“I know.”
“You may get grievously injured.”
“I am aware.”
“You may die.”
Taking another drink, William recalled another moment when he had woken up on the floor of his home, drunk on a mixture of liquor that had sent him into a torpor of agony and praying for death.
“Not something I have not faced before,” William replied.
Ruffling his hair, Colin crossed his legs and sighed. “Well, if you’re ready to sign yourself over, at least take a night of upstanding entertainment before you do.”
“You’re never going to let over on this damned masquerade, are you?” William drawled.
“No,” Colin laughed. “I would strong-arm you into it if I had to.”
Snorting, William took a drink, “I would love to see you try. But since you asked so kindly, I will be there, only do not expect me to come as any simple character either.”
Stalled, Colin asked, “What will you come as?”
“You’ll see.”
“I think it's time you rejoin the le beau ton, my dear,” Eleanor said while fixing her skirts. “I have an additional invitation to Baron Thornbury’s masquerade, and I am giving it to you.”
“What?” Bridget asked, eyes dropping to the card Ellie had just plopped in her lap. “A ball? Ellie, you know I cannot—”
“You can and you will,” Ellie said calmly, “Sometimes I think you’ve forgotten that you are still a lady of the ton, and you still have the right to dance and mingle and enjoy the advantages your birthright gives you.”
“I…” Bridget traced her fingers over the gilt leafing in the corners. It had been a long time since she had held an invitation like that; years ago, they used to come by the dozens. “…don’t have a costume, or a dress.”
“It is in ten days’ time, surely you have time to put something together?” Ellie asked, her brows lifting.
Biting her lip, Bridget thought of the few dresses she still had, and she remembered a white gown she could adjust into something presentable—only, she needed a few things. “Would you be able to secure a couple of things for me?”
“Whatever you need, dear.”
Sitting on her cot, she ran her hands over the soft silk of an ivory dress she’d purchased years ago. It was dated, but she could alter it to hide those flaws. Her eyes dropped to the bags of dove feathers Ellie had acquired for her. It would be an easy task to turn the simple dress into a stunning angel costume.
She heard the soft shuffle of her godmother’s slippers on the corridor beyond and she lifted her head when the older woman came to the door, two cups of tea in hand.
“Do you have a minute, sweet girl?” her godmother, Lydia Turner, began, resting both cups on the end table. “I would like to talk to you for a moment.”
‘Sure, Aunt,” Bridget used her preferred honorific while shifting on the bed. “Please sit.”
While edging into fifty, her godmother, who she called her aunt, a spinster by choice, sat and handed one cup to her. “Do you think it is time to rejoin the world beyond these walls and the seamstress shop?”
Slowly, Bridget sipped the tea. Though this was the second brewing of the leaves, it still held its essence.
“Lady Eleanor said much of the same to me today,” Bridget nodded to the dress lying on the bed. “She gave me an invitation to a ball in a sennights time. I am trying to see if I can get a few things together.”
“Oh,” Lydia blinked. “Why, isn’t that just wonderful of her. I am so glad you still have supportive friends, my dear, and you are thinking of going, are you?”
“Yes,” Bridget replied, swallowing down her nervousness. “It will be good to mingle with the others while I have the chance.”
Patting her hand, Lydia nodded. “That’s good to hear. You know I only want the best for you, dear. I know life took a turn you never expected, but I am pleased with seeing how you reacted to it, how you’ve taken the hardships and risen above them.”
The only thing Bridget could muster was a faint smile.
