These Vicious Masks: A Swoon Novel

by Zekas, Kelly

  I sighed and patted the plant. Healthy, green, and stout as it might be, it was not the best company. If only Catherine weren’t galloping across Moroccan plains or attending a risqué Parisian salon. My only other choice was to rejoin my mother and listen to fascinating facts about every eligible man passing by. (Apparently, Mr. Egbert collects gentleman’s bootlaces! The wonder of it all.)

  I peered glumly through the foliage at Rose and Robert, twirling on the dance floor. They seemed marvelously happy, and I had to question my own dissatisfaction. Was I simply too disagreeable, as Mother claimed? Would I grow just as bored of the Continent? And why was there a giant man staring through the window?

  Him. The one who had lifted the carriage. I hastened toward the wall, maneuvering around conversations to afford myself a better angle, but when I reached the next window, he was nowhere to be seen. Nothing outside but night falling over Sir Winston’s estate. I didn’t know whether I wanted it to be him or my boredom manifesting itself as madness again. Hoping for any sort of answer, I spun back around for the first window and collided directly with a sleek black suit, and the gentleman in it.

  “Dear me. I had no idea my absence would cause such distress.”

  Pulling back, I could see he also carried a surprisingly unspilled wineglass, despite the collision. He was just my height, but the confident way he held his square chin made him seem taller. Yes, it was certainly him. Mr. Nicholas Kent.

  “What on earth are you doing here?” The question left my lips before I could decide if it was too blunt.

  “I wanted to see the reaction my arrival would get, and I must say, it did not disappoint,” he said with a smile.

  I couldn’t suppress the jolt of pleasure. Mr. Kent was one of the few people who managed to make these social functions tolerable. I hadn’t expected him to make the trip all the way to Bramhurst. My plan to find no enjoyment in the evening was suddenly in danger of failing. “You’ve come all the way from London just for a joke, then?” I asked. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.”

  “No, no, my reason is of much greater importance. The entire city is in chaos. Buildings collapsing, streets flooding, the population plague-stricken, the Thames ablaze. But it was when an orphan boy I rescued from the rubble asked me, with his dying breath, ‘Why did this all have to happen, sir? Why did Miss Wyndham leave?’ that I solemnly promised to bring you back and restore peace.”

  “You must have spent quite some time on your long train ride thinking that up.”

  “Not exactly. The greater part was spent forming and rehearsing a plan of convincing you to dance with me.”

  “Oh, I cannot wait for this. Let’s have it.”

  He turned around, drained his drink, took an exaggerated breath, and then whirled back, eyes filled with false surprise to find me still here. “Ah, Miss Wyndham, hello, would you like to dance?”

  “No, not really.”

  “Hmm. Then let me ask you this: If someone went through the trouble to compose you a letter and you were to receive it in front of them, would you callously toss it out without reading?”

  I shook my head, playing along. “No, of course not, that would be shockingly rude.”

  He set his empty glass on a passing footman’s tray. “Then is that not the same impolite behavior as refusing to dance to this beautiful music that was composed and is now being performed expressly for your waltzing pleasure?”

  “There are plenty of dancers. I can’t possibly be offending anyone.”

  “What about my coming all this way?”

  “So you’re offended?”

  “Incredibly. If you refuse, I’ll be forced to dance alone,” he said, holding up his arms as if he were leading an invisible partner. “It will be dreadfully embarrassing, and it will be your fault.”

  I snorted. “Threats are only going to make me refuse you more.”

  His hands dropped to his side, and he let out a sigh. “Very well. What would you do if you could do anything at this ball?”

  “I’d eat cake.”

  “Unless you eat upwards of two hundred cakes, that particular activity will not occupy your entire night.”

  My mind shuffled through all the possibilities—cards, suitors, copious amounts of wine—but nothing appealed. This was exactly why I avoided every ball I could.

  “I don’t know,” I admitted.

  “Then I present you with two choices. We stand here, observing our dull surroundings, racking our minds for ideas. Or,” he said, putting his hand out, “we do our thinking while spinning in circles and forgetting where we are.”

