“Oh, come now,” Rosamund chided, taking Cecilia’s hands in her own and placing a quick kiss on her cheek. Though Rosamund was a very close friend—second only to Juliet—Cecilia still knew that her place as the daughter of a landed gentleman without titles put her far below the daughter of a baron. Rosamund, however, had the luxury of not caring for such distinctions.
Mrs. Richards quickly excused herself from her current conversation and turned both herself and Juliet to the attention of the hostess’s daughter.
“How did you recognize me?” Cecilia asked.
“Well, I thought something about your presence seemed familiar, and of course once I saw your company I knew it could be none other than the three finest ladies in all of London.” Rosamund beamed graciously under her mask. “We are thrilled to have you here.”
“The pleasure is ours, of course.” Mrs. Richards and Juliet curtsied.
The domino could not conceal the glee in their mother’s eyes. If Cecilia had thus far failed in her duty to the family by way of finding a husband, at least she’d managed to befriend Lady Henshell’s daughter. Mrs. Richards loved to exploit this tidbit of information when making her many connections, as Lady Henshell was greatly respected in all the finest circles.
“I’m glad to have found you, Cecilia.” With greetings done, Rosamund turned Cecilia away from her mother and sister, her voice grave.
“Whatever is the matter?” Concern drew Cecilia’s brows together behind her mask.
“I grow weary of these musicians and I believe they could take a rest in any case. Would you do us all the honor of gracing the pianoforte with your impeccable talent?” Though she could not see her friend’s expression, the imploring tone in her voice was clear enough.
Cecilia laughed quietly. Rosamund need not beg her for anything. Cecilia was happy to oblige her charming friend. But, as Cecilia had come to learn, Rosamund did enjoy a show and made anything a performance if she could manage it.
“Already? I’ve only just arrived, and I haven’t danced a single set yet.” Cecilia already knew that she would play, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t tease her friend a bit first.
“Please, you must! You know everyone adores your playing! I promise to introduce you to every fine gentleman I know here and you’ll wish for another pair of legs for all the dancing you’ll be asked to do,” Rosamund wheedled, grabbing Cecilia’s hands and squeezing them with sincerity.
“Wouldn’t Mama and Papa be so very pleased about that! Do lead the way.”
Chapter 2
Henry could not fathom how Solomon had convinced him to attend this cursed ball. It was certainly the largest event he’d attended in a long while, and hopefully it would be the only gathering of this size he would be dragged to for the rest of the Season.
“It amazes me how dour you can manage to look even behind your mask,” Solomon huffed under his own half mask.
“It is only because you know me so well.” Henry fought to keep the annoyance out of his voice.
“I appreciate you humoring me this once, oh great Lord Neil.” Solomon laughed and patted Henry squarely between the shoulders, nearly causing him to stumble up the stairs to the grand Henshell home.
There was nothing for it but to sigh and hope the night would pass quickly enough, or that his gregarious friend could be torn from the dance floor at a reasonable hour. The sound of the musicians playing a rollicking tune for the dancers set Henry on edge as they passed through the foyer and down the hall toward the ballroom situated at the back of Lord Henshell’s town home.
He suspected that Solomon would insist he dance at least one set, pointing out suitable partners amongst the thick crowd of well-dressed women. He could always escape to the card room, but even there Henry didn’t feel at home. As they entered the ballroom, the thought of home reminded Henry of the book languishing on the desk in his study, waiting for him to fill it with more words.
“Drat, I forgot how effective these costumes could be,” Solomon murmured by the doorway, trying to see through the boisterous activity. “Well, we shall simply have to take the opportunity to make some new acquaintance.” He picked a direction and strode forward confidently, disguised eyes turning to watch his poised figure weave through the crowd.
An easy enough feat for the Earl of Overton¸ Henry thought to himself, a stinging tinge of jealousy shooting through his chest for the briefest moment. Being best friends with Solomon Catley, Earl of Overton and a top Society beau to boot, could at times put one’s own life and manners into harsh perspective.
