A Rogue Walks into a Ball

by Emily Greenwood

  “Who can say why women make the choices they do? Only by chance did we discover that my mother’s handsome suitor already had a wife. He and his real wife were planning to make off with all our money.”

  Annabelle turned quite pale, and Sarah felt a little bad about telling her the sordid truth. But wasn’t truth always the best path?

  “Dearest,” Annabelle said, her voice barely above a whisper, “how terrible. What happened then?”

  “My mother was hysterical, but I was furious, and I let him know the jig was up. He packed his suitcase immediately and left. My mother consoled herself with shopping and parties, and within months, she met another man.”

  “The man she married?” Annabelle asked hopefully.

  “No.”

  “I’m afraid to ask how that turned out.”

  Sarah laughed. “He wasn’t too much of a prize either, but then she met Mr. O’Leary.”

  “How can you laugh?” Annabelle looked horrified.

  “I know, it is all pretty bad. But at least my mother is happy now, on her Irish estate with Mr. O’Leary.”

  “I think I’ve become hopelessly muddled,” Annabelle said. “This is all so...”

  “Irregular?” Sarah supplied. “I know. But I didn’t tell you all this to worry you. I just want you to watch out for—well, you know what. Gentlemen like Lord Jack.”

  “But he seems so decent,” Annabelle said.

  He did, and so did his family. In fact, it was becoming harder to believe that a good woman like Lady Fiona Boxhaven could have raised a son who was a careless rogue, never mind that Lord Jack had been nothing but kind to both Sarah and Annabelle.

  But that was the trouble with rogues: They charmed you.

  Nuns—was there an audience for them? Jack wondered as he walked briskly along one of the streets in his neighborhood the next morning at an hour when few people were about. He’d discovered that he did his best writing early in the day, when his mind was fresh, and walking could help loosen ideas when he was stuck.

  Which was why he was thinking about nuns, specifically an order of nuns in Florence with whom he had volunteered his time the previous autumn when he’d traveled to Italy with friends. The trip had been fun at first, but after a seemingly endless round of parties, he’d yearned for something else, though he hadn’t known what. He’d awoken one morning in Florence with a desire to roam the hills around the city, and when his friends had moved on to the pleasures of Rome, he’d stayed behind.

  He’d met Sorella Maria when he was walking through a market and she’d jostled him, causing him to spill a sack of recently purchased oranges. Her habit was yards of black fabric, but there was no disguising the loveliness of her features, or the appealingly athletic way she ran after his liberated oranges.

  He chatted with her in his broken Italian, and though he knew it was part of her job to gather people to her purpose, he walked with her back to the hospital for the poor run by her order. He was a little beguiled by the nuns and their work, and he fell into going to the hospital. The nuns, amused by the English gentleman and accustomed to making use of whatever Providence sent them, put him to work helping their handyman with repairs on the ancient building and assisting with the care of the male patients.

  Jack hadn’t mentioned his Florence interlude to anyone at home, not even his family, and he still didn’t know what he thought about it. The work had been hard and sometimes revolting. He’d seen its value... but he also liked parties and fun.

  His lingering thoughts about the Florentine nuns, and Sorella Maria in particular, were what had inspired him to write the first few scenes of a new play, about a young novice nun who was unsure about taking her final vows. But now he was questioning the wisdom of the undertaking. People needed to enjoy his work first and foremost, or no one would go to his plays, and he wasn’t certain people would easily associate nuns with entertainment. Also, he didn’t plan on making fun of the nuns, or at least, no more so than any of the other characters.

  Lost in these thoughts, Jack didn’t see Kate walking toward him until she was practically in front of him.

  “Didn’t you hear me calling you?” she asked. The maid who accompanied her stood a few paces back. “Or do you have wool in your ears?”

  “I wish I did. Must you shout?”

  “I wouldn’t have needed to if you hadn’t been so oblivious. I thought you would walk right past me.” She grinned. “But now that I’ve met you, you can walk me home.”

  He snorted. “I can, can I?” he said, but affectionately.

  She dismissed the maid and fell into step beside him.

