Cynders and Ashe by Elizabeth Boyle & Elizabeth Ashe

Author:Elizabeth Boyle & Elizabeth Ashe
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi

Four

The Ashe Ball – 1815

Ella took a deep breath when the carriage stopped before the Ashe townhouse. I shouldn’t be doing this. I shouldn’t.

But now it was far too late to back out, for too many others had put their own employment on the line for her to disavow them.

Oh, Hazel, what did I let you do? she thought, as the handsome footman – one of three – opened the door and held out his hand to her. This was all Hazel’s doing – the elegant carriage driven by a well-appointed set of matching white horses, a coachman, and three footmen, all courtesy of the Marquess of Holbech, who was currently in Scotland at his hunting box and had no knowledge of his brand-new and as-yet-unmarked carriage being used in this manner.

But Hazel’s flirtatious romance with one of his footmen was enough to gain its illicit use. And, as it turned out, the Marquess’ old coachman had a romantic streak. He managed to rummage up some old, unremarkable livery for them to wear so they wouldn’t be identified.

“Remember, madam,” Hazel’s swain said quietly as he handed Ella down to the kerb. “Before midnight. We must be away.”

She nodded, drawing her cloak around her and pulling its hood down over her face. She ascended the stairs to the grand front door. Other guests were arriving as well and there was a bit of a queue to enter – for each guest had to present their invitation to pass inside.

As she neared the door, a familiar voice cut through the excited whispers around her. “I say, I have an invitation but it was stolen!” Lady Fitzsimon complained. “Now let us in!”

Ella glanced up to find the matron and her daughter standing before the butler, holding up the procession. Ella was glad for her mask, and did a second check to make sure her gown wasn’t showing under the concealing cloak. But still, if the lady recognized her . . .

Not that this was likely to happen, for Lady Fitzsimon was in a rare mood, facing down the Ashe butler like Wellington’s troops charging forth. She was going to breach this party if it took her all night.

The butler snapped his fingers at one of the footmen to continue checking invitations so the front steps didn’t turn into a crush.

Ella handed over her invite and held her breath until the man waved her inside, and began checking the invitations of the others behind her. She hurried along, Lady Fitzsimon’s shrill notes chasing her inside.

“I say, I was invited!” the matron complained, her voice rising sharply, almost hysterically. “I will not be denied entrance. If you would but tell Lady Ashe to come to the door, she would order you immediately to admit me and my daughter.”

“Madam,” the butler intoned, “Lady Ashe’s rules are simple. No invitation, no entrance.”

A tall, graceful lady and her equally noble husband came to a stop beside Ella. The woman glanced over her shoulder at Lady Fitzsimon and then back at Ella.

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