Chapter Text
Dearest Gentle Reader,
Did you miss me? The Ton’s early spring reprieve has come to a quiet end and, though it is certainly long overdue, it is high time for my return. The haven of the countryside could only conceal you for so long, after all. I must say, you have a thrilling season to come if the rumors are as fruitful as they appear.
The marriage mart will be in full swing, starting the night of the spring equinox with the first ball hosted by former Viscountess Dowager Wheeler. It is sure to be a thrilling evening indeed. A masquerade, if you can believe it, will be the very thing we need to lead us into a season of mystique and tension. How could one pass the opportune event to disguise oneself and be bolder for it?
Allegedly, the Queen has accepted the invitation. Thus, the title of the season’s Diamond is up for the taking. While there are no confirmed debuts, I have my suspicions. Namely, the Ton’s newest addition: Lady Maxine Mayfield. She has yet to make herself known in society, but she has been previously seen walking about the West gardens with a chaperone in tow. Lady Angela Cowper is primed to make her appearance before the Queen, a likely candidate to catch a few eyes. Lady Susanne Bingham will be making her second appearance as well, following in the footsteps of her many siblings. However, her family name has yet to draw more than a few askance glances.
Whispers of younger ladies making their debut have been circling. Lady Erica Sinclair has officially come of age, as did Miss Tina Turnbow, and the pair have been spotted shopping for the latest fashions together. The pool of debutantes this year will be the largest this author has ever seen.
Though the Diamond sets the expectations of the season, we have several eligible men in search of a wife. Lord Lucas Sinclair has yet to find a match, undoubtedly a result of his insufferably high standards and somewhat dubious inclinations. Lord Dustin Henderson will likely be in search of a wife as well, as his brief courtship with Lady Susanne Bingham fizzled out far too early last year. Of course, we all await Lord William Byers to find himself a woman, having been in search of a love-match in part on behalf of his mother. As for our Viscount, Lord Michael Wheeler should be rejoining the marriage mart as his travels about Europe have now ceased. If only there were a beauty befitting such a man, perhaps he would have found his dancing partner long ago.
It should be expected to have a brilliant season ahead of us…
Mike threw the newsletter onto the cushion beside him. He was sick just reading the words. He did not want the women on the page. In fact, he preferred the silence of the parlor, and he would much prefer to read the letters Will had sent him during his time abroad. Still, he sat awaiting the company of his family.
Nancy, who had found a husband two seasons ago, still resided in the Wheeler House. He loathed the thought of seeing her again, if only because of the reminder that he had yet to find a wife. His younger sister, Holly, had yet to make her debut and would likely bombard him with questions. She had always been overeager to debut.
“Viscountess Wheeler and Lady Byers are here to see you now,” a distant voice said.
He didn’t pay it any mind. His eyes snapped up to his mother and sister. They stood in the doorway, almost as though they couldn’t believe it, before his mother enveloped him in a hug.
“Oh, dearest,” she said in his ear. “Why didn’t you tell us you were coming home?”
Mike pulled away, holding her at arm’s length. His gaze drifted to Nancy, whose gloveless hand rested on his shoulder. It was still strange to see her with a ring, glittering and elegant on her finger. She had been married nearly two years prior, after making her late debut as the season’s long-predicted Diamond. Though her courtship with another Lord, something Harrington, fell through, she managed to secure a love-match with the older brother of Mike’s longest friend.
“He did write that he would be stopping by before the start of the season,” Nancy said, a knowing smile on her lips. “Can we expect your stay to be permanent this time around?”
The implication was that he would finally enter the ring in search of an eligible debutante.
Mike rolled his eyes and departed to sit in the chair he always took to whenever he was home. He crossed one leg over his knee. “If you’re inquiring whether or not I will be finding a wife this year, the answer is still no.”
“Michael, you’ve been out for years now. You really should consider it. There are many lovely ladies who are coming of age, and even more who have awaited your return for the chance to catch your eye.”
He scoffed. “Then that mistake is their own.”
Mike had little interest in the frivolous girls of the Ton. They were daft, brainless in a way that made every conversation a unique form of torture. The women of the aristocracy were merely mannequins dressed up in silk and ribbons, not at all what Mike wanted to be tied to for the rest of his days. Yet, the fates have played the cruel trick of bringing him into the world with a title already hanging over his head.
It was his obligation to marry, to give his late father a new heir to take on the name as the Viscount. Not for the first time, he wished Nancy had been born a boy so that she might bear the weight of reproducing the future of their family.
“Are you really going to go another year unwed?” Nancy laced her fingers together and placed them atop her knees. She was always so formal with him.
“Did I travel a fortnight just to be questioned about the status of my independence?” He asked.
His mother tilted her head, eyes a conflicting mix of sternness and sympathy. “I would appreciate the relief of knowing I’ll have a grandson on the way. At this rate, Holly will be married and with child before either of you even think to take a partner to bed–”
“Mother!” Nancy gasped. “What happens with my husband is none of your concern.”
“Yes, please don’t make me imagine what Nancy and Jonathan get up to behind closed doors,” He said.
Nancy shot him a glare.
“Where is Jonathan? I figured the Byers would see my carriage out front and already be here to celebrate my arrival.” Mike glanced at the window.
The Byers lived right across from them, a few quick strides was all it took to go from door to door. It had been a long time since he had seen them, since he had seen Will. While he was away, Will had been the one to write to him the most. It seemed he was the only one Mike could regale with his tales of the Parisian orchards and Italian seas. Not even Lucas or Dustin were particularly engaged in their exchanged letters.
“They will be attending the ball this evening. You will be joining us, won’t you?” It wasn’t so much a question as it was a firm suggestion from his mother.
“Of course I will,” he said. “Who else would drink up all of the brandy?”
His mother raised an eyebrow, a warning not to push his luck. “Perhaps your name will also find its way onto more than one lady’s card tonight. Entertain me, Michael, and have a few meaningful conversations with the young girls in attendance. I curated the guest list specifically for you.”
He sighed, rubbing a hand over his cheek. “Fine.”
She smiled, pleased with herself, as though she wasn’t condemning him to hours' worth of agonizing boredom. A maid came into the room and placed a tray with tea and cakes on the table closest to her. She poured a dutiful cup, handing it over to his mother, before fleeing out of the room.
“Besides, I hear your friends will be making their rounds with the debutantes tonight. Lady Byers is insistent on her son finding love this year after her success with Jonathan last season. I do believe she will have her work cut out for her, though, if what was written in Whistledown is true.” She took a long sip.
Mike’s attention snapped back to her. “What has she written about him?”
“Were you not just reading the latest issue when we came in?” Nancy asked.
“I didn’t get very far. You know I only read the gossip columns as a last resort.”
It was true. While Will had always eagerly awaited Whistledown’s weekly deliveries, Mike didn’t care much for the rumor mill she churned out. He waited for Will to tell him the happenings of the Ton.
“Well, it appears that your friend has been struggling to step away from the wall for some time. As you know, you’re often chained to it alongside him, only you happen to turn away from any hint of a prospect, whereas Mr. Byers can’t seem to hold a conversation with a young lady, much less dance with one. I don’t believe he would be able to find a match at all.”
Mike tried his best not to let the seething anger show on his face. It was no fault of Will’s that he hadn’t found a suitable partner. In fact, Mike would argue that Will was far too good for the ladies of the Ton. He had genuine interests, hobbies, and aspirations much larger than marriage.
