Hank walked into the ballroom in far better spirits than he'd left it a half-hour earlier. Indeed, Lady Ravenwood made mention of it when he stopped to speak with her and meet still more of her friends. "I daresay you've been sampling the Duke's excellent wine, Henry."

"I give you my word, Lady Ravenwood, that I've only had a single glass of the stuff."

"Then perhaps it is a young lady who has put such a twinkle in your eye," the Countess of Highcastle suggested.

"That would be a very lucky lady indeed," added Lady Monkcrest.

Rather than looking embarrassed, Hank gave the ladies a devilish grin.

Lady Ravenwood returned his smile. "I believe you will find Lady Silverbridge just finishing the redowa with young Cosair."

Hank glanced around--Lady Silverbridge was just the person he wanted to speak to.

"You ought to hurry if you wish to secure her for the next," Lady Ravenwood added. "Before the Marquis does."

"Excellent advice, my lady--as always." After a small bow, Hank began making his way through the crowd towards Lady Silverbridge. He saw that Eric was heading in the same direction, although the Marquis seemed to be in no hurry. Hank was able to reach Lady Silverbridge several steps ahead of his friend and held out his hand to her, saying-- "Would you honour me with this waltz, Lady Bast?"

Diana took his hand eagerly. "Gladly, my lord. I've been searching for you for nearly an hour."

Hank saw Eric approaching and quickly swung Diana into the waltz. He knew the Marquis' expression boded ill for their next encounter. I wonder if Eric would actually call me out? Shaking off the thought, he looked back at Diana. "I've been hoping to speak to you, Lady Silverbridge."

"And I, you, Lord Rayner."

Hank took a deep breath. "Miss O'Brien, who we met in Covent Garden--"

"--is here," Diana finished. "She is employed by the Duke. I know. I saw her."

Hank blinked. "You...you know?"

"But of course. I noticed your interest that night--and hers as well, I might add," Diana smiled at Hank's hopeful expression. "And it wasn't terribly difficult to make out that she was the lass the Marquis is forever jibing you over. It's very mean of him."

"I don't mind," Hank guided them into a sweeping turn. "But it would be difficult to tell him that Miss O'Brien works under his roof. I'm not sure what he would say."

"I have a fair idea," Diana replied dryly.

"Well, I met up with Bobby--"

"Bobby?"

"Her brother."

"Yes, of course," Diana nodded for Hank to continue.

"He said that he'd try to get a message to Miss O'Brien for me, although he didn't seem happy about it."

"With good reason," Diana replied. "They would both lose their posts if they were found to be consorting with those above their rank." The helmet did not allow her to see much of Hank's face, but the tightening of his lips and whitening of his jaw indicated what he thought of the situation. "I suppose things are very different in America."

Hank sighed. "They're supposed to be. There are no titles or such, but there are still divisions."

"Then this is something you are accustomed to."

"I suppose," Hank shrugged as best he could while waltzing. "My father--and later my uncle--had what people called 'two-horse farms.' We weren't exactly poor, but there wasn't much to spare, either. The merchants and older families in town would have run us off our land if I'd ever presumed to court their daughters."

Diana's jaw dropped when she realized the Marquis had less in common with his peers than with their servants. She abruptly snapped her mouth shut, seeing as gaping at one's dance partner was quite unladylike.

Hank misread her expression. "Perhaps you would prefer to end this dance, Lady Silverbridge," he suggested, a slight chill seeping into his voice.

"I would, my lord. Just as soon as we reach the far end of the room."

"I beg your pardon?" Hank's tone betrayed his bewilderment.

"My dear Viscount, I have a plan to propose to you." Behind the mask, the dark eyes were alight with excitement.

"Plan?"

"Perhaps you aren't aware of it, but through those doors are several chambers for the ladies to rest and refresh themselves," Diana nodded towards the double doors that they were approaching. "Now, why don't I just retire though them and require the assistance of a maid for an hour or two?"

