Masquerade (8 page)

Her heart’s desire? It had been so long since she allowed her heart to unrestrainedly desire anything that the thought was almost beyond the scope of her imagination. Almost, but not quite.

Why not be reckless? I will never see this man again, so why not tell the whole, unvarnished truth?

“I would wish for a dance partner who is as charming and attentive as you have been this very night.” Twin blooms of color heated her cheeks. “Thank you for this delightful evening. I have enjoyed myself immensely.”

His voice sounded hoarser than ever. “The joy has been all mine, I assure you. It is I who should be thanking you for the pleasure of your company.”

They stared at each other for a long moment. Had they not been masked, the look they exchanged might have raised eyebrows and set tongues wagging, but under the circumstances, it was almost entirely appropriate. Besides, no one paid them any attention. Everyone else was too busy savoring every last dance step.

He cleared his throat. “So…a new gown and an attentive suitor. That leaves one wish…”

Sophie gathered her courage and gave him a small smile. Then, she shrugged and took a step closer to him. Only a few inches of air remained between his body and hers when she tilted her head back and looked deeply into his eyes.

They were close enough that they could have kissed.

“What does every woman wish for on Valentine’s Day?”

“I don’t know. Tell me.”

His breath brushed the nape of her neck, beyond the mask. Sophie’s cheeks felt aflame. The impression was glorious, one she had not experienced before, but, now that she had done so, it was a feeling she prayed would come over her time and again. She was on a slow, steady simmer—and relishing the new sensation.

Emboldened by the desire coursing through her veins, she whispered, “I wish for a man who will steal my heart.”

Chapter 5

A finger prodded Sophie’s shoulder. She burrowed deeper beneath the bedcovers, and silently begged that whoever owned the intrusive finger might simply give up and leave her in peace.

Inching her toes out from where they hid just above the hem of her nightdress, she tentatively touched the warming pan. It was as she feared it would be, as chilly as the skim of ice that would surely be on the surface of her washbowl. The coals inside the heavy metal pan had long since grown cold. She pulled her toes back, and snugged her chin against her chest.

Back to sleep…I shall go back to sleep. I was having such lovely dreams…

The dream! It was not a dream at all—last night had actually happened! The romantic moments playing in her mind were real memories. Her memories. They were not idle mental yearnings or hallucinations.

Sophie’s eyes flew open. She sat up just as Rachel was about to give her another jab in the shoulder.

“You must have tired yourself out completely with all the dancing you did last night.” Rachel placed her hands on her hips and stared down at Sophie with a grin so wide she looked like a cat with a canary in its mouth. “I wanted to wake you an hour ago, but Mother said I had to wait. Well, I have waited as long as I can stand, so get up this very minute and tell me all about what you and Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome talked about all night long. Why, he completely monopolized you, Sophie! Although I must say in his defense that you didn’t seem to mind. No, you didn’t raise a breeze over his extraordinary attention, did you?”

Rachel wore a brown morning dress, the cuffs at her wrists turned back so its bright red facing gave a splash of color. Her hair was pulled up simply, and a red ribbon wove through the thick locks. She looked ready to face the day, while Sophie yearned to pull the covers over her head and shut her eyes again so she could relive the previous night’s memories in quiet contemplation.

It was clear Rachel wouldn’t be put off, so Sophie sat up, swung her legs over the side of the bed and stuffed her feet into her slippers before they touched the chilly floorboards. Then, she grabbed her robe and stuck her arms in the sleeves. Pulling her long thick braid out of the neckline of her robe, she yawned.

Across the room, the other bed was neatly made, its coverlet smoothed and the pillow plumped.

“How long have you been up?” The query was designed to stall. If she didn’t take charge of the conversation, Rachel would inundate her with an endless variety of questions.

“A long time. We’ve all been in the library, dawdling over toast and hot chocolate. Mother, Father, and Brian have each had two cups apiece, and have been sipping as slowly as possible. They are, I must warn you, lingering over breakfast. Or at least they were. When I came up here to help you awaken, Brian got up as well. He’s determined to make his way to Greer’s. He says a paper must be out by now, it is getting so dreadfully late! I hope he does find one. I wouldn’t mind the chance to hear the morning’s news.”