The two of them had agreed not to marry until they absolutely had to. They wanted to savor their youth, spend afternoons reading or drawing, respectively, rather than having tea with hollow-headed young women. It shouldn’t surprise him, though, that Will’s mother was dedicated to finding him a wife. She always preached about finding a love-match ever since the departure of her former husband, who had been caught having an affair. It was a scandal back then to leave a woman with the house and all of the finances, but her title outranked that of her husband and—with the blessing of the Queen—she was able to keep herself and her boys in high society.
“And what if he doesn’t wish to marry at all?” Mike asked.
“As much as you want to live out your days as a bachelor, Will does not,” Nancy said. “A lot has changed since you’ve been away, brother. Your friends are no longer boys. I made the assumption that wandering about Europe would have pushed you into manhood as well.”
Mike bristled. Will hadn’t mentioned anything about partnership or love in his letters. The topic never really came about in their conversations, whether they took place on parchment or on the swings in his garden.
“That isn’t like him,” Mike said.
“Maybe not the William you remember,” his mother placed her teacup down with a soft clink of the porcelain, “but both of you are two and twenty. In just two days time, he will be three and twenty, and you are not far behind him. Your sister and brother-in-law might have taken their sweet time to be engaged, but it is only because of your father’s death that her debut was delayed so much. It was disgraceful that we waited so long to present her to society.”
Nancy looked down at her hands, twisting her ring around her finger.
His mother leveled him with a look. “Michael, you must promise to try to find yourself a match this year, or I will do it for you.”
He looked out the window to the house across the street. Desperately, he wanted to go there. The Byers’ home was smaller, sure, but it was warmer and as familiar to him as the walls of his own bedroom.
“Of course, mother.” He heard himself say, but the words felt untrue even as he said them.
—
“Are you sure you haven’t seen them?”
Steve’s voice was as irritating as ever. Dustin rolled his eyes, gradually growing more vexed with his cousin. They weren’t related, not by blood, but they shared a home nonetheless. The Harrington name was survived only by Steve after the passing of both of his parents when they were traveling to the Americas. Dustin’s mother had welcomed him into their home with open arms, claiming the need to consolidate their family. He had to admit, he liked the company just fine at the start. He always felt as though the house was too quiet, larger than necessary for just himself and his mother.
Steve was the stepson of his aunt and became something like an adopted brother to him the longer they lived under the same roof. It just so happened he was growing more comfortable disrupting Dustin’s studies.
“Have you considered that you misplaced them in your own chambers instead of tearing through mine?” He asked, eyes never leaving the page. He had read the same line about the Queen’s botanical gardens at least ten times since Steve had entered his room.
“And lose out on the opportunity to burden you with my search for my cufflinks? Never.”
“Why not use the ones you purchased last week?” Dustin put the book down, and he blinked rapidly at the wall. He already felt a headache coming on.
Steve flopped back onto Dustin’s bed, wrinkling the sheets the maids had taken the time to flatten and tuck. The loose wrists of his white undershirt made his sleeves resemble wings in a way.
Dustin stared at him. “Do you think they have been stuck to my ceiling?” He asked, voice bored and flat.
“Am I not able to simply enjoy your company?”
“If you are weary of the ball tonight, no one is forcing you to go. I could say you’ve fallen ill.”
Steve sat up, propped on his elbows. “I am not worried about seeing Nancy if that’s what you’re implying.”
“Lady Byers,” Dustin corrected, “and I never said a word about her. Besides, it's not as though this is the first time you’re seeing one another since her marriage. You were quite literally in attendance for it. You encountered them at the park this past Sunday.”
“I am not talking about her. You know it wasn’t a love-match. She did not reciprocate my feelings and, to be quite honest, our ideal futures were not compatible.”
Dustin recalled the previous season’s grievances. Steve had pursued a courtship with Miss Nancy Wheeler, freshly debuted despite being on the brink of what was traditionally a spinster’s age. Her beauty, of course, dispelled any comeuppance surrounding her age. She was crowned the season’s Diamond regardless, likely a result of the mature nature of her looks. Besides, the Wheeler family was most reputable and Dustin knew better than anyone that Mike was bound to be the big catch of the year if he succumbed to his mother’s wishes.
It was his second year trying to find a match and, though he tried as hard as Lucas, he didn’t have the same luck his friend had with the ladies of Mayfair. He was an academic, after all, and most of the young women preferred to discuss matters of stitching or, God forbid, breeding. He hadn’t much interest in either, frankly, though he supposed that was a result of not finding the right fit for himself.
“Yet, your luck with women has seemed to falter over the last year.” Dustin remarked.
“I don’t exactly see you being swarmed by dance partners,” Steve said, a bite in his words.
Dustin huffed out a laugh and stood, making his way to his wardrobe. “That will not be the case this season, I assure you.”
“Care to wager on that?”
Dustin twisted to look back at Steve, who now sat perched on the edge of his bed. He tossed his watch and caught it with the same hand, as though it were a ball.
“What might the stakes be?” He asked.
Steve shrugged. “Loser treats the winner to the services provided by the gentleman’s club.”
Dustin scoffed. He had only been to the gentleman’s clubhouse twice before. Once, on the eve of Mike’s departure for his tour of the continent, and again a few months before to celebrate the start of the new year. He was accompanied by Lucas and Will that night, but the latter had left in haste after Lucas had gone to bed with a woman whose name none of them learned.
“You’ve gone mad,” he said.
“Don’t deny it. I’ve heard stories from Sinclair. You’re no stranger to fulfilling your urges one way or another.” Steve smirked as he spoke.
He contemplated it for a moment. If either of them managed to take their leave from the ball with a promise of a serious courtship, it would likely be the winner’s last opportunity to engage in such lewd acts.
“You know what? I’ll take that bet.”
Steve stood and clamped a hand on his shoulder, looking him in the eye. “One way or another, one of us will be finding a match this year. Whether that be in the bedrooms at the club or at the altar.”
Dustin swatted him away. “Go on, then, put on your costume. I’d like to arrive early to see Mike before his mother shoves him onto the dance floor.”
Steve left with flourish, an exaggerated bow, and a loud slam of the door.
He sifted through his clothing, white blouses and vests in an array of orange tones. His mother’s favorite color, of course, and a trademark of their family name. Dustin didn’t care much for the color, but it seemed to dominate his wardrobe in spite of that. He pulled one of the black undershirts out and the diamond-patterned silver vest. It was the shade of smoke. He had it made specifically for the occasion, unable to wear such a dark palette on a regular basis.
Costumes were encouraged; masks, required. He didn’t know exactly what look he was going for other than mystery.
His mask was a plain, black scrap of fabric with no unnecessary ornaments. It was completely against his mother’s wishes, but she had always preferred the flashy, kaleidoscopic eyesore of high society fashion. Dustin much preferred a less stimulating look.
Perhaps that was another reason for his failure to find a wife last season. He despised the emphasis on grandeur, the extreme level of decoration that adorned the debutantes’ dresses. While it might have worked for some, namely Steve, it was a nauseating ordeal to look at the butterflies, flowers, and wild patterns formed from fabric.
He tossed the clothes onto his bed and stripped himself of his shirt. In moments like this, he was grateful not to have been born a girl in need of a lady’s maid. He liked the solitude, preferred the silence of dressing himself, so that he might have the guaranteed time to think.
His mind wandered to thoughts of Whistledown. The issue arrived just that morning and his mother read through it in haste to find out which girls would be eligible for her son. Dustin had skimmed it shortly thereafter. A few names caught his eye, Lady Mayfield to be exact. He had yet to see this elusive woman who apparently preferred to keep her identity a secret until the ball that evening. His mother encouraged him to pursue Erica, but the thought made his stomach turn over uncomfortably. She was practically a little sister to him, more like family than a friend.
