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  NINE LADIES DANCING

  Belles of Christmas

  DEBORAH M. HATHAWAY

  Copyright © 2019

  Nine Ladies Dancing by Deborah M. Hathaway

  All rights reserved.

  Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted, or distributed by any part or by any means without written consent of the author.

  Printed in the United States of America

  ©Copyright 2019 by Deborah M. Hathaway

  © 2019 Cover Art by Ashtyn Newbold

  First Printed Edition, November 2019

  This book is a work of fiction. All character names and personalities are entirely fictional, created solely in the imagination of the author. Any resemblance to any person living or dead is coincidental.

  The Belles of Christmas

  Regency Romance Christmas Series*

  Book 1 - Unmasking Lady Caroline by Mindy Burbidge Strunk

  Book 2 - Goodwill for the Gentleman by Martha Keyes

  Book 3 - The Earl’s Mistletoe Match by Ashtyn Newbold

  Book 4 - Nine Ladies Dancing by Deborah M. Hathaway

  Book 5 - A Duke for Lady Eve by Kasey Stockton

  *These books may be read in any order.

  Table of Contents

  Books by Deborah M. Hathaway

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Epilogue

  Preview of “A Duke for Lady Eve”

  Author’s Note

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Books by Deborah M. Hathaway

  Stand Alone Novels

  A Secret Fire

  When Two Rivers Meet

  To Warm a Wintered Heart

  A Cornish Romance Series

  On the Shores of Tregalwen, a Prequel Novella

  Behind the Light of Golowduyn, Book Two

  For the Lady of Lowena, Book Two

  Belles of Christmas Series

  Nine Ladies Dancing, Book Four

  For all those who love Christmas

  as much as I do.

  There’s nothing quite like

  the magic, the love, and the hope

  this time of year brings.

  Chapter One

  London, December 1813

  Crystal chandeliers, adorned with hundreds of candles, hung from vaulted ceilings, brightening the vast ballroom. By the warmth pervading the townhome, one would never guess the sun had already set, causing the frigid, December air to permeate through all of London.

  Despite the bitter cold raging outside, and the heat swirling round the masqueraders, Meg Baker had never felt more at ease. She stood in a cool, darkened corridor, tucked in the corner of the grand room. Out of sight from the dancers, parents, and gossipers alike, she tapped her foot in time with the music.

  From her secluded vantage point, her eyes trailed around the stunning elegance of the ballroom. White, delicate carvings of flowers and vines trimmed the towering, light blue walls, like frost at the edge of a frozen lake. The candles’ light twirled across the wooden flooring, the bright glow following the men and women as they danced with one another in their elaborate costumes.

  The image was a spectacle, indeed. A sight no one could help but admire. A sight everyone wished to be surrounded by. Everyone, that is, but Meg. Of course, any other evening she would have been one of the primary dancers, more than happy to take part in all the excitement until the sun rose again over the frozen Thames.

  But that night, she was far too distracted by a certain gentleman standing with her in the corridor to wish to be anywhere else but with him.

  “Should we really be hiding away in here, Matthew?” she asked in a hushed tone. “Are we not to dance, like the rest of the guests?”

  “I will not stop you,” Matthew replied. “If you wish to leave, you are welcome to. I know how you love to dance.” He paused, taking on the appearance of a faultless victim—rounded eyes, lowered lips, eyebrows together. “I’ll be fine on my own. Merely…lonely.”

  She propped a hand on her hip and shook her head half-heartedly. “You haven’t changed a bit, have you? You are still the same tease you have always been.”

  In an instant, his sorrowful expression lifted to one of mirth. “And I always will be.” He winked, sending her heart into a flapping frenzy.

  No, Matthew had not changed.

  But Meg’s feelings for him had.

  In the dim light of the corridor, she studied him. His light brown hair was tousled as usual, as if he’d just come in from a brisk ride on his gelding. She could barely see the hazel in his eyes, due to the simple black and white mask covering the upper portion of his face.

  Those eyes had always held a mischievous glint. Meg had noticed that straightaway when she’d first met him as a nine-year-old. Matthew and his twin sister Louisa were twelve when Matthew’s father inherited Hollridge House—a neighboring estate—from a distant cousin.

  She and the twins were inseparable, spending every moment they could together, up until Matthew had left for university. While he studied and schooled, Meg had courted, danced, and flirted with any gentleman she wished. But no one, she quickly discovered, could compare to Matthew.

  “Why are you staring at me like that?”

  Meg blinked, her cheeks burning as she realized she’d been gaping. “I was merely considering your costume. That is all.”

  He leaned against the side of the wall, crossing his feet in front of him as he folded his arms. “You take issue with it?”

  She scaled him head to toe. He’d always been much taller than she was by nearly a foot, but since starting school, his shoulders had filled in, and his jaw had squared. She’d forever considered him handsome, but now…now her pulse raced.

  His costume. Right. They were speaking of his costume. She eyed his simple black jacket, breeches, and shoes. “I would hardly consider what you are wearing a costume.”

  “I shall have you know, I worked very hard on this.”

  “But it is just a mask.”

