She wanted to choose him.
She descended the stairs, trying carefully to take small steps. It wouldn’t do to fall in front of all these people; that would be more embarrassing than anything else.
When she reached the bottom of the stairs, her father was there with a steady hand and a warm smile. She took his arm and let him gently lead her in a circle, showing her off, as everyone applauded.
As they spun, her eyes caught Dietrich’s across the room. Even with the mask that hid his features, he radiated comfort and stability, and she took her first real breath since she’d been left alone behind the doorway.
It was not the first time they had locked eyes and she had felt peace, but it was the first time she had seen him dressed so formally. Her eyes widened at the sight of his dark green coat as he held Beatrice’s arm, and the formal mask that must have been Lord Alexander’s, because there was no way Dietrich had chosen it for himself.
Ella tried not to giggle as her father twirled her into a dance and she kept catching glimpses of Dietrich over his shoulder. He looked like an unbroken horse caught in a pen—if he could break free and run, he would.
He didn’t belong here.
But she didn’t feel like she did, either.
She appreciated his steady presence in the room, however, more than he could know.
Dietrich would rather be anywhere but here—but he wasn’t. He was here, with her, and that gave Ella hope.
Perhaps he was here because he wanted more with her. Perhaps he was here because he also knew they had a future, and perhaps he was here waiting for her to say that she was choosing him.
The choice was hers. She knew that her father meant it when he said that the choice was hers. She could choose Dietrich, she could choose the mysterious man in the crowd that she was betrothed to, or she could choose herself.
She wanted to choose Dietrich.
As her dance with her father ended, she smiled up at him, curtsying gently the way Beatrice had shown her.
Then there was someone behind her, clearing his throat, and she turned to see him offering his hand. Her father looked between the two of them with an odd look, and her heart caught in her throat.
This must be him.
If only he wasn’t wearing the mask so she could see his face.
“May I have this dance?” he asked, and Ella nodded numbly.
She didn’t recognize him from the commoners’ balls. She had danced with so many people she didn’t know that night, and she’d never been very good with faces and names, much less hundreds of them.
The mask obscured a large portion of his face tonight, so unless she recognized his eyes, that wouldn’t help.
It was too difficult to try to remember him, so she simply allowed herself to be swept away in his arms as he led her in a dance. He was a good dancer, at least—far better than many of the others she had danced with at the last ball. But shouldn’t her future husband have more to recommend him than simply being a good dancer?
If this was the man she was to marry, she wanted more than simply someone she enjoyed dancing with. She wanted someone who could make her laugh and make her feel loved, even if he didn’t know who she was.
“How are you this evening?” the masked man asked.
“I am well. And you?” she asked. They separated, twirling around another couple that had joined them, and Ella waited until she was back in his arms, hoping for a spark or something that would tell her whether or not he was the one for her.
But there was no spark.
There was no moment where they reconnected, and she instantly felt at home—not like she had with Dietrich.
“I am well,” he said with a smile. His teeth were perfect—too perfect. There was no slightly crooked front tooth like Dietrich’s smile had. “I am hopeful that we shall get to know each other better soon,” he said, as he spun her around, “without the masks and the illusions.”
He leaned her back in a dip, his face uncomfortably close as he asked, “May I ask your name? Or are we supposed to hide more than our faces at a masquerade?”
“My name is Ella,” she replied, unsure if she should give him her full name. Didn’t he know who she was? Was he only playing a game?”
“Percival,” he said with a smile that was altogether too wide and brilliant.
