Page 4 of A Masked Lady for Mr. Kenworthy
Thomas glared at him but joined his friend in a chuckle.
Rupert signaled for the carriage to begin moving. Then, he looked back at Thomas.
“Shall we go back over the plan for tonight?” he asked.
Thomas nodded. He knew the plan, but Rupert was always one to overprepare rather than the opposite. Though his partner could be a bit of a handful sometimes, he took his errand very seriously. He had to, as he was considered one of the best operatives the War Office had ever employed.
Rupert gave a single nod and then continued.
“As soon as we arrive at the ball, we will go our separate ways,” he said. “I will mingle with as many people as I can to see if I can gather any more tidings on the marquess. You may mingle as you please, but I want you to keep an eye out for anything suspicious. I shall be keeping a close eye on Lord Turlington, but if he should slip away from me, you must be on alert. I do not expect him to do anything this evening, not at his own ball. But he might be meeting with someone to plan something. A packed ballroom would be the perfect place for him to do so, after all, especially his own.”
Thomas nodded again, imagining everything as Rupert spoke.
“And I am to be prepared to slip into the marquess’s study at just before eleven o’clock,” Thomas said, reciting the words from memory. “Once I am inside, I am to search for, and retrieve, a thick black journal.”
Rupert nodded.
“Precisely,” Rupert said. “I plan to meet with you at five minutes before eleven, so I can keep watch for you. Or, at the very least, keep Lord Turlington busy for a few minutes, so I can be sure he does not leave the ballroom for any reason.”
Thomas nodded once more and sighed.
“It is strange how suddenly he has managed to bring himself back from the brink of bankruptcy,” he mused.
Rupert shrugged.
“Such is the life of a good criminal,” he said. “He claims that a recently deceased uncle on his mother’s side of the family named him as the sole heir to his entire fortune. But stranger still is that no one close to the marquess seems to know anything of any such relation.”
Thomas shook his head slowly. He already knew that information, as well, but he had spent a great deal of time leading up to that evening trying to make the details add up. He supposed it was plausible that what the marquess had said was true. But surely, at least one person would know something about this alleged uncle. Instead, though, the information they had received about the marquess seemed to indicate his sudden fortune had been obtained by far less legal means. And it was Thomas’s and Rupert’s job to find out exactly what they were. The book Thomas was assigned to find would contain all the answers they sought. Therefore, Thomas was determined to find that book and turn it into his superiors at the War Office. And absolutely nothing would stand in his way.
Chapter Two
Faye nervously smoothed out her dark-blue silk dress and readjusted the matching mask for the hundredth time since she had arrived at the ball. Even though she was dressed just as all the other guests were, she still felt out of place. Ordinarily, she would enjoy such an event. But, given the task she was there to perform, there was no possibility of her enjoying herself, not even for a moment. Nevertheless, she put on the best smile she could muster and held her head high as she pretended to look calmly around the ballroom.
Though she avoided making eye contact with any of her fellow guests, she took in every detail of the room around her. Despite her dread and nervousness, she was impressed with the ballroom of Turlington Manor. It was the largest ballroom she had ever been in, seeming to stretch on impossibly far in every direction. Its grandeur was breathtaking, reminding Faye of what the ballroom at the King’s palace must look like. It was clear that no expense had been spared when the room was constructed or on its maintenance, as the rich green of the walls was fresh, as though it had been painted just days before the ball. The silver pillars lining the walls of the room were just as bright and fresh as the walls themselves, and the four chandeliers hanging from the ceiling were apparently made from solid gold and far larger than any she had ever seen in any manor in London.
The decorations for the ball were extravagant, as well. The lord of the manor had had what appeared to be hundreds of small masquerade masks made in varying colors and hung throughout the room. Even the black drapes had the small masks wound around them, nearly all the way up to the ceiling. The dishes at the refreshment table, which ran the entire length of the room, were solid silver and crystal, and the food spread upon the table was nothing short of a feast. In the center of the table was a giant ice sculpture that appeared to be a bust of Lord Turlington himself. Faye could not help rolling her eyes. It seemed the man was as full of himself as he was seedy and untrustworthy.Not unlike Mayson,she thought bitterly, as she gave her head a shake and began to search for possible ways to exit the ballroom unseen.
Faye continued making her way through the crowd. The room seemed to be packed, and it took her ages to make very little progress through the room. All around her, young women smiled shyly and laughed coquettishly at young gentlemen, who were inviting them to dance. She sighed, thinking back to her debut ball two years prior. Her very first season, especially her debut, had been positively magical. She had enjoyed herself at every ball she attended, and she never wanted for gentlemen to dance with her. It had all changed, however, when her father had fallen terribly ill. She had not minded taking the rest of the season off to concentrate on helping her mother care for her father. But now, she could not help wondering how different things would be if he were still alive.
“Excuse me, my lady,” said a deep voice from behind Faye, startling her.
Faye whirled around, trying to force herself to keep her lips together until she had assessed the situation. Her mind first told her that, somehow, someone had figured out that she was up to something sinister. But she quickly realized that was quite ridiculous. She had not so much as looked at anyone, and she had not yet made a break for any of the doors leading out of the ballroom. But the man before her, wearing a very striking midnight-blue suit, would quickly catch on to her suspicious behavior if she did not find a way to calm herself quickly. She cleared her throat and beamed at him in a way she prayed looked authentic.
“Good evening, my lord,” she said, curtseying to give herself a chance to fix her expression. “I was so lost in thought, and you gave me quite a start.”
The gentleman bowed when she straightened up and gave her a warm, charming smile.
“I beg your pardon, good lady,” he said smoothly. “My intention was not to frighten you. In fact, I had hoped for the opposite reaction, as I was hoping you might honor me with the next dance.”
Faye blinked, surprised. Even though she was at a real ball, she had not anticipated actually being asked to dance. She had been so dedicated to her mission. She had left no room for any other thoughts. Now, she must continue with considerable acumen. She had to make a quick decision. Dancing with a man would detract from the time she had to complete her task. However, a skittish, abrupt refusal could draw the wrong kind of attention to her. The man would surely remember a woman who jumped at a simple human interaction and fled from a mere request to dance. It would serve her better to blend in and behave as all the other guests were doing.
She gave the man another, more relaxed smile, even though her heart was pounding in her bosom. She held out her hand and nodded.
“I would be delighted, my lord,” she said.
The man took her hand, placing it on his arm as he led her onto the crowded dance floor. Faye cursed herself as their dancing position placed her far away from the doors she had been surveying. She would have to make the trek back through the crowd once more, which would waste even more time. But she knew she must make the best of it. After all, surely Mayson would not care how long it took her to commit her crime. As long as she left the ball with the black journal, he should be happy enough.
As the song began, Faye looked into the gentleman’s blue-green eyes. They were especially alert and, although they regarded her cordially, there was a sort of detachment in them. She gave him a warm smile, trying to think of some way to strike up a conversation.