Rather like a lost dog, Henry followed Solomon about the room, bowing to introductions as Solomon easily engaged in conversation. Henry dutifully answered questions directed towards himself and remarked on mundane details such as the fortuitous weather as of late. Unfortunately for Henry, each time he found himself easing into the simple banter, Solomon marched on to the next group of gentlemen.
But luck finally struck as they came upon none other than Lord Henshell himself, the portly man enjoying a refreshment of champagne and laughing at some joke or tale relayed by the masked man who currently claimed his attention.
“My lord! Do save some drink for your guests, I beg you.” Solomon beamed as he and Henry approached Lord Henshell. Though Solomon outranked their host as an earl and Lord Henshell a baron, the jab landed playfully and elicited a nearly uncouth cackle from their friend. If Henry and Solomon had learned anything of the Baron of Henshell in their years of friendship forged through membership at Boodle’s, it was that the man could and would drink to his heart’s content.
“Overton, Neil, thank Heaven you are here. I could certainly use some help in making this delightful champagne scarce.” Lord Henshell greeted the two men, quickly ignoring whichever poor gentleman had been hoping to make an impression on him.
They settled into friendly conversation and Henry found himself unwinding slightly. To say that he hated company would be a mistake. He simply chose his company very carefully—and at such a gathering as this, he could not tell where he might find a comforting presence. Save for Solomon, of course, and now Lord Henshell. A few more lords of their acquaintance joined their number and Henry felt more at ease within this small circle.
“Neil, how are you doing these days?” Lord Henshell asked as the group cycled through topics of interest.
“Quite well. Locked away in my study reading anything I can get my hands on, as usual.” Henry swallowed as he lied.
Being a writer was his greatest joy, far more than being the Baron of Neil or having a great estate or being invited to all the best events hosted by the ton. Writing was his life and love. Though it was an eccentric hobby, he gladly whiled away his hours in his study, scribbling word after word, creating thrilling scenarios for intriguing characters with his imagination.
Indeed, as soon as his pen placed the last period on the page, Henry began work on his next adventure. He’d turned his most recent manuscript in at Frye Publishing just last week and they would ensure that it was fit for publication while he continued writing. Though it was just a few pages long yet, Henry had been loath to leave his work to attend this masquerade.
But no one aside from Solomon knew this. It was unusual for a man of Henry’s standing to pursue such fancies, especially when an abundance of far more interesting pastimes could be had. Most of Henry’s acquaintances knew and eventually accepted that he would never be found in a gambling hell or in the audience of a boxing match. They learned to leave him to his own devices in his library, where he did read a great deal. He simply left out any discussion of his primary occupation—writing a series of adventure novels.
Fortunately or unfortunately for Henry, Solomon—his dearest friend since their boarding days at Winchester—really did know him too well. Now that he was at the ball and in pleasant company, Henry could feel the tension slowly slipping from his cramped shoulders, all too often hunched over his writing desk. And it was Solomon, after all, who recognized Henry’s
gift for storytelling and convinced him to finally put his thoughts on paper, and then quietly passed his first manuscript along to Anthony Frye himself.
“We should consider ourselves lucky that Neil agreed to join us tonight,” Solomon chimed with a laugh, clapping Henry on the shoulder. Henry knew Solomon jested but all the same he was glad that his blush could not be seen behind his full-face mask.
As the other men shared updates of their own lives, the music ceased. Dancers lingered on the floor and the guests on the sidelines craned their necks to determine the cause of the silence. The Master of Ceremonies came forward and announced, “Lady Henshell has selected a special performance by a very accomplished guest to be played on the pianoforte.”
“Let’s take a closer look, shall we?” Solomon elbowed Henry and nodded toward the band at the back of the room, the pianoforte barely visible between the press of shimmering dresses and sharply cut coats.
