Behind The Baron's Mask: A Regency Romance (Resolved In Love Book 1)

by Penny Fairbanks

As soon as she stepped through the doors, Miss Richards’s expression transformed into wonderment, her eyes scanning the room’s resplendent décor and the many well-dressed theatergoers. A smile spread across her face and she said something to her sister with glowing excitement in her eyes.

  She craned her head to peer around the throng of people waiting for the play to start and Henry’s heart leapt at the realization that she was likely looking for him.

  Several attendees greeted the family as they walked in. Miss Richards took it all in stride, as Henry had observed before. She smiled graciously and laughed politely, and when one lady or gentleman walked away another replaced them.

  Watching her self-assured interactions and clear enjoyment of the company, Henry couldn’t help contrasting his own unsettled stomach and uneven breathing.

  A sudden flurry of gloved arms and silk skirts temporarily obstructed Henry’s view as Miss Henshell approached Miss Richards, taking her friends hands in hers with an animated smile. Solomon had also invited the Henshell family to share his booth, knowing that their daughter was very friendly with the Richards daughters.

  Lord Henshell already appeared disinterested while Lady Henshell looked nearly fit to burst as she said something sharply to her daughter. Miss Richards gently took Miss Henshell by the arm and steered her further into the room.

  He watched for a few moments, noticing again how at home she seemed in a place like this. Something deep in his mind gave an uncomfortable tug, but he couldn’t quite place it. And he didn’t have time to, as Miss Richards finally saw him in his corner. Just as he’d so ardently hoped, she smiled with enthusiasm and her eyes blazed for a moment as they connected with his.

  Henry’s knees seemed to unlock and he made his way through the crowd toward her.

  “Good evening, Miss Richards. I hope you are well.” He took her outstretched hand and bowed low over it, his lips barely brushing the smooth fabric of her gloved knuckle.

  “I am far better now that I am here in your company,” she replied with a curtsey.

  Not knowing what else to do, they simply stood in the middle of the room while others filtered around them, taking in each other’s faces as if they hadn’t seen each other just a few days ago.

  “Ahem.” A quiet cough jolted them both back to their senses, and Henry flushed at the sly glint in Miss Juliet’s eye as she caught up with them. “We should find Lord Overton and make our way to the booth, don’t you think?”

  They did just that, collecting Solomon away from a small crowd of dandy acquaintances. The theater itself was just as magnificent, with its rows upon rows of seats and booths and of course the grand stage. Even Henry could put aside his anxiety to appreciate the architecture.

  Solomon led them to his private box. The view perfectly captured the stage and much of the seated audience. Henry knew he had secured this particular box for that very reason. After all, Solomon enjoyed the show both on the stage and in the crowd.

  The ladies took the front row of seats while the men sat behind, with Mr. Richards and Lord Henshell directly behind their wives. Henry and Solomon sat behind the Richards sisters.

  Latecomers filtered in, the buzz of activity humming through the theater.

  “I am so thrilled to be here tonight,” Miss Richards commented, turning to Henry. “I actually haven’t been to the theater yet this Season, but I enjoy it so! Theater is such an incredible work of art, don’t you think?”

  Her eyes shimmered with delight as she looked from him to the beautifully built room to the hundreds of people anticipating the play.

  “I absolutely agree.” Despite the opulent setting, Henry found he couldn’t remove his eyes from Miss Richards’s charming face.

  “I thought you would.” Her attention returned to him with a bright smile. “Although I must confess that I enjoy coming out not just for the story and acting. It's a great opportunity to encounter acquaintances I don’t often see, and to admire all these well-dressed people.”

  As if to emphasize her point, Miss Richards’s eyes darted back out to the audience and she waved to several people as they took their seats.

  Try as he might, Henry found it nearly impossible to focus on the play. He always enjoyed Shakespeare’s works, but certain thoughts nagged his attention away every few minutes.

