Midnight Masquerade by Joan Smith

illustrated in the magazine, all of them so very different from what her aunt allowed her to wear. She looked up when Belami appeared in the doorway, gazing at her. His every appearance caused a tightening in her chest, to see him so handsome, so very unavailable to her, who was his fiancée. Some traces of the regret she felt were on her face.
    “I’m showing you a very flat holiday,” he apologized, stepping into the room.
    “Flat?” she asked, astonished. “Oh, no, I never had such fun in my life! It’s very exciting, helping you with the case. What are we to do next?” she asked eagerly.
    “We can’t ride or drive or even walk in this weather,” he pointed out.
    “I meant what do we do to solve the case?” she answered. “Naturally your work must take precedence over mere entertainment.”
    “Your aunt is less understanding. She tells me it is not a fit occupation for a gentleman.”
    “She is old-fashioned. I think it is edifying that you go to so much trouble, and remarkable that you do it so well.”
    His chest swelled a little at these unexpected compliments, and from the last source he would have imagined. “It helps to pass the time.”
    “Pray don’t feel you have to waste a moment amusing me, Belami, but if there is anything I can do to help, I should enjoy it. What will you do next?”
    “I’d like to find the mate to the stocking our thief wore.”
    Her neck stiffened perceptibly. “You are going to see Lady Lenore, in other words?”
    “You offered to help. Why don’t you see her? It would come more naturally from another woman. You could ask to borrow a pair from her.”
    “My aunt . . .” she said, hesitating, knowing too close contact with Lady Lenore would be frowned upon.
    “Yes, I understand. I’ll go to her myself,” he said, with no reluctance.
    “No! That is, it’s business, after all. It’s not as though I were seeking her friendship,” she said quickly. “I’ll go up now, and be back here in a minute. Will you wait for me?”
    “It’s the least I can do. You waited three days for me.”
    “No, three weeks,” she answered with a pert little smile as she turned and fled the room.
    Belami pondered his heart as he waited in the saloon. The stocking was an excellent excuse to go to Lenore’s room for a bit of a frolic, yet he had been relieved at Deirdre’s agreeing to go for him. There was the business of Paris hanging in the air between Lennie and him now, and he had no wish to finalize it. He mused on, wondering if he would go.
    In his mind’s eye, it was not Lennie who was with him on the ship crossing the Channel, but Deirdre Gower. She’d be easy to entertain, at least. Never had such fun as this dull holiday! The girl must have been raised in cotton wool. A pity, really—there was some fire and spirit there, but all suffocated with the cotton wool. But only pull at the wool and you found yourself engaged to her, for all of mortal eternity. Bound for life to a woman who expected you to behave yourself, do the proper thing.
    At least she didn’t cavil at his playing Bow Street. Then too, while she would expect a man to behave, she would certainly not act up herself, in the manner of a Lady Lenore. Belami knew his nature was not of the sort that could tolerate a philandering wife. He supposed, in a vague way, that the time would eventually come when he was ready to settle down, and it was a bit of a pity he hadn’t met Deirdre later in his life.
    While he mused along these lines, Deirdre went tapping at Lady Lenore’s door, feeling as daring as though she were entering a house of ill repute. Lenore was alone in her chamber, which was a relief, making a toilette. She sat in front of a mirror, brushing out her raven hair. She had a woman who performed this chore for her at home, but the monetary exigencies of travel made it preferable to hitch a ride with someone else, and bringing servants along limited the number of carriages one could squeeze