Juliet snapped back to the present moment. She almost seemed startled that Cecilia sat next to her.
“Don’t get any ideas now. I won’t say that I fancy Lord Overton…yet I won’t deny that I enjoy his company.”
Cecilia only raised an eyebrow in response. It sounded an awful lot to her like Juliet did indeed fancy the earl.
“I said don’t get any ideas!” Juliet pouted for a moment, before a dark expression overtook her. “You think I haven’t heard the whispers about him around town? About all the ladies he showers with his favor before casting them off? How he uses them for entertainment, for show?”
“But you’ve spent quite a good amount of time with him these past couple months. Do you really think he is that type of man?”
“Of course I don’t. But didn’t all his other favored ladies think the same?” The pain in Juliet’s voice was clear, and her brows turned up with worry.
“I don’t know, Juliet. The two of you seem to get on so well when we’re all together.”
Suddenly Juliet’s head snapped up, a defiant look in her eye. “As I said before, don’t get any ideas. I enjoy his friendship. But that is not the issue. Not the whole issue, anyway. If Lord Overton doesn’t ask for my hand, or if he does and I don’t wish to accept, Mama and Papa will either force me or find someone else to thrust upon me. I can’t bear the thought of living such a lie, of having my freedom stripped away so completely.”
“Yes.... I quite agree with you there.” Cecilia frowned, picking at the fingertips of her gloves.
“But what of you and Lord Neil? I’m sure they would love for you to make a match with him. I know you’ve had your misunderstandings, but surely you can’t find him that disagreeable. You have been staring at him all night. Couldn’t he be a fine substitute for your masked gentleman?” Juliet nudged Cecilia in the ribs with her elbow.
Cecilia glared at her sister and was just about to retort when the subjects of conversation once again approached.
“Ladies, may we collect our dances?” Lord Overton bowed and though he addressed them both, his eyes were fixed squarely upon Juliet.
Juliet took his hand and stood to follow him onto the floor, but not before throwing a knowing glance over her shoulder to Cecilia.
Lord Neil didn’t speak, but simply offered his hand to Cecilia. She took it, noticing the strength in his fingers as they gripped hers, despite the glove that acted as a buffer between them.
“You look very well this evening,” he murmured as they took their places.
“As do you, my lord.”
“I am sorry you had to suffer even a second in Mrs. Brace’s company,” Lord Neil apologized, beginning the steps of the dance.
“You know her?” Cecilia was surprised that the baron, who admitted freely that he kept his acquaintance list as short as possible, knew of Mrs. Brace.
“Certainly. She is quite the chatterbox. I fear she rather dislikes both Lord Overton and myself. Lord Overton had taken her daughter out on a few carriage rides several Seasons ago, but quit calling upon her after realizing her company was not to his liking.
“Then Mrs. Brace tried to encourage me to court her daughter.” He coughed, as if the very idea of courting someone was impure and embarrassing. “I managed to avoid her, and ever since she has said a number of unkind things about both of us, despite the fact that her daughter secured a good match later that same Season.”
Cecilia realized that she’d been gripping the baron’s hand too tightly as he shared his story. The poor man seemed misunderstood by nearly everyone in the ton, yet he sounded rather unaffected by it all. “I’m very sorry you’ve had deal with such spiteful behavior.”
The baron gave a small shrug. “I am more sorry you had to endure her vapid conversation. But such comments don’t affect me overmuch. Our world is full of small people with small minds. They don’t yet realize how little it costs to broaden one’s perspective. Perhaps one day they will. I hope they will. Miss Richards? Are you alright?”
Cecilia nearly stumbled, forgetting her steps as Lord Neil’s words rang in her ears.
“Yes! Quite alright! M-my dress must be a tad too long in the front.” She hurried the words out and glanced down at her feet as if examining her gown’s hemline for defects.
But what she really wanted to do was ensure that the baron did not see the rosy blush that surely must have flamed across her cheeks in an instant.
