“I know you still have hope for a husband,” Lydia continued, “and I do pray such a man will come about, but I hope you know, if the circumstances never align, you can live a fulfilling life still.”
While her godmother was right, the thought of living without companionship tore at her. While many ladies in the ton vied for the top bachelors in the Season, dreamt of being wed to the richest lord, having all the comforts riches could give them, traveling the whole world, buying the biggest jewels and gowns; Bridget did not.
Her dreams were simple: all she wanted was a husband to love. He didn’t have to be extraordinarily handsome or exorbitantly rich, just nice, decent, and understanding.
She wanted an upstanding sort of man who wouldn’t mind her flaws and who would enjoy spending time with her, doing ordinary things. To have a place where she would feel safe and always belong.
“I know, Aunt,” she said, picking at her skirts. “If anything, I just want to enjoy myself as best as I can. And… and as for a husband, as much as I desire to be happily wed, that is… I suppose that is God’s plan.”
“That’s the spirit, my dear,” Lydia replied, while gently easing off the bed. “I shall leave you to your work.”
Looking down on the gown, Bridget reached for a bag of cured feathers and touched the smooth, silkiness of them.Wonderful.They would do. Pulling out her needle and thread, she went to work, the first night of many to come.
The moment Colin laid eyes on William, or rather the costume he wore, the glass in his hand slipped and shattered at his feet.
The Baron, dressed like Robert the Bruce, gaped. “Good God, man, are you trying to send half my guests into paroxysms?”
Lifting his horned mask off, William shook out his hair. “They all term me as a devil, so why not show them what they believe?”
“But must you have a horn on your mask—” Colin’s eyes dropped to William’s feet. “—and modified your shoes into hooves?”
“It’s part of the fantasy,” William grinned, brushing the half-cape from his shoulder. “The Devil is the Cloven Hoof, is he not? So there should be a hoof somewhere.”
“You are incorrigible,” Colin scoffed while waving over a waiter and taking two flutes from the tray. “Please tell me you will be sensible tonight and not seduce an innocent inside the kitchen cupboard.”
Slanting an eye to his friend, William asked, “And what on earth would cause me to be in your kitchens? Do you think I have a dash of cooking sense?”
“No, but you do have an uncanny ability and sense of spying who is corruptible, or have you forgotten your nickname from four years ago? They monikered youThe Ravisherfor a reason,” Colin fiddled with his Ottoman Sultan’s robe. “It is not as if you were raiding apple orchards.”
Turning, William glanced at his reflection in a nearby mirror—the onyx of his breeches, boots, and linen shirt were only broken by a gray waistcoat with red piping, a lurid red cravat, and a ruby pin. The horn on his demi-mask was made of stiff paper, curved into a wicked point, painted bloody red, and curled over his tousled hair.
“We shall see,” William promised him while surveying the floor. He saw mermaids, goldfish, queens, and goddesses galore, costumes he had expected. He could not measure how bored he was with them.
“Am I late?” Andrew’s voice cut in and both turned to see the Viscount clad inde rigueurdinner attire as the demi-mask he wore felt like an afterthought.
“Very,” Colin didn’t hide his displeasure. “And you couldn’t dress for the occasion?”
Glowering, Andrew replied, “Be glad I came at all.”
Ignoring his friends, William leaned on the balustrade and looked over the guests below. Even with the plethora of masks and cloaks, he recognized some ladies, some he had kissed, some he had taken to bed, barely enough of them memorable.
“Must I be so jaded?” he muttered, sipping champagne.
An errant thought came to him—maybe he was not jaded, maybe he was just tired, tired of the thin veil of self-righteous superiority from the ton when he knew the men and women were downrightly savage.
The men were animals in smart suits and society ladies were the most cutthroat, ready to rip another lady’s reputation to shreds, backstab and seduce their way to the top whilst smiling and sipping tea with their pinkies lifted.
“Does true innocence and guilelessness exist in this world anymore?”
From his position so high, he saw the doors open and a lady entered, her pure white costume a beacon to his eyes, her feather-trimmed gown accentuated her angelic grace, the white perfectly draped over her petite slender frame. The neckline exposed her creamy shoulders, the rounded swell of her breasts, and her tight, nipped-in waist.
“Who is she…” he stared.
“What?” Colin turned to him. “Who are you speaking of?”
“I don’t know,” William replied while stepping away from the balustrade and stepping toward the doors, and grasping another glass of champagne on his way down. “But I will find out.”
He wound his way through the throngs of guests, his eyes honed on the young angel. When he neared, he saw the majority of her face was covered by a white lace mask, leaving mostly her eyes, a part of her cheekbones and lips revealed. The blond wig she wore fell silkily over her shoulder and the ringlets quivered as she looked around.
