One of several reasons why he made an exception for masquerades. They were far less tedious than normal gatherings, and he had the added enjoyment of having his expressions concealed behind a mask so he did not have to spend every second monitoring his face.
Indeed, in some cases he was even able to speak without parsing every syllable to ensure that it would not offend nor oppose a stance his family had taken on a subject. Politics, in particular, was dangerous territory to navigate at functions such as this. But even that seemed easy compared to the fine art of flirtation.
An art in which he had never excelled and by which he was forever flummoxed. It seemed he never quite understood the rules and was always saying the inappropriate thing or donning the wrong expression. But with the aid of a mask…
Well, with a mask he was likely just as terrible at courting than without. But at least he was less aware of his foibles.
He still watched the ladies who’d passed as they joined an equally unidentifiable group of ladies with an excessive amount of plumage atop their masks, but otherwise no discernable markers by which to identify them. Nevertheless, his aunt hissed from behind her fan. “Do you see, Charlotte?” She said to Leo’s cousin, who stood just on her aunt’s other side. “Lady Harriet is talking about me to the Evermore sisters. Odious woman.”
Leo’s brows knitted together as he studied the scene before him with unabashed interest. “But, Aunt, how do you know it is you she’s speaking of?” He gave his head a shake as he turned to her. “And how are you so certain that woman is Lady Harriet to begin with?”
His cousin Charlotte’s tone was peeved as she answered. “Really, Leo, why do you ask such questions? If Mother says she’s angry with her, that should suffice. Her word is all the evidence you need.”
“I suppose you’re right,” he murmured. In truth, he did not agree with Charlotte. Not entirely. In his opinion, his aunt’s judgment ought rarely to be trusted. But in matters such as this—matters in which the family pride was apparently at stake—it was typically best to agree.
His uncle stood tall and proud behind them...and pretended not to hear. Or perhaps he truly couldn’t hear. Leo was hard pressed to say whether his uncle’s hearing difficulties were a side effect of the war or a feigned ailment to avoid moments such as this.
“We shall have to make certain the Evermore sisters learn of Lady Harriet’s recent ‘illness’ that kept her from their soiree,” his aunt continued.
Charlotte agreed with a pinched-lipped scowl. Leo had to assume that Charlotte knew to what gossip his aunt referred. She usually did.
Leo rarely, if ever, knew what she was talking about. But since his own parents had passed, his aunts, uncles, and cousins were the closest thing he had to an immediate family.
And if there was one thing the Ainsworths did well, it was take care of their own. It was a point of great pride all around.
He might not always agree with his family. Indeed, he did not often enjoy his family. But they were still his family, and his upbringing had done nothing if not instill a deep and abiding respect for the power of family. One did not want to get on the wrong side of the Ainsworths. They married well, had loads of children, and were as well connected as any family could hope to be with several familial ties to the Prince Regent.
He cast one last glance over at the bobbing plumage. He almost felt sorry for Lady Harriet.
Almost.
His gaze roamed over the crowd of ambiguous masks and lavish gowns, and he tried to employ a keen tactical mind to what lay ahead.
Courting.
He let out a long exhale as he hardened his resolve. After all, he was nearing thirty. He couldn’t avoid matrimony for much longer. This was just another part of his duty. Even if the act of speaking to young ladies was tedious, and dancing with them exhaustingly dull—it had to be done.
Needs must, and all that.
“Well, Leo? What are you waiting for?” Charlotte’s voice was laced with far more amusement than the situation warranted.
She’d always found it amusing that he held such disdain for society’s events. But then, she’d been raised for this. He’d been raised to run an estate, to represent the family’s interests in parliament, and to one day inherit the earldom.
“Surely there must be some young lady you fancy,” his aunt said.
He cast them both an irritated glare. A glare which they did not see thanks to his mask.
Yet another win for masquerades.
His aunt and cousin asked him on a daily basis about who he might fancy. The answer was always the same. No one. Not a one. He’d met every eligible lady of the ton and they’d all bored him to tears. It wasn’t as though he did not like ladies at all. He enjoyed the company of several. Unfortunately, each of those ladies was already married.
But young eligible women...their conversations were confusingly indirect, their intentions unclear, and their interests so far outside his realm of knowledge he didn’t know where to begin to ask questions. Which only highlighted his own awkwardness.
“Perhaps tonight you’ll become acquainted with someone new,” his cousin said. To her credit, she sounded truly optimistic. As though there were new eligible young ladies born every second. As though at any moment an unknown yet eligible and marriageable young lady might come dashing out from behind a pillar or—
Oof! Someone hurrying past knocked into his shoulder, jerking him forward. He caught a hint of blonde hair before a dark red cloak whipped about and a pretty voice cried, “Oh! I beg your pardon.”
And then she was off. Darting into the crowds and disappearing into a sea of masks.
“Who was that?” his cousin asked.
“I don’t know.” His aunt sounded just as stunned as he felt. “Could it be the Granger girl?”
“Hmm, perhaps,” Charlotte said. She did not sound convinced. She straightened. “Perhaps it was one of the Rutland sisters.”