  “A mask that took hours to find. I had to borrow this one from a friend. But if you are disappointed in my efforts, you must hold my parents responsible. They didn’t tell me we were attending the masquerade until after they retrieved me from Oxford yesterday.”

  “Of course.”

  Meg had been invited to join the Pratts on a short visit to London while Mr. and Mrs. Pratt brought Matthew back from Oxford. Meg’s parents were away with friends in Scotland for the winter months, as per their tradition, so Meg could either go with the Pratts or remain at home alone. As she had not seen Matthew since October, her decision had been easily made.

  “So you see?” Matthew continued. “I have had very little time to prepare a costume at all.”

  “Yes,” she said, “but what are you supposed to be? A mole?”

  “A badger, Miss Baker. A badger.” He did a flourishing gesture of his hands across his black and white mask. “Clearly.”

  “Very well, but that does not explain the green of your waistcoat. I don’t recall many badgers having olive-colored stomachs.”

  He stared down at his chest. “It’s but a small grass stain. One tends to pick them up when one crawls around on four little legs.”

  Her laughter echoed down the dark corridor behind them. Matthew’s warning scowl contrasted with his shining eyes.

  “Hush,” he chided. “I do not wish to be discover
ed. You may not mind dancing, but I do. Especially with insects.”

  She followed his eyes past a family of seven dressed as swans to where a lady attired in a bee costume hummed past them. “You very well could be stung by some of the women out there,” she said. “But you must know that a deer would never harm you.”

  “Especially not one as lovely as you.”

  She glowed. Her costume had taken ages to create. She did not think transforming into a doe would be so very difficult, but brown was not the most flattering of colors. Instead, she’d opted for a simple white dress to represent the white of the doe’s belly, and a short, reddish brown fur cape that draped down her back. Her tan mask hid her identity well, and though the black nose did not protrude far from her face, the long, rounded ears on her headpiece perfectly revealed what animal she portrayed.

  Compliments had abounded for her earlier in the evening, but they were all forgotten as Matthew’s words warmed her through.

  “Then perhaps you would not mind dancing again with said deer,” she said, rounding her eyes innocently, much like a doe’s. “After all, you know your mother would be upset if she found you in here, hiding away at yet another party.”

  She gave him a knowing look. It was no secret that Mrs. Pratt didn’t approve of her son’s desire to avoid Society and responsibility. She wanted him to stop attending school and to make more of an effort to help his father with matters of the estate Matthew was to inherit. Matthew, however, was not one for change, or socializing. Meg knew he’d always far preferred a quiet, simple life. One without pressure from his mother and an estate.

  He shrugged. “It is fortunate we have chosen such a secluded location then. She will not find us in here, nor will anyone else for that matter. And as for your suggestion to dance, we wouldn’t wish for the gossips to start on us already. Two dances in one evening would surely get them to talk.”

  Meg’s smile faltered. Was he truly worried over the potential gossip, or did he simply not wish to dance with her?

  “Perhaps we may find you another amiable partner?” He moved closer to the entryway of the corridor and the ballroom, peering at the dancers. “What about the gentleman in the tawny owl costume? Your colors would certainly match with his.”

  Meg eyed the man’s movements as he weaved in and out of the set of dancers in his brown, feathered regalia, as graceful as any bird. “We would match. However, he dances so fine, I fear I would appear more as a newborn fawn than as an elegant doe.”

  Matthew chuckled, his throat bobbing up and down—a sight only visible due to his poorly tied cravat. He’d always been too humble to care much about his image. Meg loved that about him.

  “Very well. No owl. What about the wolf in the black mask?”

  Meg narrowed her eyes. “I believe that is the Duke of Alverton. I did not know he was in attendance this evening. An amiable partner, I daresay. But, oh, do you see how his eyes remain on his partner, the fox with the jeweled mask? He’s clearly taken with her. No, I would never do for him.”

  She was clearly creating these issues merely to avoid dancing with any other gentleman, but Matthew hardly seemed aware as he scratched his jaw. “It would appear that choosing a partner for you is not as easy as I thought.” His eyes moved over the crowds. “Well, what of the squirrel dancing with my sister? If he is good enough for Louisa, he ought to be good enough for you, yes?”

  Meg followed his pointed finger to where Louisa Pratt danced in her fish costume. Colorful ribbons weaved in and out of her hair in loops resembling scales, and her mask covered most of her face in the same colorful pattern. She danced with a man whose orange, fur-covered shoulders stretched wide.

  “Oh, dear. Mr. Abbott. I was hoping her costume would have prevented him from finding her again.”

  Matthew raised a brow barely visible above his small mask. She leaned closer to him, a hint of his musky cologne wafting past her nose. “Mr. Abbott has taken a special interest in Louisa since we arrived in London. You are fortunate not to be acquainted with him. He’s as dull as pond water.”

  Matthew snorted, and she beamed at having elicited such a reaction. She returned her attention to Louisa as Mr. Abbott’s squirrel-clawed hands grasped Louisa’s gloves, no doubt scraping off the scales she’d so painstakingly painted onto the silk.