Sophie listened from behind the screen in one corner of the room. She took her comfort, washed her face, and rubbed her teeth with a tooth towel and some powdered dentifrice. The air was nippy so she hurried through her ablutions.

“Come on, then.” She scurried from the corner to the door as quickly as her weary feet would carry her. Even though her dancing shoes were well worn and conformed to her toes, she had danced so long and hard there was a blister on her right heel. It didn’t hurt much but she had no desire to aggravate it unnecessarily by keeping on her feet longer than she had to. “Let’s go face our parents, and allow them to ask parental questions.”

Rachel caught her up as she opened the bedroom door. Grasping her arm so tightly Sophie was forced to stop, she said, “Oh, no, you don’t. You won’t deny me the chance to ask what kept me staring at the ceiling all night long. Did he—that dreamy man who captured you last night—did he offer his hand to you?”

“Pish posh, Rachel! Of course not. We only just met last night. How can one possibly know after an evening’s time whether they might wish to spend the rest of their life with someone? The idea is, I am sorry to say, childish.”

“Everyone knows love at first sight is
definitely
within the realm of possibility.” Rachel cast a stubborn look, one her sister knew well. No amount of debate could change her mind when she wore the expression, so Sophie did not waste her breath. “And it isn’t childish—you’re just saying that to vex me.”

It is too early for this
, Sophie thought as a deep sigh dropped her shoulders.

She didn’t want to begin the day on a sour note, so she gave in. “You’re right. Love at first sight is possible. I’m merely saying it’s not probable. Moreover, I answered your question—my dance partner most emphatically did
not
make an offer of marriage.”

Somewhat mollified, Rachel pressed, “But if he had, you would have considered his offer seriously. We have an agreement, remember?”

Putting an arm about the younger woman’s shoulders and guiding her through the door and into the hallway, Sophie said, “Of course I remember our agreement, goose! How could I possibly forget it? It is the most ludicrous New Year’s resolution I have ever made. I will probably—not even if I live to a ripe old age—never make as silly a promise again. So, you see, it’s impossible to forget our New Year’s foolishness. Now, let’s get down to the library while there’s still chocolate in the pot!”

****

By the time Brian returned with
The London Daily Gazette
it was late afternoon. He stomped his feet at the front door, removed his heavy Hessian boots, and dropped his greatcoat, gloves, and hat onto a wooden chair used expressly for that purpose.

The family had spent most of the day in the library. It was, without argument, the warmest room in the house. A fire glowed in the hearth, sending out enough heat to chase the chill from the room. Walls of floor-to-ceiling bookshelves and heavy draperies insulated against drafts, and with the door firmly shut, a cozy ambiance prevailed.

Brian entered, opening and shutting the door as quickly as possible so as not to allow any heat to escape. He strode to the fireplace, the newspaper tucked beneath one arm, and warmed himself.

Mrs. Teasdale was the first to comment. It was, as one would expect, a motherly sort of remark. “You did not catch a sniffle, did you?”

Brian turned and glanced at Sophie and Rachel. They sat side by side on an overstuffed chintz sofa near the fireplace. Each held an embroidery hoop and had been working on samplers but when their mother spoke, they looked up at their brother and gave him nearly identical grins.

“No, Mother, I did not catch a sniffle. I am, as you can see, perfectly fine.”

She wasn’t put off. “Are your feet dry? Because you know if your feet are damp, you will certainly catch a chill.” She peered at him over the edge of her novel. “And we don’t want
that
, do we?”

“No, Mother, I don’t want to catch a chill—or anything else, for that matter. My feet—and the whole rest of my person—are dry, I promise you. If they weren’t, I would be the first to know.” Brian turned to face his mother, whereby he placed his rear end closest to the fire. He danced a small jig and, grinning, said, “But just to be absolutely sure I am not damp, I will dry the part of my anatomy I would wish chilled the least.”

“Don’t tease your mother, son.” Mr. Teasdale lifted the atlas he had been perusing for the better part of the day higher. It fully concealed his face, but by the way his shoulders shook he could not hide his amusement.

Sophie swallowed a giggle. It was no wonder Brian had been delayed this long. His even-tempered manner and clever conversational ability made him someone everyone wanted to speak with. He’d probably been waylaid between the house and news shop so many times he couldn’t even count them.

