Heart crying, she turned toward her closet door and surveyed the blue and green dress hanging there that she'd chosen for the historical themed masquerade ball being held at The Wellington Mansion. The Regency style dress showed off her breasts and hinted at her ample hips. A cry tried to break free, but she held her breath and let it out slowly. So what if she wasn't a size four? His own physique wasn't exactly Orlando Bloom. Tears leaked despite her best efforts. She'd borne his children, nursed them, worked hard from home, even going back to work as they were in school full time. Why couldn't he see that? And if he couldn't, how could anyone else look past the stretch-marks, her c-section scar, her other scars of life? Was she doomed to be alone?
With a hard swipe, she rid her face of her tears. Not all men were as shallow. She'd put on her gorgeous gown and slippers, and she'd pretend, for one night, she was single, carefree, and happy. She deserved it.
With renewed determination, she applied her makeup and did an upsweep do of her long hair, leaving a few tendrils to wisp out and curl along her neck. The choker necklace of rubies, emeralds, and sapphires sparkled in its black hills gold setting. The rubies shaped as a rose in the center made for a dramatic focal point. Emeralds fashioned as leaves surrounded the rose. Then on either side were designs, runes if you knew history. "Love" spelled out on either side in the sapphires, with emeralds filling in space. It had cost her husband a fortune. A purchase made when she'd found his first affair and given in to pleas of open marriage. Her wedding ring, also with rubies, emeralds, and sapphires lay like an albatross on her left hand. Her fingers shaking slightly, she inched it off her finger and replaced it with a silver band with a Celtic design and moved her wedding ring over to her right hand. Sapphire bobs in her ears completed the look.
With an objective stare, she studied her understated makeup with the ornate jewelry. She wore only undergarments in preparation for the custom sewed dress. Her green satin masque would come on last. The blue trim would be striking against her rich brown hair, and the green masque made her ever changing eyes almost appear turquoise.
The dress went on easy, though the zipper proved harder to work around. However, after years of having no one to help her dress, she'd learned how to contort her arms to zip first the bottom then the top. This time, she stared critically at her reflection. Her cleavage spilled out the top as if her breasts were about to jump free of their confines. The green trim on her blue velvet gown wrapped around her chest just under her breasts in an almost Grecian fashion. The rest of the dress hung down and flowed around her. She almost stayed home. She could see every bump, every swell of her hips, her baby belly, which, thanks to her c-section, would never be flat again. Where had the confident, rule-the-world woman gone? The one who'd survived a bad childhood? Who'd been a top chef before marrying Raymond and eventually quitting?
And there she found her. Quitting. After spending her last couple of years in high school in France and England studying, as well as taking advantage and getting chef training, she'd easily garnered a sous chef job once back home and quickly worked her way up. A few years into their marriage, she'd quit her head chef job. Though it had been ostensibly for the children, part of her had known he wouldn't be happy with her working when searching for and picking up a part time job at a good restaurant. And she'd been right. Even the two days a week work she'd settled upon made him angry, but she'd dug her heels in and kept working…until a year ago. The kids' sports schedules and after school activities had increased dramatically, and she'd been chosen as the one to take care of them. After all, he couldn't quit his all important job.
Her hands clenched at her side as she recalled all she'd given up and allowed to be taken from her. He should have been happy she didn't sit at home spending all his money. She rolled her eyes. He even became angry if she paid attention to other men, despite his talk of open marriage and finding someone else. He wanted her available to him all the time. Sexually if he was in between girlfriends, sure. But mostly, he wanted his dinners planned, his parties to go off without a hitch, someone to watch the kids so he didn't have to bother with sports schedules and homework. She took deep breaths. He wasn't all bad. There were a lot of good times too. Just recently…
Sighing as she put on her blue gloves, she then picked up her masque and matching fan and grabbed her overnight bag. She hoped to be anywhere but home after the masquerade party. With a nod at the reflection in the mirror, she left.
The sound of glass champagne-filled flutes littered the air amongst the low rumble of conversations and higher pitched laughter as people loosened up. Her mouth hurt from smiling and laughing so much. Having a masque on freed her in unexpected ways. The historical home where the party was held made everything surreal. The chandeliers sparkled, the paintings shone as if newly painted. The curved stair cases that spiraled down on either side of the ballroom enchanted her. She laughed and danced and flirted.
When she needed a breather, she took a flute of the expensive champagne, adding to the chaos as she touched glasses with people in cheers on her way to a side room, and stood by the fireplace mantel. She reached a hand out, noting that it was real stone, not a faux cover. Exquisitely carved runes ran along the top. Excited, she felt along the sides and bottom. The cold stone smooth under her fingers, she pictured in her mind's eye the ones she couldn't see while trying to read the ones visible. The history buff in her started trying to place the fireplace where it had to originate from. No way it was made in the US. Okay, maybe. Not likely. She grinned. Already, she sounded like her history group, arguing over details.
"It was brought over and assembled piece by piece from England about 1845, I believe." Ariel recognized the woman who spoke to her as one of the hostesses, though she wasn't close to her. "It's in the annuls. The instructions were very specific. This is the home of Lord and Lady Montgomery. They had twins. A boy and a girl. They gave the girl this home, but only on the condition that she do as asked and leave the fireplace here in its current condition, no matter what renovations were made. That condition remains to this day to all owners."