"Assistance with what?"

"Oh, any silly little thing," Diana replied impatiently. "I'll tell them I want the glass beads on my cloak polished before I go home. Don't laugh, my lord," she admonished when she saw Hank's grin. "The servants have undoubtedly had more trivial requests than that. I will simply insist that the first maid I see--and I assure you, it will be your Miss O'Brien--polish my cloak in the ladies' chambers. None of the other servants will gainsay me."

Hank nodded. "And then I will be able to see her while she is cleaning your cloak."

"My dear Lord Rayner!" Diana exclaimed indignantly. "Do you really believe I'll set Miss O'Brien to such a petty task?"

"I beg your pardon. I--"

"Fustian. There's no need to waste time begging my pardon. Simply listen to the rest of my plan."

"There's more?"

"In the ladies chamber are also various odds and ends for ladies who wish to alter their costumes. It will be a simple matter for me to dress Miss O'Brien up and have her join us in the ballroom."

Now it was Hank's turn to gape. "Are you serious?"

"It's absolute unheard of--I know," Diana looked quite pleased with the idea. "But that is precisely the reason we will be successful. If you are not dancing the waltz with your Irish lass within the hour, it will not but due to any lack of effort on my part."

They broke away from the swirling crowd near the double doors. Although the waltz wasn't over, they separated, Hank giving a bow and Diana a curtsey. "My lady," Hank said as he straightened. "I don't know whether I should be deeply grateful or very frightened by your plan."

"We'll just to wait and see how the evening ends, then, won't we?" Diana's smile flashed once more before she disappeared through the doors.

Sheila spun around and immediately dropped a curtsey. "Yes, Your Ladyship?" Inwardly, she was quaking with fear that she might be punished for the incident at the buffet after all.

"My cloak is in need of attention," Diana announced in the most imperious tone she could manage. "The maids upstairs are all occupied. You must see to it."

"But...m'lady..." Sheila stammered. "I--I couldn't--"

"Are you suggesting I search the entire house for assistance?" Diana demanded.

"Certainly not, Lady Silverbridge." Greeves stepped forward and plucked the tray from Sheila's hands. "She would be most honoured to assist you."

Sheila recovered enough to curtsey again. "I would that, Your Ladyship."

"My cloak is in a chamber upstairs." Diana turned and started back towards the stairs. It took much willpower not to turn and check that the maid was following her. Ladies never did such things--they simply assumed the servant would do as they were bid. Indeed, Diana had never felt the need to check on a servant's whereabouts before this moment.

They reached the first chamber and Diana looked inside to be certain it was empty. It was, so she stepped inside. "Pray close the door behind you."

Sheila did as she was told. "Shall I see to your cloak now, Your Ladyship?"

"That's completely unnecessary, Miss O'Brien."

The blue eyes widened. "Faith, m'lady...h-how is it y'knowing me name?"

"Lord Rayner told me," Diana replied as she removed her mask. "I believe you're more familiar with him as Hank Grayson, however."

Sheila's colour drained until the pale freckles across the bridge of her nose stood out. "Mother Mary, surely you aren't tellin' me that Mr. Grayson is a--"

"Viscount, actually," Diana finished.

"Your Ladyship, I beg you...pray do not tell His Grace. I swear I meant no offence by speaking to Mr.--to the Viscount. On me dear mother's grave, I swear--"

"Miss O'Brien, please," Diana held up her hand until Sheila fell silent. "Let me assure you that you have offended no one. Quite the opposite, in fact. Lord Rayner met your brother belowstairs and--"

"Me brother?" Sheila gulped.

"Yes. Lord Rayner said his name was Bobby."

"Mrs. Middlebar has been looking for a reason to turn me out. If she should hear that Bobby is me brother--"

"Then we just won't mention it to anyone, will we?" Diana smiled reassuringly. "When Lord Rayner discovered you were employed here, he asked Bobby to get a message to you."

