Penny reached for Persephone’s fingers and winced slightly as her sister clamped on like a vise. Whether Persephone was angry at the insinuation that the doctor was less than perfect or she worried that Penny would actually pursue the man herself, Penny wasn’t certain. She only knew as the mansion loomed in the distance that she looked forward to the upcoming evening with equal parts excitement and dread.
Chapter Six
His Grace looked over the crowded assembly with a watchful eye from behind his black mask, refraining from checking his timepiece. Again. The Timely twins were late, and he tapped his thumb against his thigh in irritation. He hadn’t slept well at all the night before, thinking continually about the young woman who would dance with him tonight. And then after seeing her nearly mowed down in the street earlier by a stampeding horse, he found himself anxious for her arrival.
He knew she would be passing herself off as Persephone, again, but surely she wouldn’t try to act like her sister. She must know she’d revealed her true self in all those letters to him—that had been clear as day from observing the two in their parlor. To act like Persephone now would be to show him the face of a stranger.
His mother appeared at his elbow and took his arm. “Are you watching for someone in particular, Henry?”
“No.” He glanced at her shrewd assessment of him and bit back a sigh. “Yes.”
“Might it be Miss Timely?”
He nodded reluctantly, not sure why he wanted to keep his relationship with the woman to himself for just a bit longer. The duchess knew her introduction had given life to a correspondence with Miss Timely, but she didn’t know to what extent. His mother believed their exchange equaled no more than a handful of letters. He had well over thirty, wrapped in twine and stacked in a lockbox he’d kept under his bed since boyhood; it contained fossils and some of the more unique rocks he’d found around the estate. He flushed when he thought of the fact that he still owned the lockbox full of childhood treasures and of the laughingstock he would become were his friends to learn of its existence. Perhaps equally mortifying was the presence of one small trilobite he’d picked up at the Natural Museum when Persephone—no, Penelope—had expressed her fondness for the things. He’d brought it with him and was carrying it in his coat pocket, nestled against his heart, at that very moment.
He rolled his eyes at himself and focused again on the ballroom entrance while his mother greeted the vicar and his wife. His heart stuttered when he finally noted the presence of two women, dressed in identical gowns and masks, except for the color of each ensemble. From the letters, he knew the woman he sought should have been in blue. So, it was with a wry smile that he crossed the floor with his eye on the woman in pink. He blinked a bit. Very bright pink. Her face in the village when her aunt had told him the color to expect on her had very nearly made him laugh aloud. She’d looked absolutely disgusted and then tried to disguise it. And failed.
He watched the ladies as he drew near, his stomach clenching in curious knots, anticipation humming through his body. He saw the moment Penelope registered his presence as she grabbed her sister’s fingers as though clutching to a life raft. His lips twitched, and he came to a stop before the women and their relations, who stood just behind them. Executing a smart bow he’d learned before he could walk, he said, “Mr. and Mrs. Fanbecker, lovely to see you. And your charming nieces.” They curtseyed. He took the blue-gloved hand in his, placed a kiss on the knuckles, and then glanced into the very green eyes behind the pink mask as he reached for the pink glove and kissed it, as well.
Miss Blue recovered herself first and placed a hand upon her nicely accentuated bosom. “Your Grace, however did you know it was us?” The perfect lips curved into a perfect bow, and he smiled at her.
“Well, Miss Penelope,” he said in a stage whisper, “your aunt mentioned today that Miss Persephone would be in pink, and you would be in blue. And as you are the only two here who are mirror images of each other and the colors fit the description, I reached my assumption that you’ve now confirmed.”
“Oh, Your Grace, so clever of you!” Millicent Fanbecker fluttered her purple fan that matched her purple mask. He considered giving the woman the cut direct, but that would do more harm than good to her niece.
“Mr. Fanbecker, the refreshments are delectable.” Henry motioned to the corner of the room where the food was spread upon several large tables. “You must accompany your wife over and try one of everything.”