Lord Neil said something or other about hoping she would take care not to hurt herself but Cecilia paid little attention. His previous words rang a thousand chimes in her ears.
Our world is full of small people with small minds. They don’t yet realize how little it costs to broaden one’s perspective.
Her heart hammered in her chest and suddenly her hand in his felt far too hot. Her eyes wandered about his countenance, everywhere but his pensive dark brown eyes.
Had not her masked gentleman said something nearly to that exact same effect? Cecilia’s mind flew back to that memory, willing herself to remember what the man had said. If her mind wasn’t playing tricks on her, Lord Neil had phrased his astute statement word for word to the mystery man she’d danced with all those weeks ago.
Suddenly, Cecilia couldn’t prevent her senses from honing in on everything Lord Neil did, analyzing the way he danced, the way he held her hand and lead her about the floor, how each step landed. Her mind was working at a breakneck pace to match Lord Neil to the memory of her much longed for dance partner.
Something in Cecilia desperately wanted the answer to be Lord Neil. Even just for the sake of having an answer.
But the longer she found herself swept about the floor, encircled in his arms, the more she realized that she enjoyed the sensation. She felt comfortable. She was intrigued by the workings of his mind.
Yet no matter how hard her memory worked, Cecilia could not verify with absolute certainty that Lord Neil and the masked gentleman were a match. Too much time had passed, and despite how often she’d replayed that dance in her mind, the finer details had slipped away as they were bound to do.
“Perhaps it is not appropriate of me to ask this...”
Lord Neil’s low voice jolted Cecilia back to the present ballroom. “Yes?” She heard the breathlessness in her own voice and hoped beyond hope that he hadn’t heard it as well.
“Have you had any improvement with your pianoforte troubles?”
The question sounded sheepish, and when Cecilia finally looked up into his eyes, she saw genuine concern and curiosity. Her chest tightened with a strange, but not unpleasant sensation.
“I didn’t realize you remembered that,” she admitted.
“How could I forget it? It seemed to trouble you so deeply. In fact, I had hoped to inquire about your progress on several occasions, but I feared the topic might be too sensitive.” A rueful smile tugged at Lord Neil’s lips and his eyes darted away from hers.
“I appreciate your concern, and I would be happy to discuss my difficulties with you.” The truth of her own words stunned Cecilia. But the warmth that flooded the baron’s face told her that she’d said just the right thing. “Unfortunately, my situation is not much improved.”
Lord Neil nodded solemnly. “Nor is mine, I’m afraid. It seems books have lost their splendor. We appear to be companions in the same boat for a while longer.”
Cecilia wished she could comfort the baron and immediately blushed at the brazen thought. But just then their dance came to an end. They exchanged bows and curtsies but neither of them left their spots just yet. Cecilia hoped that he would ask her for another dance.
“Cecilia! There you are!”
The spell over Cecilia shattered as the sound of her mother’s hawkish voice pierced her ears, and surely everyone else’s in the vicinity. Cecilia swore she saw Lord Neil wince ever so slightly.
“Our gracious hosts have heard about your accomplishments with the pianoforte, and they’d like you to play a piece while the musicians take ref
reshments.”
Mrs. Richards nearly clawed at Cecilia’s arm in her excitement and hurry to get her daughter over to the instrument.
“Mama—!” Cecilia attempted to argue but it was no use. She stumbled along behind her mother, but Cecilia managed to glance back over her shoulder to the baron.
He hadn’t walked away yet. Instead, his gaze was fixed on her, and when their eyes met he gave a wide smile and quick nod. Good luck, he mouthed.
In that moment, Cecilia knew that her struggles with the pianoforte had been put to rest.
Chapter 10
Drat it all, Henry cursed to himself as Mrs. Richards dragged her daughter away. He’d just been about to ask for a second dance—something he had never done before.
But the look of hope that lit up her face as he’d wished her luck would suffice.