"Faith, t'would be easier for Bobby t'make pigs fly."

"Exactly what I told him," Diana replied, then laughed. "Well, perhaps not exactly."

Sheila felt some of her trepidation leave her at the sound of the pleasant laugh.

Diana noticed that the maid had relaxed a bit and hoped her next words wouldn't send Sheila into another panic. "I told Lord Rayner it would be much easier for me to get a message to you than Bobby, so here I am."

Sheila hesitated a few moments before asking-- "What is the message, Your Ladyship? If you please."

"He would like to see you again. He wants to arrange a meeting."

Sheila's jaw dropped. "Is he daft? Tha's not possible--not in a million years!"

"On the contrary," Diana grinned. "Not only is it possible, but I'm here to see that it happens."

Sheila had heard that the Fancy were an odd lot with strange notions, and Diana's words confirmed it. "Beggin' your pardon, Your Ladyship, but it cannot be done. His lordship would be a laughingstock fer stoopin' t'speak to a housemaid and I'd be packed off for forgettin' me place."

"But Lord Rayner won't be talking to a housemaid."

Sheila's trepidation was vanishing quickly, replaced by exasperation. "How can he not be, if that's what I am?"

"He could speak to another guest at the Masque and no one would give it a second thought."

What Diana was suggesting was so unheard of that it took several minutes for Sheila to comprehend it. "Faith, 'tis a madwoman you are."

Diana started laughing so heartily at her proclimation that Sheila forgot to be worried by her own impertinence. "You don't know the half of it Miss O'Brien," Diana giggled. "Now please say you'll allow me to dress you up for the Masque. It would be such fun."

Diana's friendly manner, the idea of wearing pretty clothes to a ball and--most of all--the prospect of seeing Hank Grayson once more made for a combination too tempting to resist. However, Sheila's common sense forced her to protest. "If someone should discover me--"

"No one will," Diana assured her.

"But if someone should. Faith, Your Ladyship, I can't be losin' my position here."

"I give you my word," Diana promised. "That if you should lose your post, I'll have others for you and your brother before the day is out. You can work for me or the Countess of Wylde, my guardian. And if he needs a posting, I'm certain I could find one for that other boy as well... I'm afraid I can't recall his name."

"Your Ladyship is very kind, but--" Sheila broke off and stared hard at Diana. "How did y'come t'know Preston?"

Diana started laughing again. "Do you recall the night you met Lord Rayner? When he was joined by the Marquis and a funny little man in a coat and hat that were too big?"

"Aye." Sheila hesitated, "S-Surely ye can't be sayin' that was yerself?"

"The very same," Diana grinned. "So you see, I have a knack for masquerading. Oh, do say yes, Miss O'Brien! Even if you think me a madwoman."

Sheila couldn't keep from smiling--Diana's enthusiasm was infectious. "Faith, o'course I will. 'Tis bad luck t'argue wi' a madwoman, it is."

Behind his mask, Vengrave allowed himself a wide smile. Everything was falling nicely into place with little effort on his part. Apparently Fate approved of his plans for the Avenging Angel. Summoning a footman, he called for paper and ink and quickly wrote out two notes--one to be delivered to his coachman and the other to the Avenging Angel.

Hank couldn't hold back his grin as he refolded the note and tucked it inside his glove. Apparently Diana had been unable to find Miss O'Brien a costume and decided to alter the plan slightly.

A quick check with one of the gold clocks revealed that there were still twenty-five minutes before his secret meeting, but Hank decided to make for the east corner of the garden immediately. Although he had only been back in the ballroom for little over an hour, he was already feeling uncomfortably warm in his helmet and velvet tunic and the idea of waiting in the cool night air was appealing. With any luck, Miss O'Brien would arrive early as well and they'd have a few extra minutes together.

