Dare to be a Duchess
By Sapna Bhog
Copyright © 2021 by Sapna Bhog. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.
Chapter One
1823, London
Madame Delacour’s masquerade
Red. The color was everywhere.
Lara Ramsay fidgeted where she stood just inside the entrance of the great Hall, surveying the scene inside one of London’s most scandalous ballrooms. Each place her eyes touched in the enormous room, she saw it. Heavy, red brocade silk curtains, red table covers, red upholstery, red silks covering the walls…even the candles were red.
“So this is what true sin looks like,” she murmured.
Skimpily dressed Cleopatras, nymphs, mermaids, and a variety of Greek goddesses dotted the hall alongside pirates, Roman gods, and knights from yonder years. It would have been fascinating to observe had it not been for the complete lack of propriety.
Her gaze landed on a pirate and peasant girl kissing…on the mouth…in the middle of the dance floor. And then they retired into an alcove beyond them, leaving the curtain wide open for anyone to peek in. Lara smothered a gasp as the man lowered the woman’s bodice and put his lips to her—
Her friend, Anne, made a soft sound of distress. “Did you see that? The excuse of this masquerade has caused everyone to leave all inhibitions behind!”
Leaving inhibitions behind was definitely not something Anne was accustomed to. Blond and blue eyed, Anne was the perfect English beauty, and not just in appearance. Her inbred grace and poise showed her station in life. She was the daughter of a duke, the sister of a duke, and her regal bearing declared it so.
That same regal bearing was sure to draw unwanted attention to them if they weren’t careful.
Lara touched her glittering black mask, making certain that it correctly covered her face. She absolutely did not wish to be recognized under any circumstance. “I hate to admit it, but we were rightly warned from coming here.”
This was not the place for gently bred women like them. Although she and Anne had attended several racy soirees in the last few days, none of them had been as debauched as this. Here, the women were mingling and dancing freely with the men, most of them already deep in their cups, further adding to the gaiety of the place.
It didn’t help that she and Anne hadn’t dressed to blend in. When Lara had decided to don a nine yard Indian saree for this masquerade, aching to be styled in a costume that would reflect her Indian heritage, Anne had insisted that she, too, wear one in a show of solidarity. So here they were, each wearing a specially designed corset blouse, bare on the shoulders and upper back. The corsets were paired with a thin petticoat over which nine yards of silk was wrapped, pleated at the waist, and then draped across their upper bodies to one shoulder. The fabric cascaded to the floor like a waterfall, leaving a trail on the floor. While Lara wore a shimmering black saree with a glittering black mask, Anne had chosen a white ensemble.
The idea had seemed fascinating at the time, and Lara loved that her friend had joined in her fun, but right now they stood out like a beacon in this scandalous party. Added to the fact that they had no male company, they were definitely beginning to draw appreciative male gazes.
Sure enough, a drunk Hercules was circling round them, edging closer.
“We can’t stay here any longer, Anne. We must leave before we get into any trouble. All those alcoves around the perimeter…people are making use of them to…to indulge in…in…” She gestured discreetly around the room. “Besides, we are attracting far too much notice standing alone by ourselves.”
The drunk Hercules tried to seek her attention, but Lara gave him a frosty look.
Anne bit her lip, scanning the room as if she were looking for somebody.
Understanding washed through Lara. “He’ll be here, won’t he? That’s why you were so desperate to attend?”
Anne gave a shy nod. She was head over heels in love with Richard Leyton, the new Earl of Radmore, a social recluse in the eyes of London, who they had met on one of their first nights out of the ton’s usual social circle.
After Radmore had rescued Anne from an ill-placed wager that she had made with another gentleman, she was convinced he was the man for her. She and Lara had whispered and giggled together for hours after that night, imagining what a future with Radmore might hold for Anne. Their cheeks had positively hurt from all the grinning.
Since Radmore never socialized within the ton, Anne had kept up with him at various events outside the usual boundaries. Yet, in spite of it all, the man had yet to make his interest in her evident.
Lara squeezed Anne’s hand. “Are you sure he’s interested?” she asked in a careful tone.
“I’m certain.”
She studied her friend, felt the hope in Anne’s blue eyes. “All right,” she relented, “but we can’t stay here for much longer.”
Anne gave her a pleading look. “I must wait for him, however long it takes.”
Lara risked a quick look around the room. “It’s not safe to linger. This place is worse than what Cammy described to us.”
Camille Chesterfield was the third member of their trio. She’d been the one to discover this masquerade and told Lara and Anne. The plan had been for the three of them to attend together, but Cammy had taken ill. Reluctantly—or so Lara thought until Anne revealed her plan—they had decided to attend without her.