He followed behind Miss Richards and her mother toward the front of the ballroom, where the pianoforte and the musicians’ instruments had been set up.
This time he was careful to keep his distance and remain out of view. He dared not risk a repeat of Solomon’s dinner, especially since tonight’s crowd was far larger. He chose a spot nearby but facing her back so that she would not be thrown by him again and lose her confidence.
The Master of Ceremonies called the guests' attention and introduced Miss Richards. She took her seat on the bench and adjusted the sheet music, finding the piece she wanted. But before she began, Miss Richards turned slightly to look over her shoulder, her eyes scanning the room for something or someone.
Henry hoped that she wouldn’t turn far enough to notice him. Just as he was about to slip further back, Miss Richards found him.
Those ocean blue eyes locked onto his, and the corners of her lips curled up into a shy smile. Perhaps, Henry realized with a shock, Miss Richards had been looking for him after all.
He nearly brushed the thought away as absurd. Their dance had been pleasant, and they seemed to have overcome the awkwardness that had settled between them and worried him into a state of near silence at the dinner in the Richards home last night.
Certainly, Henry found that he had enjoyed the dance far more than he’d thought possible. Despite their numerous meetings over the course of the last two months, conversation had been limited. Henry blamed that on himself, as conversation had never been his strong suit. But the few glimpses he caught into Miss Richards’s character and thoughts intrigued him.
Even from what little Miss Richards had said during their outings, Henry could see that she had a unique way of viewing the world. In her eyes, everything was lovely and charming and funny. Every person was a friend, until they proved otherwise as Mr. Faxby had done.
And yes, he had certainly noticed the way her eyes softened when they passed by young courting couples or newlyweds in the park. But there was always a hint of something else in her expression. Longing, perhaps.
He wished to speak with her and learn more, but he felt that he’d made the impression that he would rather be in his library or study than spending time in her company. And that had been true initially.
Henry knew he should have done more to prompt friendliness between them. Goodness knew he’d had plenty of opportunities. They weren’t unfriendly, but any time they were together Henry could feel the weight of some wordless unease between them.
But the more time passed, the more Henry found it difficult to speak up. Every time she entered the room, or he helped her into the carriage, or she walked by his side with her hand upon his arm, Henry’s voice failed him. He'd had too few close relationships to understand how to mend something that he wasn’t sure was wrong.
Henry had resolved to finally break that barrier somehow tonight. Even if he didn’t know what to say or how to say it. As his own struggles with writing continued Henry had been increasingly curious about Miss Richards’s progress. But he didn’t wish to upset her if the subject remained a sore one.
Tonight had almost been a failure in regards to Henry’s secret self-imposed mission. Henry had been certain that he would never gain Miss Richards’s good graces when he saw Mrs. Brace prattling on to the Richards women, and saw the troublesome woman’s panicked look as he and Solomon had approached. He’d known without a doubt that Mrs. Brace had been gossiping about them.
But, as she was wont to do, Miss Richards surprised him. Her expression told him in no uncertain terms, almost as if she had spoken aloud, exactly what she thought of Mrs. Brace and her meddling gossip. He had been glad to learn that they were of the same mind when it came to those types.
The dance itself, however, was another challenge. Henry was aware of every second that slipped by, their feet completing the patterns with barely a thought, her gloved hand smooth in his.
Henry couldn’t pinpoint it, but as they’d spoken and spun about the room, something in Miss Richards’s entire aura changed. She suddenly felt soft in his arms, and her eyes had contained an expression he wasn’t sure he’d ever seen directed at himself before. He wasn’t sure yet what to call it.
Whatever it was, it had been enough to give him courage and finally ask what was on his mind. He was saddened to hear that she also continued to fight against her invisible foe, as he himself secretly did. Henry wished he could share his own struggles with her, that they could comfort each other through the trials of artistic interests.
A small victory—in a battle Henry didn’t know why he felt the need to fight—but a victory nonetheless. He looked forward to more amiable outings, and perhaps a new friend with whom he could one day discuss his private writing woes.