Having someone for the family to focus on—besides her—was a pleasant change. The first hour downstairs she had been peppered with questions about the dance, the man she danced with, and her feelings about the man himself. It had been exhausting, answering their queries without giving too much away.

The truth was, Sophie hadn’t had time to examine her feelings or ascertain precisely how she felt. Telling others the secrets of one’s heart when one had not discovered them seemed too intrusive by far.

Yes, let us poke at Brian for a bit. He will not mind, and it will get me off the hook.

“Did you see anyone interesting?” Of course Rachel meant any interesting
man,
but saying so would displease Father and give Mother sufficient reason to give one of her speeches about modesty, decorum, and how it applied to well-bred young women.

No one was fooled by Rachel’s circumventing her true question. Both parents raised eyebrows, and their father cleared his throat, but they remained silent.

“Actually, I did.”

When Brian didn’t elaborate, choosing instead to prodigiously concentrate on toasting his backside, Sophie intervened.

“Come on, don’t tease. It isn’t fair. You know the suspense is driving her mad. And you know our Rachel can become notoriously picksome when she doesn’t get her way.”

Sophie wound the length of thread attached to her embroidery needle around the needle, poked it through the fabric and held it in place with her left index finger. She tugged gently on the needle, and was altogether content when she removed her finger to find a perfectly formed French knot in place. Her sampler featured flowers in the corners. Each flower’s center was a collection of French knots. The piece would look lovely when it was complete, but getting every tiny knot done would take many painstaking hours.

She looked up from her stitching. Brian shot her a playful grin that sent her sisterly alarms pealing. He had something up his sleeve…but what?

“You cannot hide from us, dear brother.” Dropping her embroidery in her lap, Sophie sat back against the sofa, glad for the chance to relax. She’d been so intent on appearing occupied, and therefore less able to answer questions, that she was nearly done in with the effort of it. That, and the early hour of their arrival home from the party, made her think a nap might be on her afternoon’s schedule. “You’re raising some kind of breeze; I can tell by the twinkle in your eyes. Now, spill it. What secret do you hide?”

With a flourish, Brian whipped open
The London Daily Gazette
. They watched him thumb through the pages before turning the paper back and folding it in half.

“I dare say, the boot is quite on the other foot. Since I was almost entirely engaged all of last night dancing with Miss Phillips—”

Rachel’s protest came instantly. “It was a masked dance. How could you know it was Susan Phillips you partnered?” She eyed him speculatively. “You did not peek beneath her mask, did you? If you did, it was entirely improper, Brian.”

A snort from behind Father’s atlas. Again, his shoulders shook, but he made no comment.

“No, oh guardian of propriety, I did not peek beneath Miss Phillips’s mask, although I am certain she and I danced nearly every dance together.” It was no secret that Susan and Brian were enamored of each other. Thus far, however, he had yet to offer his hand. “No, I did not offend anyone’s sensibilities or compromise anyone’s reputation. It seems someone else entirely took that honor.”

“What?” The atlas went down. “I did not see any goings-on last night. It all seemed on the high cuff, if you ask me. Don’t you agree, dear?”

Their mother tapped a fingertip against her chin for a full minute before she nodded. “I cannot think of anyone doing anything they might regret today. Brian, what on earth are you referring to? Please, give over. Now the suspense is not just on Rachel. It is also killing me!”

“I would not want to harm you in any way, Mother. Let me read from this morning’s society column. I will not bore you with the mundane—I will allow you to read that on your own. However, there is a bit in here which I think might interest everyone.” Brian held the newspaper high, cleared his throat and read, “
‘Turning our attention to the Atwell Masked New Year’s Ball… Just who was that handsome couple whose eyes were only for each other? Our sources tell us that the pair danced every dance, whispered in corners between rounds, and looked as if the Atwell’s front parlor was empty save for them. Now, we have seen a lady attired in a coincidentally similar forest-green frock, so we may dare to speculate on her identity. However, the man seems less open to conjecture, being so rakishly good-looking and altogether out of character for the lady in question. Who was that masked couple? And what did they discuss all evening long? That is what we ask ourselves here this morning. Any ideas?’”