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But first, Isa decided that she would do something that she wouldn’t normally do. While she had gone to severaltonevents, none of them had been particularly… thrilling. She had happily blended into the background, content with allowing her sisters to take the spotlight.
Tonight would be different.
Although she normally eschewed being the center of attention, conducting various dealings on her own terms in a staid office, she decided it was time to prove that there was more to Isadora Bevelstroke than what thetonmight want to believe.
She paused when she saw some particularly flowery prose on an envelope. She opened it to find that providence was on her side, as it was exactly what she’d been looking for. A costumed masquerade ball was being held later that week. It was the perfect chance to give off an air of mystery and allure, while keeping herreputation intact. It might even help her gain the notice of more prospects in her future endeavors.
After she arrived in a brilliant costume, everyone in society would know that Isadora was far from dull.
It was time for Jack to enjoy a bit of play.
Remington Fletcher,the Marquess of Osgood, wasn’t sure why he was at another ridiculous ball when he had hoped to be long away from London at this point. He supposed that the sole reason he was here was his niece’s insistence that he attend. Then again, he had been escorting Portia about all Season for her debut at his mother’s insistence. She hadn’t been any help at all, because as soon as Portia was in his capable hands, she had traipsed off to Bath with his elder sister who always had some incurable ailment or another, conveniently washing her hands of the responsibility that should have been hers. He was quite sure the single thing that Amadiah suffered from was being a widow with entirely too many admirers at her disposal. Nevertheless, he’d been tasked with finding his niece a suitable husband. Luckily, the dark-haired chit shared her mother’s flirtatious nature, because it hadn’t taken her long to secure a match. Portia and her beau had arrived this evening dressed as Romeo and Juliet. Rem would have thought that was the height of idiocy—if he hadn’t been coerced into being Henry VIII.
When Portia had suggested the idea for his costume, he had scoffed. “Why should I want to represent a monarch who enjoyed beheading half the population, including more than one of his wives?”
“Because you fit the part,” she had returned pertly.
All evening Rem had been pondering her choice of words, wondering what she’d meant. The Tudor king had boasted bright blue eyes and red hair. While Rem would admit that his hair hada russet tone, his eyes were a dark amber mix that appeared hazel most of the time. Even he couldn’t really put the color into a specific category, except to say that they were far from blue.
He started to wonder if she was trying to say he was surly. Granted, he didn’t much care for society events. Rubbing elbows with people who were more interested in living in the past, instead of progressing into the future didn’t really engage his attention. He liked to consider himself a man of vision, and thus far, his prospects had paid off quite nicely. He had also managed to gain some additional investors when it came to certain ideals that he supported. The railway in Newcastle was one such venture.
George Stephenson had constructed the first steam locomotive in 1814, nicknamed the Blucher, as an easier way to haul coal at the Killingworth Colliery. The idea caught on quickly, and plans soon went into motion to construct an entire line to make business more effective. Stephenson was the appointed engineer when it came to overseeing the construction of Edward Pease’s Stockton to Darlington railway, as well as working with his son Robert, in designing a steam locomotive for the eight-mile crossing. Their forward thinking would make it possible for these engines to carry, not just more coal on this route, but also passengers. They would reach their destination faster, and with greater ease as opposed to the slower horse and carriage.
Remington had been in negotiations with Pease and Stephenson for the past three years and was excited about the capital he had gained because of the efficiency of coal transport, an area of which he also had an interest.
His plan was to journey to Newcastle within the week to check on the progress of the passenger locomotive. Although he had been updated with letters over the previous months, it had been some time since he’d paid a visit to the north, and he decided it was time that he deserved some time away now that he’d fulfilled his duty to his niece.
All he had to do now was make it through this evening.
Lord, help him.
With his arms crossed and standing in a corner of the ballroom where he hoped to remain unnoticed, a new arrival caught his immediate attention. He straightened, his focus never leaving the woman who was descending the stairs.
Although she held an elegant mask on a wooden wand with high ostrich plumes to conceal most of her face, he would know Lady Isadora Bevelstroke anywhere. Her dark brown, nearly black hair was never out of place, and her gold and black Tudor dress was immaculate, catching the light of the candles overhead with every step she took.
A slight hush descended through the crowd, as if she had cast a spell over everyone in attendance and they couldn’t help but look upon this vision moving about in their midst.
Remington started walking forward before he even knew what he was about.
Isadora was feelinga bit like a fish out of water. She had always been composed and collected in a crowded room, but tonight, without any sort of companion or support, she wondered if she hadn’t made a mistake by coming here.
It was evident that she was creating a stir by her costume, even if she was uncertain if anyone could guess who she was trying to portray. Nevertheless, it was all part of the character she wanted everyone to see—a bold woman who was not afraid to take a chance.
She slid her gaze toward the refreshment table and decided that might be the most opportune place to start unless she attempted to boldly make her entrance into the card room. She knew that most of the men she hoped to impress would be taking their brandy and cheroots away from the rest of the assemblagewho preferred to dance and make merry. It had been some time since she’d tried her hand at whist, but she would make an exception under the right circumstances.
She hovered near the bottom of the steps and was contemplating the two options before her when a voice spoke up to her left. “Lady Isadora?”
She turned at the sound of the deep baritone and stilled when she encountered the unusual gaze of Remington Fletcher, the Marquess of Osgood. Instantly, her heart started to pound with some strange flutter. But then, it was the same any time she was in his company. From the first moment she’d met him at a poetry reading, she had found him to be rather charming and surprisingly genuine. They had shared some good conversation and then he’d taken his leave almost abruptly. Later, Minty had told her that Grey had volunteered the marquess to keep her distracted so that Grey could pay his addresses.
Isa had been disappointed, but what had she expected?
Grey had been determined to win her sister’s heart, and he knew that Isa wasn’t particularly thrilled with him at first. He’d had to find some way of courting Minty. The issue was that he’d chosen the perfect man to distract Isa. She’d been promptly taken by Lord Osgood’s easy charm, when she had imagined herself immune to such characteristics. It wasn’t often that a gentleman turned her head when it came to something other than business.
Now when she encountered the marquess, it was always with a friendly exchange of words.
Realizing that he was still expecting a response, she dipped into a slight curtsy. “Good evening, my lord.” She tilted her head to the side and asked curiously, “How did you know it was me?”
“I never forget a feather,” he teased, as he flicked one of the plumes on her mask.