"Really? I love stories like this. Are you related to the owners? I'd love to hear more." Also, she felt a strange familiarity with her hostess.
The woman dimpled a smile at her. Except that her hair was blonde and her lips fuller, she reminded Ariel of her own daughter. With a quick curtsy that did justice to the historical outfit, the woman said, "I am Janine Montgomery Montgomery, the great-granddaughter of the original owners."
Ariel smiled wider. "Fascinating. Please, I'd love to hear the history of this place and your family's connection."
The women ended up on a chaise lounge in the room, totally engrossed for half an hour going over the history of the home and of the town before other guests realized where their hostess was and spirited her away for a dance.
Ariel stood to follow, but changed her mind and set her glass on a small table off to the side of the fireplace when she heard a voice from behind her.
"Can I have this dance?"
Chapter Three
Her hand flew to her throat as she spun around, intending to say no. She wanted to investigate the fireplace further. Plus, where the hell had he come from? "I—" The no stuck in her throat. The man stood just slightly taller than her own five foot four frame, but muscular. He wore all black. Tight breeches, a large flowy shirt, reminiscent of a renaissance shirt. A black bandana covered his hair, and a black mask completed his outfit.
He held his hand out to her. "Just one dance? You are safe here, are you not?" His British accent flowed through her, and her face flushed.
"I…am." With a quick flutter of her fan, she stared at him from under her eyelashes. Why would he ask her that? It made no sense, but her body wanted to melt in his arms. She instinctively trusted him. So, with a wistful glance at the fireplace mantel, she put her hand in his and agreed. "One dance."
"As you wish, my lady," his voice whispered in her ear as they strode together to the ballroom.
He spun her on the dance floor into a waltz. After a night of practicing hers, she actually could do it without having to count the whole time.
They hardly spoke. With a fluidity of motion, he danced her across the floor, holding her a touch too close for a stranger. Though shadowed by the mask, his eyes pierced her, as if he could read her very soul. His hard chin with the cross dimple. His lips. Why couldn't she stop staring? He flashed a grin, and her eyes met his. "Like what you see?"
She flushed, grateful her masque would hide most of it. She almost didn't answer, but remembered tonight was for the new, bolder her. "Yes, I do." Her words came out low, but she said them.
"Good. We'll be seeing more of each other."
Excitement caused her stomach to tighten, but she hid it and raised a brow at him. "That's rather presumptuous."
"Not at all. I can see the future past. You will come to me, Ariel, and we will have the love of a lifetime."
Need rushed through her, hard and fast. Why? Why this reaction with a stranger? She'd wished for it all her life, and now she found it with a man she's never met before? "I'm sorry. You must have me confused with another."
"Nay, I do not, my fair lady. I shall steal you away as the pirate I dress as. Your heart belongs to me. Now"—he bowed low—"I must return to my place so that we may continue our grand adventure."
She stood as if rooted to the spot, staring as he ran back through the alcove that led to the room with the fireplace. Less than a minute later, she ran after him. However, the room did have another door, but unless he was world-level sprinter, no way he made it all the way across the room and opened and shut the door without her at least hearing the door shut as she came in. The room was nearly as large as the ballroom, and the other door lay kitty-corner to the one she stood in now.
With brisk movements, she made her way to the fireplace. Maybe she'd been on the dance floor longer than she thought. She shrugged to herself then grinned. A magical night deserved a handsome pirate threatening to steal her heart. Her smile in place, she explored the runes on the mantel, trying to make out the words.
It was hard to translate the old English, especially since she was pretty sure that a few Gaelic words had been thrown in. But loosely translated, she thought it read, "Magical beings, lost souls. Those who enter the Place"—or thing…she thought maybe it might even be a proper name of some sort—"would be taken to where their love belonged." Even though her own nearly seventeen-year marriage had been lackluster, part of her never stopped believing in love, in happily ever after. A bit wistful, she continued feeling along the runes. Her hand bumped a particular symbol, and she traced it with her finger, pushing on it.
A click followed by stone scraping across stone echoed in the room. She jumped back. The fireplace moved right before her. Stunned, she stood staring until the stone nearly caught her dress. Once stopped, she guessed the opening revealed to be about three feet, give or take. It would be work fitting into it with the size of her chest, but damn, if she wasn't tempted.
She peeked around to see if anyone watched, but the room remained unoccupied save for her. With a quick intake of breath at her daring and thinking of her pirate waltz, she grabbed her skirts, her clutch and fan around her wrists by their ribbons, and ducked in for a short adventure. Foolish to go in where she didn't know, but exciting. As soon as she stepped through, she heard a scraping and turned to try to stop it, but it was too late. The gap closed…wait a minute, the same fireplace stared at her, except the fire blazed merrily. She squatted and tried to peer through the flames. Faint strains of laughter from the people she knew wafted through, then nothing.
"My lady, kneeling by the fire is dangerous. Your fan, m'lady," he said with some agitation. The servant's accent and tones came across heavily British.