  “As persuasive an argument as any,” I said, surrendering my hand. He clasped it for an inordinate length of time before putting it on his arm, and I didn’t mind where he led me. As we moved toward the dance floor, a new song hummed to life, and Mr. Kent, unable to restrain his smile, pulled me into a waltz.

  With gentle pressure on my waist, he guided me in slow circles, weaving us through the dizzying stream of couples, our every step and turn on point with the beat. My head felt light, almost giddy with the rush of motion. His light brown eyes met mine, and they seemed to dance along with us.

  “You were right, this is absolutely dismal,” he said.

  “Don’t be so quick to judge,” I replied. “Here comes the exciting part, where we continue to twirl in the exact same manner as before.”

  Mr. Kent scoffed. “Would you like to reverse our direction? Knock a few couples down?”

  “But then there’ll be nowhere to dance, with bodies all over the floor.”

  “My God, you are impossible to please.”

  As we bounced to the swells and dips, the room and its crowd revolved with us. Poor Rose whirled by in a flash of silks as another infatuated dance partner tried desperately to win her approval with his footwork. Robert stood idly on the side, eagerly awaiting his next turn with her. Mother, breaking away from her group of matchmakers, made her way along the outskirts of the room. And Mr. Braddock stood determinedly by himself, a slight space between him and a gaggle of giggling schoolgirls. He seemed to be directly in my mother’s path. Or even worse, her destination.

  “I’ve changed my mind,” I told Mr. Kent. “We’re dancing forever now.”

  “Ah, that’ll be a difficult life, but very well, I will let no other claim you.”

  “Good, for I can see my mother getting ready to arrange a dance with Mr. Braddock.”

  “I see.” Something lit behind his eyes as they landed on Mr. Braddock, and I couldn’t tell if it was amusement or jealousy. “Would that be the fellow over there? He certainly seems to have gathered a following.”

  “Indeed, it is.” And Mr. Kent was right. It wasn’t just my mother and a few young women. Every mother in the county was eyeing him, fans fluttering and bosoms quivering. Simpering misses subtly pinched their cheeks and smoothed down their hair. How absurd.

  A tall, plain girl bravely stepped from the pack and marched toward him. She turned and stared daggers at her companions, who had renewed their giggles. Mr. Braddock scanned the crowd closely, as though looking for someone, but his stiff posture suggested that he knew what a stir his presence had created and wanted to leave immediately.

  Mr. Kent and I watched with some delight as the brave girl came up behind him and very impolitely grabbed his arm. By reflex, he wrenched his arm away, but the girl held on as she fell into a paroxysm of coughing. And though Mr. Braddock tried to step away, she managed to climax her performance with a none-too-graceful faint directly onto his person with some well-practiced gasps for breath in his arms.

  For his part, Mr. Braddock seemed unequal to the task of dealing with the creature and unceremoniously let her drop to the ground, where it seemed her false swoon became a true one. He hovered above her, shock and guilt lacing his features. The ballroom lay deathly still for a brief moment until he wordlessly whirled and dashed straight out of the room, guests hopping out of his path. I looked at Mr. Kent and saw my own puzzlement mirr
ored on his angular face. Then a small, gloved hand grabbed my own, and Rose pulled me toward the fallen girl.

  THE GIRL SHOT up from the divan.

  “Whe—what’s happened?” she asked. “Why—”

  “Slowly, slowly,” Rose said, easing her to a comfortable position. “You had quite a fall.”

  Rose held her fingers on the girl’s wrist, taking her pulse. A slight wrinkle appeared between her brows. “Your pulse is still quite fast, Miss—”

  “Reid.” The girl looked around the drawing room dizzily.

  Rose held up her hand. “How many fingers do you count?”

  “Three.”

  “Good. Are you in any pain?”

  Miss Reid looked quite distraught still, though that was likely embarrassment. Many guests had trickled into the room to stare. “No, miss.”

  Rose nodded. “Then there’s no reason to be alarmed. You just have a mild fever, and I suspect a day of rest is all you need. I will call on you tomorrow morning to be sure your condition has improved.”

