He thought back to the parrot and the milkmaid, shuddered, and then pushed the memory as far away from him as he could. He was not a fool. Amelia Fellowes was a diamond of the first water, and if he did not at least attempt to win her heart soon, he could very well lose her to another. He had been too young and foolish to declare himself before her first marriage and had reconciled his heart to being nothing more than her friend. Now that she was out of mourning for the late Lord Fellowes, he could not let this opportunity go.
“Courage, William,” he murmured to himself. “She enjoys your friendship, so with luck, she will also wish for something more.”
It was enough to make him move forward. He straightened his back, trying to imagine he was Louis, or Conway, or even Dook, as he forced himself to smile.
Her back was to him, but he performed a low, deep bow of the sort more typical of centuries gone by.
“Stand and deliver, my good lady, for I regret that I must relieve you of your treasures.”
She turned, and as William got a better look, he realized the terrible mistake that he’d made.
The lady, dressed as a Grecian goddess, was most certainly not Amelia.
“And what treasures were you thinking to steal, thief??” she asked, her tone indicating that she was not particularly amused by his demand.
“Erm. Your money or your life?” he asked, holding up his swordstick but forgetting to draw the blade.
“Are you threatening to beat me if I don’t comply?” she asked, cocking one head to the side. “How ghastly. Richmond, did you hear this wretch threaten me?”
William’s heart sank to his boots as one of the woman’s companions, a man in his mid-sixties whose only nod to the masquerade was an ugly loo mask that did nothing to disguise his identity, looked him up and down with lazy indifference.
“I doubt he is of threat, Bess,” he said before sipping at his wine.
William, determined to apologize and then let the land beneath his feet swallow him whole, was denied such an escape by the rest of their party.
“Another highwayman?” sighed a lady dressed as a sultana. “It was amusing the first time, but this will be the third who has demanded a kiss for his troubles. Oh, do go away, whoever you are.”
The Grecian goddess, however, was not about to let William comply, for she caught him firmly by the wrist.
“Richmond, did you not hear that? He was about to steal a kiss from me! Will you let such an insult to my honor pass?”
“If I called out every man who demanded a kiss from you, Bess, or even just those to whom you had capitulated, I’d have no peace for all the duels I’d have to fight.”
The sultana and the rest of the party snorted with laughter, while the goddess—who William was sure was none other than the notorious Lady Foster—tightened her grip on his wrist so much that he was afraid she might break it.
“Well, if Your Grace does not think I have been offered insult, then who am I to refuse such a brave thief his demand?” she asked icily.
“I did not mean to cause—” began William, but was cut off as Lady Foster put a hand around the back of his skull, knocking his tricorne clean off his head, and pressing her lips firmly onto his.
“I believe that is sufficient payment,” she said as she released him, her eyes glittering with anger William could only hope was reserved for the Duke of Richmond rather than himself.
“Yes, most certainly,” he stammered out, almost tripping over his feet as he backed away.
Lady Foster had turned her attention back to Richmond, who merely looked bored. The rest of their party were laughing as though they had witnessed the greatest joke in the world.
His cheeks burning with embarrassment, William walked quickly back into the ballroom, his head down as he made his way blindly to the orangery, caring not in the least when his elbow or shoulder came into contact with another.
He reached the doors just as Louis was escorting out a pretty woman with a dress cut so low across the bosom that it was either a miracle or impressive feat of engineering that everything remained contained.
The chevalier took one look at William before turning to his companion and, with a kiss on the cheek, somehow convinced her to leave them alone without causing a distressing scene.
“What has happened, mon ami?” asked Louis, drawing him aside.
“I was a fool to think I could do this,” William replied, stripping away the loo mask before discarding both the sword stick his pistol into a nearby flowerbed. “I am not dashing, Louis, or able to conduct a flirtation! I made a dashed cake of myself this evening and can only hope no one was aware of my identity. Still, I now have proof definitive that any attempt to win Amelia will only result in her mockery.”
Louis lost his expression of habitual boredom. “You do not credit Madame du Fellowes well enough. I do not think she would mock anyone.”
“There is a time for everything,” muttered William. “Damn it all, how could I have ever believed myself capable of winning her?”
Louis did not respond straight away. After a moment’s pause, he stepped forward to put an arm about William’s shoulders, and then gently guided him to the far end of the room.
“Calm yourself. I did not believe this the best way for you to win your love anyway. She is partial to you, William. I should know, for I could not engage her in even the mildest flirtation.”
William stopped dead. “What do you mean, you tried to flirt with Amelia? Who the devil do you think you are?”
“The Chevalier D’Arras, whatever that is worth,” replied Louis, exerting enough pressure on William’s back to force him to start walking again. “I think her an intelligent woman, and I think that perhaps you should try just being yourself, non? After all, she enjoys your company already.”
“For someone who has no trouble winning the regard of any woman he wishes, you don’t seem to understand how courtship works,” sighed William. “Leave me alone to sulk, if you please. It seems I am doomed.”
“You think too much, and for that, there is no cure.” Louis took a few moments to straighten his coat and cuffs. “You do not even have to flirt with her—hide behind formality if you wish, and ask permission to court her. You English are good at that, non?”
“Courtship involves flirtation,” said William with familiar exasperation. “I can happily attend a scientific lecture with her or even spend a pleasant evening at Vauxhall with her, but flirtation? I might as well ask a fish to fly! If the topic of conversation strays from something mundane, like electricity, or ancient writings, my tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth, and I sound like a buffoon.”
“Only you could think such topics mundane,” replied his friend with an almost melancholy smile. “You would have been popular with the French court, and Marie Antoinette in particular.”
Louis put his hand to his neck, and William did not know what to say. The silence drew out between them for a long moment before the chevalier shook his head as though trying to empty out the bad memories.
“You would be a good match, but you know that already.”
“It was easier before I realized I loved her,” William admitted.
A smile appeared on the face of his friend. “Most people say the opposite. Tell me, what is it you love? Why is Amelia special to you?”