He could be worse off, though. Will had been cited as the town’s least prospective suitor, albeit ambiguously so. It wasn’t a secret to the Ton that, after the unexpected success of Will’s brother in securing the Diamond, all eyes were on the Byers family. Not only them, but Mike’s return was bound to spark gossip at the Wheelers’ ball. They were all looking to marry for different reasons.
Lucas, the rake he was, had even committed to finding himself a match this season. Granted, he had plenty of young ladies who had thrown themselves at him in previous years that he rejected in favor of less honorable pursuits. Dustin envied him. He envied Mike, too, of course, but he did not envy the pressure put upon him. The title of the Viscount was a much weightier burden in comparison to being a mere Lord. In fact, if Dustin so desired, he needn’t marry at all.
Except, he did want to.
Dustin was determined to find someone compatible. It did not need to necessarily be a love-match, but he hoped that he would at least find a partner he could also call a friend. That someone needed to be curious, intelligent, honest, and kind. If she were beautiful, that would be a benefit.
Last year, he attempted to court Lady Bingham, but that prospect ultimately fell through when she admitted with champagne-flushed cheeks that she wanted as many children as she had siblings. Dustin promptly ended things. He liked children, sure, but they were not something he truly wanted. If he had to sire one, he would, for the sake of his family name, but he would much rather spend his fortune on his scientific interests.
A knock sounded at his door.
“You may enter,” he said.
It cracked open, revealing his mother’s oldest maid, who had become something like a fixture in the house. “Your carriage is prepared for you, Sir. I do believe I recall you saying you would be riding along with Lord Sinclair and his sister. Do you wish to stop at their residence?”
“Ah, yes, thank you. Please do tell Lord Harrington that he will need to prepare his own carriage. Mr. Munson can be his footman for the evening, so that he might not whine about not having company later.” Dustin smoothed out the front of his vest. “Is mother still not well enough to attend?”
“She has not yet woken up from her nap, my Lord.”
“See to it that she does. You know how upset she gets when her routine is disrupted.”
“Yes, sir.”
He looked back in the mirror. “Is that all?”
The maid cleared her throat. “Lord Wheeler sent word that you have been invited to his home for drinks in his parlor tomorrow evening. I expect you will confirm your attendance with him personally this evening, but if you would like me to formally accept—”
“No, that’s alright.” He placed his mask over his eyes. “I have no choice in the matter, regardless. The Wheelers always have a way of getting what they want.”
—
Lucas adjusted the collar of his jacket. He had gone for a pirate-inspired look that was surely going to turn a few heads. It wasn’t often he had an excuse to air on the side of indecency, but a masquerade warranted a few buttons undone, just enough to expose a bit of skin. He wanted to draw attention.
Plenty of freshly debuted young ladies would be in attendance. He half-expected the queen herself to arrive, if only to assess this year’s eligible bachelors and candidates for the title of Diamond. He was sure his sister would make a fine enough Diamond, but she didn’t seem to concern herself with the fight for it. She seemed contented to make her debut, but not Hellbent on finding herself a match in the same year. Most girls wanted to be wed within a month of being out in society.
That being said, Erica was his sister after all. The Sinclairs had an affinity for the vibrancy of life, indulging themselves in pleasures that would not make for proper dinner conversation. His parents, though arranged in marriage, grew into a love-match in due part because of their marvelous compatibility in bed. He knew of it only because his father sat him down to have a conversation the year he came of age.
“Lord Sinclair?” A voice sounded behind him.
Lucas turned, face splitting into a grin. “Ah, Miss Holloway, to what do I owe the pleasure?”
The maid curtsied at being addressed. “I only came to inform you that Lord Henderson is waiting for you outside in his carriage. Miss Sinclair is already at the door. I believe she is eager to take her leave.”
“I’ll be right there.” He assured her, dismissing her with a wave of his hand.
He grabbed the dark green mask, lined with gold thread in a subtle oceanic design. The costume wasn’t over the top, but it certainly was impressive considering how long he procrastinated his fitting.
His descent on the stairs was marked by the sharp echo of his heel as it met marble. Erica was already staring at him impatiently. Her hair was like a waterfall’s cascade in the form of braids down her back. Glittering gems and silver charms were woven into the strands. She wore a deep red gown, satin, embellished with hand-sewn roses. She looked as though she had stepped out of a storybook.
“Are you ready for your first ball as this season’s future Diamond, sister?” He asked, throwing an arm around her shoulders as the staff opened the door for them.
“Not the Diamond.” She rolled her eyes but made no move to get away from him. “You look about half-sprung already.”
He waved a noncommittal hand in the air. “I may have indulged in some of father’s gin before dressing myself.”
There was a lingering chill in the breeze, a phantom of winter lingered. Dustin’s footman opened the door to the carriage for them.
“Of course you did,” she said. “I can smell it on you, very impressive seduction tactic. I’m sure the debutantes will love that.”
He held out a hand for her to step into the carriage. “Please, you know the Dowager Wheeler will have the place smelling like the patisserie.”
“The patisserie? Why would we go there?” Dustin asked as Lucas took his place on the bench at his side. The door to the carriage was shut behind him, and they were already on the move.
“We aren’t,” Erica said. She took out her fan and began to flutter it with restless hands. It was more likely to soothe her nerves than actually cool her down. “Let’s just hope my brother doesn’t make a drunken fool of himself at my first ball.”
Dustin laughed at that. “You somehow intend to make the night worth your while, then?”
Erica glared at him. “I’m delighted just to make my first appearance in society with Tina. She informed me that she received her invitation the same day I did. I don’t believe she expected to be welcomed in.”
“The Wheelers aren’t keen to exclude anyone. Dowager Wheeler might be strict with her children, but her home has always been open to anyone and everyone,” Lucas said, then looked to Dustin. “Do you remember when we were children, and we’d run about the halls of the house chasing one another? If I recall, we were constantly mid-battle with a dragon.”
“Yes, and Mike always had to be the knight in shining armor, taking the final blow.” Dustin mused. “The few times you joined us,” he spoke to Erica, then, “you refused to be our princess in need of saving.”
Lucas clapped his hands together, letting out a burst of laughter. “That’s right! You loathed being the victim of our imagination.”
“That’s because if any of you have the decorum and gentle nature of a princess, it’s Lord Byers.” She looked out the window, watching as the houses grew in size as they entered the better-off side of town. “You’d think he would be crowned the Diamond if he weren’t so incompetent with finding a suitor.”
The thought made the boys collapse into one another with laughter. The ordeal was quite unfortunate. Will had suffered through the last two years to even approach the young ladies his mother pushed him toward. It wasn’t as though Lady Byers was aggressive in her methods of finding her son a wife. It was true she was insistent on a love-match for her sons, so she was really just attempting to push her son to put himself out there.
The Byers boys were seldom out and about in Mayfair. They much preferred to stay indoors. Jonathan and Nancy had pursued the majority of their own courtship in the Wheelers’ drawing room. They had talked at length, according to Mike, as he was forced to chaperone. Soon after their conversations became a near-daily occurrence, it became clear that Steve’s fanciful efforts to win the eldest daughter’s heart were all for naught. Jonathan had asked for Mike’s blessing.
Mike described the event as entirely absurd, feeling odd that someone three years his senior was asking him for permission to marry his older sister. Lucas had no idea how he would feel when the day came that a man would ask their father for his sister’s hand in marriage.
