Joan Wolf by Fool's Masquerade

boots. “Well, one can understand that. After all, he is so very beautiful himself.”
    “I know.”
    Mr. Fitzallan sounded rather grim and I raised my eyes to his face. “I sometimes think Diccon has been too blessed by the gods,” he said. “He’s spoiled. He has too much, he does everything too well. A little setback would be good for him.”
    “He’s a very good landlord and patron.” I felt somehow I had to stand up for the earl.
    “Unquestionably. And he’s an excellent high sheriff and justice of the peace. There isn’t a county in England better run than this one is. He is always accessible and he is always just.”
    I kept my eyes on his face and remembered the discussion over my future. “But he doesn’t like to be crossed.”
    “He never is, not since his father died.” Mr. Fitzallan looked rueful. “I’m no match for him.”
    I saw his lordship’s face in my mind and felt a pain squeeze at my heart. “Who is?” I asked very softly.
    “I don’t know. I’m afraid it’s not Lady Barbara. If he wants her, she’ll marry him. That’s why the duke is here.”
    Mr. Fitzallan looked as unhappy as I felt. I took his horse’s reins and led both horses toward the stable.
    The Duke of Cartington stayed for two days, and during that time I saw very little of Lord Leyburn . He spent most of his time with the duke, out on horseback or with a gun. I spent my time in the stable.
    For some unaccountable reason, I was feeling very melancholy and lonely. Never before had the evils of my situation seemed so insurmountable. And yet I could not wish I had followed another course. I had never been one for regrets.
    The Duke of Cartington left, and the day after his departure Lord Leyburn went into York for a few days. For centuries the Fitzallans had maintained a house in York, so Mr. Fitzallan informed me, and in York the Earl of Leyburn counted for rather more than the king.
    I continued to feel restless and melancholy, and gravitated to the piano as if only music could release me from the oppressive mood that I could not account for. It was the first time in too long that I had had access to a piano, and with the duke gone, I took full advantage of it.
    The earl’s absence stretched from a few days to a week. Without him the house seemed strangely empty, as if all its vitality had been drained from it. Even the flowers in the garden seemed less brilliantly colored.
    I was sitting at the piano picking out a melody in counterpoint, over and over again, when there came through the open windows the sound of voices on the drive. I went to the window and looked down.
    Lord Leyburn was back. He was seated on the high seat of his phaeton, effortlessly holding his high-spirited pair at rest and looking down at Mr. Fitzallan, who stood on the drive beside him. He was laughing. As I watched, Robert went to the horses’ heads, and his lordship, in a beautiful, fluid movement, swung himself down to the ground. He glanced up at the house, unaware of my presence. He was hatless and his thick black hair was tousled from the drive. His dark face looked fiercely beautiful in the clear sunlight. And it was then that I knew.
    He had disappeared into the house and Jamie was bringing in his portmanteau before I stirred from the window. Oh no, I kept thinking over and over again, oh no, oh no, oh no.
    I moved on leaden feet toward the piano bench, but before I reached it, his lordship appeared in the doorway.
    “Valentine!” He gave me a smile. “I understand from Ned that you’ve been playing the keys off the piano.”
    I didn’t know if I would be able to talk. I moved my lips and sound came out. “Yes, my lord.”
    He went toward the instrument himself, as if drawn by a magnet, and lightly ran his fingers over the keyboard. He looked up.
    “There’s to be a concert in York next week. I’ll take you.”
    I could not look into his eyes and focused instead on his cravat. “Thank you, my lord.” To my astonishment my