  First and foremost, of course, was Miss Richards’s proximity. Though she sat directly before him, Henry had an excellent view of her animated reactions as she turned her face from side to side with the actors’ movement.

  Henry marveled at the way she seemed to have a new expression for every feeling. He wondered if a lifetime would be long enough to see each one. And he found that he did not care if he missed the entire play, preferring to watch it unfold through Miss Richards.

  If those were the only thoughts that occupied Henry’s mind, he would have considered the evening a success. Below the surface of his fixation on Miss Richards, something else prodded at a deep corner of his mind.

  They were nearly through the second act when it somehow became clear to Henry. How could he imagine a future with Miss Richards, when she clearly loved these lively social events and he did not? He had only come tonight for the chance to see her. If he asked for Miss Richards’s hand, would he be forced to spend all his nights at operas or dinners instead of writing?

  “This acting is superb. I've so missed coming to the theater but I’ve been so busy with other engagements,” she whispered to him over her shoulder. If she noticed the way his jaw clenched as her words confirmed his misgivings, she didn’t indicate it.

  He needed a world lived inside, where he could write in peace and quiet. She needed a world lived outside, amongst the people she enjoyed doing the things she loved.

  Who was he to take that charming vitality from her?

  The pages in Henry’s hands felt stiff and coarse. He should have been happy to have a completed manuscript after how long he’d struggled to write it. But holding the draft in his hands now, Henry felt nothing but disappointment and shame.

  He’d just finished reading the draft, hopeful that it had turned out better than expected. Unfortunately, the opposite proved true.

  He threw the pages onto his desk and dropped his face into his hands. The manuscript was a complete failure. Though he’d given his best effort, Henry fell far short of his usual ability to bring his world and characters to life. The words existed on the page in his handwriting, but they were dull and uninspired and foreign.

  Henry groaned, the frustration swelling into a pulsing headache. Suddenly Henry stood, pushing his chair back with such force that it nearly fell backwards. An urge to do something, anything, seized Henry’s body and he snatched the draft from his desk. The pages crumpled in his fingers as he stormed across the study to the fireplace. He watched the red and orange flames dance. This seemed the only fitting home for his defective manuscript.

  As Henry lifted his hand to throw the pages into the fireplace, something stilled him. He had no other copies or record of this work. If he did this, he could not recreate it save for whatever remained in his memories. But he only needed to recall a few subpar sentences and scenes to decide his course.

  The flames clung eagerly to Henry’s offering and the paper curled and blackened obligingly under their influence. Henry watched for a moment as the fire transformed his words into ash.

  He suddenly could not bear to be in his study any longer. He turned on his heel and marched out of the room and up the stairs to the drawing room. He could have retreated to his library but Henry wanted nothing to do with any books at the moment.

  Once in the drawing room, Henry lowered himself into the plushest armchair he could find and allowed himself to sink back into the soft fabric. Sunlight from the large window gleamed against the highly polished furnishings and bathed Henry in warmth. He leaned his head back and closed his weary eyes. Perhaps he could have a brief rest. Lord knew Henry had barely slept these past several nights while he studied his manuscript.r />
  But the headache thundered through Henry’s skull, pulsing and coiling beneath his skin. He sat forward with his head drooping between his shoulders and propped his elbows up on his knees. With a heavy sigh, Henry brought his head up and opened his eyes.

  The pianoforte in the opposite corner immediately caught Henry’s attention. Thoughts tumbled through his mind as he gazed at the instrument. His mother. Miss Richards. The masked lady.

  As if by magic, Henry’s headache lifted away and his eyes grew wide with a bold new idea. In truth, the idea was not new. Nor was it Henry’s.

  “Of course…” he whispered to himself, the pieces of his plan clicking into place. He’d been such a fool. The key to enriching his writing had been handed to him on a platter months ago at Lord Henshell’s ball.

  Just as the mysterious pianoforte player had said, Henry needed female characters in his stories to add variety and depth and new perspectives.

  And he knew just the woman who inspired all those qualities.