  Behind us, the crowd murmured their approval. Some even began to clap, which our mother seemed to take as a personal affront to our family. Bursting through the spectators, she called with operatic tones, “Evelyn, Rose, come along. I am sure her family will help her to the carriage.”

  Rose and I exchanged looks but quietly obeyed. We followed Mother out of the drawing room and into a long, empty corridor, where she stopped and turned her full height upon us like a wrathful Hera.

  “Rose, I am ashamed of you. While I expect this stubborn disregard for decorum from your sister, it is an extremely unpleasant shock to see you display yourself in such a way!

  “I have allowed you to nurse our friends and neighbors so long as it was modestly, humbly performed as an act of ladylike charity. But to commandeer the room in front of all those eyes, actually ordering men about! I daresay you were excited, and your innate good sense took leave for a moment. It will not happen again. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Yes, Mama.”

  “Thank you, Rose. Evelyn, I expect you to set a better example.”

  “I’ll insist Rose lets her die next ti—”

  She interrupted me with her deadliest glare and snapped, “We will return to the ball, and there will be no such spectacle again.”

  With that, she drew herself up, pasted on a sickening smile, and took our arms. After hauling us back to the bright lights of the ballroom, she immediately called over a nearsighted young lord, who eagerly asked Rose for the next dance. With Mother’s attention on them, I escaped unnoticed to the dining room.

  I was just filling my plate with far too many desserts when a voice spoke directly into my ear. “Ah! The hero has returned. And found her cake.”

  I jumped slightly, nearly dropping my precious food on Mr. Kent’s shoes. Beside him stood Robert, glancing around as though Rose might suddenly appear out of a tapestry.

  “Yes, I am extremely heroic and wonderful,” I declared. “It certainly wasn’t my little sister who handled the whole thing beautifully and was then set down by my angry mother.”

  “Ah,” Mr. Kent said lightly, “she was not thrilled that your sister’s talents were on display?”

  “No,” I said, taking a bite of cake, “she was not.”

  “If it’s at all reassuring,” said Mr. Kent, “the ballroom is far more preoccupied with Mr. Braddock’s sudden departure.”

  Robert frowned. “Yes. It was rather odd. Perhaps he went to find a doctor?”

  “Or he was simply being dramatic,” I countered. “Hoping that we would fall all over ourselves, wondering what could have possibly been the matter.”

  A particularly loud babble of conversation rose, and I turned to see Mr. Braddock entering the dining room as though summoned by our talk. Indeed, a swarm of eager guests converged to speak to him, and he hurried back out of the room in a matter of seconds.

  “This entire ball has gone mad,” I muttered.

  “Why, Evelyn, he seems like the perfect man for you!” Robert teased gently.

  “Ha! That mysterious act is a mockery of men who have suffered any real grief or pain.”

  The slightest gleam appeared in Mr. Kent’s eye. “And yet your mother wanted you to dance with him—what is she thinking?”

  “Oh, she thinks him highly eligible. Though she thinks nearly everyone is suitable as long as they propose soon. But because Mr. Braddock is now in Bramhurst, she’s going to pester me about him this whole winter. It’s already unbearable.”

  “I see.” Mr. Kent met my gaze before I looked down at my pudding. “Is there anything I might do to help?” All the usual lightness had left his voice.

  “No, thank you, Mr. Kent, I simply must wait and hope she’ll learn patience,” I replied.

  He gulped down the last of his wine. “What would make her more patient?”

  “If Rose were to finally promise herself to Robert,” I blurted out.

  I paused for a moment to contemplate. Dear God, did I really just speak those words aloud? No, no, I’d never. But Robert’s slack jaw and wide-eyed expression confirmed the truth.

  “Miss Wyndham, I’m—I’m sorry. I did not mean to—” Mr. Kent said, looking rather distraught.

  “Excuse me,” I muttered, thrusting my desserts into his hand and rushing away, deeper into the crowd.

