A Stroke of Malice Read online

  We watched as two footmen distributed slices from one side of the cake to the women, while the other two footmen passed slices from the opposite side of the cake to the men.

  Feeling an anxious stirring in my stomach, I leaned closer to my sister to whisper. “If I find the dried pea in my slice of cake, will you claim it instead?”

  Her gaze cut to mine, thick with understanding. I had never been eager to be the center of attention, and despite the strides I had made to distance myself from the scandals of my past, and stare down those who sought to belittle me, the prospect of acting as lady for the evening was beyond me. I would not enjoy myself in the least.

  She nodded once.

  Relieved on that score, I felt my shoulders relax as I received a slice of the heavy cake and began to taste it. Appearances had not been deceiving. It was as delicious as it looked, which made it difficult to consume slowly. Especially as I would have happily swallowed the pea and claimed ignorance.

  Before I’d realized it, I’d devoured nearly half of my cake. As compared to the few dainty bites the trio of ladies standing near us had eaten while mincing up their slices in search of the pea.

  “A bean and a pea,” one of them scoffed. “You would think the duke and duchess would join the rest of the polite world and use gold tokens instead. It’s far more gentile.”

  “I wish they would follow the example of Lady Cowper and send us our roles in the mock court before the party,” a second lady remarked waspishly. “I’ve brought half a dozen gowns for this evening, and yet I still might have to send my maid to search through their musty trunks for an appropriate costume.”

  “It’s perfectly dreadful,” the third commented with no small dose of melodrama.

  Alana’s gaze met mine and she rolled her eyes, having overheard the same exchange. These ladies had missed the purpose of the evening’s merriment. In forming a mock court, we would be making fun of ourselves, and of the conceit and pomposity of the royalty and nobility who came before us. It was a chance to turn everything on its head—to transform the fool into the wiseman, and the servant, the king. Little as I wanted to be the lady, I understood that choosing the roles ahead of time would take away some of the charm and excitement from the festivities.

  The duchess was a clever woman, and I suspected she also recognized another pitfall of assigning the parts before the party began. Her guests might accuse her of choosing them herself rather than selecting them at random. There was also certain to be a great deal of wrangling, as guests tried to convince her to give them different roles. By drawing the roles at the start of the party, she had chosen the path of least resistance. Guests like these ladies might complain about the inconvenience, but they could not argue it was unfair.

  A gentleman across the room gave a hearty shout, and we all craned our necks to see who it was. Lord Edward Kerr, the duchess’s third son, lifted his arm triumphantly in the air, having found the bean.

  The duchess circled the room to examine his prize before proclaiming, “We have our Lord of Misrule.”

  Several of the men pronounced huzzahs while Lord Edward bowed with a great flourish.

  “I shall endeavor to be a kind and noble ruler,” he declared as he stood tall, pushing his auburn hair back from his forehead. An impish grin split his face, immediately belying his words.

  His youngest brother, Lord Henry, the duchess’s sixth child, stood next to Gage, and he groaned before grousing under his breath. “Of course, it would be him.”

  Lord Edward waggled his eyebrows. “Remark, I did say ‘endeavor to be.’”

  The assemblage laughed.

  Given the fact we were all required to obey the Lord of Misrule’s commands for the evening, no matter how ludicrous, I hoped he wouldn’t abandon those tenets completely.

  He swiveled left and then right, scouring the room. “Now, I get to choose my fool for the evening, do I not?”

  “Yes, dear,” the duchess replied. Her lip curled at one corner, and I wondered if she already knew whom he would choose.

  He clapped his hands together, rubbing them. “Excellent. Where are you, Hal?”

  Lord Henry heaved a sigh, before trudging forward. But for all that it was evident he wasn’t looking forward to being his older brother’s right-hand man and lackey for the evening—and who could blame him?—he didn’t seem particularly troubled by it. In fact, he smiled good-naturedly as his brother clapped him on the shoulder.

