Free A Christmas Charade by Karla Hocker

her next meeting with the Duke of Stenton. She admitted to chagrin that he did not remember her, but was by no means certain that a belated recognition would soothe the blow to her pride. She had wanted him to cudgel his brains over her identity, but it was one thing to wish so in a fit of pique and quite another to have to face the possible results of his mind-searching.
    If he remembered Rosalind’s friend … And he should! He had seen her often enough, for Rosalind would never have been permitted to ride or drive with him unless Elizabeth and one or two other young people joined in the excursions.
    Truly, there should be no harm in his remembering Rosalind’s friend. Unless … unless he had been aware of that foolish friend’s infatuation with him.
    Elizabeth’s face flamed at the mere thought, but she consoled herself that his embarrassment when he finally remembered her from that long ago season of ’99 would be no less than hers. He would be ashamed to realize that he had forgotten a young lady with whom he had stood up at every ball, a young lady who had been the first guest in the house he bought for Rosalind when they returned from their honeymoon.
    Still, she could not deny that she would anticipate the approaching holidays with a great deal more pleasure if she weren’t obliged to spend them at Stenton—or if her host were someone other than Clive Rowland.
    Since those were impossibilities, she must either brazen out the charade she had so foolishly begun and hope that the moment of recognition would never come, or she must take the bull by its horns and confess.
    For a dignified lady of her age and position it should not be a difficult decision to make. But Elizabeth learned to her dismay that dignity, wisdom, and whatever other benefits she expected to have gained with advanced age, deserted her at the prospect of facing Stenton with a confession. The trouble was, she realized, she did not know how he would react. And neither did she know how she wanted him to react.
    Calling herself a coward of no mean order, she accepted Lady Astley’s invitation to luncheon and stayed with her employer long after Juliette left. She had always enjoyed reading to Lady Astley, but this afternoon not even the antics of Tom Jones in Henry Fielding’s novel could distract her. She was feeling properly blue-deviled, and all because of the man who had not recognized her when she wasn’t even certain that she wanted to be recognized. Dash it! It was quite insupportable.
    The arrival of the truant coach and the luggage provided an excuse to spend an hour or two in her chamber. When every one of her few gowns had been shaken and smoothed at least a half-dozen times, when the last handkerchief was neatly placed in a drawer, Elizabeth cast an imploring look at the rivulets of water running down the window panes. If only it would stop raining, she could go for a walk. Bracing sea air would lift her spirits in no time at all.
    But the rain did not stop, and by the time Juliette knocked on the door and offered to take Elizabeth to the Crimson Drawing Room where the company would assemble before dinner, she was still of two minds whether she wanted to confront his grace or wait cowardly until he recognized her. She could not even decide whether to take Juliette into her confidence.
    This last decision at least was taken out of her hands when they entered the Great Hall. The candles in the huge chandelier had not been lit, but the glow from several wall sconces and the two fireplaces was sufficient to show the look of surprise on the face of the gentleman entering the hall from another passage.
    Lord Nicholas raised a quizzing glass to his eye, but let it drop again immediately. “Elizabeth—Miss Gore-Langton! Where did you spring from?”
    “Good evening, Lord Nicholas. I arrived this morning with Sir John and Lady Astley.”
    She smiled as she shook hands, though inside she quaked with dismay. Lord Nicholas Mackay had been there