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It was, Jack considered, more entertaining to watch than to fight one’s way amid the crush of sweating, over-perfumed bodies. Charlie was as good as his word and a harried waiter arrived with a tray of plates for Jack to choose from, then fought his way along to the next box.
Several King Henry the Eighths passed by the box along with some overheated knights in knitted chainmail, four daring Grecian maidens whose scanty costumes were at least keeping them cool and quite a flock of medieval damsels. Having had the opportunity to observe the nearest anyone was going to come these days to the real thing, Jack was unimpressed. They didn’t know how to walk in those gowns any more than Madelyn did in modern dress.
The cheese tartlets were surprisingly good. Jack brushed crumbs off his domino and noted that more than half the guests were wearing the same thing, rather than indulge in the complexities of fancy dress.
Now there was someone who moved beautifully. He watched appreciatively as a tall masked figure glided past in a deep green hooded domino. She walked as Madelyn had done in her medieval gown, the heavy folds of the cloak brushing the ground around her.
Then she turned to listen to someone in the group she was with and Jack saw her face, half-hidden by a spangled green silk mask. He saw the pale skin, the pure oval of the face, the long nose and shot to his feet, the plate of pastries falling unheeded to the floor with a clatter.
Madelyn here?
What was Louisa Fairfield thinking of? This was no place for a respectable lady without the escort of a gentleman, let alone an unmarried one. Then the orchestra reached the end of a piece and
he heard Carola Hitchin’s unmistakable braying laugh.
Hell’s teeth, Lady Fairfield’s lost her mind.
He slammed back the door to the box just as a masked highway man stopped in front of Madelyn, swept off his tricorne in a low bow and, quite clearly, asked her to dance.
A party of young bucks, already half-seas under, pushed past in front of Jack, but not before he saw Madelyn’s reaction to the highwayman. She recoiled in shock or dismay, then his line of sight was lost as he barged his way through the drunks, ducking a swing one took at him and elbowing another in the ribs to make him give way.
At least she’d been properly shocked at being accosted. Besides, he comforted himself, her dancing lessons had hardly begun, she wouldn’t want to risk making an exhibition of herself in public yet.
He reached the edge of the dance floor as the band struck up a waltz and there, in the arms of the highwayman, was the tall lady in green, held close, her face tipped up to his. They were quite obviously talking. Jack took a step and a heavy hand came down on his shoulder, caught him off balance, spun him around, then a fist made contact with his chin and he went down among the feet of the dancers.
* * *
She should have listened to Louisa, Madelyn realised within minutes of arriving at Lady Hitchin’s large town house. By medieval standards, or modern, the woman was brash, loud and outrageous and her party of friends was no better.
I should have said I felt faint the moment I arrived, Madelyn thought as she found herself caught up in the rush for the waiting carriages and then bundled into the third one with a jester, King Henry VIII and three giggling young women, two of whom were wearing Grecian costume. It was a tight squeeze.
‘Come and sit on my lap,’ Henry invited and two of the Grecian girls promptly obliged, which at least made more room and meant that the jester’s thigh was no longer pressed so insistently against hers.
‘Where are we going?’ Madelyn asked when, after ten minutes, it was obvious that they were not about to arrive at some fashionable Mayfair venue. In fact, she was fairly certain they had passed through a toll gate, although it as difficult to see past the jester’s strange belled headdress.
‘Chelsea,’ King Henry said, glancing up from his appreciative study of the neckline of the girl on his lap.
‘Chelsea?’
That was miles out of town, surely? Two or three at least. She could walk that far, and often did, but not at night, through strange streets and in evening slippers. How much had she in her reticule? Not a lot, just a few coins for tipping the maid in the ladies’ retiring room, that was all, but perhaps she could find a cab to take her home and send one of the footmen out to pay when she arrived.
The thought sustained her until she realised that they were not in a busy little village, but bumping along a cart track through a field. Now she had no idea where she was, how to get back...
In other words, you are stuck with this party and let that be a lesson to you. At least Jack will know nothing about it and I will not repeat the mistake of ignoring Louisa’s assessment of people in future.
It was not much comfort.
The barn, which is what the venue turned out to be rather than the ballroom she was expecting, was crowded, noisy and colourful. But Madelyn began to relax a little when she remembered that her mask shielded her identity. At least her reputation was safe. All she needed to do was to stick closely to Lady Hitchin until it was time to leave. That proved easier thought than done.
‘Excellent, there is dancing,’ Lady Hitchin said, urging her party towards the dance floor.
‘I think I will just watch from over there,’ Madelyn said, casting round for somewhere to sit.
A masked highwayman stopped in front of her, his skin swarthy beneath the mask. ‘Fair beauty, I salute you. A dance or I demand the forfeit of a kiss.’
‘Certainly not!’ She gathered the folds of her domino around her as though they would be some kind of protection. ‘Go away at once.’
He stared at her as she spoke. ‘Madelyn?’
