PROLOGUE
"Oh, do not make this a night you will regret, Lavinia," Nancy said, draping the emerald silk dress across the faded counterpane of Lavinia's bed. Mischief made her eyes glow, and Lavinia had learned to regard it with equal parts affection and wariness over their many years of friendship.
"How does one regret not attending a masque, Nancy?" Lavinia countered, turning away to straighten an already immaculate row of hairpins on her dressing table. "One can hardly miss what one doesn't experience."
"Nonsense. You'll lie awake imagining every dance, every laugh, every moment of freedom you denied yourself." Nancy produced a matching silk mask with gold trim from her reticule and laid it beside the dress. "And this would suit you perfectly."
Lavinia ran her fingers along the worn edge of her dressing table, a silent reminder of how far the fortunes of Pembroke Manor had fallen. "I haven't attended such an event in over a year,Nancy. People will wonder where I've been, why my dresses aren't new?—"
"It's a masquerade," Nancy interrupted, her voice softening. "No one will know it's you. That's rather the point of wearing masks, my dear."
"And what of this?" Lavinia gestured vaguely at the room around them—the faded wallpaper, the darned curtains, the distinct absence of servants bustling about. "I cannot afford such frivolities anymore. Not since Father?—"
"This isn't frivolity. It's necessity." Nancy crossed the room and took Lavinia's hands in hers. "When did you last do something simply because it brought you joy? When did you last dance? When did you last laugh without immediately wondering if it was inappropriate?"
Lavinia's fingers instinctively reached for her mother's amethyst pendant, tracing its familiar contours through the fabric of her day dress. A habit she'd developed over eighteen years, whenever uncertainty or worry clouded her thoughts.
"My responsibilities?—"
"Will still be here tomorrow," Nancy finished. " The manor will not crumble if you take one evening for yourself." She squeezed Lavinia's hands. "You've been both mother and sister to Frances since you were a child yourself. You've managed this estate alone for a year, selling off pieces of your inheritance bit by bit to keep afloat."
"Someone must do it," Lavinia said, her words clipped.
"Yes, and that someone has always been you. But even Atlas was permitted to shift his burden occasionally, and I daresay he carried less weight than you do."
Lavinia allowed herself a small smile at that. "I'm hardly holding up the heavens, Nancy."
"Aren't you? From where I stand, it certainly looks that way." Nancy returned to the dress, smoothing an invisible wrinkle from its lustrous fabric. "This dress belonged to my cousin—the one who married the merchant and scandalized the family by being deliriously happy despite it all. She's sent it to me with strict instructions that it be worn by someone who needs a night of freedom."
"And you immediately thought of me? How flattering."
"I thought of you because you deserve it. Because if you don't allow yourself moments to breathe, Lavinia, you'll break under the weight of everything you carry." Nancy's gaze was steady, uncompromising. "And what good would you be to Frances then?"
The mention of her sister struck home, as Nancy had surely known it would.
I promised Mother I would care for her, but surely that doesn't mean I must deny myself every small pleasure?
"The dress is lovely," she conceded, allowing herself to admire its elegant cut, the way the color would complement her dark hair and fair skin. "But I haven't the proper accessories?—"
"I've brought gloves and a fan," Nancy said quickly, triumphant at the first sign of capitulation. "And your mother's pendant would look striking against the green."
Lavinia's hand stilled on the necklace. "I never remove it."
"Of course not. I wouldn't suggest otherwise." Nancy moved to stand behind Lavinia, meeting her gaze in the looking glass. "When did you become so serious, my friend? There was a time when you would have been the one dragging me to balls, insisting we dance until dawn."
"That was before." Before her father's death, before the discovery of his debts, before the desperate scramble to maintain appearances while secretly taking in sewing and translation work to supplement their dwindling income. Before she'd grown accustomed to calculating the cost of every candle burned, every meal served.
"And this is now," Nancy said. "One night, Lavinia. One night to remember who you were—who you still are, beneath all those responsibilities."
Lavinia stared at her reflection, taking in the shadows beneath her eyes, the tight set of her mouth that had once smiled so readily. When had she last allowed herself even the smallestindulgence? When had she last felt like the girl who had loved music and dancing and clever conversation?
"If I were to go—and I'm not saying I will," she added hastily as Nancy's face lit up, "I would need to leave early. Before midnight, before the unmasking."
"But that's the most exciting part!"
"It's also the most dangerous." Lavinia turned to face her friend. "I cannot risk being recognized as the late earl's daughter who now works for her bread. The scandal would destroy what little standing Frances and I have left."
Nancy opened her mouth as if to argue, then closed it again, considering. "Very well. Before midnight, like Cinderella fleeing the prince."
