, but every time Amelie called out for him to be patient. At first he paced downstairs, wondering if he was being foolish, but he could not see the harm. He hardly knew anyone here in Cambridge. Even the young members of the aristocracy who were studying at the university had left to join their families on their country estates. The guests would be some of the more dedicated fellows who did not have anywhere else to go over the summer, and a few of the locals—likely some of the gentry.

Of course he would be sought out, recognised, even with his mask. It happened at every event he attended. Even when he tried to enter discreetly word got around that a duke was in attendance and suddenly he was surrounded by gentlemen vying for his favour and good opinion, and ladies who hoped they might catch his eye and become his duchess. Not tonight, he vowed. Tonight they would slip in and enjoy the revelry, but he wanted to be in Amelie’s company only.

After twenty minutes of pacing, he collapsed down into one of the comfortable arm chairs in the parlour, twirling his own mask backwards and forwards across his fingers. It was a long wait, but eventually he heard the door to Amelie’s bedroom open and her soft footsteps on the stairs. He stood, waiting with anticipation, but nothing could have prepared him for his reaction as she walked into the room.

Her hair was loose, tumbling way past her shoulder, halfway down her back. She had pinned the top portion up in a nod to the accepted fashion, but left the rest. It was a bold look, but with the mask held securely in place Amelie looked perfect. The dress fitted well and shimmered as she walked. It was emerald-green with gold embroidery. The top half had hundreds of tiny flowers sewn onto the bust and was separated from the rest of the dress by a gold sash that cinched in her waist and showed off her figure to its best effect. The green of the dress complemented her skin tone and made her eyes look even more striking.

‘You look beautiful, Amelie.’

She looked down at the dress, smoothing it with her hands. ‘I feel beautiful.’

‘I think perhaps I made a mistake. Everyone’s attention is going to be on you. Everyone will want to know who my stunning companion is.’

‘We do not have to go,’ she said, but Will could hear the disappointment in her voice. Now she had got herself ready and mentally prepared for the evening, she was looking forward to the ball.

‘Of course we do. We will just be discreet as to your identity.’

‘Are we walking along the river?’

‘No, I have arranged for a carriage to pick us up. It will be here soon.’ He stepped closer, his eyes flicking from her face to body and back again. Never had he seen anyone so beautiful, so exquisitely presented. He could not quite believe she was here with him.

Amelie felt the anticipation mounting as the carriage rattled over the cobbles and rolled to a stop. They waited for a few minutes, edging forward every now and then as the carriages in front dropped off their guests.

‘Are you ready?’ Will asked as a footman stepped forward and opened their door.

Amelie felt her stomach fluttering inside with nerves, but she did not want to miss this. Despite her misgivings she was very much looking forward to the evening. Just once she would be able to socialise with Will as if he were her equal. They would dance together, take a stroll arm in arm, sip champagne… For this one magical evening, she could pretend this was her life. A life in which she was welcome in Will’s world.

As they stepped towards the entrance arch, a few faint notes of music reached her ears, and Amelie was reminded of the wonderful anticipation she had always felt when stepping in to the dances that had been held at the local assembly rooms. They’d been nowhere near as grand as this, but it was all she had known and she had loved every minute.

They were directed along a cloister, the columns lit with flickering lamps, and paused again before they stepped into the heart of the masked ball.

‘They are holding it outside,’ Amelie said, her voice breathless with excitement.

‘Your name, sir?’ A perfectly presented young man announced each guest as they arrived, timing his shout with the moment the guest stepped into the courtyard.

‘I think it best we just slip in this evening,’ Will said, passing the footman one of his calling cards along with a generous sum to keep the man quiet.

‘Very good, Your Grace,’ the footman said as he read the card, his eyes widening.

‘Thank you.’