“Miss Simeon.”
Nora froze on the first step of the stairway and turned. Lydia Steele stepped forward from who-knew-where, her silky red pantsuit hugging all the right curves and her perky smile not hugging enough of them. Fake as a Barbie’s.
Oh boy.
“I’m so happy I caught you.”
Why did that make her nervous? She straightened and delivered her best don’t-pretend-you-like-me expression. “Hello, Miss Steele.”
“I was going to have the clerk deliver these to your room, but since you happened by I thought a personal delivery would be much more meaningful.”
Like a knife instead of an arrow. “Oh, really?”
“Mr. Keller left this morning, as you may well know, but he wished me to relay a message to you of his deep gratitude for your insight and your overall generosity with both your time and your ideas. He also asked me to apologize, once again, for the initial room situation and to thank you for your kindness in making the exchange more memorable than his last few whirlwind encounters.” She tugged a set of papers from her bag. “And as thanks for your help, here are two vouchers for your next stay at the Elliott Elizabeth Inn, including meals and visits to our future spa.”
Nora stared down at the papers, and then back at Lydia’s face, unblinking. This felt wrong. And painful. And she really didn’t like the delivery girl.
“A perfect opportunity to bring your boyfriend back with you on your next stay.”
Yep, Nora was finished with this conversation. She took the vouchers and steadied her gaze on Miss Steele’s. “I’ll be sure to do that. Thank you.”
And though her heart wobbled in her chest, Nora kept her ascension up the stairs slow and steady until she reached the hallway.
Then she ran for her room…and her Austen.
Ethan had been in meetings with Timothy and his financial planners all day, finalizing the Elliott Elizabeth Trust and discussing future plans for the inn. He knew Nora’s Friday schedule leading up to the Masquerade Ball proved just as taxing as his, but her silence unnerved him. Why hadn’t she responded to his message? He’d asked one of the clerks to hand-deliver any message from the inn for him.
After canceling their dinner plans the night before, he thought she might call him on Timothy’s landline, which he’d provided in the message, but nothing. Not a call. Not even a text, although that might not be her fault.
He phoned the hotel before lunch, but the clerk had no messages for him either. She didn’t seem to be an out-of-sight, out-of-mind kind of girl. When he sat with Timothy and Lydia for lunch, he half-listened to the conversation between the two, his thoughts playing through scenarios. Memories. Something had to be wrong.
“Oh, Ethan.” Lydia tapped her mouth with her napkin. “You were so busy with my uncle yesterday I forgot to tell you that I saw Miss Simeon at the inn last evening.”
Caution straightened Ethan’s spine. “I sent a message to her about rescheduling our dinner.”
“Yes, of course. She didn’t seem too upset about it. Good sport, really. Made other plans, you know?” Lydia returned to her meal, leaving her words to sizzle in the air.
That was it? He studied Lydia with a renewed sense of wariness.
Timothy continued his previous conversation about reviving the inn’s courtyard, but Ethan’s attention drifted over Lydia’s response. Perhaps Nora never received his letter?
“Oh, and your Miss Simeon asked me to deliver this to you.” Lydia stepped from the table to retrieve her purse in the hallway. When she returned, she placed a card on the table in front of him.
A card from the inn with the embossed EE on the cover.
“Excuse me.” Ethan took the card and opened it, training his expression to neutral.
Dear Ethan,
Thank you for making this week memorable and fun. I’ve enjoyed every minute and will look back on it with such fondness in my heart, but I also know that it had to come to an end. I have so many activities to complete on this last night in Bath, so I hope this card will suffice as my tender adieu to a week of Austen and Inns.
With fondest regards,
Nora Simeon
Ethan reread it and paused. Why did Nora sound so formal? Did she thrust this distance on him for her own sake? For his? It didn’t make sense.
“Is everything alright?” Lydia asked.
Ethan took his time placing the note on the table, uncomfortable with a sudden audience to his personal dilemma.