“Do we really need a closer look at a performance designed to delight our ears?” Henry retorted, perfectly content to remain with his companions.
“Must you always be so troublesome, dear Henry? A young and exceedingly talented pianoforte player has been talked of in town, and I have had the privilege of hearing her play at a number of dinners last Season. I simply wonder if it might be the same young lady.” Considering the debate ended, Solomon made his way into the crowd.
Henry quickly caught up and asked, “And, if the lady is masked, how do you presume to know it is her?”
“I like to think that I possess a trained ear and can determine if she is one and the same.”
“Do you have a particular interest in this young pianoforte player?” Henry knew the likely answer to this question, and the caution in his voice betrayed his suspicion, but he asked nonetheless.
“Heavens, no,” Solomon scoffed. He sounded nearly offended that his friend would even consider the possibility. “But part of the entertainment of this ball is using one’s intelligence to mentally unmask the revelers, is it not? I have my guess as to this lady’s identity, and I should like to see if I am correct.”
Henry could only shake his head and chuckle. Of course, everything with Solomon was a game or contest, either with himself or any unlucky man fool enough to test him. His attitude toward being leg-shackled anytime soon seemed unchanged.
They secured a spot closer to the pianoforte, but the crowd certainly hadn’t thinned. Though Henry was of slightly taller than average height, he still struggled to see. Solomon, on the other hand, had an unrestricted view. Even with what he could see, the pianoforte was at an unfortunate angle for him to get a better look at the player. It was just as well. He needn’t see to enjoy the music.
But as the young lady approached the instrument, a murmur swept through the crowd. Curious, Henry peered around the other guests. The glimpse he caught surprised him. Though he couldn’t see much more than her back as she sat on the bench, he had to admit that the gown she wore was beautiful and she carried it with elegance. The soft cream fabric shimmered as she moved and her blonde curls glowed in the candlelight of the grand chandeliers. Whoever she was, she possessed a most becoming poise.
Despite the indication from Solomon and the Master of Ceremonies, Henry could feel his eyes go wide behind his mask as the music tumbled from her hands. The young woman’s gift for the pianoforte stole his breath from his body. Her fingers flew over the keys with grace and precision, not a single note out of place. He didn’t doubt that it was one of the most beautiful performances he’d ever heard.
And despite his earlier protests about seeing the performance instead of simply hearing it—as was the main purpose of music— Henry could not remove his eyes from her form as she played, swaying ever so slightly to the music. As the piece came to an end, her head turned just enough for Henry to see her side profile, hidden of course by a white half mask. But he could see the smile that tugged at the corner of her mouth as the last notes faded into silence.
Polite applause greeted the young woman as she rose from the instrument and Henry lost sight of her. But Solomon had seen all.
“A truly spectacular performance, wouldn’t you say?” He peered at Henry through the gaps in his mask, his eyes dancing with mischief.
“Indeed. Breathtaking,” Henry murmured, knowing that something he did not like was running through his friend’s mind.
“The musicians will be starting back up shortly. You should dance at least one set, and I think I know just the young lady.” Solomon grinned before darting away into the crowd.
“Wait!” Henry called out, but it was too late. His heart thudded in his chest, deeply embarrassed that his friend had noticed his interest. If it could even be called that.
As something of an artist himself, Henry appreciated fine music and the talent it took to practice and produce it. He would have thoroughly enjoyed the performance, regardless of who played the piece. But it was in Solomon’s nature to weasel as much fun as he could out of any situation. Unfortunately, Solomon’s fun was presently at Henry’s expense.
Henry stood rooted to his spot, anxiety coursing through him, until the other guests began flowing around him and he realized he would soon be crushed under the feet of dozens of dancers if he didn’t move out of the way. He stumbled toward the outskirts of the dance floor and he could feel beads of sweat forming at his temples.
This was not at all what he’d agreed to when he came out with Solomon tonight. Conversation, refreshments, perhaps a dance with someone of his choosing. He did not appreciate Solomon attempting to play matchmaker and forcing him into an unexpected situation. As he frantically scanned the room, Henry vowed to have some strong words with his friend. If he survived whatever was about to happen.