She stared at the person whose costume looked straight out of a museum. "Such incredible detail," she murmured, not computing what caused his upset, but thinking it to be part of his role.
The servant appeared confused, but then said in more insistent tones, "Your fan, m'lady!"
Startled, she stared down at her fan and exclaimed. "Holy Hell! My new fan!"
The servant's eyes widened. "Can I get someone to help, m'lady?"
"Unless you know a miracle worker who can fix these scorch marks, I don't see how anyone can help."
"My Lord Montgomery has a seamstress in the pink room for small mishaps. Perhaps one of them can help you."
Ariel stopped mid-motion trying to brush off the burn spot. "I thought you were wearing a costume. Are you really a servant here? I didn't know people still had those these days here in America."
The servant gave her an odd look. "I am the head butler for Lord Montgomery. Pertaining to your other remark, as America is a lawless and uncivilized country since leaving His Majesty's protection, I couldn't say, m'lady."
Ariel's mouth gaped open. She knew it, but her mind refused to make her mouth obey her order to shut. "I…Is there a place I can sit? I'm feeling a bit faint." Having lived in France and England, she tried her hand at retrieving the accent she'd acquired before leaving.
"Of course! I'll take you to the lady's sitting room. Would you like me to call your servant?"
"My… Oh no. I just need a quick rest. I am simply distraught over my new fan, you see," she said with a wince at her atrocious accent. Hopefully, it would be smoother soon.
"Of course. I shall send Lord Montgomery to you."
"No, I shall be fine, really."
"I am under explicit orders to retrieve him should anyone fall ill or behave strangely beside the fireplace, m'lady. It is worth my job if I disobey."
"By all means then," she said with a wave of her gloved hand as she'd obviously acted strangely and now professed to being faint, but where in the hell was she?
The servant quickly led her to a room where a couple of other finely-dressed women lay on settees, a cloth on the forehead of one, and stitching in the hands of another.
"I shall return shortly with Lord Montgomery." The servant bowed and left her with the strangers.
She stood there frozen, not sure where to sit and just a little bit wary of sitting with her costume on. The car had been a bit of a nightmare to maneuver.
"Come in, dearie. We don't bite. Well, Euphemia might."
"Oh do shut up, Constance. You're as bored as I am, tonight. Your husband finally lost the honeymoon glow and is playing amongst the ton."
Ariel slowly walked farther in, stopping near a gold settee.
"See? She bites. However, she has the biggest heart. This is where we hide when bored. Though, I do admit to this ball being a bit more exciting than most, what with the masquerade. The on dits in the morning shall be quite scandalous."
"Quite scandalous," Euphemia agreed. "The marquees new marchioness has left him standing on the dance floor. He will punish her swiftly when he meets her at home."
"He can punish me anytime," Constance giggled and uncovered her head, and Euphemia laughed.
Ariel just stared at them in amusement, enjoying their antics, if a bit lost as to who they were.
"And did you see Mary throwing herself at Lord Montgomery?"
"She's not the only one. I have to admit, if I hadn't already snared my husband, I would make a try for him. He is positively the most handsome rogue on the marriage mart this year, and that pirate costume is to die for." Constance waved a fan with a dramatic throw of one arm over her forehead.
"He's…he's wearing a pirate costume?" Ariel asked timidly even as her stomach clenched hard. She worked to not gasp.
"You must have missed his big entrance," Constance replied. "Yes, he is. Most of us weren't announced as it's supposed to be a masked event, just to add to the mystery for all of us suffering from ennui."
"And he's on his way here?" The squeak that came out as her voice embarrassed, but the shiver that ran down her spine at the thought of seeing him again countered the embarrassment almost as fast as it arrived.
"From what
the servant indicated, I would say yes."
Ariel waved her somewhat damaged fan to cool her face. "Well. I dare say." She didn't know what she dared to say, but it seemed appropriate at the moment.
"Oh!" Euphemia cried out. "Your beautiful fan has been scorched!"
"Yes. I stood too close to the fireplace. I became distraught, so the servant brought me in here." True enough, she supposed. However, Constance eyed her up and down.
"I think not," Constance said with a surprising firmness. "You do have a dazed look about you, but I am good at sizing up people, and you, my dear, are not the type to become overwhelmed at a ruined frippery unless something else upset you. Then I could see it being a catalyst."
Ariel opened her mouth then shut it. "I recently lost my husband. Yes, I guess you could say I have been emotionally overwrought. This is my first ball alone since he left me." There, the truth as far as it went. Her husband had left her for that woman. She knew it in her heart, just didn't want to face it. This one was different. He just hadn't made it legal yet.
"Hmmm. That would at least add to it. I think there's more you're not saying." Constance raised a hand when Ariel began to protest. "No, we're basically strangers to you. No reason for you to trust us with everything. What is your name?"
"Ariel Wellesley-Townsend." For some reason, she'd reverted to giving her full name. Perhaps because she had no title to give them?
The two women gasped. "Not relating to our newly created Duke of Wellington?"
Since she knew her family came from him and one of his paramours, Ariel could only mutter, "A distant relation."
Under the Mask: A Multi-Genre Collection Page 24
