Marquesses at the Masquerade(51)
The bell jingled as the door closed. He raised his head, assuming the ladies had left. But Annalise had remained behind, her hand resting on the door handle. She took one last sad glance around. Exmore could see her eyes fill with tears. He heard his uneven exhale and stepped forward… to do what? Comfort her? But she blinked away the tears, turned, and left. Never realizing he was there.
He continued to stare at the empty space she had occupied. Although the light continued to shine through the window, the room felt darker, as if someone had extinguished a glowing lamp.
“Did you find an illustration, sir?”
Exmore looked at the inquiring clerk, not seeing him for a moment.
“Yes,” Exmore said, making a reckless decision to try to chase away the oncoming despondency. “I would like that one.” He pointed to the illustration of Australian bears that Annalise had rejected for the platypus.
Minutes later, he held the paper-wrapped print under his arm as he navigated the crowded streets. A cynical thought bubbled up. How convenient that Annalise should return at the same time that Patrick was returning to England. As if planned. Had the two corresponded all these years? Patrick had made no mention of her in his letters to Exmore. In fact, after six months in India, Patrick had written of his appreciation to Exmore for helping extract him from Annalise’s influence. Away from London, Patrick had come to realize the folly of his affections and now could see the numerous faults of Miss Van Der Keer that everyone else had realized but him.
Patrick had described her as an ambitious, witless, unmanageable piece of fluff and had promised that he would choose more wisely in the future, citing Exmore’s late wife as a model of how a gentle, graceful wife should behave. Had he lied to Exmore? Exmore wouldn’t be surprised. He harbored little faith in humanity these days.
Once he was away from her arresting image, his senses returned. How could he assume from one chance meeting that she had changed? Maybe her wild character waited below the surface.
He left the print, still wrapped, on his desk and chided himself for the foolish purchase. Being at home did little to raise his spirits, so he headed out again, finding a welcoming tavern where a fire roared and actresses mingled about.
He never made it to Parliament that night, but stumbled home in the early hours, his world rocking like a boat on a sea—a sea of brandy. He studied himself in the mirror, as his valet undressed him, and loathed what he saw. What had he become? His eyes were reddened from drink, dark crescents carved beneath, an unhealthy pallor to his skin. His valet tried to extinguish his lamp, but Exmore waved him off. He resented that when he overindulged in spirits, his staff treated him like a child who might burn down the house. Left alone, Exmore unwrapped the illustration of the Australian bear and studied it. He had been thinking about Annalise since that encounter. She had called the bear a koala.
He stroked the edge of the image like it was that mythical jar that contained a genie. Maybe some mythical version of Annalise would emerge and calm his pain with the peace that had enveloped her in the gallery when the beautiful light fell on her smiling face.
Chapter Four
* * *
Annalise did not go to the masquerade as a platypus, but neither did Phoebe go as a shepherdess. Annalise had an inspired idea that Phoebe should be Titania from A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Annalise spent the day putting together Phoebe’s costume and helping her aunt transform into Queen Elizabeth. It seemed that her aunt knew only that Queen Elizabeth wore a large dress.
Annalise, Phoebe, and Mrs. Bailey spent the morning running about finding ingredients to redden her aunt’s hair and whiten her face, as well as locating sheer muslin for Phoebe’s wings. Annalise appreciated keeping busy, because it fended off her homesickness. Yet, she found that sometimes, out of nowhere, she would pass a certain tree or home, and a memory of Patrick would rush over her like a blast of wind, bombarding her afresh with recollections of textures, scents, and magic from another time.
Annalise waited for last-minute inspiration for her own costume as she dressed her cousin and aunt. To create Queen Elizabeth’s costume took two of Annalise’s old dresses and some stained brocade drapes that were stored in the attics. For Titania, Queen of the Fairies, Annalise cut leaves from green cotton and created vines from long lengths of brown cloth. She and Mrs. Bailey stiffened the wing fabric with the starch they used to create Aunt Sally’s ruff.
Phoebe danced with excitement when Annalise finally let her turn and look at herself in the parlor mirror. Her cousin gasped at the wings, headpiece, and mask that Annalise and Mrs. Bailey had fashioned.
“I could be on the stage!” she squealed. “You are simply brilliant, Cousin.”
Not a moment later, the house filled with her uncle’s booming steps. The door to the ladies’ parlor flew open.
“Annalise, you will not make a mockery of this family,” he said when he saw Phoebe.
Annalise looked up innocently at him. “It’s Shakespeare, you know,” she said in the tone that indicated he was an idiot if he did not know.
Annalise had only half an hour to dress for the masquerade after completing the others’ elaborate costumes. She thought about saying she wouldn’t go, but then she would spend the evening thinking of her old home, or Patrick, with only her uncle to keep her company. Then, gazing down at the discarded string and thread from Phoebe’s wings, that annoyingly elusive inspiration finally struck.