The carriage pulled to a stop in front of the magnificent fortress of Wheeler House. The front garden was alight with the flickering flame of a dozen candles, each poised in elegant silver settings. Dowager Wheeler spared no expense when it came to a ball, often going above and beyond the standards of the Ton. In truth, her parties were of the same grade as the Queen’s. Lucas always did love being in attendance of them, using it as an excuse to make conversation with young ladies and drink himself into a stupor.
Tonight, though, he planned on having more meaningful conversations with them. He hoped Will would forgive him. The other boy, the oldest of their little group, was practically adhered to the wall at every party. It wasn’t unusual for one of them to stick by his side, his usual partner being Mike himself, but, given the pressure on their friend this season, he would be shocked if his mother would let him off his leash long enough to stray to the edges of the dance floor.
The carriage door opened to his left.
A footman greeted them with a simple bow. “House Wheeler, my Lords and Ladyship.”
Lucas hopped out first, followed by Dustin, who lent his hand to Erica to ease her down. Her mask glimmered in the soft orange light of the house. It was completely emblazoned by small red stones that rippled like petals folding outward against her cheeks. He had to admit, his sister gave the impression of grace.
“Shall we go, then?” He offered an arm to her, and she took it easily.
She had been practicing for this moment. Lucas had watched her during her lessons, dancing, hostessing, and all of the societal rules he never bothered to overconcern himself with. He had his fun in society, and that was all he wished for up until this season. He wouldn’t abandon his character, but he was more willing to limit his adventurous behavior if it meant finding a wife.
They walked together, all three of them with their arms interlocked, up the steps and to the door of the home. Lucas knocked three short times and stepped back. The door opened to reveal the lavish foyer of the home. It was completely transformed into a fairytale-esque dream. The walls were covered in floral arrangements and vines. The candlelight seemed to make the entire room come alive, like miniature flecks of trapped sunlight.
“Oh my stars.” Erica breathed.
When Lucas looked at her, he caught the small smile on her lips and the look of absolute wonder in her eye.
“Is it everything you hoped your first party would be?” He asked.
“Just wait until she sees the ballroom.”
Lucas’s gaze snapped forward to be met with Mike, dressed head to toe in striking silver dresswear. His vest had what were undoubtedly real rubies sewn into the shape of a heart over his chest. He had yet to put on his jacket, or perhaps he—like Dustin—would be forgoing it altogether. After months of not seeing his friend, he hadn’t quite prepared himself for how much he had changed.
Mike had always been tall, the tallest of all of them, but it seemed his body had begun to fill out to compensate for his lengthy stature. His shoulders were broader. He wasn’t muscular in the way Lucas was, but he had a certain edge to his features that made him look stronger. His hair had grown out as well, curlier and more unruly, like when they were children.
“Who are you and what have you done with Viscount Michael Theodore Wheeler?” Lucas broke away from his sister to embrace his friend. “I hadn’t realized you could leave a boy and return a man.”
Mike shoved him away and met Dustin with a firm handshake before pulling him in as well.
“I see the two of you haven’t changed at all. Does time stop whenever I’m not in Mayfair?” He asked, nodding in acknowledgment of Erica. “Lady Sinclair.”
“No, you don’t get to go all formal on me now,” she said. “I’ve seen you cry over a sting from a bumblebee. I’m Erica to you.”
Mike grinned, a sly thing. “Then you should do me the honor of being your first dance this evening. My mother has made it her life’s mission to torture me with the other young ladies on the guest list, and you can be the familiar calm before the storm of painfully dull conversation.”
“Are we among the first to arrive, then?” Dustin asked. “Considering you haven’t already been sent into the battle of the dance floor.”
Mike gestured for them to follow him. “You just so happen to be among the early guests. The first of my friends, anyway.”
Lucas raised a brow. “So Will hasn’t arrived yet? I thought he would be attached to your hip the moment you arrived.”
The other boy’s mouth twitched, a furrow in his brow. “As did I, but mother said he was… preoccupied. I assume you read the latest Whistledown this morning.”
“Obviously.” Erica piped up, always excitable when it pertained to Whistledown. She lived for gossip and, before her debut, she scoured every line of her issues to learn all there was to know about the Ton. “Did you see what she wrote about me?”
Mike chuckled to himself. “Yes, of course, she wrote of all of us. There didn’t seem to be a single name not mentioned.”
“She just had to mention my failed courtship with Lady Bingham. I swear, I’m being turned into a target for public humiliation.” Dustin groaned.
“It did not seem she was fond of anyone but you, Mike. If I were to wager, she’s setting you up to be the catch of the season.” Lucas clamped a hand on his shoulder. “As if you need any help with that.”
If the foyer had been a sight, the ballroom was downright fantastical. Botanicals covered the room, floor-to-ceiling arrangements of the most exquisite blossoms Lucas hadn’t seen since the prior season. Deep blue drapes occupied the blank spaces on the walls, giving the impression that the room had been dressed in twilight. Stunning candelabras lit the room, catching in the glint of the most decadent chandelier Lucas had ever been witness to. A few eager guests lingered in corners, talking in soft, polite tones that Lucas had long since grown tired of.
Dowager Wheeler milled about the catering tables, commanding maids to adjust plates and glasses at will. She perked up at the sound of their chatter.
“Oh! Lord and Lady Sinclair, Lord Henderson, how lovely it is to see you.” She fluttered over to them. She appeared to be dressed in what Lucas could only describe as moonlight personified. Her silver gown had an undertone of blue, the Wheeler family’s special shade, and was patterned with clusters of clear crystal.
She took Erica’s hands in her own. “My dear, how has your debut treated you so far? Have you set your eyes on any of the gentlemen that will be attending tonight?”
The pair chittered on about whatever it is ladies talked about, leaving the three men behind.
“With any luck, she’ll be so dedicated to helping Erica that she will completely forget about you,” Lucas said, locking eyes with Mike.
“Don’t be daft, even I’m not that deluded.”
Dustin tipped his chin toward the catering table. “Care for a drink?”
“I have never wanted for anything more,” Lucas said.
—
Will’s fingers tugged at his collar for what was likely the hundredth time since they left the estate. He twisted the ring around his index finger, anything to occupy his hands. His jacket made his skin burn, and he wished he had been born a girl, if only to have the excuse to carry a fan with him. Tonight would mark his third season as a potential suitor with nothing to show for it whatsoever. He wasn’t like his friends. Lucas could have any girl of his choosing; he simply didn’t care to be married off yet, though Will had his suspicions that he would be putting his bachelor life to rest this year. Dustin had courted successfully enough last year and only ended things with Lady Bingham because of a disagreement he chose to keep to himself. Even Mike, his closest friend, would be prime for the marriage mart.
Will didn’t want to marry. Well, that was untrue. He did, but he couldn’t. His interests were… of other convictions. His mother didn’t know. She never would if he had any say in his future, but he loathed having to lie to her. After her success in pushing his brother to propose, his mother had sat Will down and told him that he should keep an open mind this year, that he could find his love-match just like Jonathan had.
He had said that he would never fall in love. It wasn’t spoken in anger, not even sadness, it was a resignation born of a falsehood. Because Will had fallen in love. He was so in love it tore him apart. He was so in love that every shared look, every word written, and every brief touch left him burning like a clandestine star.
Will was in love, but the object of his affection was wrong in every sense of the word.
“Stop your listless fidgeting.” Jonathan spoke gently. He put a hand on Will’s shoulder, stopping their stride to the door.
The front garden was illuminated by the wide open door. The grass and bushes were flooded with yellow light. A few older men and women lingered outside, walking among the greenery.
“It’s going to be fine. If you can’t find a dance partner, you may steal Nancy for a turn or two, okay?” The mask he wore shielded the majority of his expression, but his eyes were sincere. “Besides, Mike is going to be thrilled to see you after so long.”
