The Postilion (The Masqueraders #2) - S.M. LaViolette Page 0,86
wore this?”
Nance cut her a look of amusement. “No, you daft boy, his father.”
Benna held up the garment, which was made from the most beautiful satin she had ever seen. It was embroidered with pagodas and trees. The earl must have purchased it around the same time as the silver epergne she’d found a few days ago.
“I recall that night. The countess had a dress to match and they looked like a king and queen,” Nance said, his voice wistful.
Benna shook out the coat and held it up to herself in front of the mirror.
“Why, you’re just about the same height as the old master,” Nance said. “He was also a slender man when he was younger.”
Benna stared at her reflection. “Do you think I might borrow this?” she asked.
The old man’s eyes bulged. “Where in the world would you wear such a thing?”
“Mrs. Valera invited me to her masquerade,” she said, sniffing the garment and recoiling at the camphor smell.
Nance clucked his tongue and shook his head.
Benna frowned. “What? Mayn’t I borrow it?”
Nance waved a dismissive, bony hand. “Of course you can use the coat—there are breeches, too. I’m talking about Mrs. Valera—you stay away from her, lad. She’s like one of those things that sings to men.”
Benna chuckled and turned away from the mirror. “A siren?”
“Aye, don’t laugh. That woman has brought more men to their end than some wreckers.”
Benna set the garment on the settee, rather than back in the armoire. She didn’t believe the other woman had been serious about her invitation, but she had given it. Although Benna hadn’t decided yet to accept the offer, it couldn’t hurt to have a costume at the ready.
The next two armoires contained more garments. Benna sighed and began to unload them, just in case there were valuables wrapped up in with the clothes.
“We were all stunned when Master Jago left.” The name Jago acted like a string and yanked up Benna’s head.
The old man’s eyes became vague. “I thought for sure that girl would catch one of them and Master Jago loved her fiercely, that was plain for all to see. He was wild back then—not at all like he is now.” He saw Benna’s look of disbelief and shrugged. “He was. But young men are allowed to sow their oats.” Nance shot her a tolerant look, as if to let Benna know that he would excuse whatever antics she might get up to. “Lord Jago and yon squire’s lad—young Brian Paisley—were like as two peas. Oh, the things those two got tangled up in.” His eyes brightened. “I’ll never forget the time they got it into their heads to become the next Kings of Prussia.”
“Kings of Prussia?” Benna asked.
“Aye—those were what they called the gentlemen.” At Benna’s continued confusion he explained, “smugglers.”
“Oh.”
“They couldn’t have been more than eleven or twelve. They’d hauled their skiff all the way to Penryn. They were almost out of the harbor, headed to France to take prisoners for ransom, when a strong current caught them.” He grinned at Benna. “You should have seen Lord Trebolton’s face when real gentlemen brought young Master Jago home.”
“You mean real smugglers rescued them?”
“Aye, poor Master Jago couldn’t sit for a week such a caning he got.” The smile drained from his face. “I think all the heart went out of him after young Brian St. John’s death.” He pursed his lips and went quiet, lost in the past.
Benna wanted to grab him and squeeze more gossip out of him, but she kept her mouth shut. She knew from experience that people talked more freely when they were under no pressure.
“Master Cadan now …” he trailed off and shook his head.
“What about him?” she finally prodded when she could stand it no longer.
“He never did like Mrs. Valera. Leastways it seemed that way. But she did come around a bit—even after Master Jago had left.”
“Oh?” Benna said, to keep him talking.
“Mmm-hmm. But then she married old Valera and we didn’t see her more than once or twice a year, until after he died. Then she started to come around more—to flaunt herself and her money. Couldn’t think of no other reason since her and the master always did seem to fall crossways with one another. Why, even this past year they—”
Benna lost interest in the old man’s musings. She didn’t care how often Mrs. Valera had visited the last master of Lenshurst or what they’d been to each other. It was Jago she wanted to know about.