  “I’ve been doing my best to keep them apart,” Meg said. “You know as well as I how she cannot speak her mind when she is with people who make her uncomfortable. But the man is maddeningly persistent.”

  “Well he cannot be as persistent as you. No man could ever succeed against Meg Baker and her desires. That much I know.”

  Their eyes met. He was teasing her again, but his words brightened her hope. He was right. She had never been frightened to go after what she desired. Why should she be now? Of course, she did not know if Matthew had feelings for her beyond friendship, but it was time she discovered the truth.

  She drew a deep breath. “Well, if that is true, then I think I shall leave you here to find a dance partner for myself.”

  He turned toward her. “You’re really going to leave me here all alone?”

  “What other choice have I, Matthew? I wish to dance.”

  She took a step away, but Matthew’s words stopped her.

  “Wait a moment. Suppose I make you a little wager?”

  “You and your wagers,” she said, feigning annoyance, though she was only amused.

  Matthew had always loved making deals, ever since they were children. Their wagers ranged from Matthew reading Shakespeare with Meg if she stole pies for them to eat together, to seeing who could capture three hens before the other—the loser having to attempt to speak in French for the rest of the day. They were usually quite fair, though, and Matthew always saw to his end of a bargain, so she found herself not minding making deals with him.

  “Very well, what do you have in mind?”

  Clearly pleased with her willingness to play along, he replied. “I will dance with you again this evening if you remain in here until the next song begins.”

  Meg looked out at the dancers just beginning to form into sets. “They’ve not even started this dance though.”

  The mischief in his eyes grew.

  “Oh, very well,” she said. “We are in accordance then.” She sighed, trying very hard to hide the fact that she’d received the better end of the bargain. “So, tell me. How was university? I’ve hardly—”

  “There you are!”

  Their eyes darted to the front hall where a tall, silhouetted woman stood before them. Her hands were on her hips, her back straight and head held high. “Matthew Charles Pratt. What do you think you are doing back here?”

  “Good evening, Mother,” Matthew said. He exchanged glances with Meg, his eyes shining, despite his mother’s firm tone. They should’ve known Mrs. Pratt would find them.

  Meg inadvertently took a step back. With how often she stayed at Hollridge House with Matthew and Louisa, Meg considered Mrs. Pratt a mother. The woman had always been kind to her, but Mrs. Pratt’s sheer height—she was almost as tall as Matthew—made her a rather intimidating specimen. Nearly as intimidating as the fire in her eyes with which she now regarded her son.

  “I ask you again,” Mrs. Pratt said, “what are you doing back here?”

  Matthew shrugged. “I thought it rather obvious. I’m merely enjoying Meg’s company.”

  Meg pressed her lips together. Mrs. Pratt might be intimidating, but it was always humorous to watch Matthew talk his way out of his mother’s many reproaches.

  Mrs. Pratt huffed, leaning out of the corridor and motioning her hand in quick jerking movements to someone out of their sight.

  Meg and Matthew exchanged glances, and Mr. Pratt soon appeared in the front hall behind his wife. As they moved forward, their faces finally became more visible.

  Mrs. Pratt had lowered her disguise, her face every bit as red as the robin’s mask attached to the stick in her hand. Mr. Pratt, dressed to match his w
ife, seemed more amused than anything.

  “You see?” Mrs. Pratt said to her husband, tossing her head to Matthew. The soft brown feathers fluttered on the sleeves of her gown. “He is exactly where we thought he would be.”

  “Yes, I can see that,” Mr. Pratt said.

  Meg shifted her feet. This wasn’t fair for her to remain in the background when she was the one to blame for their defection.

  She took a step forward. “Forgive me, Mrs. Pratt, Mr. Pratt. I am also to blame for this. I wished to speak away from the crowds also, but I did not intend to…”

  Mrs. Pratt shook her head. Her features softened as she turned to face Meg. “Oh, my dear. You mustn’t think we are upset with you for a single moment. Matthew, however…” She glanced sidelong at her son.

  Matthew held up his hands in defense. “Did you not hear Meg? She has all but admitted this tête-à-tête was both of our doing. I merely came along for—”

  “Oh, do you ever stop your prattling?” Mrs. Pratt rested a hand over her closed eyes.

  Matthew shot a devilish grin towards Meg, who shook her head in delight. He’d always received an inordinate amount of pleasure from teasing others.

  “Now,” Mrs. Pratt continued, “as you shall have plenty of time to visit with Meg over Christmastide, I do not think—”

  “You will be spending it with us again?”

  Matthew’s eyes were on Meg. For a single moment, she wondered if he was unhappy with the fact that she would be with his family at Hollridge for the coming fortnight. But when his eyes brightened, her heart soared higher than the ballroom’s lofty ceiling.

  “Yes,” she replied. “My parents are still visiting with the Malcolms in Scotland, so your mother has invited me to stay with you all.”

  “Excellent,” he said.

  Growing up, Meg had often stayed with the Pratts for the winter while her parents were with their friends, but last year, the Bakers had remained home for the holidays. Of course Meg loved her parents, but she far preferred a winter with the Pratts, and with Matthew.