“An unexpected change in plans, I think.”
Everything with Nora this week held a different timbre than any relationship he’d known. The conversations, the connection, her willingness to break from her festival activities to join him in discussions about the inn—and her apparent joy in doing so.
Her kisses.
Doubt reared its ugly head, hammering past experiences and deceptions with heavy, repetitive blows.
“We can postpone our final meetings until tomorrow, Ethan, if you have something or someone else who requires your attention.” Timothy’s eyes, filled with the wisdom he remembered from his own father, shifted the tide in Ethan’s spirit.
“Are you sure?”
Timothy offered a knowing smile. “I have time. You may not.”
Ethan breathed in Timothy’s confidence. No, he wouldn’t believe Nora was like the rest. He stood and placed his napkin on the table. “Thank you. I do have someone else who requires my immediate attention.”
One glimpse at Lydia’s frown quickened his steps. Something felt wrong about this whole thing. He grabbed his jacket and keys then started for his car, pulling out his mobile as he went. The Jane Austen Festival program was saved on his phone, so he searched over the itinerary for this afternoon, gaze skimming over the last few events.
He gripped the phone with purpose and slid into the rental car. He’d discover the truth, even if he had to face off with Jane Austen herself.
Chapter 8
If his uncle could see him now, Ethan felt certain he’d never stop laughing. Ever.
The things a man had to do for a woman!
Ethan pulled at the fitted, single-breasted jacket and attempted to ignore the feel of the breeches on his legs. It had taken near-Messiah skills to snatch a dance lesson from the teacher after her group session, before hiring an outfit and attaining admittance to the sold-out Masquerade. But with some persistent persuasion—along with an unashamed toss or two of Timothy’s name—Ethan found himself inside, enjoying a pre-ball reception on the edge of the famous Roman Baths.
Lights encircled the Baths, giving them a magical glow as the Romanesque statues kept watch overhead. At least he wasn’t attending a Roman festival. The idea of wearing a toga bit into his male pride much more than pointy-toed, latched shoes and a ruffled-sleeved shirt.
Ethan peered through the eyeholes of his mask, sifting the crowd for his favorite Austen-nut. He’d chosen the most heroic mask available for the Masquerade in order to offset the idea of wearing silk stockings.
Something had to balance out.
The silver disguise covered three-quarters of his face. Engraved with shield-like designs on either cheek and warring horses on the forehead, it reached its valiant pinnacle with a plume of black feathers. True, black feathers may not be the ‘manliest’ adornment, but with skin-tight breeches and a neck hugging cravat, beggars couldn’t be choosers.
Indistinct voices carried over the Baths’ waters, and masked people framed the pool, wearing an assortment of colors, styles, and headgear. Especially the women. The men all appeared in similar, black formal attire. Ethan almost grinned. If that wasn’t a great example of him and Nora! He was the steady beat, the streamline, the suit—and she walked into his life like a radiant burst of color.
Then he glimpsed a flash of crimson and gold.
He’d seen her ball gown hanging in the closet of their room, but paid little mind to it…except for the brilliance of its deep red hue.
Was that her?
She stood across the pool from him, bathed in the flickering glow of the torchlight and fading dusk, alone. A golden mask hid half her face and, at a distance, he couldn’t tell for certain if it was her. But the massive pile of brown locks on her head mingled with the tall red feathers from her mask gave the best clue.
And her lips. Full, red, and…frowning?
He started for her, slipping through the masked guests to round the pool. The faintest hum of music rose above the chattering crowd as he moved to the far side of the pool. A woman—in costume—sang a love song accompanied by an appropriately dressed man seated at a piano… blocking his path around the pool.
He groaned and moved back in the other direction, keeping his attention on his target. She wasn’t difficult to pinpoint in her glimmering red and gold, poised as if waiting for him. With her head tilted downward, gazing into the pool, and her hands braided behind her back, she looked ready for a painter’s canvas. Beautiful.
