he declared with theatrical relish.
“Clearly, a role you were born to play,” Gage quipped.
But far from being insulted, Marsdale seemed delighted.
I shook my head. “And what exactly does the villain do?”
“Why, villainous deeds, of course. I’m the only one allowed to disobey or circumvent the Lord of Misrule’s orders. That is, until his noble knight catches me.” He flicked his gaze over Gage’s long blue velvet coat and waistcoat. “That should have been your role. After all, you are so often catching the black-hearted villains of our realm.” He nodded to me. “Along with your faithful lady’s assistance.”
The words were spoken casually, but there was something ambiguous about the tone of his voice. It wasn’t bitter, but it wasn’t precisely jovial either. Before I could puzzle it out, he spied something, or rather someone, beyond my shoulder, and began to back away.
“There our errant knight is now, so that is my cue to say adieu. But save me a dance,” he instructed me as he retreated, bowing slightly at the hips. “We shall make a dashing pair in black.” Then he whirled away, disappearing into the cluster of people now gathering to enter the saloon.
I turned to see who this knight could be and smirked at the sight of Lord John Kerr, the duchess’s fourth son, sporting a breastplate and shoulder plates over his kilt. It seemed the duchess’s sons had snatched up many of the best roles, though Lord John was perhaps the most unlikely knight. From the little I knew of him, he seemed to display more of a bent toward books and philosophy. He was also the sparest of the five sons, though all of them were taller than average.
“And what role is Lord Traquair playing?” I jested after we’d exchanged greetings. “Lord Chamberlain?”
“No. He’s but an old fogram.” He flashed a toothy grin. “And behaving quite like a fusty old fellow, as you can imagine.”
I joined in his amusement. Although I wasn’t well acquainted with the duke’s oldest son and heir, Lord Traquair, I was cognizant of his great sense of self-consequence. Being next in line to inherit a dukedom, he must have found it impossible not to exhibit some imperiousness, and it didn’t help matters that he looked just as one imagines a duke should—tall, broad shouldered, aquiline in profile, and handsome. There were many who might have called Traquair the most attractive of the brood, but I thought that merely the influence of the heir’s said consequence. To my artist’s eye, Lord Henry, the youngest, seemed the most pleasing to look at. However, Lord Edward and Lord John were nothing to squint at, and although I’d not met the second son, Lord Richard, I suspected he wasn’t either.
Lord John ruffled a hand through his pale blond locks, nodding in the direction Marsdale had fled. “Now, that was a neat bit of casting. Though he needn’t have run. As if I would attempt to capture him so early in the evening. What would the fun of that be?”
“Yes, he appears to be relishing the part.” Gage smirked. “But that is not surprising.”
“Well, Marsdale has always enjoyed subverting people’s expectations.”
Struck by this astute piece of observation, I studied his dark eyes. “You seem to know him well.”
“I did at one time. We all did.” I took this to mean his brothers and perhaps his sister. He sighed. “But it’s been some years since I’ve exchanged more than a brief conversation with him.” His eyes narrowed as he spoke, almost as if he were seeing into the past, and then he gave a shrug. “Well, if you’ll excuse me. His lordship,” he stated with an ironic glint in his eye, “sent me on an errand, and I’ve not yet accomplished it.”
That seemed to be as good a cue as any for me and Gage to make our own approach to the mock thrones set up in the Amaranth Saloon. After all, the longer we waited to pay our homage to the Lord of Misrule and his Lady, the less pleasant any task we were assigned might become. And after seeing me in my abbess garb, I did not trust Lord Edward’s mischievousness to not breach the bounds of courtesy.
CHAPTER THREE
After making a quick stop at the lady’s retiring room and nearly colliding with Lord Traquair and his father’s mistress, Mrs. Blanchard, bickering outside the door, their slurring words making it clear that at least some of the guests were already deep in their cups, I was even