  In a frenzy, Henry rushed back to his study and spread fresh pages across his desk, his pen nearly slipping through his fingers in his haste. Henry had always believed far more in the importance of discipline over inspiration. But he thanked the heavens for this miraculous inspiration. With pen at the ready, Henry vowed to devote himself to his work like never before.

  “But something is not right! I know my friend, and he does not avoid me like this for no reason. Allow me to see him at once!”

  Henry felt a sharp stab of guilt as he heard Solomon’s pleading voice in the foyer. Henry had instructed all his staff to refuse anyone admittance to the house until further notice. Even Solomon. It would appear that his friend had stopped believing their excuses of Henry’s illness.

  “I am sorry, Lord Overton, truly. But Lord Neil is in no condition to entertain—”

  “It’s quite alright. Let him by.” Henry stepped out from around the corner and interrupted his butler.

  “Henry!” Solomon called out with surprise.

  “It’s nice to see you, Solomon. Let’s go to the library.” Henry asked the butler to see that tea was prepared and brought to the library.

  The door had barely clicked into place behind them when Solomon rounded on Henry and his frustrations burst forth.

  “What in the world is going on with you, Henry? I’ve been turned away from your home for two weeks. All your letters say is that you are suffering from some sort of persistent sickness. Good Heaven, I feared you might be on your deathbed. But I knew something felt amiss. And here you stand, fine as day. Why have you refused to see me or write with any actual information?”

  The exasperation in Solomon’s voice took Henry by surprise. He had indeed missed his friend, but Henry couldn’t bring himself to leave his desk aside from the bare necessities of human nature. The words flew out from his pen with incredible speed and he dared not break his concentration.

  Solomon stared at him with anger and a hint of hurt in his perceptive brown eyes. The guilt weighed heavily on Henry. Pride had gotten in the way of the one true relationship he had in this world.

  “I’m sorry, Solomon. It’s nothing you did, I can assure you of that. I finally finished that blasted draft two weeks ago but it was so terrible I threw it into the flames.”

  Henry sank into an armchair and Solomon followed suit, leaning forward to give his full attention to Henry. Henry gave an overview of the many faults he’d found in his manuscript.

  “I’m terribly sorry to hear that, my friend.” Solomon frowned, his voice low and grave. He sounded almost as if Henry had told him he’d contracted consumption and had but a few weeks to live.

  “I’m rewriting it now after taking into consideration advice I received some time ago. It’s going much better now and I think this will improve my entire approach. I was simply embarrassed that I failed so spectacularly with my previous attempt, and I didn’t want to confess it.”

  Solomon sat in silence for a moment, peering at Henry with thoughtfully narrowed eyes. “But that doesn’t fully explain why you lied to me.”

  Henry blanched at his friend’s forthright assessment. He should not be surprised that Solomon could sense something deeper going on beneath the surface.

  “You could have written and told me you were busy with work. I can always understand that. I know you promised to escort the Richards sisters with me, but I would never truly hold you so tightly to it if I knew you needed to focus. Why did you insist upon telling me that you were ill?”

  Though Henry had gone pale just a moment before, his face now flared with a scarlet blush.

  “Aha,” Solomon chuckled dryly. “So it is something to do with Miss Richards.”

  Henry ran a hand through his already messy hair. “Yes. There is no point in denying it now. You know that Miss Richards had been weighing heavily on my mind. In a favorable way.”

  “And didn’t you two have a grand time at the theater? Or did I miss something?”

  “We did have a very nice time. I confess I was so focused on her that I barely remember the play itself. It's like she was all the entertainment I needed...”

  “Then I don’t follow. What could be wrong with that? It sounds as though you admire her greatly. I would even go so far as to say that you seem quite attached to her. And from what I’ve observed, she’s fond of you as well.”

  Henry shook his head in defeat, closing his eyes against reality. “That’s just the problem, you see. I am fond of Miss Richards. Terribly fond. And I think she may harbor some similar feelings. At least until I disappeared after the night at the theater.

