Marquesses at the Masquerade(52)

“Perfect,” Annalise muttered to herself.

However, when she came downstairs all dressed up, her Aunt Sally said, “Good heavens, would you care for Phoebe’s unused shepherdess costume?”

“But I’m Ariadne,” Annalise said.

Her aunt and Phoebe stared at her.

Annalise tried to elaborate. “From the Greek myth, you know.”

More vacuous stares. Alas, it was too late to change, and the carriage had pulled up.

*



Annalise didn’t want to admit that London had lost its charm. She wished she could be as joyous as Phoebe, who flitted about, all smiles and laughter. To Annalise, the costumes had a scary grotesqueness about them. The perfumes hurt her nose, and the air felt like breathing in the famed thick London fog. Amid the loud laughter and music, she felt painfully alone. She loitered about the walls for the first hour. The only attention she received was curious glances at her costume, which was hemorrhaging string. Finally, a young gentleman dressed as an Arthurian knight approached.

“My friends and I are quite puzzled.” He gestured to a group of more knights clad in various forms of armor and crowded in the corner. “May I ask, what is your costume exactly?”

“I’m Ariadne.”

“Who?”

She stifled a groan. What had she been thinking when she made this costume? “The character from the Greek myth.”

“Sorry.” He shook his head. “Would you care to dance?”

She hesitated, but his smile was a pleasant one beneath his half-mask, so she consented.

The dance floor was a crush of people poking each other with protruding costume parts. Annalise sometimes danced alone in her room, but she hadn’t danced with a partner in a long while. As the music began and people started to turn, she realized she had forgotten the steps. She panicked and slid her mask up to glance at her feet.

Her partner stiffened. “Are you… are you Miss Annalise Van Der Heer?”

“Keer,” she corrected, pretending not to hear the alarm in his voice. “Van Der Keer.”

His eyes began to dart about behind his mask. “I didn’t realize—that is, I didn’t know you were in town.”

“I only just arrived.”

“Oh.”

Still holding her hand, her gallant knight took a step back from her, as if she were contagious. He didn’t say another word to her for the entire dance, even though she tromped on his toes and bumped into him several times. When the torture was mercifully over, he bowed and scurried back to his friends. She watched him animatedly speak to them as they took discreet glances in her direction.

It seemed London hadn’t forgotten her. Or forgiven her.

The clock on the chimney-piece chimed the eleventh hour. These parties lasted well past midnight. She just wanted to go home. Not her aunt’s house, but her true home, miles and miles away, where someone else now lived.

Through the windows, she spied the large, fat moon shining in the heavens. It was the same moon she’d watched shine through the trees by her window at her old home. Tonight, the cold, distant heavenly body felt like the last thing tying her to the past. She followed it, going through double doors that led to a terrace, where she came across lovers escaping the din. She passed them, heading to a spot of solitude at the back.

There, she rested her hands on the railing and drew in a deep breath of the cool night air. The moon was luminous in the silent sky. She studied its contours, remembering her father’s sketch explaining the different phases in relation to the sun. It had made sense when she’d stilled herself and finally listened to him.

“You have lost a part of your costume,” a man said.

A cold tickle raced down her spine at having her quiet refuge invaded. The voice was rich and slightly blurred, as if he were drunk. She turned to find a heavily bearded and masked musketeer peering out from the shadows. He sat on a stone bench under the eaves. Had he been there before? Perhaps she was the invader of his peaceful space and not the other way around.

“I fear this costume was not the best choice.” She picked up a length of string that had fallen from her gown. “It’s been shedding all evening.”

“May I hazard a guess at who you are?”

She chuckled at his phrasing. She almost wanted to say, Yes, do tell me who I am, for I don’t know anymore, and I’m feeling particularly lost tonight. Instead, she said, “No one else has been able to guess.”

“Ah, a challenge. I shall succeed where others have failed you.” He made a dramatic show of rubbing his faux beard as he thought. “Ah!” He raised a finger. “I have it. You are a shedding Egyptian mummy.”

She feigned disappointment. “Oh, had I only thought of that.”

“I see that you are cleverer than I thought upon first impression. But I will discover your mystery.” He leaned forward. The light from the burning sconces reflected in his dark eyes. “Yes, of course, I have it now. You are a very confused writing spider.”

She laughed. A deep, true laugh that reached to her belly, breaking up some of the tension she held. “Again, another brilliant costume I didn’t think of. Perhaps I should have consulted you before the ball.”

He tossed up his hands. “You defeat me, kind lady. Give me the answer.”

She shook her head, chuckling. “Yet, I adore your guesses.”