His heart gave a twinge. She couldn’t be false. Not her. Not them.
As he rounded the closest corner, someone gave an announcement and the crowd erupted in cheers…then began to move. The way crowded with people, crushing him in their midst and obscuring his visual of Nora. He pressed forward with the masses until they spilled out into an ornate ballroom already filled with people and the excited strum of a stringed quartet.
It was then he felt the change—the step into a different time.
Lines formed for dancing as if choreographed. Postures shifted—straighter, more confident. The gowns took on brighter hues beneath the electric lights, and the unfamiliar cravat and pinching shoes didn’t feel quite as annoying anymore. He moved to the periphery of the room, searching the masks for gold and crimson, when finally he saw her, standing near the edge of the crowd, watching the dancers with a half-smile.
His feet pulled him toward her, leaving doubt and any concern of looking like a peacock at the threshold. What would he do? Business meetings he understood. In discussions about renovations and hospitality services, he excelled. Here, at a Regency ball, with a woman who’d captured much more than his attention? How did he weed between the truth and the façade? Peel back the mask, as it were, for the reality?
He squeezed through the crowd of onlookers until he stood behind her. Her gown rounded at the neck but draped lower in the back, showing off the smooth skin of her upper back and neck. If everything she’d shown this week proved a passing fancy, proved him a fool for love… He couldn’t leave without knowing the truth.
But perhaps he could learn it without creasing his pride.
He shrugged. Well, more than he already had.
With a cautious step and a ridiculous plan in mind, he moved to her side. After a second, she seemed to register his presence and turned her face up to him. Oh yes, it was her. Those eyes—mingled with golds and browns—belonged to no other.
He gestured toward the ballroom floor and attempted his best English accent. “Don’t you mean to dance?”
Those marbled eyes widened behind the mask and her bottom lip dropped low. She quickly snapped her mouth closed into a smile. “Um…I don’t think so.”
His throat tightened with the effort to maintain the game. “Why not?”
She released a long sigh and pointed her fan toward the dancing couples. “I don’t want there to be any casualties.”
And there she went again, knocking his laugh loose before he could catch it.
Her gaze shot to his, light flashing to life in those eyes. Oh no. He’d given himself away.
The Pre-Ball Dance workshop was a joke.
Nora’s frown deepened as she watched the elegant moves of the dancers in the center of the room. How did they expect anyone to learn Regency ballroom dances in an hour and a half’s practice? Surely the dancers gliding across the ballroom floor had practiced lots longer…years longer.
She held in her sigh, careful to keep her posture straight instead of slumped, no matter how much her disappointed hopes pulled her down. Maybe if she’d focused more on the dance lessons than on the spellbinding memories of Ethan Keller, her feet might have landed on the floor more than on her dance partner’s shoes.
And for the entire dance lesson, she’d felt as though someone watched her.
Her face flamed with a fresh flush of heat. Of course, people watched her! She’d stumbled around on the floor like she’d either adopted the flippers of a penguin or spent too much time in the tavern.
Maybe it was a good thing she hadn’t seen Ethan again and followed through with her plans to invite him to the Masquerade as her date. The sigh won this time. He was rather princely, so he might have enjoyed sweeping her off her feet. Especially if they were crushing his.
Oh why, oh why didn’t her heart listen to her head? Here she was in the middle of a masquerade ball in Bath, England, and all she could think about was Ethan Keller! She was a complete failure at harmless flirtations. She tilted her head heavenward in thought, a sweet understanding dimming the ache of her self-beating.
She’d not failed at romance…or love.
After all this time, she’d rediscovered both.
For years, she’d wondered if her heart would ever awaken to love again, and this week proved the touch possible…in a painful sort of way. But even with the pain, she knew she wanted a second chance.
A movement to her right caught in her periphery. She peeked over and there stood a Regency-attired specimen of a man. Heroic, even, with his silver mask designed with horses and a black plume.
Breeches never looked so good.
