Page 33 of This Marquess of Mine

Olivia’s smile turned regretful. “So do I.”

She thought of her mother often, of the memorable moments in her own life and what they might have been like had her mother been there to share them with her. She spoke to her sometimes, too, hoping the words would somehow find their way to her.

Her father had never wished to discuss her mother with her, so she’d had to rely on Aunt Augusta’s meager memories to form an image of her in her mind. Lady Melissande Blakely—she was Melissande Simonnet before she married Olivia’s father—was not related to Aunt Augusta by blood, but she knew the young lady from the time she made her come-out at the age of seventeen.

According to Aunt Augusta, Melissande had been shy and sweet and very pretty, and the young Earl Blakely was instantly smitten with her. The two married after a whirlwind courtship and, by all accounts, were very happy together.

It was difficult to reconcile the father she knew—distant, disinterested—with the image of a besotted swain wooing his lady love. Did her mother share his feelings? Was she smitten, too? Or was she tempted by other men? She wished she could ask her.

If only she hadn’t died. If only she was here.

How different would her life have been if her mother had never gone?

Shoving the maudlin thoughts from her mind, Olivia secured her demi-mask over her eyes as their carriage rolled to a stop at the front of the Henleys’ home. The carriage door swung open, and a footman secured the steps before handing Aunt Augusta down to the gravel path.

Olivia followed and the two ladies made their way into the entrance hall where they handed over their wraps before heading for the ballroom, the sounds of laughter and music signaling the way.

Lady Henley’s ballroom was enormous and sparsely decorated, its only ornamentation the sweeping panels of burgundy and gold silk that sparkled beneath the candlelight. The guests were garniture enough, in truth; colorfully costumed to resemble their favorite character of the written word. Not a terribly original theme, but it was a favorite for a reason.

A quartet of musicians played Handel at the rear of the room while liveried servants in burgundy and gold circled the room with trays bearing drinks.

Olivia swept her gaze across the packed ballroom, spotting a Robinson Crusoe, a Little Bo-Peep, at least three Apollos and even a Bottom, arse’s head and all. She pointed the costume out to her aunt, and they shared a smile.

Venturing further into the crowd gathered around the dance floor, Olivia searched for her would-be betrothed among the sea of faces. She smiled when she spotted him at the other end of the room, a dapper Romeo in knee breeches and a ruffled shirt. His mother was with him, sans costume, and a third party was there, as well, a pretty brunette Olivia did not recognize.

The young lady was dressed in a beautiful gown of emerald-green velvet with a full skirt and the trumpet sleeves that were so popular during the Renaissance.

Olivia’s brow knit. Was the girl Juliet to Paxton’s Romeo?

“Do you know the lady with Paxton?” she whispered to her aunt as the duke led the unknown young woman onto the dance floor.

Aunt Augusta studied the lady and shook her head. “I’ve never seen her before. Perhaps she is his sister?”

Olivia frowned. “He doesn’t have a sister.”

“A cousin, then?”

But she knew of no such cousin. The sudden appearance of this pretty young lady she did not know filled her with unease, though she couldn’t explain why.

She was probably worrying over nothing.

“Ah, Keswick! Good evening, my boy,” Aunt Augusta called out, and Olivia’s shoulders stiffened.

With her heart pounding in her throat, she turned to greet him, steeling herself as she pasted a polite smile on her face. She tried not to think of their last encounter when he’d kissed her in Lady Chavel’s rose gardens and then told her it was nothing but a consolation prize. Still, she could feel her cheeks warming as he approached.

“But where is your costume?” Aunt Augusta asked, her tone affronted. “Did you forget this ball was fancy dress?”

A regretful smile curved his lips. “I’m afraid I’m not much of a costume man, Lady Augusta. I’m only here to act as Emmy’s chaperone. Therefore, I am exempt.”

“Nonsense,” Aunt Augusta said with a wave of her walking stick. “I am a chaperone and I have dressed up.”

“And you look wonderful, my lady.” Griffin bowed deeply, humor lighting his eyes. “You wear that dress far better than I ever could.”

Olivia forced her gaze to the parquet floor, battling the urge to drink in every last inch of him. He wore no costume tonight, but he was breathtaking all the same. Dressed in black from his hat to his boots, he exuded confidence and strength, a seductive devil sent to tease and torment her.

“And what of Olivia?” Aunt Augusta asked. “Doesn’t she look wonderful, as well?”

Olivia stiffened and her gaze shot to Griffin’s of its own accord. His eyes swept over her costume then back up to her face, and whatever it was she saw in those dark gray depths made her want to squirm in her slippers. And not in a bad way.