  Blast. Blast. Blast! What an idiotic mistake. I didn’t even know why I said it. I’d had only one glass of wine! Possibly two. And a half. But it was foolish! Exceedingly! It was the truth, but it was not my business at all. Rose. I needed to find Rose and warn her before Robert tried to surprise her with a sudden proposal. This was not the way it should have happened.

  Distressed, I wove through bodies, squeezed past fences of guests, and searched for my sister. She wasn’t among those finishing the remains of dinner in the dining room. She wasn’t dancing in the center of the ballroom, nor was she resting on the side. And she wasn’t playing or laughing at the whist tables in the crowded game room. This was ridiculous. A ball with hordes of guests everywhere—half of them in love with her—and she somehow vanishes. Rose should have been in one of these rooms. She was the responsible one. She wouldn’t have run off, unchaperoned, to some part of the house that was open to family only.

  Twisting down another corridor, I calmed at the sight of her blue satin dress and blond head. But my heart quickly regained its rapid pace when I saw the two men who blocked the path to her, for it was not only the unwelcome Mr. Braddock but also the carriage lifter who had been slinking about outside the house. Fear knotted in my stomach as I gained on the trio.

  “Rose!” I called. “What in heaven’s—”

  My words were drowned out by Mr. Braddock’s: “Again, sir, as you were not invited, I must ask you to leave.”

  The giant studied Mr. Braddock, saying nothing. Behind them, Rose looked pale and uncomfortable, but unharmed.

  “Now, sir.” Mr. Braddock took a step forward, still not acknowledging my presence behind him. Rage lined his voice with a jagged edge. “I would hate to remove you myself.”

  It felt dangerous standing in the middle of the hall, directly between him and the giant’s potential exit. Nervously, I shuffled to the side. A tense silence followed, and something indecipherable seemed to pass between the two until at last the giant conceded. His expression softened as he turned to Rose. “Thank you for your assistance, Miss Rosamund,” he said with a light French accent. “It appears I must be leaving.”

  “But how might I help further?” she asked, glancing cautiously between the two men.

  “I will send a message with my information,” he said, giving her a quick bow. As he passed Mr. Braddock, he gave a final nod. “I’m sorry for the intrusion.”

  Mr. Braddock did not let up. “Leave the way you came in, and do not disturb our guests.”

  The giant passed me with a great whoosh of air and padded down the hallway, the wood floor crackling as he disappeared around the corner. T
he corridor went silent. No drone of the orchestra, no pattering of raindrops, no explanation from Mr. Braddock. He simply glared past me, making sure the uninvited guest departed for good. What on earth happened? Whatever it was, I was getting my sister away from it.

  “Rose, we must be going,” I said, slipping by Mr. Braddock. “The ball is almost over, and Mother will be searching for us.” I pulled my sister by two fingers back toward the ballroom, passing Mr. Braddock and the roiling energy emanating off him. I avoided all eye contact and any reflective wall hangings that might lead to it.

  “Miss Rosamund, a word, please. My apologies for that man,” he said, following close. “I don’t want to bother you, but about your healing, your special power, really—”

  My head snapped up. Her special power? “Mr. Braddock, that was much more than a single word,” I said. “And it is much too late. Good night.”

  I pulled Rose along, but still the man stalked her, ignoring me entirely. “Please, this is important. Miss Rosamund, you have a rare gift—a miraculous power to heal—and I would be grateful for your assistance. I have a friend in London who is very sick—”

  In a fury, I stopped and swung Rose behind me, putting myself between the two. “Rose, go find Mother. I will meet you in a moment.”

  She pressed my shoulder with concern but made no protest. She headed down the hallway, and Mr. Braddock began to follow until I blocked his path, glaring at him.

  “Mr. Braddock. My sister is a talented nurse. I don’t know whether you’re trying to mock or deceive her with this miraculous power nonsense, but I suggest you take your brooding act and odd fixations elsewhere. You and that man have obviously upset her—now leave Rose in peace.”

  His eyes flashed fire, and I found myself thinking for the briefest moment that Mr. Braddock’s behavior might not be an act. He strained a smile. “Your . . . interest is most appreciated, but this matter doesn’t concern you.”