The man’s eyes brightened behind his simple mask, which did little more than give him the appearance of a portly raccoon. “I say, I believe I shall! Come, dear.” He pulled on his wife’s arm, and she, in turn, grasped Blue Timely’s elbow as she nudged Pink Timely subtly forward.
“Penelope, come with us. I believe I see Doctor Fitzroy by the refreshments.”
Blue’s eyes widened, and a genuine smile spread across her face, a lovely blush highlighting her cheeks. “Persephone, I shall just be over there.”
Pink took a deep breath, and Henry took one as well, noticing the equally well-accentuated bosom in magenta. The young woman managed a bright smile and a wave at her sister, who was now being unceremoniously dragged along behind her aunt.
Finally. They were alone. Well, he amended, as alone as a young woman was ever allowed to be with a single man who was not her relative. The entire village of Ellshire, and probably a few neighboring towns as well, had shown up for the esteemed event. The crowd around them milled, laughed, surged, but it all seemed to fade away as he studied Penelope Timely. She was truly lovely. And knowing that she would likely gasp in delight if she knew he carried a trilobite in his coat pocket made her all the lovelier.
“Miss Timely,” he began, and she looked up at him with wide eyes. She bit her lip and then rubbed at it with her forefinger. He could almost hear the litany that must be coursing through her head. Stand up straight, do not fidget, smile charmingly, definitely do not bite your lip. She blinked and drew a shuddering breath.
“I do hope you’re recovered from the incident earlier in town?”
“Yes, and truly, Your Grace, I am most grateful for your assistance.”
“I also have something that I believe belongs to you.” He smiled and pulled the rock from his outer coat pocket—the one she’d been clutching when he threw her out of the horse’s path.
Her eyes lit up behind the mask, and she sighed. “Thank you, Your Grace! It looked so beautiful from a distance, and I wanted an opportunity to examine it up close.” She flushed. “I ought to look before I step, I suppose.”
“It is a rather interesting rock, Miss Timely. I believe it might be a geode. Have you ever broken one apart to see what lies inside?”
“No, but I’ve read about them! I’m most anxious to try it, then.” She examined the rock carefully for a moment and then seemed to remember herself, because her gaze shot up and she looked for her aunt, he assumed. She hurriedly put the rock inside the reticule that hung from her wrist and cinched it shut.
“I must admit, from your correspondence, I am surprised to see you dressed in such lovely shades of pink rather than the blue you said you favor.” He was a cad, well and truly, and he didn’t bother to deny it as a flush stole across her cheeks. A very pretty flush, much like the one she’d worn when entering the parlor the night before.
She cleared her throat. “Pers—Penelope has taken a fondness for blue, lately, and as the dresses had already been commissioned, I thought to give her that ensemble.” She winced, as though realizing the flimsiness of the excuse.
He smiled and offered her his arm as the orchestra struck up a waltz, the waltz he’d arranged to have played early on in the evening. “Would you do me the honor, I wonder?”
“Of course, Your Grace.” She placed her gloved fingertips on his arm, and he was suffused in warmth that had him wanting to pull at his cravat.
They approached the middle of the ballroom, and he faced her, savoring the act of finally reaching for her, putting his right hand at her
waist and pulling her close. He inhaled the soft scent that clung to her, something light and floral, as she placed one hand on his shoulder and the other in his hand. She trembled, and he slid his hand around to the small of her back, supporting her as they began to move.
“I thought we had moved beyond my title.” He smiled down at her, shortening his stride to better accommodate hers. “You dispensed with the ‘Your Gracing’ some months ago. And I rather have the impression that I am making you nervous.”
She locked her eyes onto his with a light shake of her head. And then as if she had finally decided to find her tongue, she spoke. “Henry.” Her voice was soft and sent a jolt of awareness flooding through him. Had he not been adept at dancing, he might well have stumbled and taken her to the floor with him, which really may not have been all bad.
