Lewis stayed another night to help plan the ball. Then he returned to London with his valet in tow but promised to return for the masquerade to act the part of host for the evening.
Once he had taken his leave, Helen solicited Mr. Hudson’s help. Since the two of them had made such a formidable team in planning the servants’ ball, she saw no reason why they should not once again join forces to plan this one.
Even Nathaniel was pressed into duty one afternoon, in helping to write out the many invitations when he returned from his rounds of the estate.
When Helen took herself to her own room for more ink, Hudson watched her go, then turned to Nathaniel.
“Sir, uh, I wonder...”
Noticing Hudson’s uncharacteristic unease, Nathaniel braced himself. “What?”
“You know I am... fond... of your sister,” he faltered. “How would you... How would you feel about... about my...” He grimaced and muttered, “Arrr. Never mind. Foolish notion. A lady like her and a nobody like me.”
Nathaniel looked at his friend, felt a combination of protectiveness for his sister, and true fondness and empathy for his smitten friend. No, Robert Hudson was not his sister’s social equal. But he was a good man. A worthy man. He wondered how Helen would react. Had she any idea how obvious it was that she... well, at least, enjoyed the man’s company? Was there more to it than that, or would she be offended at the notion of a match between them?
Nathaniel asked carefully, “Has my sister given you any indication she reciprocates your feelings?”
Hudson sighed. “I think so. But it’s dashed hard to tell with women, isn’t it? She’d be polite to the ratcatcher. But I believe it’s more than politeness. And I think, maybe...” He sighed again. “Or maybe it’s only wishful thinking on my part.”
Nathaniel said, “Well, I cannot speak for her, but nor will I stand in your way.”
“Do you mean it, sir?”
“I suppose I do. Though you shall have to lay off with the ‘sir’ bit.”
Hudson grinned. “That I will, Nate. That I will.”
Several days later, while Margaret put away the hairbrush and extra pins and tidied the dressing table, Helen sat at her writing desk. She picked up the first letter atop the thick pile of the morning’s post.
She opened the missive and read. “Well, this is something of a surprise.”
“What is?”
“We have received the first reply to our invitations. The Bentons have accepted.”
Margaret’s heart thudded. “Have they? All of them?”
Helen scanned the text. “Mr. and Mrs. Sterling Benton, Mr. Marcus Benton, and Miss Caroline Macy.”
Gilbert was still too young and—at least Margaret hoped—too busy at Eton to attend. She fervently prayed Sterling had not made good on his threat to pull Gilbert from the institution.
The girls’ seminary Caroline attended was located between Maidstone and London, so perhaps it was not so surprising her sister would attend. Perhaps their mother arranged to visit her daughter and attend the ball in the same journey to better justify the distance. Or perhaps Sterling had his own reasons for wanting to visit Fairbourne Hall once more.
Helen said, “I suppose we can conclude that the Benton family does not believe the speculation about Miss Macy’s death. For they would not accept an invitation if they were in mourning.”
Any mourning the Benton men observed on her account, Margaret thought, would be only for show. Though, of course, her mother and siblings would be devastated.
Helen picked up the next reply in the stack. “Let us see who else is coming to our little soiree. It’s going to be quite an interesting night, I think. Most revealing.”
Masquerade balls were sometimes set as a
game among the guests. The masked guests were
supposedly dressed so as to be unidentifiable.
This would create a type of game to see if a
guest could determine each other’s identities.
