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“He said it on purpose.” Fanny looked severe.
“What?”
“No doubt he’s pretending he knows Mr Grayling thinks you utterly the most charming young lady in Bath. Yes, that’s it. Mr Bramley is very stupid in some ways but he’s clever when it comes to discovering a person’s weak spot. Just remember that. You mightn’t know him very well but he’s a very dangerous enemy.”
The trouble was, when they arrived at the edge of the dance floor, Mr Grayling was indeed accompanying Miss Huntingdon in a Scottish reel. Thea could tell it was Miss Huntingdon by the colour of her hair and the shape of her face, together with the too-slender frame, despite the fact they were a blur as they galloped by in the midst of the energetic dance.
The fact it was Mr Grayling was only too apparent by the bare chest she saw beneath the snowy sheath of linen, a ripped pirate’s shirt with a cutlass at his waist and a pair of tightly moulded black pantaloons that buttoned at the knee and brought back memories of her stolen glimpse of him by the pond. She squeezed her eyes shut and clenched her fists.
“Don’t wear your heart on your sleeve,” Fanny whispered. “Let him still think you’re a challenge.”
“I am still a challenge!” Thea responded, affronted that Fanny should think she’d roll over as clearly Antoinette believed she ought. “But he mightn’t even know me in masquerade.”
“Oh, I think he will.”
The words were barely out of Fanny’s mouth before Mr Grayling materialized in front of them as the music came to an end. Yet, instead of bowing before her, it appeared he’d not even noticed her for he quickly disappeared into the crowd.
“Don’t you let that trouble you when Miss Huntingdon is right here. Besides, he’ll want to see you alone,” Fanny said, patti
ng her shoulder and leading the way through the large ballroom and into another room, where several tables against the far wall were occupied by revellers deeply occupied by the cards and dice.
A couple was dancing close in each other’s arms in a distant corner and Thea stepped back, the scene too louche for her. If Aunt Minerva were to witness such scenes at Lady Clover’s masquerade, she’d whisk her niece out as quickly as she’d whisked away the bonbons Dr Horne had surprisingly delivered by proxy the night before.
“Why, there’s Mr Granville,” Thea said suddenly, pointing to one of the whist players. He was at a table with several other gentlemen and it was clear it was he, despite the fact he wore Oriental robes and a masque that covered half his face.
“He had a box of bonbons sent to Aunt Minerva last night. You’d already gone to bed, Fanny, but she was in transports.”
Fanny’s look of scepticism did not need to be translated into words.
“Who’d believe that Aunt Minerva has an admirer,” Thea persisted. “The last couple of days, I keep catching her in the drawing room as if play-acting the role of some lovelorn romantic heroine, staring through the window as she sweeps her hand across her brow muttering verse. I’d laugh if the sight wasn’t so truly tragic.”
“You can’t mean it!”
“On my honour. Oh! Look, it’s Mr Grayling again. Only this time he’s looking directly at us.”
“At you, Thea. Oh my, that’s an invitation to ask the question that must be asked. I do love masquerades.” Fanny gave her a gentle push. “Do I know you?” she whispered. “Those are the magic words. Go over and say them.”
“Alone?” Thea squeaked, resisting as she followed her cousin towards the saloon, where most guests were mingling. Beneath the chandeliers of many thousands of beeswax candles the brightly garbed revellers looked like precious jewels amidst the ranks of the mysterious, black-clad dominoes. The thought of entering their ranks was terrifying.
Her cousin sounded impatient. “Shall I find Aunt Minerva, then? If she’s really smelling of April and May instead of that ghastly violet scent she drips all over her, you may well find yourself looking for a new home?” Fanny looked severe. “It’s time you looked to your future, Thea. Weigh up what’s in your heart and what you can do to garner the response you’d like from your charming Mr Grayling. He really is very charming, you know. Why, he helped me rewind a whole ball of yarn the other night when Aunt Minerva had you closeted in her room rubbing her feet. The poor man thought you didn’t want to see him, for you went straight to bed and didn’t even come down to say goodnight. You’re a faithful nurse, I grant you that. And if you can suffer yourself to massage smelly unguents into smelly feet, surely you can push down your aversion to some of the things men like to do when they have a woman to call their own.”
“But that’s for after marriage,” Thea hissed. Tears came suddenly to the fore, swelling her throat and stinging her eyes. “I cannot compromise my reputation for an uncertain future. I will not be like that poor woman who had to give up her baby in the basket.”
“Oh Good Lord, have you learned nothing? That only happens when passion completely overtakes one, and that’s not going to happen under this roof with all these people around.” Fanny reddened suddenly and stopped abruptly. “Well, it could happen here,” she amended, clearing her throat. “I’ll admit it happened to me and Lord Fenton in a pit of cushions during one of Lord Quamby’s balls, but that’s when we knew we were utterly made for one another, even though others like to infer I was simply a fortune hunter because we Brightwells are not in general blessed with papas who know how to keep their fortunes.”
She gave Thea another little push. “Now weave your way through the room, Thea, and pretend you have no idea who he is. Your very rigid sense of propriety reassures me that you’ll not be tempted into doing anything that might result in a baby in a basket. Antoinette has already told you in graphic detail how that happens and you were quite revolted, but if you could just let him kiss you, I think you might find matters progress rather nicely from there. He’s the ideal catch, Thea, and he clearly has his sights trained on you. Show him that you’ll give him the loving kindness his first wife so cruelly denied him, at least. Here.” Snatching a coupe of champagne from a passing footman, which she pushed into Thea’s hand, Fanny left her.
Reluctantly, but with every attempt at appearing at ease, Thea wove her way through the sparsely populated room and into the antechamber just beyond, where Mr Grayling had disappeared after leveling a very knowing look at Thea.
Its smaller size made it less daunting, while the heavy festooning of gold and black satin and guttering wax candles added to the atmosphere.
Mr Grayling was just inside, near the fireplace, pacing, but he turned immediately when he saw her and, after a sweeping bow, whispered, “Do I know you?”
Thea tossed back her glass of champagne in just a few sips, and suddenly found the glass whisked from her fingers as, swaying, she replied, “I am the one.”
“You are the one?” He quirked an eyebrow and chuckled.
“I mean, yes, you do know me.” What had she said? Mortification made her turn her head away.