“I am not... that is, I am not nervous, truly. Well, perhaps a bit. It’s only that you are not at all what I had expected.” She blurted it out and then looked horrified.
He smiled down at her, that gentle scent again brushing over his senses as he spun her in a turn. “What were you expecting, Persephone?”
Something flickered in her eyes, and she shook her head. “Someone homely,” she muttered, looking studiously at his cravat.
He choked on a laugh, not entirely certain he’d heard her correctly. “Home—homely?” He tilted his head, pulling her eyes up toward his face. “And you seem disappointed.”
“No.” She squinted at him. “Yes. You see,” she chewed on her lip again, drawing his attention to her very pretty mouth. “My sister has always been the more gregarious of the two of us. I am typically far... less so. She finds herself much at ease in the company of people of all sorts. As my aunt mentioned last night, we are as different as night and day, despite the appearance.”
“Interesting, that. In all the letters you wrote to me, you never once mentioned a sister.”
She drew in a breath that served only to bring her body closer to his. He closed his eyes for a moment and bit back a groan. “I have lived in her shadow since the death of my mother,” she continued. “And frankly, Your Grace, I have very much enjoyed our correspondence out from under that shadow.”
“Henry.”
“Henry.” She relaxed in his arms the slightest bit and smiled. “When I think of you as Henry, I admit I find myself much more at ease.”
His lips twitched. “Despite the fact that you do not find me homely?”
She blushed, but laughed. “Yes. Homely would have been of benefit to me, but I shall manage.”
“My dear Persephone. You are the most interesting, humorous, and delightful woman I have the privilege to know. I wish you could see it in yourself.”
Her gaze locked on his, and her movements slowed the tiniest bit, forcing him to adjust his own steps. A sheen formed over her intense green eyes, and she blinked, clearing her throat. “You could not have said anything kinder to me if you’d tried.” Her voice was low, quiet. “I often feel very much like an oddity.” She smiled, but it was tight.
He glanced at the refreshment tables, narrowing his eyes when he found her aunt, whose mouth was moving rapidly at her husband as he piled food onto a plate. “Mrs. Fanbecker, then. She is your mother’s sister?”
Penelope nodded.
“And there is no love lost between the two of you.” He would never have dreamed of embarking on such a personal conversation with any other woman than this one. He knew her, but not this part of her, and his anger at the relatives continued to grow.
“I am not what she wishes to see in a young woman. I remind her of my father, whom she quite despised. My sister is all that a well-bred woman should be. Aunt Millicent has grand hopes.”
“Then she is a fool. For I am quite enthralled by the woman I’ve come to know over the past several months.”
Her mouth dropped open, and it took everything in him to keep from stopping in the middle of the floor and capturing her lips with his. She cleared her throat and shook her head with a little laugh. “Then you are most singular, Your Grace. For most gentlemen find my sister’s personality much more to their liking.”
“As you said, I am singular. I am not most gentlemen.” The strains of the waltz slowed and then came to an end, and he told his arms to release her. They steadfastly refused. “Would you take a stroll with me out on the terrace?” He winked at her. “It is well lit, I assure you, with plenty of chaperones scattered here and there.”
Her lips twitched, and a smile lit her eyes behind the hideous magenta mask. “How thoughtful of you to provide chaperones for the event.”
He reluctantly released his hold on her long enough to take her hand and pull it through his arm. He kept his hand atop hers, willing her to stay close to him, as though he could anchor himself to her side by securing that hand to his sleeve. “We do what we think best for the community, of course. It would never do for Ellshire’s young women to move freely without a disapproving frown dogging their footsteps.”
She laughed out loud, and it wasn’t the polite twinkle of noise her sister displayed. It was a joyful sound, a genuine laugh that spread warmth through his extremities. He led her out onto the terrace that overlooked the estate’s beautifully manicured gardens and flower beds that had been pruned back for the season in preparation for the coming winter. The air was cooler than he’d anticipated, and he frowned. “We should get your wrap,” he said and turned to walk back inside with her.