Leo and his aunt turned to stare at her. Even his uncle focused on his daughter, furthering Leo’s suspicions that his hearing was more selective than faulty.
“What?” Charlotte said. “It could be.”
His aunt scoffed. “The Earl of Darling wouldn’t let his sisters come to this event.”
“Why not?” Charlotte asked.
To his surprise, and to his aunt’s, it seemed, it was his uncle who answered, and his voice was grim. “Because we are here.”
A heavy silence followed that. He knew they were all thinking about the bad blood between the families. Started by his cousin, who was a major in the British Army and whose intolerance for drink led to an ill-fated duel. That duel, which ended the life of the Earl of Darling’s second cousin and led to his new title, had started the feud. But it was perpetuated by the Ainsworth family upon the earl’s arrival in London with his sisters.
Not that he’d say those words aloud to his family.
“Yes, you’re likely right,” his aunt said with a sniff. “They might not have manners, but they seem to understand that they ought to stay out of our way.”
Charlotte’s chin lifted, and Leo didn’t need to see her face to know it bore a haughty expression. “They’d best steer clear after what they did to poor Lucius.”
A muscle in Leo’s jaw ticked. ‘Poor Lucius’ had gotten himself into his current mess, as usual. He was likely as much to blame as the Earl of Darling or the earl’s deceased cousin. But he remained silent. He might not get along with his cousin, but he was still family.
And yet… Something prompted him to remind his family of the true nature of matters. “As badly as they might behave, and as much as we dislike them for the earl’s part in Lucius’s imprisonment, there is no denying that having a duchess for a sister will only increase their power.”
Another grim silence fell over the family at the reminder.
None of them enjoyed losing ground to an enemy. Least of all Leo.
“Well.” His aunt broke the solemn moment with a clap of her hands. �
�At least we don’t need to worry about seeing that dreadful family here tonight. I made it clear to our hostess that they would not be welcome.”
That eased some of Leo’s tension. He’d had the unfortunate experience of attending a small dinner party where they were in attendance. Not only had he overheard the Earl of Darling confirming that he was involved in the ill-fated duel that had marred his family’s happiness. But he’d also had to endure the three sisters with their horrid manners. Each was more unbearable than the last, with the youngest being the most garishly loud and outspoken of them all.
The memory of that short, but horrific night made him wince. But for tonight, at least, he need not be on guard against that blasted family.
He was free to enjoy a rare night of socializing.
“Go on then,” his cousin said, giving him a nudge toward a group of young ladies he didn’t recognize.
Or not. He relented to the inevitable with a sigh, and a little while later he found himself just as bored as he’d feared.
“It is fashionable though, don’t you think?” Miss Mary Muller’s voice was as bright as the feathers atop her mask.
“Er...yes.” It was all that was expected of him, and his single syllable response was met with laughter, which was both grating and perplexing. Particularly because he hadn’t said anything amusing.
“Will you excuse me for a moment?” he asked, already tired of the conversation. The stale heat of the ballroom was making his mask feel like a lead weight, and before she could answer, he made a quick escape for some fresh air through the glass doors leading to a garden.
Drawing in a deep breath, he allowed himself a moment to enjoy the sight of the stars and the smell of the flowers and the feel of the cool, fresh breeze.
What was he even doing here? It wasn’t as though he would find someone new here. What he ought to do was have his aunt and his cousin choose for him. They knew him well enough for that.
Maybe.
He cringed at the thought of who they might pick. No, no. That was a bad idea. He’d best do this himself. But… He tipped his head back to see the stars through the eye holes of the mask. He’d go about it in an entirely different manner from here on out. No more balls, no more dreadful dinner parties, and no more themed parties like this foolish masquerade.
He’d been wrong. Not even with the anonymity of a mask, could he enjoy himself.
He took a deep breath. It was decided. He would pursue a marriage the way he would a new bill in parliament. With thorough research, polite inquiries, and a mutually beneficial agreement worked out with the lady’s father.
He took a deep breath and let out a sigh of relief that ended in another loud oof as the door opened behind him and nearly knocked him off his feet.
“Oh!” The same girl from earlier in the night—the one with the red cloak and the white mask that covered all but her pretty red lips. She’d struck him...again. “I’m so sorry. Are you all right?”
But then, before he could answer, she started to...to...to chide him. “Whatever were you doing standing right by the door like that? That’s a surefire way to get hit.”
“By you, yes,” he said. “But it seems that is my lot tonight, no matter where I stand.”
Her lips parted. Oh blast. He’d offended her.
But then her head fell back and a laugh the likes of which he’d never heard came tumbling out like a river over rocks. A little gravelly, a lot sweet, and so very pure it made his chest ache to hear it.
“I thought you looked familiar,” she said when the laughter faded. But that amusement still tinged her voice. “I have hit you twice now, haven’t I?” She made a tsking sound, and this time she was chiding herself. “I cannot believe it. I’m not normally the clumsy one, you know.”
“Er…” What was he supposed to say to that? “Pardon?”
“Next thing you know, I’ll be falling down on the dance floor with a feigned injury,” she said under her breath, staring off into the night.