That was what he was afraid of. Mike had told him every detail of his adventures, omitting perhaps the less-than-proper details if Lucas’s theories were true. The women found in the gritty alleyways of European cities were of the most experienced, and Mike had surely taken to their teachings in the bedroom. The thought made an overwhelming sense of nausea befall his stomach.
Mike, the person Will held closest to his heart, had spent an entire year traveling the continent and had told him how extraordinary it had been. He had seen nearly all that the world has to offer. Grand palaces, fields of crops and flowers spanning miles, the sea at dawn, he had said to Will, he wished he had his talent with paints, so that he might capture the image and bring it home to him. Will thought his words worked just as well, always having a poetic way with them that made even mundane sentiments sound romantic.
“Come, let us greet your friend and welcome him home.” Jonathan steered him inside.
His brother had dressed in all black with feathers sewn into the lapels of his suit jacket. Even his mask had been forged from obsidian-colored feathers. It was complementary of Nancy’s ensemble she had arranged. The black swan and the white swan, intertwined and beautiful. Will had to contain his jealousy of the blatant implication of their coordinating outfits.
He had felt somewhat childish in his costume. It was made from purple velvet, adorned with beaded stars along his sleeves and down the front of his vest. His mask was a simple cut from the same fabric and twinkled with gold flecks. The craft was impeccable, that was to be sure, but he felt like a fool in it regardless.
Inside, the sound hit him like a wave crashing upon the rocks. Jonathan kept a steady hand on his back as they wound their way through the clusters of ladies and gentlemen. Will’s eyes tracked every movement that occurred around him. Piercing laughter, clinking glasses, and footsteps blended together in a cacophonous echo. He felt distant from himself, out of body in a way that had frequently infiltrated his mind ever since Mike left Mayfair.
His heart pounded in his chest. He felt distinctly unremarkable. Will picked at the skin around his fingernails.
“Take a turn about the room, I’m sure your friends are here somewhere. I’m going to look for Nancy, alright?” Jonathan squeezed his shoulder and departed before he could get a word in.
His eyes scanned the room, frantic to find one of his friends or his mother, who had arrived before them. He longed to have her near, to ease his anxieties. Will had always been close with his family, even moreso after the departure of his father some ten years ago. He clung to his mother’s arm at every party since he entered society. At that very moment, he wished for the universe to take mercy on him and allow him to slip easily through the crowd unnoticed.
A shoulder knocked into his own, and he jolted back. A girl looked back at him with wide, brown eyes framed by white lace. She looked like a fawn. Her hair was down in a wavy, loose style that framed her face so perfectly he almost wondered if he was hallucinating the whole thing.
“I’m so sorry,” she said. “Did I hurt you? I was in such a hurry, I didn’t see you.” Her voice was smooth, solid and deep, like melted honey.
“No, I’m alright. Thank you.”
She offered him a small smile before taking off around the outskirts of the dance floor. Will had never seen her befor,e and he wondered if she was one of the new prospects introduced this season. If he had met her, he didn’t recognize her. Then again, that was the point of a masquerade, he supposed.
Will drifted, feeling lightheaded, toward the back of the room. He spotted a few of the young ladies he had attempted and pathetically failed to court last season. Will kept his head down, gaze on the floor.
“Will, darling!” His mother’s voice snapped him out of his head.
He looked up and felt his heart fall through the floor. Next to his mother, Mike stood like an angel on earth. Will felt his mouth dry. He was the most radiant Will had ever seen him.
Mike looked him up and down, and Will wanted to fade into the shadows.
“Will,” he said. His voice was achingly gentle, and oh, Will has missed him so much.
He smiled in spite of himself. “Mike.”
Before he knew it, Mike was closing the distance between them and pulling him into his chest. He felt the gemstones on the front of Mike’s vest dig into his stomach, and the discomfort grounded him. Will melted against him, eyes closing of their own accord. Mike smelled of gardenia and mint and a scent that was completely his own, the very same one that Will would try to breathe in from the coat he once left behind.
Mike pulled away too soon, and Will felt the absence of his warmth instantaneously. “You look well,” he said.
Will exhaled. “Better now that you’ve returned to Mayfair.”
His mother bypassed them, squeezing Will’s arm as she left to find another lady to speak with. He offered her a short nod, a promise to find her at another point during the night.
The other boy looked back to their friends. “Yes, well, I’m not exactly pleased with the responsibilities I have now that I’m home. Have you heard that my mother intends for me to marry? She can be so cruel at times.” Though he was grinning as he spoke, Will knew the truth in his sentiment.
“She has your best interest at heart, you know that as well as anyone,” he said.
“Your mother was telling me that you intend to fall in love this year.” Mike grabbed a drink from one of the trays drifting by in their periphery. He took a sip, and the crimson liquid left his lips pink. “Here I thought we would be a pair of bachelors until we were gray.”
Will’s hand came up to the back of his neck, a nervous tick he had developed when he was young. “It’s not my intention, I assure you. Mama is trying to encourage me to find love, but her efforts will be fruitless.” He looked out at the dance floor. A few partnerships were dancing, but the formal dances had yet to begin.
“I fear I may have returned against my better judgment.” Mike nudged his elbow with Will’s. “Come, I’m sure Erica will be delighted to see you.”
She was, in fact. Erica had told him every detail of her debut, the reaction of the Queen, her gown, and her excitement to mingle with the other debutantes. Refreshingly, she hadn’t uttered a word about suitors or romance. It was a kindly met reprieve from the ongoing state of his lacking partnerships.
“Mike already offered to dance with me. Do you know if he is a good dancer? I will hang him myself if he embarrasses me on my first night out.”
Will looked at Mike, who was in a heated discussion with Lucas. He hadn’t a clue as to where Dustin disappeared to.
“He’s a fine dancer,” he said. “I mean, in the sense that he’s well-trained. Dowager Wheeler always hires the best in any field for her children.”
Erica took a long sip of her drink. Her eyes widened a fraction, catching on a figure behind him.
“Tina!”
“Oh, Erica.” A girl whisked past him and collided with Erica in a tight hug. She wore a pink gown, a peony-colored satin, decorated by what looked like beaded fireworks. “I’ve missed you so.”
If Will hadn’t been convinced it was the color of their dresses reflecting upon her cheeks, he would have thought they were blushing. “I saw you just this morning,” Erica said.
“And that is far too long. Would you like some champagne? They say it’s like tasting the stars, you know.” Tina was pulling her off toward the tower of glasses.
Will was left behind once more. He didn’t mind it, not with Mike and Lucas still within sight. A butler passed him by, and Will stopped him to take a glass of some amber-colored liquid. He hoped it would untangle the bundle of nerves twisting among his ribs.
“William, is that you?” The Dowager Wheeler appeared at his side. “My, it has been far too long since I’ve seen you. You’re always holed up in your estate.”
Will swallowed, and the liquor burned the back of his throat, simmering in his empty stomach. “My Lady,” he said, hastily setting the glass on the nearest table. He bowed to her. “Your home is as lovely as ever. Your parties are always my favorite.”
“You flatter me.” She looked to Mike, who was trying to swat Lucas away. “My son has yet to take the floor, am I right?”
“I believe he is making up for lost time. We have missed him more than he could know, you especially, I’m sure.”
“Perhaps if he had more sense, he would take the opportunity to familiarize himself with the debutantes. He has been gone a yea,r and I’m willing to wager that he doesn’t know a single one of their names.” She pursed her lips. “What do you think of the pool of suitors this year? It’s certainly larger than the prior season.”