He made his way towards the door that were opened out onto the garden, giving only the briefest of smiles and replied to those that spoke to him as he passed. He was only a few feet from the house, however, when the Marquis fell into step beside him and Hank had to struggle to keep the frown off his face. Normally, he didn't mind Eric's company, but tonight the Marquis had been barely civil to him and at the moment he had for more interesting company on his mind. Unfortunately, he still hadn't mastered the art of politely sending away anyone he didn't want to see, so he only said-- "It's a fine night."

"Are you referring to the ball or the weather?"

There was a decided chill in Eric's voice that gave Hank a moment's pause before he replied-- "I was talking about the weather, actually, but your grandfather's ball is the most incredible thing I've ever seen."

"Then I trust you are enjoying yourself."

The words were polite, but the tone was just the opposite. It was a habit of speech Eric had whenever he was annoyed or irritated, and Hank had grown to despise it. It set his teeth on edge. "Of course. I'm enjoying myself immensely. It's very kind of you to inquire, Lord Blackmoor." He wasn't able to imitate Eric's tone successfully, but was gratified to see Eric's surprise at being addressed by title rather than name.

"Then you are merely catching your breath out here, are you?"

Hank decided that the only way to get rid of Eric quickly was to tell him what he was doing in the garden, but knew it would be disastrous to let on with whom. "If you must know, I'm to meet someone, so if you'll excuse me--"

Eric caught his arm before he could turn away. "I won't have it, Rayner. It's a disgrace."

Dear Lord, he knows! "Really, it's nothing to concern yourself with, Eric," Hank said with as much nonchalance as he could muster.

"Not my concern?" Eric sneered. "Do you think I, or anyone else, wants to see such a fine lady bound to an ignorant, clod-hopping Colonial?"

Hank bristled under the insult, but managed to bite down on his anger in order to find out who Eric was talking about. "I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about. The lady I'm to meet is certainly not being forced to--"

"I know very well that Lady Silverbridge finds you an entertaining novelty, although I'm certain she will grow bored with your company in time. In the mean time, I will not allow you to compromise her by taking advantage of her kindness to such a beef-witted chaw bacon."

Relief that Eric didn't know about Sheila was combined with amusement at Eric's name-calling. Hank knew he was being insulted, but the words Eric used were so unfamiliar that he was hard-pressed to keep the smile of his face. "Eric, you don't have anything to worry about. I have no intention of courting Lady Silverbridge. I know how much you like her--"

Eric went pale as though Hank had levelled the rudest put-down at him. "Do you presume that I'm worried that Lady Silverbridge might prefer a cork-brained gapeseed such as you to myself? You take too much upon yourself, Rayner. She and I have both endured your ignorant, near-barbaric ways as kindly as possible, and now you presume to have the Lady endure an attachment to someone whose parents were little more than dirt-scratching, manure-covered rabble?"

"That's enough, Blackmoor," Hank's pale blue eyes blazed with anger. "My parents were good people and I won't have you or anyone else speaking of them like that. Do it again and you'll have more trouble than you know how to handle."

Startled though he was by Hank's outburst, Eric refused to let his surprise show. "Are you calling me out?"

"Your talking about a duel, aren't you?" Hank replied hotly, unable to keep his temper in the face of such an affront to his deceased parents. "Well, I see no reason to bother with that. If you don't curb your tongue, I'll lay you out flat with my bare fists--right here."

"You wouldn't dare."

"Why not? According to you, I have no manners whatsoever. But--also according to you--Lady Silverbridge seems to prefer me in spite of it--or perhaps because of it."

Eric had not reply for that. Instead, his features hardened into granite and he turned to go back into the house. "You are not gentleman, sir. And you will regret those words."

Hank remained where he was for a few minutes after Eric left, his temper gradually fading into regret. Eric, despite his pompous ways, had the makings of a good friend, but after the harsh words, continued friendship would be all but impossible. With a sigh, he put the thought to the back of his mind and continued on his way through the garden.

On to Part VII
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