Gently he tucked a coverlet around her legs. Although he tried to hide it, she saw the pain in his eyes.
“There you are. I will ring for your maid.”
“No, not just yet. I have a confession.” She leaned closer to him, whispering as if they were conspirators. “Cook herself is bringing me a tray with a sample of the macaroons she is baking for Gregory’s morning call. Do not betray us.”
Pleasure replaced pain in his eyes, just as she had hoped. He tapped the tip of her nose with one finger. “Your secret is safe with me.”
She waited until she heard him on the stairs before propelling the chair out of her room and across the hall to Minerva’s door. At that moment Cook appeared around the corner, carrying a tray with several silver covers.
“Is everything ready?” Persephone could barely contain her excitement.
Puffing from exertion, Cook declared stoutly, “Ready!” She positioned herself in the hallway as Persephone rolled into Minerva’s room.
Just as she had expected, Minerva’s costume hung from the top of the wardrobe, and her powdered headdress sat on a hat form on a side table. With it were a puce loo mask with the matching feather and a plain white half mask.
Persephone snatched up the white one and slid it into the folds of her coverlet. She rolled herself as quickly as possible back to her own chamber, Cook watching the hall carefully.
Cook pulled the door shut. “Did you get it?” she gasped, placing the tray on the low rosewood table in front of the fire.
Persephone pulled the mask from its hiding place and waved it happily. “Do you have the roses?” Cook raised one silver cover to reveal a wreath of white roses. Their centers held a hint of the apricot that would exactly match Athena’s hair when she brushed it free.
“I picked them from the conservatory and hid in my chamber to weave them together,” Cook declared proudly. “None of the others saw it.”
Little shivers of excitement made Persephone’s heart beat faster. “Is John Coachman ready?”
“Aye. One hour after he drives his lordship to Willowwood in the fine carriage, he’ll be at the latch gate, waitin’ for Lady Athena. We figured he should use the old landau with the crest covered by a dark cloth.”
“Capital!” Persephone sighed with satisfaction. “Now I fear the most difficult task is ahead of me.” The words were barely spoken before she heard Minerva’s shriek. A moment later a knock came on her door; then Athena peeked in. She gave Cook a sweet smile of surprise.
Flustered, Cook thrust a small plate of macaroons toward her. “A special treat for the little one.”
“Save me one, please, Cook.” Athena’s low chuckle was nearly drowned out by Minerva’s cries. “I fear Minerva has misplaced one of her masks for this evening.”
“Isn’t she wearing the puce one, which matches her costume?”
“That was her decision before dinner. But now that the white is missing, she is sure she must wear it. I will be in to tuck you up the moment I have helped her into her finery.”
Refusing to feel guilty, Persephone snatched up a macaroon and bit into it. “The puce befits the costume, and well Minerva knows it.”
A half hour later she had finished her dinner and was waiting for Mama, Papa, and Minerva to show off their finery. She was not surprised to see that, except for the color, Mama’s and Minerva’s costumes were identical. Dressed in gowns of the last century, more elaborate than any self-respecting shepherdess would ever have worn, complete with crooks and overpowered by towering powdered headdresses, her mother and sister would take the ball by storm. She smiled. Most of the neighborhood wore dominoes or some simple costume. But Mama felt she had to be in competition with the squire’s lady; the competition seemed to be escalating rapidly. In contrast dear Papa wore proper evening dress with only a black loo mask in concession to the spirit of the evening.
“You look magnificent!” Persephone clapped her hands in appreciation.
“Thank you.” Her mama sniffed. “Athena will see to it that you get to bed at a proper time.”
“Persephone, tomorrow I shall regale you with our triumphs!” Minerva crowed, traipsing out into the hall after her parents.
Laughing softly, Athena shut the door and leaned against it. “I feel sure we will hear about nothing but the ball until spring.”
“It is my fondest wish!”
Surprise widened Athena’s eyes. “Persephone, you look flushed. Are you well?” A worry line marred her high forehead, below the colorless hair braided tightly into thick ropes and knotted at her nape to keep it out of her way.
“I have something for you.” Persephone rolled her chair to the chest under the window, opened it, and lifted out a package. “Here. This is for you.”
“What … whatever is this?” Athena unwrapped the package, lifting out a simple muslin gown fashioned into the robe of a Greek goddess. She held it up in awe.
Persephone met her sister’s incredulous expression with determination. “I designed it by using the drawings right here in Papa’s book. See the way it drapes across this statue of the goddess Athena? I have even made the rosettes across the bodice and to hold the gown at the shoulders.”
“But…”
Persephone lifted one of the silver covers, revealing the wreath of white roses. “You must let your hair down and wear this wreath as a crown.” Lifting another cover, she revealed the pilfered white mask. “And you must wear this at all times. No one will know you. Isn’t it famous?”
“I cannot…”
“Don’t give me cannot, Athena. This is your costume for the Christmas ball. I have been working on it all this past year.” When she gazed into Athena’s eyes, she was struck by the sadness she saw.
“Persephone, my dearest sister, I am overwhelmed by your achievement. But I am so sorry. I cannot attend the ball.”