Will didn’t know how to answer that. He felt trapped, like a caged animal being studied. He took a breath. “All of the young ladies are beautiful, as always. I don’t think Mike will have much trouble at all finding a wife, Lady Wheeler.”
She offered him a soft smile. “I do observe it is time for the dancing to begin, don’t you agree?”
Will nodded, a tightness in his jaw that was not foreign to him.
The Dowager wandered over to the live orchestra and gestured to them. The music picked up and, as if on command, the ladies and gentlemen gathered in two parallel lines so that they were facing one another. The others didn’t matter, not when his eyes fell on Mike.
He took Erica by the hand and led her onto the floor. They were a sight to see. Will’s body seemed to wilt like the flowers on the walls, slowly succumbing to the humidity after being torn from their roots. Mike was an effortless dancer. It was second nature to him, after having the steps drilled into him at such a young age. When they attended Eton together, Mike had already been given private lessons back at his estate, giving him an early start on becoming a man. He once admitted to Will that he felt like a newborn foal when he danced. His limbs were too long, he was prone to forgetting where to step next. It didn’t show. Mike moved with all of the control he once seemed to lack, guiding Erica but not pushing her.
They were a stunning pair to be sure, but he knew they would never pursue a courtship. Mike had no interest in her in the same way she did not share feelings for him. Erica was something like a little sister to all of them. Holly’s playmate, on occasion.
“Don’t you think they’d make a marvelous couple?” A voice behind him caught his attention, and he tuned out the sound of the instruments, focusing instead on the whispers.
“Yes, I certainly do. Lady Cowper will surely be crowned this year’s Diamond. Her education and prowess on the dance floor would make an easy match for the Viscount.”
“Then again, have you heard of her competitive nature? Surely, that would not make for a good wife.”
“Perhaps you are right, but it would make for an entertaining social season, would it not?”
Will frowned at that. He knew Mike would be the ideal husband for any prospective lady, he wrote it himself in his latest issue, but he didn’t think the Ton would be so forthcoming about it. Surely, he would have to include Lady Angela Cowper as the publicly determined Diamond, but he much preferred to claim his own. The Queen had her fun in selecting her pick of the litter, why couldn’t he?
His eyes surveyed the ladies at the edge of the dance floor. Will would pick someone unsuspecting. None of the tired names he had written about in years past, but a woman who brought intrigue as well as agreeable traits. Though he had never put it into words, he preferred to think of his Diamonds as Sapphires. He blamed his affection for the color blue, a result of seeing Mike grow up in its various shades, but the gem was the pinnacle of beauty to him and, thus, he preferred to refer to his selected ladies as Sapphires.
“Do you not like the music?” A young woman appeared next to him.
Her fiery hair was pinned back from her face. Her mask, a striking teal, looked like scales laid flat over her milky skin. The bodice of her dress looked like the very shell that birthed Venus, and he had to admit she wore the loveliest costume he had seen that evening.
The words registered to him after a long moment, and he was struck by the clear blue of her eyes that met his. “No– I mean, I do. I like the music well enough.”
She hummed. “I think it is outdated.”
He smiled to himself. “The first ball of the season and you’ve already taken to complaining about the music.”
The girl laughed. “It is a tiresome ritual.”
Will looked at her, properly assessed her. “I apologize. Do I know of you? I do not believe I have seen you a part of the social season before.”
“All of Mayfair knows my name, and yet I was not given the grace to introduce myself. Lady Maxine Mayfield, but you,” she held out a hand to him, “may call me Max on the condition that you would be so kind as to find me a refreshment.”
Will nodded, looking into the oceanic shade of her eyes. The Sapphire, the Diamond, Lady Maxine Mayfield.
—
Jane was in complete awe. Though her dress was somewhat ill-fitting and her shoes pinched her toes, she felt well and truly magical. In all honesty, she had no intention of following through on her escape to the ball. Lady Cowper and her daughter had been quite adamant in reminding her of her place in the weeks leading up to her debut. It was as though they knew of her plan.
She confided, late into the night, in the bedroom she shared with another lady’s maid of the house. Kali Prasad was a dear friend and someone she trusted with all of her secrets. That was why she whispered into the darkness that she wished she could attend just one ball.
It was no secret to the residents of Cowper House that Jane should be among the invites sent out to the members of the Ton. However, Jane’s time in high society was short-lived. Her father died days after she had been born, and her mother fell ill many years ago, passing in her sleep. She had been shipped off to Mayfair shortly thereafter, to live with her aunt and cousin. Lady Cowper and Angela made it clear where she stood from the moment she arrived. Her title had been erased, her alleged bedroom was, instead, a study. Her clothing was shoved away in the back closets, replaced by a maid’s dress.
Jane worked alongside Kali and the family’s footman, Jason. They were kind and, to her surprise, treated her with more respect than the family that took her in. It didn’t matter in the end. Their family resemblance was close to none. The only thing she shared with Angela was the shape of their nose and ears, which counted for nothing. She could just as easily pass off as illegitimate.
When she told Kali of her wish to attend the first party of the season, the other girl made it her personal mission to get her there. Kali was always the more rebellious of the two of them, and she was no stranger to play. In fact, she pulled the wool right over the Cowpers’ eyes on several occasions, like the illusionists Jane had seen at the fair with her mother when she was a child.
Standing in the Wheelers’ ballroom was as close to euphoria as Jane could ever imagine herself getting. It was wonderful. Diamonds seemed to bloom like baby’s breath, clustered and small and captivating.
She was looking up at the chandelier. It looked like a small galaxy, right there dangling from the ceiling. Her mouth parted, a small smile on her lips. Jane wished every night could be like this one, brimming with enchantment. The Cowpers may have taken away most of her things, but they neglected the storybooks she had packed away in her personal bag. With the help of Jason, who stepped into the role as both the butler and the footman, she managed to snag a few more from their library so that she needn’t read the same tales over again.
This moment felt like its very own happy ending. Perhaps, in another life, this would be the final page, the curtain call, the emphatic end to a string quartet. She breathed it in, the sugary scent of the cakes and delightful fragrance of the floral arrangements.
“I do not believe we’ve met.” A voice caught her attention, and she came back into herself.
She was met with blue eyes framed by a simple black mask. His hair was unruly, brow,n and fluffed with ringlets.
“Oh, my apologies. I am… only a visitor. My family is hosting me for the season.”
“I see,” he said. “It’s a beautiful introduction to Mayfair, is it not?”
Jane looked around them again, a smile growing. “It is most breathtaking, I admit.”
“Then, why have you not taken to the floor?” He asked.
Jane flushed. “Well, I… I have misplaced my dancing card.” She hid her hands behind her back.
“Oh, well, let us fetch you a replacement and, if I may, I would like to take one of your spots.” He gestured for her to move toward the table with a spread of dance cards ready for the taking.
“That won’t be necessary.” She rushed out, palms outward, bracing as if bracing herself for him to push in spite of her protests. “I assure you, I am not a worthy dance partner.”
He grinned, as though this were all some fun game. “And why might that be?”
“I do not know how.”
It was true enough. Jane had been converted to the help before she had the chance to be taught the more technical aspects of high society. She had a decent education, speaking both French and Latin, a blooming math prodigy, and impeccable taste in literature, if she was allowed to pride herself on it. Her manners and way of speaking were those of a noblewoman, and she studied titles and rank before she learned her times tables. That being said, dancing, the work of a hostess, and courtship were lost on her. In fact, she had abandoned any effort to learn them altogether as they would not benefit her life as a maid.
“Forgive me,” she said. “I appear to have lost my chaperone.”