He blinked. “Pardon?” he said again.
But she ignored him. He had the sense her last words were spoken to herself. She turned to him with a gasp of realization. “Oh dear. Have I interrupted you?”
His brows came down in confusion. “Pardon?” Curse it. He was beginning to sound like a parrot with a one-word vocabulary. “No, you’re not interrupting.”
She tipped her head back as he’d done before. “Are you certain? Because it seemed as though you were stargazing.”
Stargazing! Him? “Of course not.”
He sounded just as affronted as he felt, and when she turned to face him, her lips were turned up below that pretty, delicate mask. “Of course not,” she repeated.
Yes, there was definitely laughter in her voice.
She was laughing at him.
Him.
A viscount.
“May I ask who I have the pleasure of addressing?” He did not recognize the voice, and he was certain he would never have forgotten that laugh. Who was this mystery woman?
A moment passed before she said, “I shall not tell you.”
He found himself gaping at this strange...well, stranger. “You will not tell me your name?”
“No.” She sounded quite pleased with this decision.
“Er...why not?”
She turned to face him and that dark red cloak of hers swirled about her as it had earlier tonight. But without the crowds, and with the aid of the breeze and the scent of flowers, she reminded him less of a young lady and more like some forest sprite come to wreak havoc on mankind.
He blinked in surprise. A forest sprite? What a daft idea.
“That is what a masquerade is all about, is it not?” she asked.
For a moment there, he’d forgotten what they were talking about.
“Isn’t anonymity what lords and ladies fancy about these fetes?” He tilted his head to the side as he considered her. More specifically, he considered the way she’d phrased that question. Almost as though she were on the outside looking in. As though she herself were not part of the society she referenced.
She was, of course. She had to be. He’d seen her flitting about inside—clearly she was a member of the ton. And yet she spoke as though she were a bystander on the outskirts.
And just like that, something in his chest gave a tug. It was a bizarre sensation, but not unpleasant. It was a connection. An understanding.
For the first time in forever, he felt as though he was talking to someone who saw the world as he did. “Is that what you like about masquerades?” he asked.
Her laugh was low and rueful. “Who said I liked them?”
“You do not?”
Her shrug was small and eloquent. “I can see why some enjoy them. If you enjoy hiding in plain sight, then there is no better gathering than a masquerade.”
“But you do not enjoy hiding, I gather.”
She tilted her head to the side as well. “I enjoy openness and honesty.” She held the edges of her cloak out as she took in her own costume. “Though I suppose I can appreciate the novelty of an evening like this.”
“How magnanimous of you,” he murmured.
She laughed, and his chest swelled with pride at having elicited the sound.
No one found him amusing. Ever. His wit was too dry, his delivery too bland. His attempts at levity usually fell flat. He was used to it. But he’d made this unusual girl laugh twice now.
He found he wanted to do it again. More than anything. He also wanted to know her better. Ideally, he’d like to learn everything there was to know about her. Questions raced through his mind, but he discarded each in turn. She’d made it clear she enjoyed the anonymity of this moment, and truth be told—he did as well.
How odd.
And so he settled for a question that would reveal her personality, but not her person. “If masquerades are not your ideal way to pass an evening, then what is?” He was taken aback at the audacity of his question, but she did not seem fazed.
“Anything that involves an adventure,” she said with a sigh.
His brows arched behind his mask at the unexpected reply. He’d rather expected something more along the lines of ‘the theatre.’ “What sort of adventure?”
She spread her arms out wide and tipped her head back to look at the sky. She appeared for all the world like some pagan priestess out here making a sacrifice to the goddess of the moon. “The sort that involves new places and exotic animals and dangerous excursions and…and caravans.”
“Caravans?” he echoed with amusement.
She laughed. “The caravans are not a necessity, more to give you a feel for the sort of adventure I’d like to experience.”
“I think I see.” He studied the profile of her mask. She sounded just like his cousin Lucius before he’d set off for the military. The thought brought with it a pang of irritation. But this girl was not speaking of reality, clearly. She was enjoying a fantasy, and that was rather delightful.
He leaned against a balustrade as he considered her idea of adventure. “If I understand correctly, you’d like to be chased by a lion across a savannah while traveling with nomadic strangers...in a caravan. Is that about right?”
Her laughter was delicious. “Something like that.”
“I don’t think adventure is the right word for what you seek.” He spoke slowly, as though deliberating.
Her voice was filled with amusement as she turned to face him. “No?”
“I think the word you're looking for is torture.”
Her head fell back with another delightful peal of laughter. “You have no sense of fun.”
He was still grinning like a fool from the sound. “I'm out here with you, aren't I?”
“Well, at least you have the good sense to know that me and the night sky are more entertaining than this lot.” She gestured toward the crowded ballroom.
“Anything is more entertaining than this lot,” he shot back.
Never in his life had he enjoyed a conversation more. And honestly, never in his life had he spoken such thoughts aloud.
She leaned against the balustrade beside him. “Your turn. What do you enjoy about masquerades?”
The Duke’s Darling Debutante Page 12