  “Now, who is to be my lady?” Lord Edward moved to circulate the room, as if he could coax out the pea’s existence simply by the allure of his smile.

  I returned my attention to my cake, determined to finish it—and swallow any pea it might contain—before he reached me.

  Happily, I had nothing to fear, for a moment later, a bashful voice spoke up from the edge of the room. “I-I believe I have it.”

  The duchess approached her to confirm this, followed by her son. “Indeed, you do, Lady Malvina.”

  We all clapped as Lord Edward bowed and then offered the young lady his arm. They followed the duchess toward the center of the room as another pair of footmen stepped forward with two baskets. One was given to Lord Edward and the other to Lady Malvina.

  “Now we shall begin the drawing for our characters in his lordship’s court. Lord Edward shall be distributing the lady’s parts, while Lady Malvina will pass out the men’s.”

  I could see now that the baskets contained tiny rolls of parchment, each secured by a green or purple ribbon.

  “Once you have received your role, you will have until six o’clock to assemble your costume and props from any items you have brought with you, as well as the trunks filled with items in the mural room, adjacent to the ballroom upstairs.” She raised one hand. “However, I must insist that no one remove any of the ancient weaponry from the guardroom.” Her gaze slid toward where a cluster of younger men stood near the ormolu sideboard. “We do not want a repeat of last year’s mock joust, when a guest nearly lost his eye.”

  My eyes widened in surprise, but I didn’t need to ask how that had come about. Drunken young men pretending to be knights, and sharp swords and lances, did not mix well together.

  The duchess then nodded to Lady Malvina and her son, but before the girl could take a step forward, Lord Edward gently restrained her with a touch to her arm.

  “Before we begin, I would like to issue my first edict,” he proclaimed. “All of the gentlemen present, whatever their role, shall at the pleasure of their laird, don kilts.” He made a leg, displaying his own expertly wrapped cloth in the red, green, and black tartan of the Kerrs.

  Several of the men grumbled, but most of the gathering murmured approval, clapping in delight. I glanced at my husband, who stood with his arms crossed over his chest, a small smile playing over his lips. It had been a year since I’d seen him draped in a kilt, and I couldn’t deny that the idea of seeing him attired as such caused a pleasant fluttering in my abdomen.

  “So be it,” the duchess declared with a laugh before gesturing to the butler, who I presumed was dispatching servants in search of enough tartan to bedeck every man in attendance. Then she selected a parchment from her son’s basket, and sent him and Lady Malvina off to distribute the slips of paper. Whatever role she read on the small scroll must have pleased her, for her lips curled upward in almost fiendish satisfaction.

  Lady Malvina was the first to pass around our side of the room, so Alana and I watched as the men chose their roles from her basket. Trevor attempted to compliment her, but the poor girl was so bashful, she could only stammer a short reply before hurrying away.

  Philip was the first to unroll his parchment. “Oh good heavens,” he chuckled before turning it for the rest of us to see. “I’m to be a Jack o’ Dandy.”

  Philip was far from unfashionable, but he was also no foolish fop. In any case, it shouldn’t be any hardship for
him to play such a role.

  “I hope Barnes is up to the challenge,” Alana remarked, recognizing her husband’s valet would have the greatest amount of work to do to transform him for such a part.

  Trevor grinned broadly before snatching another glass of whisky from the tray on the table beside him. “Best to get into character now.”

  I shook my head as he passed me his piece of parchment, which read “good-natured drunkard.”

  “You do know you only have to pretend to be your character,” Alana reminded him in a voice I’d often wondered if all older sisters perfected.

  Trevor’s eyes narrowed slightly at the corners, but he did not reply. Perhaps because he was waiting to comment on what chosen role she was to play.

  I glanced at Gage, who was staring down at his parchment. His expression was difficult to decipher. I couldn’t tell if he was displeased by his role or simply bemused. “What is it?”

  He passed it to me almost reluctantly. “Sir Ogle.”