Jane curtsied and shifted around him to disappear back into the crowd. She had no intention of speaking to anyone at the ball, merely attending to be an observer. Coming upon one of the many catering tables, she eyes the spread of pastries, cakes, and biscuits. They looked as though they had been plucked directly from the garden.
She picked up a small, pink lotus flower and bit into it. The flavor was unlike anything she had tasted before. It was subtle in sweetness, like powdered sugar and floral tea solidified.
“My Lady,” a voice came up next to her, and she had half a mind to shout to be left alone. “How are you finding yourself this evening?” He asked.
She looked up to be met with a set of grey eyes that seemed to swallow the light around them. “Oh, yes, I am enjoying myself.”
The man sparked a sense of dread in her.
“I see you do not have a chaperone with you. Would you like my company? Perhaps, we shall take to the floor. A young lady like yourself should not be without a partner.” He leaned into her space, and she decidedly did not like his gait.
“No, thank you. I’ve actually only come to—”
“Lord Harper, I did not realize you had been invited.” The man from before approached her side.
Though his black ensemble should be imposing, Jane much preferred it to the other man’s indecent exposure of his chest and shoulders. She assumed he was going for the look of a Greek god. Dionysus, her mind supplied.
“The social season demands one to make an appearance now and then, does it not?” Lord Harper asked.
The other man scoffed and inserted himself halfway between Jane and Lord Harper. She released a breath she hadn’t realized she had been holding. “How clumsy of me, I only meant to insinuate that—after your failure with Miss Cunningham last year and the accounts of your affair to the entire Ton in Whistledown—you might navigate this season with a bit more dignity.”
“I was only asking the lady for a dance, Lord Henderson,” he said.
“Yes, well,” he looked back at Jane, “it just so happens that my name is up next. If you’ll excuse us.”
Lord Henderson held out a hand for her to take, and, before she could process her own action, she accepted. He led her off to the side of the dance floor, about to step onto it, when she realized what was truly happening.
“Wait,” she said. Stopping him in his tracks, he whirled on her at the sound of her distress. “I meant it when I said I couldn’t dance.”
“A lady that can’t… dance. You were serious?” He asked, disbelieving. There wasn’t a hint of mockery in his words, only curiosity.
She smiled, embarrassed. “Yes. You see, I am merely a spectator this evening. I am not looking to marry.”
“Ah, well, if you intend to play the part of the spectator, may I interest you in being your dancing master?” He asked.
“As much as we are all pretending here tonight, I don’t believe the other guests would take kindly to you conducting dance lessons in the center of the ballroom.” Her eyes diligently surveyed the room around her. She had been standing in one spot for far too long. Then, like a warning, she spotted Angela’s white-blonde hair fanning out as she spun on the dance floor. She needed to hide out of sight.
“Well, there is always the private terrace,” he said, which took Jane aback. “Unless, of course, you would like me to fetch a chaperone–”
Jane locked eyes with Lady Cowper, right across the dance floor. “I think I shall have to trust you.”
Lord Henderson grinned and took her by the hand, dragging her away from the ballroom. Jane was giggling, unbeknownst to herself, as they ran down the hall, taking a left. The sound of society behind them faded away and almost disappeared entirely as soon as the terrace doors were open. Despite the guests being hosted downstairs, the terrace was equally decadent in its decoration.
If Jane had not known better, she would think of this place as its very own castle.
She walked out into the center of the covered terrace, slow, taking it in. It was dazzling. With a soft exhale, she said, “It is a spectacular night.”
“You are not like the other young ladies,” Lord Henderson said behind her.
She turned to look at him. “What are you implying?”
“Only that you do not seem to be groveling for attention. You have no Mama breathing down your neck, no suitors on your dancing card, and you do not know how to dance at all.”
They walked around each other. “I suppose I prefer to appreciate the details of the event rather than participate in it. I must admit, I am fond of Grimm’s fairytales, and this party seems to have brought them to life.”
Lord Henderson leveled her with a look of intrigue. “Who are you?”
“Isn’t the point of this night anonymity?” She asked.
“I suppose I shall call you Lady El, then,” he said. “You are meant to resemble Cinderella, are you not?”
Jane smiled, blinking up at him. “How did you know?”
“Your silver shoes and the fact that you look utterly incandescent in the moonlight.” He held out a hand to her. “Now, I do believe I owe you a dance lesson.”
She accepted his lead, and he began to count out the steps for her, guiding her with a gentleness she did not know a man could possess. Her arm draped over his shoulder, while his opposite settled on her waist. Jane shut her eyes, trying to savor every last second before the night’s inevitable end. The air smelled like dew and wisteria. Lord Henderson’s hand in hers was solid, warm in contrast to the chill of night.
“New to dancing, yet you’re good enough to do it with your eyes closed,” he said. “I do believe you are the most intriguing woman I have ever met.”
“That cannot possibly be true,” she said.
Lord Henderson’s eyes were unwavering on hers, and she had to force herself to hold his gaze. “Did you really come tonight with the intention of going unnoticed?”
Jane opened her mouth to reply when her foot landed just so, stepping on the toe of the man’s boot. “Oh! I’m so sorry.” She instinctively knelt to check for smudges on the leather. “My deepest apologies, my Lord.”
“It’s alright, really, you’re alright.” Lord Henderson knelt to be eye level with her and took her hands from his shoe. He held them, smoothing a thumb over her gloved knuckles.
Their eyes met. Jane felt as though the night had stopped around them, as though the earth itself had ceased its spinning, and it was locked in eternal twilight. She wished, desperately, for it to be true, but she was no longer a child.
“Still, I apologize, my Lord. It appears I am not a quick study.”
He eased her back up so that they stood, nearly chest to chest. “Somehow, I doubt that.”
They were close, unbearably so. Jane could feel the ghost of his breath on her cheek. She tilted her head up, chasing the warmth of it.
Lord Henderson held her hand in his own, grip firm. “We should not.”
Her eyes fell to his lips as he spoke. They were full. “We should not what?”
The man closed the distance, only to press his mouth to her cheek in a closed-mouth kiss. Jane exhaled, face unbearably hot and skin buzzing with the thrumb of blood coursing through her. He pulled away slightly, fingertips tracing down her gloved arm. He began to peel away the slip of silk to reveal the sun-kissed expanse of her skin. Once bare, he cradled the back of her hand and lifted her palm to his lips. He inhaled, deep, against the flesh of her palm.
“My Lord,” she whispered.
His gaze found hers once more.
A bell rang out, breaking their spell of quiet. Jane nearly jumped at the shrill sound. “What is that meant to signify?” She asked, breathless.
Lord Henderson smiled at her with a teasing expression. “It is time to reveal ourselves, including you.” The pad of his thumb traced the edge of her mask.
Her breath caught, and her heart hammered against her ribcage. She backed away from his touch. “No– I–I must go,” she said. “My chaperone must be looking for me.”
Jane made haste to leave, heels clicking against the stone flooring.
“Is this a part of the character you wish to portray?” He called after her.
Just as her hand met the bannister to leave, she spared one look back at him and was met with the same hopelessness she felt. In one last act of rebellion against the Cowpers, she turned back around and took quick strides to stand before him.
One last memory, one dream to cling to in sleep.
She braced her hands on his chest and surged forward. Her lips met his, and she felt as though she were in a free fall. It was over as quickly as it started. Jane pulled away, committing the ocean in his eyes to memory. She left him standing there, taking off into the night, with the tingling remnants of her first kiss on her lips.