Knowing in her heart there was only one way her dream could come true, Persephone broke into loud, gulping sobs. Never had she wept: not during her illness nor the painful examinations performed by physician after physician, not even during the nightly massage of her legs, which made them tingle and ache.
Athena knew this. Tears streaming down her own cheeks, she knelt before her. “Persephone, please, I—”
“No!” she cut her off, swallowing a sob. “I do not wish to see the Christmas ball through Minerva’s eyes. I wish to see it through yours! I will never be able to dance myself. You could give me a little of that joy if you do it for me.”
“You will walk again!” Athena insisted, gripping Persephone’s clenched fingers. “I promise you.”
“Perhaps. Until then, you must do this for me.”
“I have no way to travel to Squire Randolph’s,” Athena argued.
“Cook is waiting to let you out through the kitchen garden. John Coachman will be waiting with the old landau. I have arranged everything, Athena. It needs only your consent.”
Athena’s chin rose defiantly, it seemed, and deep emerald lights shot through her green eyes. Persephone knew she had won.
“I will go, but only for a short time. If I leave before the unmasking at midnight, no one will ever know of this. No one must ever know of this, Persephone. For you, and only for you, I will go to the Christmas ball.”
Athena felt naked. She was wearing her flimsiest chemise, and the muslin floated over her body as if she wore nothing. The gown was unlike anything she had ever experienced. It flowed freely from rosettes of fabric at each shoulder down over her breasts, and yet somehow it silhouetted every curve as it fell in sweeping lines to brush her ankles. She was uncomfortable, but before she could voice her hesitation, she caught sight of Persephone’s reflection in the mirror.
Persephone was in her rolling chair, petting Morgana, who rested on her lap and gazed up with an unblinking stare, a satisfied s
mile on her face. How could she disappoint the child?
She loosened the tight pins from her hair and fingered through the braids before leaning forward to brush the flowing mane into some semblance of order. Loose, it sprang to life, taking on color and vibrancy. When she threw her head back, it fell in gentle waves to her hips. The instant she pinned the rose wreath into place, her hair took on the delicate shade of their centers.
A strange stirring inside her made her suddenly afraid. She twirled to her sister for one last attempt at reason.
“I saw you last year on the night of the ball dancing by the firelight with Morgana in your arms.” Innocent wisdom shone from Persephone’s enormous eyes. “I want you to dance for real, with someone real. Be that Athena this Christmas, if only for tonight.”
The gravity in Persephone’s voice stopped her last protest. She stared at the stranger in the mirror, and suddenly this beautiful goddess looking back at her was someone else. And for this one night she would be someone else.
“I will, dear Persephone.” She knelt, looking into her beloved sister’s thin face. “I will do whatever you wish this night if you make me a promise. Never give up hope that you shall walk again.” Persephone hugged her close for one moment. “Anything is possible tonight, Athena. Make it your dream come true.”
Flinging her old black cape around her and pulling the hood up to cover her head, Athena crept out into the hallway like a thief, looking both ways. From the servants’ staircase Cook motioned her forward.
Silently they stole through the house and to a side door that faced the garden. Cook seemed almost as terrified as Athena was herself. She squeezed Cook’s hand. Then she was gone.
A swirl of icy wind entered the landau before John Coachman pushed the door closed. But with the top closed and a warming brick at her feet, Athena felt reasonably comfortable. The horses sprang forward. Excitement mingled with some unsettling sensations tingling through her veins.
Moonlight brushed the familiar landscape in shades of white and shadow, making it seem a fairyland. The stillness intensified until she heard only the beating of her own heart.
She felt alive in a brand-new way. Laughing breathlessly, she tied the mask over her eyes. Tonight she would be someone else. Not the Athena who spun dreams alone at her bedchamber window, not the dutiful daughter, the sacrificing sister. Tonight she would dance not with Morgana but with a handsome stranger in her arms.
As John Coachman helped her from the landau behind a copse of trees at one side of the drive, she gazed up at him. “I shall return before midnight. Be ready,” she whispered, and stepped away from him toward the manor.
The squire’s majordomo did not recognize her as he removed her cape and placed it in a small anteroom. Relieved, she mingled with other guests. Recognizing the vicar and his wife, she stayed behind them as they moved toward the ballroom up the grand staircase.
Willowwood had never appeared more beautiful. Fragrant greenery, bows, and wax tapers filled every room. Fir boughs decorated the mantels and wound through the balustrade up to the next floor. On every chandelier was hung a kissing bough, lavishly beribboned and festooned with mistletoe.
Music and laughter enticed her into the ballroom. It was aswirl with color, costumes, and dominoes, fans, feathers, and masks everywhere. Minerva danced by in the arms of the vicar’s oldest son down from Oxford, dressed like a bishop. Off to one side her stepmama sat with the ladies, all chattering as if they had not seen one another for months. At the other end of the room, the gentlemen huddled, lost in talk of hunting and cards.
It was exactly as she had imagined it would be.
But even in her deepest dreams, she hadn’t realized how the excitement would catch her and set her free. Across the room a gentleman in a plain black domino turned, and she looked straight into Lord Andrew Finchley’s sapphire eyes.