“Oh, no, please? This is lovely. It was overly warm in there.” She did indeed look flushed, and she wafted at her face with her hand before reaching up to scratch under the mask. “This thing...”
“Take it off.”
She looked up at him, eyes wide. “I’m sorry?”
He shook his head. “The mask. Take it off.”
“But it’s a masquerade ball. Doesn’t that quite defeat the purpose?”
“You forget I know who you are, Persephone Timely. There are no secrets between us.”
Chapter Seven
Penny’s heart dropped into her stomach at his softly spoken words. There are no secrets between us. No, except one huge secret, the fact that Persephone was supposed to have been the one writing to the duke, and now Penny had dug a hole so deep for herself she didn’t know how to crawl out of it. She lifted her fingers to the mask, frustrated that she trembled. Her fingers fumbled with the tie at the back of her head, and she despaired of removing the mask without completely pulling her hair out of its elegant coiffure.
Henry twirled his finger in the air. “Turn around.” He placed his hands on her shoulders and turned her away from him, and she felt his fingers at the ties of her mask. The cool air wafted over her eyes and nose, and she breathed deeply, rubbing at her face.
“That feels so much better,” she sighed, and complied when he held her shoulders and turned her back to face him.
“Looks better, too.” He grinned, and she thought she just might faint.
She shook her head, hating the fact that she had become a simpering female, prone to fits of vapors and sighing in delight at handsome gentlemen. But truly, as she studied the man before her, she asked herself one very simple question: What do I have to lose?
At that moment she determined to enjoy the festival with him to its fullest, to be nothing but herself, to enjoy spending time with the man she’d come to know through his written words. After all, she had the same face as Persephone, and she certainly found her sister pretty enough. And Henry found her fascinating. Perhaps it was time she pulled herself out of Persephone’s shadow.
She smiled. “Now you must also remove your mask. It’s only fair, you know.”
“I believe I might require help, as well, then. It’s only fair, you know.” He grinned again, and her heart skipped a beat.
She twirled her finger, and when he turned around, she stood on tiptoe to untie the strings of his black masquerade mask. When he turned back, she stared for a moment before realizing she must either appear daft or quite
rude. She tipped her head to one side and nodded. “Much better, also.”
She still held Henry’s mask in her gloved fingers, and he held hers. When she held his mask out to him, he shook his head.
“I believe I like yours better. I’m keeping it.”
She choked on a horrified laugh. “You can’t wear a pink mask! And besides, we’ll have to go back inside eventually. You should know that at the Ellshire Autumn Masquerade Ball, all masks are to remain firmly in place until midnight.”
“Well, then I’d say we’ve already broken the rules.” He studied her for a long moment, the teasing grin fading, the look in those light green eyes quite intense. “I made myself wait to meet you in person, Persephone. Did you know that? I wanted to come to you months ago.”
Her mouth suddenly felt very dry. “Why didn’t you?” she heard herself whisper.
“I didn’t want to stop receiving your letters, and I knew that once I met you in person, I would want something more than a letter-writing friendship.”
“Oh.” Mercy. She barely stopped her hand from fanning her face. As she thought back over what he’d said, one word stood out to her more than the rest.
Persephone.
She closed her eyes for a moment and then turned to the railing, walking toward it slowly and gripping it with her fingers, her hand still holding his mask. Maybe it wasn’t such a huge secret, the fact that she had written to him under false pretenses, under her sister’s name. But that was the only part of that correspondence that had been a lie. Only that, the name she’d signed at the bottom of each letter. But he was a good man, an honorable gentleman. What would he think of her subterfuge? What would he think of a woman who would write to a duke and lie about her identity?
He joined her at the railing, and she felt the heat of his arm next to hers. “I’ve been too forward, it would seem,” he murmured.
She shook her head, her throat aching. “Not at all, Your Grace. Truly, I...” She felt him watching her and turned to meet his gaze.
Timeless Regency Collection: Autumn Masquerade Page 21