  “You seemed deep in thought,” she said. “Care to share?”

  He shrugged. “I was just daydreaming.”

  “Surely it’s early in the day for daydreaming already,” she said skeptically. “Where are you going? Or,” she shot him a sly look, “coming from?”

  Really, was there anything less agreeable at eight o’clock in the morning than being peppered with questions by a sibling suggesting he was returning home from an assignation?

  “I’m just walking,” he said firmly.

  “Just walking,” she repeated. “At eight o’clock in the morning.”

  He arched a scathing eyebrow. “Well, what are you doing out walking at eight o’clock in the morning?”

  “Going to Bradbury’s.”

  “The bookshop?” he asked incredulously. “Surely it’s not open this early in the day.”

  “No,” she said a little sadly, “it’s not. But I wanted to see what’s in the window. Bradbury changes the display every Tuesday night.”

  It hadn’t escaped Jack’s notice that ever since her broken engagement, Kate read more than ever. He was certainly in favor of reading, but beyond a certain point, it started to look like escape.

  “So,” he said as casually as he could, “what did you think of She Knew She Was Right?”

  She looked a little surprised at the change in topic. “Why?”

  He shrugged. “I liked it,” he said, complimenting himself again, he hoped for a good cause. When Kate had ended her engagement, beyond saying that she’d realized that Joshua Gregson wasn’t the right man for her, all she’d said to the family was that she didn’t want to talk about it. They’d respected her wishes, and after a reasonable period, their mother had resumed matchmaking. While Kate’s lack of enthusiasm for parties and balls was nothing new, it hadn’t escaped Jack’s notice that beneath her jokes about masquerade costumes, she had an increasingly grim perspective on courting.

  “I liked it too,” she said and kicked lightly at a pebble in her way so that it skidded in front of them as they walked. “I liked how the heroine trusted herself, even when no one else approved of her choices.”

  Jack nodded gravely. “The play is called She Knew She Was Right.”

  She kicked the pebble again. “I often wish life could be like it is in plays and books.”

  “Oh?” he said carefully.

  She didn’t say anything for a while. “I feel guilty, Jack. Everyone liked Joshua, Mother especially. I liked him too, but not enough to go through with the engagement. I’ve disappointed everyone.”

  “Well, I’m not disappointed,” he said. “And I certainly don’t think you should feel guilty. You were the one who was going to have to live with him, not any of us.”

  “Thank you for saying that,” she said in a small voice. They walked on for a bit in silence, Kate kicking the pebble each time she reached it again. “But what if I made the wrong decision? I had a chance, I didn’t take it, and time is running out. I’m supposed to marry—it’s literally the main thing I’m supposed to accomplish in life. But now I’m nearly on the shelf. And I do want to marry.”

  “You will,” he said, putting an arm around her shoulders and giving her a squeeze. “You’re too much of a prize not to.”

  She gave him a look. “A prize, Jack?”

  He chuckled. “Not a perfect term, but you are worth w
inning by a worthy man, Kate. And you’re right to make that choice by no one’s lights but your own.”

  She sighed. “Everybody thinks I’m too particular now. Maybe they’re right. Maybe I’m not capable of making a choice.”

  “You’re capable. It was sensible not to rush into a marriage you weren’t certain about.”

  “This from a man who’s clearly in no rush to marry,” she said dryly. “But it’s easier for men.”

  “I know,” he said. “But maybe it won’t always be like that. I think you’re right to trust yourself. Think of the heroine from last night’s play. The other characters all thought she was too particular, but she would have married a bigamist if she’d listened to them.”

  She laughed a little. “Joshua wasn’t a bigamist. Still, I realized that I wouldn’t have been happy with him. It just took a little while to see that, and by then, everyone really liked him. Mother was really disappointed. I know she was, even though she hid it.”

  “Mother loves you and wants the best for you. She can handle a little disappointment over the loss of a potential son-in-law—even if you did meet him at a ball.”

  She groaned, and Jack chuckled. “Besides, there’s always a chance at the next ball that you’ll meet your true love.”

