Marquesses at the Masquerade(63)

Annalise rested on her bed and pondered leaving for the Continent tomorrow without waiting for replies from her Dutch cousins. She hadn’t visited Holland before and knew nothing of where to live or how society worked there, but it had to be better than living under her uncle’s roof and suffering his taunts. Exmore had kindly saved her from social ruin, but the idea of attending more balls and parties was enervating. Annalise almost wished he hadn’t come to her rescue, then she wouldn’t have to bother with Society anymore.

But if he hadn’t appeared, she wouldn’t have found out about the Visser lecture.

Nor would she have laughed.

How did this happen? Once, her mind had been filled with what parties she would attend and what she would wear to them. She had thought of each party as a chance to meet her potential husband. She had been consumed with falling in love then, even before she met Patrick.

Now, the only thing she truly anticipated was attending a botany lecture with Exmore. A friend.

Annalise took out a fresh sheet of stationery and dipped her pen.



Dear Patrick,

Can a man and woman simply enjoy each other’s company without any further entanglement?

I know that I need to release you from my heart and marry someone else. I truly want to fall in love again, yet it frightens me. My heart is only beginning to recover from your departure and my parents’ deaths. It is tired, and I feel that I don’t even know my own mind anymore.

I only want a friend who is a kindred spirit. Someone to talk to.



Annalise stopped, letting her pen hover over her words.



Alas, I shouldn’t be friends with Exmore for Phoebe’s and my aunt’s sake. They will have to continue to live with Uncle Harry when I’m far away, across an ocean.



Again, she paused to think.



I shall meet Exmore at the lecture as I said I would and then cease any further contact.

Yet, he makes me laugh.

*



Exmore woke up, for once feeling something other than the heavy listlessness of another day before him. His mind was clear, free of the dullness and pain of overindulgence. In his first waking thoughts, he remembered that he would attend a botany lecture in three days’ time. He chuckled aloud. Hadn’t he dreaded botany at Cambridge? Hadn’t he used those lectures to catch up on his sleep? Now, this lecture and seeing his new friend were the only things he truly looked forward to, and he hadn’t been excited about anything in a long time.

Throughout the morning, thoughts of Annalise drifted through his mind. He didn’t try to stop them, because they pushed away the gloominess. He noticed the details of people and things—the expression on the footman’s face, the gleam on the iron railing outside his home, and the fresh-bread scent wafting from the baker’s shop. The day felt buoyant, like it was water that sustained him, rather than letting him sink. In a bookstore, he found a journal with an article on African orchids that he thought Annalise would enjoy. He went out in Society that evening, hoping to come across her to discuss it, but unfortunately, she didn’t appear at any of the parties that he attended. He bought the journal the next day, marked the pages, and sent it to her, bundled with a pink orchid and pithy note that ended with, Looking forward to our grand secret.

That night, Exmore attended a painfully insipid play titled Love’s Joy and Misery, which, of course, was all the rage in London. He hadn’t realized he had enlisted for theatrical torture until after he had purchased the box and suffered through the opening scene. The second and third scenes only compounded his misery, and he was about to leave when he spied Annalise across the theater, in a box with Mr. Sommerville’s family. She was close enough to the stage that he could train his opera glass on her and pretend to watch the play, all the while safely studying her in delicious detail.

Maybe it wasn’t such a horrid play, after all.

While the Sommerville ladies wore tight, fashionable curls adorned with beads and other paraphernalia, Annalise’s hair fell in straight strands around her cheeks. It had the appearance of being hastily pinned up, yet it suited her—unaffected and natural. She had wound her shawl around herself like a comfortable blanket. Her cousin Phoebe sat forward in her seat, practically leaning over the railing, clearly enraptured by the sentimental rubbish. From time to time, Phoebe whispered excitedly to Annalise and pointed to the stage. Annalise didn’t share her cousin’s enthusiasm. He watched, amused, as she tried to conceal her chuckles at the supposedly serious moments, rolled her eyes at the trite conventions, and arched a brow at the hackneyed, melodramatic plot turns. He wished she were beside him, so they could exchange sarcastic commentary.

Exmore’s favorite part of the play happened when Phoebe caught Annalise yawning during a supposedly heart-wrenching love scene. A terrible sin! Although he couldn’t hear what they were saying, the animated conversation between the two ladies was far more entertaining to watch than what was on the stage.

At intermission, the lobby was flooded with people. Their chatter, echoing in the great hall, formed a roar of sound. Exmore edged through the crowd, the smell of perfumes and hair oils assaulting his nose as he searched for Annalise. He finally spotted her leaning against a marble column, just outside a circle formed by her uncle and his family. His heart quickened, and a smile spread over his mouth.

Her eyes widened with recognition as he drew nearer. He raised his fingers, a small, silent greeting. Her lips parted. She glanced at her uncle and then at Exmore again. She held his gaze for several moments, before turning and slipping into the crowd.