Her Husband, the Rake by Cynthia Wright

Author:Cynthia Wright
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 2020-01-24T18:30:00+00:00

Chapter 7

The village of Pettipauge looked utterly magical under a blanket of pristine snow. Rows of icicles silvered the neat houses and leafless trees lining Main Street, and moonlight set the Connecticut River agleam. Where is André tonight, Devon wondered. On board the Black Eagle or in his cozy office…with Olivia Hayden?

Hermann insisted on driving her to the Thornton home, and Devon saw that her own horse, Patsy, was hitched to the sleigh, sniffing the night air in anticipation. The filly had been a gift from André four years ago, when they’d first moved to Pettipauge. In those days, they had often enjoyed spontaneous rides together along the river. The memories, once cherished, now tasted faintly bittersweet.

Every frost-edged window in the Thornton home was aglow with warm light. As Devon walked up the path with Hermann, she heard music and saw the lively silhouettes moving about inside. Hermann had just lifted the door knocker when she put a hand on his arm.

“Wait.” Devon withdrew the scarlet mask from her coat pocket. “Will you help me tie it, Hermann?”

His big fingers fumbled with the ribbons. When he had finished, Devon faced him. “How do I look?”

He squinted down at her in the shadows. “In truth? Like a cabin boy wearing a fancy red mask.”

Devon laughed. “I suppose you’re right; the mask doesn’t match my costume at all.”

But there was no time to think about that, for the door was opening, and she was being ushered inside by Beardsley, the family butler. A tall older woman in a towering, powdered white wig peered at her from behind a gem-encrusted mask. Her cheek was marked by a red, heart-shaped patch.

“Welcome, young sir,” the woman said. Her elaborate taffeta gown was supported by panniers so wide that she bumped several guests en route to the entry. “Have we met?”

Devon went closer and whispered conspiratorially, “My friend, it is I, Devon Raveneau!”

“Oh my!” Abigail raised the quizzing-glass that she wore on a long silken ribbon around her neck. “So it is! But, my dear, what manner of costume is that?”

“I am meant to be a cabin boy.” Glancing around at all the other female guests, most clad in dominoes over pretty costumes, she felt herself blush. There was a shepherdess with a crook, several ladies-in-waiting, and a milkmaid wearing a straw hat and a charming laced-front gown.

“Indeed! Most unusual. And why are you alone? Where is your husband this evening”

Before Devon could reply, a slender man strode up to them. He wore a black silk domino over a suit of claret-red velvet, white silk stockings, and shoes with diamond-studded buckles. A froth of lace burst forth beneath his chin, and Devon saw that the fellow’s scarlet mask was exactly like her own.

“Good evening,” the man said. Of course, it was Morgan.

The sight of other guests entering the parlor caused Abigail to give Morgan a distracted nod. “Do pardon me,” she said, then hurried off to greet the newcomers.

“Hello, Morgan.” Devon was beginning to wish she had not come at all.

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