Yet despite this victory, Henry was quite surprised to realize that—unless he was a far bigger fool than he’d thought—Miss Richards had indeed been looking for him in the crowd as she readied herself to perform.
The realization sent a chill down Henry’s spine. His eyes had not deceived him. Miss Richards’s eyes quickly darted to the side and then back to Henry. He somehow seemed to understand once again exactly what she meant. No words needed, even from across a room full of people.
Henry weaseled his way through the other guests until he found an empty spot near the side of the small stage set up for musical entertainment. Henry now had an unobstructed view of Miss Richards’s side profile. His eyes quickly took her in, from the gentle slope of her neck as she looked over the sheet music, to the way her shoulders dropped down with grace, to the tall and proud bridge of her nose, to the puffy pout of her lips.
Miss Richards placed her hands upon the keys, ready to begin. She took a deep breath and as she did so, she glanced to Henry again out of the corner of her eye. He gave her a quick nod of encouragement. The young woman smiled and began playing.
Despite her earlier confession that she continued to suffer mental blocks at the pianoforte, Henry was convinced within moments that she had not just overcome them, but leapt past them on sparkling wings.
The melody of the song was slow and dramatic, and Henry’s heartbeat matched its pace with the deep chords. Every thump reverberated through his whole chest and Henry wondered why his heart had never beat with such force and impact before. And he wondered why it was doing so at this moment.
The beautiful music floated in the air and mesmerized the entire room—Henry most of all. He found it utterly fascinating that these sounds were being produced by every precise placement of Miss Richards’s fingers, that she could coax such magic out of an otherwise lifeless object.
And better still, Henry enjoyed watching her perform. He'd noticed it at Solomon’s dinner as well—the way she swayed in time with the music, the way her face shifted through a myriad of emotions as the song progressed. It was as if the piece told its story through her entire body.
Then it struck Henry, a hidden memory that he’d carefully filed away and buried beneath all his ideas for his new novel and most recently with his predicament as Solomon’s courtship advisor.
Miss Richards reminded him of someone.
Something about her countenance
and bearing had seemed familiar to him before, especially when she’d performed at Solomon’s dinner several weeks ago. But he’d quickly banished the thought. Though he’d known even then that Miss Richards was very talented despite her mistakes at the end, Henry had been able to dismiss any similarities he’d drawn between them.
But listening to her play now, executing the piece perfectly and with such passion and love for the instrument as he’d never seen before, Henry’s mind suddenly recalled that night at the Henshell ball. That heavenly pianoforte performance.
Of course, that lady had been wearing a mask, so Henry hadn’t been able to obtain an accurate picture of her face. Yet certain moments of that memory were being superimposed over the present moment and over Miss Richards.
Her golden hair in the candlelight, the way her lips parted ever so slightly, the passion and precision with which she played—could Miss Richards be that very same lady?
But they had in fact brought up that very performance on their first carriage ride together, and Miss Richards had given no indication whatsoever that she had been the woman behind the mask. This would be an even stranger coincidence than some of the events spun in his own tales.
Just as suddenly as it had begun, the music came to an end, the last notes trailing away softly into the distance.
Miss Richards breathed deeply and smiled down at the instrument, her fingers brushing against the keys as though they were a dear friend she had been missing. She turned slightly to face Henry, and her bright face lit something deep within his chest. He couldn’t stop himself from returning her exuberant smile.
The applause was polite but hearty, and Henry proudly added his own echoing claps to the mix. Proud. He hadn’t realized he could be so proud of someone else’s accomplishment and joy. But he loved seeing her triumphantly stand to accept her applause. It took Henry a moment to realize that it meant so much to him because he knew how long she’d struggled to get to this moment, and how painful the ache of wanting to create but being unable could be.
Behind The Baron's Mask: A Regency Romance (Resolved In Love Book 1) Page 12