Thanks to Solomon’s height and auburn hair, it wasn’t difficult for Henry to spot him weaving through the guests toward him. “I hope you have not done what I think you’ve done,” Henry whispered sharply as Solomon rejoined him.
The other man’s coy smile was answer enough, but Solomon still defended himself. “It couldn’t possibly be so horrible as you make it sound, Henry. You could use a little intrigue in your life once in a while. And what is tonight all about, if not intrigue?”
“Solomon, you kno—”
“She disappeared quickly but I managed to find where she’s sitting. We must hurry, the next set will be starting soon.” Solomon winked, cutting Henry’s complaints off. With a firm hand on Henry’s shoulder, Solomon steered them both across the room.
“But Solomon, do we know anyone in common who could even make the introduction?”
“Do not try to weasel out of this. Those rules are laxer at mysterious events such as this. Part of the fun is not knowing who you might come across, so no one will think you a rogue for not making a typical introduction.”
Henry’s jaw clenched. Guests swept past him in a blur, the different colored dresses melting together as his nerves thrashed against this unwanted, impertinent situation. The two men approached a small group of women seated together along the wall. There she was. The young woman who could make magic out of thin air.
“I’m off to fetch a drink. The rest is up to you,” Solomon whispered in Henry’s ear as they came up to the group and dashed away just like he’d done before. The ladies looked up at Henry, now alone.
A beat of awkward silence passed before Henry remembered what Solomon had cornered him into. He couldn’t very well just stand there all evening, staring. “Good evening, madam.” He turned his attention to the pianoforte player. “I greatly enjoyed your playing. May I ask for the next set?”
“I would be delighted,” the mystery woman agreed, holding her hand out for Henry to take. He obliged, a shiver running through him as their gloved fingers made contact. As Henry lead her to the floor to join the set, he spied Solomon near a footman bearing glasses of champagne, chatting with a young lady.
They immediately fell into step together. Clearly musicality lived in everything the woman did. H
enry could tell within seconds that she was also a very practiced dancer.
After a few moments of nothing but music between them, the young lady finally spoke, quiet and polite. “Thank you for your kind words earlier. Have you been enjoying your evening?”
Henry coughed. “It was indeed a splendid performance. My evening has become all the better for it.” His voice came out gruffer than he intended, his nerves drying out his throat.
“You are too kind. It is simply a favorite pastime of mine.” The young woman graced him with a humble smile. Henry sensed that she really did not view her talent as being particularly special, just something she enjoyed privately and occasionally shared. Not unlike himself.
“Ah, I understand and appreciate the sentiment.”
“Oh?” Her head tilted to the side, soft curls bouncing slightly. “Are you an artist?”
Henry faltered, nearly crushing the poor woman’s feet as his mind worked quickly to determine how much he should share. He ultimately erred on the side of caution. “Of a sort, you could say.”
If she noticed his struggle, she didn’t let on. She simply gave a small nod at his discretion.
“Isn’t it wonderful to have a creative outlet? I do think more people would benefit from such hobbies that allow their minds and spirits to wander into other realms besides this physical one. Yet no one seems to put much store by it except for the great masters, and only those masters are really respected for their craft.” She spoke softly, a wistful lilt to her voice.
Henry’s heart flipped in his chest and he suddenly realized the anxiety that had seized it just moments ago had been replaced by another sensation, though he could not fathom how to describe it. How silly, he thought to himself—a writer unable to describe something.
“Yes, that is unfortunately true. It seems our world is full of small people with small minds. They don’t know how little it costs to broaden one’s perspective.”
His own words surprised him. He certainly hadn’t been intending to share any deep life insights. But the young woman nodded with an understanding smile.
Behind The Baron's Mask: A Regency Romance (Resolved In Love Book 1) Page 2