Cammy had warned them to be discreet and to keep their identities hidden at all times, else their reputations would be destroyed. Worse, they’d incur the wrath of Wolf, Anne’s very protective elder brother, the very proper and very staid Duke of Wolverton.
Lara shivered at the thought. Wolf was a formidable man, very conventional and usually quite full of himself. He had pretty fixed ideals on how proper ladies ought to comport themselves. Normally, crossing swords with him and thwarting whatever he said was a pet pastime of Lara’s, but tonight she truly worried over his reaction if he found out that they were here—and why. She wouldn’t stand for him bullying Anne, brother or not.
Chewing on her lip, she pondered her dilemma. Anne was in no mood to be convinced, and Lara’s instincts were buzzing with the threat of imminent danger.
They needed to leave.
She again gestured to the alcoves with her gloved hand. “Look around, Anne. Look at what people are doing. This is no place to meet Radmore.”
“But it is, Lara, and that’s why I have to be here!”
Lara’s eyes widened. Anne wanted to remain here because of what the couples were doing in the alcove? Did Anne…indulge like that with Radmore? She itched to ask her dearest friend this question, but not yet. Right now, they needed to leave.
“Anne,” she implored as more men circled them. “I don’t have a good feeling about this at all. Please…let us just go.”
Anne scanned the crowd again. “I cannot. I sent a missive to Radmore that I’m attending this event tonight. Although he didn’t respond, I’m certain that if he feels even the slightest bit of the attraction I feel for him, he’ll be here, for nothing else but to protect me from the happenings at this corrupt ball.”
So, this was a test of his affection? “But what if he doesn’t come?”
Her friend shot her a dark look. “He will.”
Lara sighed. “What if Wolf finds out?”
Anne waved her hand in the air. “My brother doesn’t know we attended all those other soirees, which we were never to set foot in. Why do you think he’ll find out about this one?”
Because Wolf was unpredictable, powerful, and often seemed to know everything—not that she’d ever admit that to his arrogant face. Butterflies fluttered in her stomach as she imagined all the potential consequences they’d face if he did manage to find them here.
She straightened her spine, annoyed with herself. Why did she always get perturbed thinking of him? He would be angry, yes, but he and Lara had sparred since the day she’d arrived in London as a child. She, of anyone, could handle the Duke of Wolverton.
She lifted her chin. Ill-advised or not, she would not let Wolf take this away from Anne. Or herself. Radmore aside, attending events like these was Lara’s own little rebellion against the snobs of the ton who had made her life a living hell all these years.
Filthy half breed!
Indian savage blood!
You don’t belong among us!
You will never be a part of us!
Look at her skin—so, so brown!
An Indian girl sitting amongst us—what has the world come to?
These were just some of the barbs she’d lived with since her parents’ deaths and Uncle Robert had taken her in as his ward. Uncle Robert was Wolf’s and Anne’s late father’s younger brother. The Wolverton name should have afforded her a sense of security, but despite growing up with Anne, Lara was treated with sharp jibes and a whole lot of scorn because she’d been born in India, the child of an English colonel and an Indian woman.
If only the people in the ton knew which family her father had belonged to… But no, Lara refused to acknowledge that part of her lineage. Not now. Not ever.
And thus, she continued to suffer their cruel words and taunts.
Her temper flared thinking about the mockery and rejection she had faced from the same people over and over again, all because she was different.
She inhaled and exhaled to steady her frazzled nerves. She was tired of being alone and of not being accepted because of who her parents were. Yes, she had Anne and Camille, who would do anything for her, but the reality was they both would find the right match, marry someone from the ton, and settle down soon.
Although Uncle Robert believed that Lara, too, would find someone special who would accept her as she was, so far there was not one man in the ton who appealed to her and who didn’t look at her like she was an outcast. Hence, she had decided to step out of the boundaries of the ton to find the right man. Rich or poor, she cared not—she only wanted someone to love her for her.
But it was Anne who had found someone, although said man hadn’t yet made his intentions clear.
Lara studied her friend, who was still searching the hall for her chosen man.
“Are you absolutely certain of his attraction to you?” she asked, not entirely convinced.
“Yes,” Anne replied, her eyes never once leaving the crowd.
There was no point arguing with Anne when she’d made up her mind, and when it came to Radmore, she was immovable in her faith that he was her one true soul mate. Lara genuinely hoped he was. Which was why she decided to give her friend a few minutes more before she physically maneuvered them out the door.
There was a rustling in the doorway, and suddenly a stream of new entrants entered from behind where they were standing. Lara was swept to one side, and she immediately lost sight of Anne. Heart pounding, she spun around to look for her and found the drunk Hercules she had dismissed earlier coming toward her again.
And this time, he had a friend with him.