—
Max loathed society. Truly, she did. The other young ladies were always aflutter over suitors, falling over themselves to be proven worthy of marriage. She had enough. Though she had to admit, taking to the wall had been her best decision yet. Her observations were plentiful. She had decided she did not enjoy the company of Lady Bingham, nor that of Lady Cowper, both for wildly different reasons.
Lady Bingham talked entirely too much, and too loud, likely a side effect of her upbringing surrounded by a near dozen siblings. As much as Max could empathize with having aggressively vocal members of the house, she much preferred the quiet now that she had it. Her brother’s death was a simultaneous relief and condemnation. William Hargrove was a brother through marriage; he did not have his mother’s blood, but Max had been the product of both of her parents. He carried both names. An Earl, and a cross one at that.
He was evil incarnate, as far as Max was concerned, and when he died, she hadn’t so much as shed a tear. The guilt ate her alive for that fact, but she simply couldn’t bring herself to. According to the coroner, he had died, drunk and bleeding out in a brothel after having fought one of the other young men over a woman they wished to bed.
That left her to be the one to carry on the family name. She had no interest in revealing herself as a Countess; the titles were messy work and, though she bore the responsibility, she wouldn’t get the credit until she married.
Max didn’t care for marriage. Frankly, she was going into the season hoping to find someone mildly tolerable so that she might be able to produce at least one heir and have it over with.
She managed to strike a conversation with one of the suitors on the side of the dance floor. Lord Byers, Will, he insisted. He was kind, soft-spoken, and, to Max’s benefit, clearly not interested in pursuing her.
In fact, he seemed to be more interested in watching matches form before him rather than engage in one himself.
“And who is that? Dancing with the blonde,” she said.
Will smiled, not taking his eyes off the pair. “Viscount Michael Wheeler. We’re friends, good friends.”
“Yet you address him formally.” Max sipped her drink it was bitter in the way she preferred, hot and scathing.
“That is because I’m speaking to a stranger. Mike is kind, you should like him. He is bound to be the catch of the season, after all.” Will nodded in his friend’s direction.
“Is that what you’ve decided? Or is that the opinion of this Whistledown that I’ve heard of?” Max fanned herself, faint waved of air on her neck. “I have to say, Mayfair seems to take this anonymous woman’s opinion as seriously as the Queen’s. Does that not pose conflict?”
Will chuckled to himself. “It certainly does. The Queen has a love-hate relationship with Whistledown. Of course, she revels in the ongoing gossip within the Ton, but Lady Whistledown is a fan of controversy and she doesn’t fear going against the Queen.”
“Then, shouldn’t we wait for the Queen to decide, then?”
They locked eyes and there was a mischievous glint in Will’s eye, an uncharacteristic look on his face. “Where’s the fun in that?”
Max had to admit, of all of the gentlemen she had spoken to that evening, Will was her favorite. If he wasn’t so… mild. She was not lost on her own temper, quick to challenge and conflict, and she didn’t believe Will would be capable of combatting her when necessary. For lack of better description, he was a doormat.
Then again, he had an unexpected breadth of knowledge surrounding high society that she was enraptured by. Max hadn’t wanted to become to entwined with the dramatics the aristocrats were prone to, but Will’s observations were plain and straightforward. Rather than expressing his own thought on a matter, he laid the information out with a surprising air of bluntness.
“I take it you intend to find a match this year, Max,” he said.
“Only for the benefit of my family. If I have any luck at all, I can find a half-decent suitor who travels for long periods so that I may have the estate all to myself.” The dream life, as she thought of it, was one of near-complete independence.
Will hummed.
She eyed him curiously. “Do you not agree that is the ideal?”
“I am afraid, as much as my Mama would prefer I find a love-match, my only fate is similar to the one you described. Then again, I always have the life of a bachelor I could turn to in the worst case.” Will swirled the liquid in his glass and set it down.
The music that filled the room ebbed away to a steady melody, unveiling the amount of conversation that truly filled the space.
Max raised a brow at him, though he could not see it behind her mask. “All I am hearing is what society is giving you the option for. You are a man. Shouldn’t you have the freedom to choose the course of your own life? What is it that you want?”
The sharp ring of a bell sounded through the hall.
“I suppose it is time we reveal ourselves,” he said.
The pair removed their masks in a remarkably anti-climactic moment, but the room around them seemed to release a collective breath. Looking at him now, without the purple fabric around his eyes, Max felt her heart swell. It wasn’t attraction, no, but a sweet, nostalgic fondness.
He looked just like her best friend from the Scottish Highlands. She missed home so much, and here it stood before her.
“Will!” A disembodied voice called out to the boy. Then, softer, as he walked to them, the Viscount Wheeler said, “I was looking for you. Who is this?”
Viscount Wheeler held her gaze with a level of confidence that Max rarely encountered. It was almost as though he was assessing her.
She curtsied, a gesture she loathed to do before a man. “Lady Mayfield, Sir. Will was just telling me about your rank in society.”
“Already on a first name basis, are we? It isn’t like Will to make friends so easily,” Mike said. An odd thing to say to someone he called a friend, but he had an arm thrown around Will’s shoulders as though it was a perfectly plain observation to make.
Max decided she did not like it. Even if spoken in jest, Will’s furious blush was enough to overstate his embarrassment. She considered the Viscount’s face. He was pale in a beautiful way, a light smattering of freckles over his cheeks and nose that were formerly covered by his mask. His curls were color of a starless sky in the dead of night. Tall, easily of ideal breeding by the most conventional of standards.
It was no wonder that he would catch the eye of both Whistledown and the Queen, for he drew all of the attention in the room. Including Will, who was looking up at his friend as though he had hung the moon.
“Actually,” Max said, “your friend is most charming. He’s one of the few gentlemen here to carry a conversation that doesn’t inquire about my ideal number of children or what makes me tick.”
“Are we discussing matchmaking proclivities without me?” A man of a darker complexion approached them, a cocky smile on his full lips.
Max tilted her head, face a curated calm. He took Max’s hand of his own accord and pressed a kiss to her knuckled. A bold choice, she had to admit, and one that made a frown settle in her brow.
“Lord Sinclair, my Lady.”
She tried to avoid staring at the exposed skin of his chest where his shirt had been unbuttoned. The dip of his collarbones was evident. Max tried to pass off her gaze as a cold judgment.
“Pleasure,” she said flatly. “If you’ll excuse me, I believe I should look for my chaperone.” Max extended a hand to Will who, to her surprise, simply squeezed it with a small shake rather than bestow his own kiss upon it. “It was nice speaking with you, Will.”
A parting nod to Lord Sinclair and the Viscount, only as it was the polite thing to do, and she turned to head toward the hall where her lady’s maid would surely be waiting for her.
Sure enough, Vickie was there waiting for her. She snapped to attention at the sight of Max before her face melted into a warm smile. “Miss Mayfield, are you taking your leave so soon?”
“Max,” she corrected without hesitation, linking their arms, “and yes, I should like to head home now. The fun of the reveal is over and, frankly, if I have to entertain one more exhausting conversation with the men here I should surely lose my head.”
They walked down the hall, past the lingering guests that were bidding goodbyes to one another.
“It can’t have been that bad, surely,” Vickie said.
“I promise you, on my brother’s grave, there has never been a pool of more unappealing gentlemen.”
Vickie steered her toward their carriage. The air was cold, a relief against her face as the heat of the ball room clung to her. She thought of Lord Sinclair’s glowing skin peaking through the undone buttons. How disrespectful to attend the first ball of the season and attempt to seduce unsuspecting debutantes into a marriage rather than get to know them.
“Have you made any friends, at least?”
Max smiled. “Yes, I suppose I did.”