  They had reached the bookshop, and they stopped outside the window to inspect the display.

  “Speaking of true love,” Kate said with a sly look, “Mrs. Keating’s long-awaited nieces have finally come to Town, and Mother’s met them. She’s convinced one or the other of them will be perfect for you.”

  Jack groaned.

  “She can hardly wait for the Winstonhurst ball,” Kate informed him with a wicked gleam in her eyes, “because it’s a masquerade. Since Marcus and Rosamund fell in love at a masquerade, there’s every chance you will too.”

  “If she weren’t my mother...”

  “If she weren’t your mother, she wouldn’t care who you married.”

  Jack appreciated that his mother cared so much, but unlike her, he didn’t feel marriage had to involve True Love. His hopes were more modest—a commitment to an appealing, entertaining, and reasonable woman who would be a good companion. He just hadn’t found this woman yet. But perhaps one of the Keating nieces would do, after all.

  Unexpectedly, he thought of Miss Porter, who was probably the most reasonable (when she wasn’t being maddening) and certainly one of the smartest, and thus most entertaining, women of his acquaintance. But she was also the only young(ish) unmarried woman of his acquaintance who was clearly not seeking to marry.

  As they walked away from the bookshop, Kate asked in an innocent tone, “So, why are you out this early anyway? I thought you didn’t rise until noon on principle.”

  “I happen to like rising early,” he informed her.

  “Since when?”

  Since a year ago, when he’d discovered it helped his writing to rise early and that the morning was actually a pleasing time to be awake. “Since I discovered that the early morning is a time when other people often aren’t up and about.”

  She laughed. “Oh, Jack,” she said, punching him lightly on the arm as she’d been wont to do since they were children, “never lose your sense of humor.”

  Chapter 7

  Sorella Teresa: Sometimes I’m afraid that I made the wrong choice.

  Mother Superior: So am I, my dear, and I’m seventy-five.

  Breaking the Habit, Act 1, Scene 1

  Annabelle’s next foray among the ton was the Winstonhurst ball, a masquerade. Sarah was cautiously optimistic that the disguise aspect would be an advantage for Annabelle, who could relax knowing that her identity would be hidden until she chose to reveal it. Lady Alice lent Annabelle a Red Riding Hood costume with a matching red satin mask, insisting that Annabelle would look wonderful in red.

  Sarah chose a dark blue domino cape and matching mask, which even she felt was a little boring, but boring was the idea. She wasn’t going to the ball for any other purpose than to help Annabelle. And she certainly wasn’t curious as to what Lord Jack would wear.

  Very well, she admitted to herself as she tied the strings of her mask on the evening of the ball, she was a little curious about what he would wear, and about whether she would even see him at all. He would surely be dancing with all the loveliest ladies of the ton, but if watching him dance made her heart flutter, it was nobody else’s business.

  Aunt Louise was predictably horrified by the idea of a masquerade ball. “Not a masquerade!” she’d gasped when Annabelle had shown her the invitation. She’d looked panic-stricken, until Sarah had assured her that she needn’t accompany them if she didn’t wish.

  “Society does have its rituals, which the young must honor,” she’d said with a morose sigh, seeming to accept the inevitable. On the night of the ball, though, as Sarah and Annabelle stood in the foyer waiting for the carriage to be brought round, Aunt Louise said, “Are you certain you wouldn’t rather stay here and have a nice cup of chocolate by the fire?”

  Sarah ground her teeth, having only just coaxed an anxious Annabelle downstairs. Her cousin looked very tempted by the thought of a dull night in.

  “Quite certain,” Sarah said, gently but firmly pushing Annabelle out the door as the carriage appeared.

  But once they arrived at the ball, Sarah’s hope that wearing a costume would lend Annabelle confidence began to seem unfounded. With her mask and her hooded cape, Annabelle looked interestingly mysterious, and several gentlemen approached to ask for a dance, but she was unable to speak to any of them, even the two who were plainly well past fifty.

  “Dearest,” Sarah said as the fourth gentleman wandered off with a slightly annoyed look, “remember that you’re in costume and these gentlemen likely don’t know who you are. This is your chance to just be yourself, and if you and a gentleman don’t get on together, no one will be the wiser.”