  I understood now. The idea of openly ogling ladies would be repellant to my husband, but once again, it was all a game of pretend. “You know you don’t actually have to ogle anyone,” I pointed out.

  “She’s right, old chap. Just wag your eyebrows a great deal and make leering faces,” Philip jested, plainly enjoying his friend’s discomfort.

  Gage arched a single eyebrow. “I will if you starch your shirt collar up to your cheekbones and wear a facial patch.” Both had been fashionable among the dandy set two decades earlier.

  “You are aware this isn’t a contest?” Trevor remarked, taking another drink from his glass. “No one wins for best performance.”

  Given that all he had to do was drink to excess, or pretend to slur and stumble, he wasn’t helping to soothe matters by stating such a fact.

  I pressed a hand to Gage’s chest before he could utter whatever retort was forming on his lips. “Just . . . be good-humored about it.” I turned to the side, draping my hands over my rounded belly. “Remember, I’m going to have to portray whatever role I’m to play like this. I can only hope it’s not a harem girl or Mrs. Princum Prancum, for I doubt I should be convincing as an Arabian dancer or a stern prude.”

  This drew a chuckle from him, just as I’d hoped it would.

  “I’m afraid harem girl isn’t one of the options in the basket,” Lord Edward remarked, alerting me too late to his presence. “But I shall have to remember that for next year. My siblings and I always consider it great fun to create the cast of characters for our mother’s party together over the winter holidays. Though I must admit, Nell is the best at it.” He gazed fondly across the room toward where his sister stood chattering with another lady. Then he turned back to me and Alana, a spark of devilry in his eyes. “What say you, ladies? Ready to discover your fate?”

  Alana was the first to select while I continued to study Lord Edward’s gaze. There was something knowing about it, and I began to suspect he might be up to some particular mischief, though I didn’t know what. The parchments remaining in the basket all looked perfectly innocuous. There was no distinguishing feature to separate one from the other.

  His smile softened. “Don’t you trust me, Lady Darby?” he said, addressing me by my courtesy title from my first husband, as most of society still did despite my wishes to the contrary, since Sir Anthony had been of a higher noble rank than Gage.

  Though his words would seem to have been spoken in teasing flirtation, I realized they were merely playful banter. “I don’t know you well enough to trust you,” I replied, reaching out to select a parchment from the bottom of the basket, for good measure.

  The corners of his eyes creased as his smile widened. “Fair enough.”

  He sauntered off, though his gaze flicked toward my fingers as I slid the ribbon from around the rolled paper, evidently curious to see what character I had chosen. When I read the single word written there, I almost called him back to demand how he’d contrived such an outrageous bit of casting.

  Trevor was the first to read over my shoulder, and he gave a shout of laughter, making the others of our party crowd close. They, too, dissolved into laughter. Even Philip, whom I was amused to hear give almost a girlish giggle. At that, I couldn’t help but smile in resignation. At the very least, my appearance would provide the other guests no end of merriment. In any case, I’d just told Gage to be good-humored. I could hardly refuse to do the same.

  As if reading my thoughts, he wrapped his arm around my waist to pull me near.

  I clasped my hands over my rounded belly. “I fear, in my current state, I shall not make a very good nun.”

  His eyes twinkled. “On the contrary, an increasing abbess is perfect for Twelfth Night.”

  I flushed at the double entendre, knowing the procuress of a brothel was also sometimes called an abbess.

  He winked. “After all, what could be more upside down than that?”

  It was a question that later we would wish he hadn’t asked.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Bree finished affixing the veil to my head and stepped back to survey her handiwork. In terms of the normal effort required of her to prepare me for a ball or dinner party, dressing me as a nun had been easy. But my maid never did things by half measure, and in addition to the habit and scapula she’d located among the trunks in the mural room, she’d fashioned a wimple from folds of almost sheer organza, which was much more comfortable than the scratchy wool affair she’d found. A veil of black satin had been draped over my head, hiding what could still be seen of my braided chestnut tresses. We’d gathered the folds of the habit and scapula together with a leather belt fastened in Empire style, just below my bosom to better accommodate my expectant state.