Drew was engrossed in conversation with Gregory and two young bucks who questioned him endlessly about London fashions. Then one of them drew a startled breath, and he turned to see what had caught his attention. An otherworldly creature had descended from the heavens to grace this ball.
“By God, what a ravishing creature! Who is she, and why have you kept her hidden?” Drew plucked Gregory’s cup of rum punch from his hand and took a quick swallow.
“Dash it, never laid eyes on her before.” Gregory fixed him with a bright stare, a smile twisting his lips. “Lay you a monkey you can beat out the field. Go, discover who she is.”
Indeed the vision had become surrounded by eager suitors. Drew gave his friend a salute and, moving swiftly across the floor, cut through the circle of admirers to pluck her out of the arms of a rival and lead her onto the floor.
“My lord?” She hesitated, drawing away from him.
He found himself staring down into frightened green eyes. A pulse beat at the base of her slim throat above the diaphanous folds of fabric skimming her lithesome body. The sight of the soft curves so cunningly hinted at shot desire through his blood.
She cast a long, desperate glance toward the door, but before she could bolt, Drew placed his hand over hers.
She went utterly still. Boldly he turned her hand over and raised her open palm to his lips. “All your dances tonight are mine.”
Chapter 3
Athena gazed up into the clearest, purest, bluest eyes she had ever beheld. She could neither move nor breathe. Then his lips touched her palm, sending waves of response to regions of her body that were unmentionable.
“All your dances tonight are mine,” he repeated.
Somewhere back in her mind where she could still think properly, she knew she couldn’t possibly give him more than two or it would cause a scandal. But, to her horror, she felt herself nod in agreement and followed him onto the dance floor. The musicians struck up a waltz; his arms slipped around her, drawing her close—this was nothing like whirling about with Morgana.
She stared up into his face, made mysterious by his simple mask. How could she, who had never waltzed before, match him step for step? How could he, who knew her not, generate such feelings within her?
“I am Lord Andrew Finchley. What is your name?”
Tonight she could be whoever she wished. She laughed, deep in her throat, and teased, “I cannot possibly reveal myself until the unmasking at midnight. You must guess.”
One black eyebrow rose above his mask. “I’ve told you my name.”
“You have told me nothing, my lord.” Deliberately she kept her voice husky and low. “I knew who you were the instant I arrived.”
She couldn’t believe what was happening to her. To flirt and have some admiration returned—it gave her a feeling of power.
“Then tell me who you are supposed to be.”
She almost blurted out the truth before realizing it would be her undoing. “I am most certainly a Greek goddess.”
“Yes.” A smile curved his mouth. “You are a goddess.”
She had never felt more vulnerable in all her twenty-one years. But she could neither hide her nervousness by burying her face in his chest nor by fleeing, for a promise was a promise.
So she decided to play her role properly. She flung back her head confidently. “Do you wish to charm this goddess?”
Her action caused him to draw a long, deep breath. “I think you play with me, my goddess,” he drawled, leading her out of the circle of dancers.
Only then did she realize the musicians had finished the waltz and a country dance had begun. Athena saw her sister whirl by with Gregory leading her. Frantic lest she be recognized, she ducked her head behind Lord Finchley’s shoulder, and her hair became tangled in the frogged fasteners.
“I fear we are entangled, my lord. Is there a quiet corner where I might extricate myself without embarrassment?”
He drew her through a curtain into a small wi
ndow embrasure where they could be alone. She hadn’t realized how dark, how secluded, how overwhelmed she would feel. Trying to disentangle her hair quickly, she only made it worse.
His hand reached to still hers. Suddenly she was aware of the candles in the kissing bough hung above them.
“Be still, my goddess, and I will free you.” He removed his mask, and his hands gently worked the strands of hair. “So soft, so radiant, like moonbeams,” he whispered. “Ah, free at last.”
Her body trembled in response. This could not be happening to her! She spared a glance at the beauty of his face, and her fate was sealed.
Perhaps it was only this man who would ever make her feel so. But she was more aware, more in tune with the beauty around her. His smile was entrancing, the cut of his clothes perfection. He even smelled wonderful; a clean hint of soap rose from his skin, making her think of the freshness of the woods in springtime.
Steady on, her mind said; but her body swayed toward him. “Why is Lord Finchley spending Christmas in Essex at the squire’s ball instead of at some wonderful ton house party?”
“Tell me first who you are, my goddess,” he urged.
There was no retreat, so she sat in the window seat, leaning against the icy window, anxious to cool her heated blood. He needed no invitation but sat beside her.
“I will tell you only that I did not travel far to be here tonight. Now why have you come here, my lord?”
“Because of a promise.”
Her eyes widened; her reason was the same. On impulse she touched his arm. He needed no more encouragement to take her hand between his long fingers.
“Because of a promise to Gregory,” he repeated. “We were on the Peninsula together. It is not a story I can tell a lady, or a goddess. Suffice to say Gregory fell in battle, and when I turned to save him, a ball caught me in the arm.”
The Christmas Ball Page 2