  “But after thinking back over the past few months, I realized something. My writing slump began after I met Miss Richards. Any time I tried to write, I could not will myself to focus.

  “You see, she was always there in my mind. I just didn’t come to terms with it until recently. I allowed myself to be distracted. I lost all focus and sense of direction in my work.

  “I do not blame her for this, of course. The failing and weakness is entirely on my shoulders. But if I cannot handle having her in my life while I write...I think it best if I retreat from her and finish this manuscript.”

  Henry sighed, a light feeling of relief washing over him as he finally expressed the inner turmoil he’d been trying to navigate on his own.

  “Good Heaven, man.” Solomon slapped his forehead dramatically. “You’re just in love.”

  Henry blushed again at that word, the word he hadn’t allowed himself to fully connect to Miss Richards. But he said nothing to correct Solomon.

  “Henry, this is all new to you. You've never allowed yourself a chance to get to know a lady well enough to get close to feeling love for her. Somehow Miss Richards has bypassed all your careful precautions. And for that I tip my hat to her.

  “But you don’t yet know how to deal with these feelings so naturally they take over your mind and turn you into a bumbling fool. It happens to everyone when they fall in love—especially the first time. Give yourself a chance to incorporate this change into your life. Maybe you’ll see that they can coexist. Your senses will come back to you in due time.”

  Solomon leaned over and laid a hand on Henry’s shoulder. Henry turned his face away, biting his lip and glancing about the room to avoid meeting his best friend’s eyes.

  Solomon withdrew his hand and sat up straighter, eyes narrowing suspiciously. “What else aren’t you telling me?”

  “I wish it could be that simple, Solomon.” Henry passed his hand over his face in exasperation. “You might be right. I might be able to reorient myself and find a balance, find a way to keep thoughts of Miss Richards at bay while I write so I can give my full attention to the thing I love and that I’ve devoted my life to.

  “But it’s worse than that. Even if Miss Richards felt the same, even if she accepted me if I asked for her hand...I’m not only asking for her hand, you see. I’m asking her to sign her life away to a man who can’t give her the lifes
tyle she deserves. I’m asking her to wither away in this house while I write for hours on end.

  “Or if she does go out and about in Society, she must go with someone else. She loves the Society life. Not all the artificial pandering and pretentious rules. But she loves being surrounded by excitement and activity and people. She loves experiencing opulent events and dancing and performing.

  “I am not naturally inclined to any of those things. It would be entirely too selfish of me to ask her to give them up or find company with others while I remain at home in my study.”

  Up until that moment, these thoughts had remained as mostly vague feelings inside Henry. But giving voice to them now in the presence of another person, he felt their weight all the more. He simply didn’t see how he could maintain Miss Richards’s happiness and his own needs as an introverted writer.

  Solomon sat in silence for several moments, pondering everything Henry had said. When he finally spoke, it was with the resignation Henry had feared he would hear. “I see. I suppose your points do make sense. The issue of compatibility in the future, not just the present, is important as well.”

  Henry nodded weakly. A small part of him had hoped that Solomon might have some clever solution up his sleeve.

  “But I will say this.” Solomon’s voice grew louder and he fixed Henry with a firm stare. “I respect your love for writing and I respect your desire to share it with your readers. I would only suggest that you do not sell yourself, or Miss Richards, short.

  “Take your time to sort this out, but I’ve seen the way she looks at me for news when I come by to escort her sister. She wishes to hear from you. Perhaps, between the two of you, you can find a way to have the best of both worlds.”

  Solomon’s words sounded hollow to Henry’s ears. He ignored the way his heart dipped in his chest when he imagined Miss Richards searching for him at Solomon’s side. He knew his friend was right on one count. Miss Richards deserved some sort of explanation from him. But he did not agree with Solomon’s other point. Henry had pondered the issue himself many times over, and he did not see a solution in which they could both be happy.