  I turned to the left and then the right, examining my reflection before I began to rise. However, Bree had one more item to add to my ensemble: an intricately worked gold cross with several large rubies adorning its length.

  I gasped at the sight of it as she draped it around my neck. “Where on earth did you manage to find this?”

  “The duchess’s maid. When I told her aboot ye bein’ cast as the nun, and you bein’ wi’ child, to boot, she was more than happy to lend me the cross. ’Twas too juicy a morsel o’ gossip for the servants’ hall to pass up.”

  Yes, I supposed that would elicit amusement even among the staff.

  I pushed to my feet and turned to the side, pulling the draping of my habit tight over my rounded belly. I was not overly full yet, but I couldn’t hide that I was in the family way. My lips quirked. “I suppose I would rather make people laugh than turn their noses up in scorn.” I glanced at the hem of the garment, and tugged the fabric downward. “I only wish this habit was a bit longer in the front.” My ankles were visible, and if I wasn’t careful, I would be displaying half my shins as well.

  Gage chose that moment to make his presence known, sauntering across the room with a practiced leer. He’d acquired the attire of a late eighteenth-century gentleman, including a white wig with a queue at the back fastened with a black ribbon and a set of side curls. How long he’d been standing in the doorway that connected my bedchamber to the sitting room we shared, I didn’t know, but he’d obviously heard my last statement.

  “Oh, no, my dear. I find it quite convenient. For it makes it all the easier to ogle your delightful ankles.”

  “I see you’ve gotten into character rather quickly,” I remarked drolly.

  “Hmmm? Oh yes.” But his gaze was still on my legs, which he was trying to get a better look at by lifting my skirts with the end of his walking stick.

  “Stop that,” I chided, smacking my skirts back into place as I twirled away.

  He grinned remorselessly, and Bree giggled, reminding me of her presence.

  “You may go,” I told her. I might be more familiar with my maid than most gentlewomen. After all, she’d assisted me and Gage in any
number of past inquiries. But that didn’t mean I wished for her audience to my husband’s flirtation.

  Her whisky brown eyes sparkled as she dipped a curtsy. “Aye, m’lady.”

  “Before you go, Miss McEvoy,” Gage interjected, “will you do me the favor of keeping an eye on Anderley?” he asked, referring to his valet. A man who, from all I could tell, could handle himself perfectly well in just about any situation.

  Bree’s eyes tightened at the corners, telling me she wasn’t fooled either. “As ye asked him to keep an eye on me?”

  He shrugged. “It is Twelfth Night. I expect there will be any amount of drinking, and the usual tricks and pranks, even among the staff.” His gaze turned serious. “I just don’t want to see you get caught up in anything beyond the normal tomfoolery.”

  Bree’s guarded stance softened under his regard and she nodded. “Aye. I’ll stay close.”

  “Good.”

  “What are the servants doing who won’t be serving at the party this evening?” I asked in curiosity.

  “I’ve been told ’tis their tradition to handle the burnin’ o’ the Christmas greens, and then there’ll be a small party in the servants’ hall, along wi’ a fiddler or two.”

  Bree and Anderley had enjoyed the servants’ bonfire which accompanied my aunt and uncle’s Hogmanay Ball just five nights earlier, so I knew they were not unfamiliar with the hazards of such a conflagration. I trusted they would take care.

  In fact, Bree seemed quite keen to attend. Her eyes were bright and her cheeks slightly flushed beneath her artfully arranged strawberry blonde curls, which gleamed in the candlelight. She looked quite pretty in the new dress fashioned of jonquil silk that I’d gifted her for Handsel Monday—the first Monday of the New Year, when by Scots tradition we gave our staff their presents, as well as a day of leisure.