  “But what if the man is,” Annabelle dropped her voice to a whisper, “a PS, and I’m fooled by him?”

  Sarah had been looking out at the dancers, but now she turned to Annabelle, expecting to see that she was joking. With actual horror dawning, Sarah realized that her cousin was not, in fact, joking. Apparently, Annabelle was now afraid of harmless, kind, older gentlemen when she hadn’t been before.

  Sarah swallowed down a sick feeling. Had her frank talk about practiced seducers and bigamists made her cousin afraid of all men?

  She wanted to think it wasn’t true, but as she watched Annabelle bite her lip nervously, she knew it was.

  “Annabelle, I didn’t tell you about what happened to my mother to make you afraid of men. Most men aren’t bad. Your father isn’t.”

  “No,” Annabelle agreed in a quavering voice.

  “Annabelle,” Sarah said sternly, “you’re not a mouse.”

  “I—no, no, I’m not,” she said stoutly, as if insisting to herself.

  “Is that you, Annabelle?” a milkmaid said, approaching them. “It must be, because you’re the only Red Riding Hood here.”

  “Lady Alice!” Annabelle said with what sounded like a combination of relief and delight. “You make such a pretty milkmaid.”

  “And you look far better in that costume than I ever did,” Lady Alice said. “Just push the hood back a bit—it’s hiding your face.”

  Annabelle nudged the hood perhaps half an inch back from her face.

  Lady Alice frowned. “That won’t do,” she started to say, but then interrupted herself. “Oh, look, there’s Marcus and Jack.” She waved at a tall man in a black evening coat and black satin mask.

  Behind him was a highwayman, also dressed in black, and Sarah didn’t need to peer closely to know which brother was which, nor to notice that with his height and his broad shoulders, the highwayman’s black cloak hung very well. His mask only accentuated the wicked tilt of his smile, and Sarah’s foolish heart thumped a few extra beats.

  “Marcus will dance with us,” Lady Alice said as the men approached. “Even though
he’s wearing a mask, everyone knows it’s Marcus, and dancing with a marquess does wonderful things for a lady’s consequence.”

  “Oh, I, er—” Annabelle spluttered, but Lady Alice seemed unaware of her distress. Or, perhaps she was aware, Sarah thought as Lady Alice gestured for Annabelle to push her hood off her head entirely.

  “It’s quite hiding you,” Lady Alice said, “which defeats the purpose of coming to a ball. You’re wearing a mask anyway, so it’s not as if you need to hide yourself. And the satin lining is meant to pool beautifully as it rests on your shoulders.”

  “I... right, I don’t want to hide myself,” Annabelle said, pushing the hood off.

  “Ah, Miss Smith and Miss Porter,” the marquess greeted them, then turned to Annabelle. “I hear a waltz beginning, and Alice informs me that you have the nod to dance it, Miss Smith. Will you join me?” And he presented his arm.

  Sarah held her breath as Annabelle simply stared for a moment at Lord Boxhaven, who was, after all, a marquess, in addition to being a handsome gentleman. Fortunately, the marquess, doubtless accustomed to rendering people speechless simply by his glittering presence, or perhaps alerted by Alice that Annabelle was shy, merely waited with a pleasant, expectant expression.

  Either worn down by his patience, or not seeing any way forward but through, Annabelle put her hand on the marquess’s outstretched arm, and he led her out among the dancers.

  A moment later, a man dressed as a king appeared to claim Lady Alice for the dance he had reserved.

  Which left Sarah standing beside Lord Jack. He was tall, and she told herself that was the reason she suddenly felt so aware of the fact that he was a man. She looked away from him, out at the dancers.

  “Miss Smith dances well,” Jack observed.

  “She does,” Miss Porter replied, not looking at him. He smiled, suspecting she was itching to come up with an urgent reason to relocate to a part of the ballroom that did not contain him.

  “Your cousin is rapidly being adopted by my family, and there’s not much you can do about it, is there?” he said mildly.