Her nose tingled with a sudden rush of tears. Ethan would have looked great in breeches.
With a sigh, she focused ahead, not recalling anyone like the statuesque form beside her attending her previous workshops. And why on earth was he near her instead of pursuing the beauty in the white and gold gown standing across the room?
“Don’t you mean to dance?” He asked, his English tones as stiff as his smile.
Her head spun to him, nearly knocking her golden tiara loose. “Um…I don’t think so.”
“Why not?”
Oh no, no! He was going to ask her to dance. Her stays pinched the breath from her chest as she saw her future in a humiliating bundle of gold and crimson in the center of the dance floor. Those dancers really made it look much easier than it was. “I don’t want there to be casualties,” she muttered.
His laugh erupted with such a delightful ring that something familiar fluttered to life in her chest. She studied as much of him as she could with the mask taking up most of his face.
Those lips.
That smile.
Her heart plummeted. He reminded her of Ethan. Of course, nearly everything in the past twenty-four hours reminded her of him.
She was such a dope.
She looked back to the dancers, to avoid the man’s gaze, probing for more conversation. It didn’t work.
“You don’t seem to be enjoying yourself.”
Nora faked a smile. “Oh, I am. This is a magical experience, don’t you think?”
He slid a step closer, his presence tingling up her spine. “Indeed. Quite magical. But you’re not very convincing.”
She groaned and looked over at him. “It was magical until yesterday, but I should have expected it. I tried to plan for it.” The handsome, mysterious man was right. She had this beautiful opportunity to enjoy her last night in Bath, and what was she doing? Pouting.
She channeled her inner-Lizzie Bennet, set her chin, and faced the stranger. “Do you want to dance?”
He hesitated, eyes wide, before his lips curved into an uncertain grin. “We’ve not even been introduced. Your invitation isn’t Regency appropriate, Miss—?”
“Simeon.” She took his hand. “And tonight, I need a little bit more than Regency appropriate. I need to seize the day, forget my disappointed hopes, and dance in a ballroom with a handsome man…even if I brand an embarrassing moment in my mind—or yours—for the rest of my
life.”
Besides, it was a cotillion. The cotillion was the easiest dance they learned. She’d done pretty well on it, as long as she focused on her steps.
How much talking could one really do in a cotillion anyway?
The quirk of his grin caught her attention and her mind blipped again—as if she ought to know him. He took her hand, pulling her into the group of four couples forming a small circle.
“Disappointed hopes?” He asked as the music began. “Of your own making or someone else’s?”
“A little bit of both.” The circle of dancers took one turn together. The easy part. “Me, with my unrealistic expectations.”
They parted to join a different partner, breaking off the conversation, but then met again a moment later. “And him, for leaving without a word.”
Partners shifted again, drawing them apart. Conversations while dancing in high school, were a lot easier than conversations during the Regency era.
The next change brought them back together for a little while.
“Leaving without a word?” the stranger asked. “And that fits his character, you think?”
“No, that’s the thing. It doesn’t fit his character at all—or what I thought his character to be—but it’s been a long time since I’ve cared about someone like this, so I didn’t catch the signs—”
He suddenly stopped dancing and pulled her close. She didn’t remember this part of the cotillion. “I sent you messages.”
Her gaze shot to his, comprehension dawning a few seconds later.
Ethan?
She stepped back, staring at him, her eyes probably as wide as her mouth. With a sweep of his arm he put them back in the dance, but she stumbled along, trying to make sense of this revelation.
“You never received the messages, did you?”
They switched partners again, but she kept her eyes on him, her brain fumbling beneath her confusion. Ethan dressed in Regency clothes and came to the ball to see her? He was the heroic stranger who looked quite fine in breeches?
Her assumptions spun in a pirouette.
But…but he’d dismissed her? Hadn’t he?
Love at First Laugh: Eight Romantic Novellas Filled with Love, Laughter, and Happily Ever After Page 9
