Mirabella looked as if she were about to explode with anticipation for her first Society event, and Maia couldn’t blame her a bit. The poor thing had been left in the country for the past seven years with hardly a visit or communique from her elder brother. At seventeen, she’d never been presented at court, and her wardrobe was horribly outdated.
It was really quite irresponsible of the earl—not to mention inconsiderate. How was the girl ever to make a match? She couldn’t move about in Society until she was introduced at court, and until that happened, she couldn’t even think of meeting a potential husband.
Maia was still seething over the way Corvindale had fairly yanked the proverbial rug out from under hers and Angelica’s feet to get them moved to his London residence, with nary a thought to their preference or opinions. It had happened twodays ago, so quickly and efficiently she would have been in awe if she hadn’t been so infuriated.
Certainly Maia was used to being the one in charge. And there had been times when she’d wished for a reprieve. But not this way, and not because of an ill-tempered earl.
The morning after the Lundhames’ ball, as promised, Corvindale’s note had arrived. It simply stated they would remove to Blackmont Hall after receiving their normal afternoon callers, and they would stay under the earl’s guardianship until Chas returned. Before Maia could fly to her study and snatch up stationery to respond in the negative, the earl’s staff had arrived to pack their things, and the next thing she knew, the earl was there, as well.
Just as immovable and emotionless as a brick wall, he was, and nothing she said had any effect on him except to prompt that arrogant lifting of the eyebrow.
He’d arrived just in time to catch Viscount Dewhurst—who’d surprised them all by calling that afternoon—as he attempted to woo Angelica in a private corner of their library. Maia had to admit gratitude toward Corvindale for interfering inthatmatter, for Angelica had seemed more than a little starry-eyed when the viscount had arrived. And the more she saw of Dewhurst, the more certain Maia was the man was of no good character—a rake and a rogue and the last sort of man with whom her beautiful sister should become enamored. Someone like Lord Harrington would be a much better choice for Angelica.
Not only had Corvindale sent Dewhurst on his way, but Maia had also heard him say the viscount was to leave immediately for Romania.
As for tonight, since Corvindale had considerately supplied them with a chaperone in the form of Aunt Iliana—who turned out to be a delightful matron, although no one was certain whose aunt she was—Maia really only needed to be concerned withherself. Aunt Iliana seemed like just the sort to watch them all like a hawk, but to have an enjoyable time herself.
Maia fully intended to do so, as well. The urge to relax a bit, to be anonymous and be not quite so on her guard for propriety’s sake, stirred inside her. When was the last time she’d actually allowed herself to have fun?
Nevertheless… “Do try to behave with some decorum tonight, Angelica,” she lectured her sister as they prepared to disembark from the long line of carriages. They’d arrived at the Sterlinghouse residence. “Put on a good example for Mirabella.”
Angelica blasted her with a dark look as she gathered up her flowing Greek-style black gown. She was dressed as one of the Fates, complete with shears and a skein of thread.
“I don’t believe you have cause for worry tonight,” Angelica whispered back with an arch look. “No one will recognize me until we remove our masks, and so until then, all of my behaviors will be anonymous.” She held up the black velvet mask trimmed with a gold and silver lace fall that would offer only teasing glimpses of her cheeks and mouth. “You shall have no scandal by association.”
Hmmph.Maia barely held back a roll of the eyes. At least she didn’t need to worry Angelica would be coaxed into a dark corner by Dewhurst, as he was long gone to Romania.
“Even you could do something scandalous, Cleopatra,” Angelica murmured, “and no one would know!”
Maia drew herself up and the royal staff nearly rolled off her lap. If Angelica only knew how difficult it was to act stiff and proper all of the time. And why she seemed so unfailingly prim.
“I certainly would not,” she hissed back, her heart pounding. Having once nearly gone into the abyss of scandal, she would take care never to venture near its edge again. There was that lurking fear if she relaxed even a trifle, she’d slide back into that black hole of impropriety…and this time, there would beno escape. “And how many times do I have to tell you, I’m Hatshepsut, not Cleopatra.”
“Who cares about Hatshep-whoever? No one could tell the difference anyway,” Angelica said dismissively.
“There’s no asp on my staff,” Maia pointed out.
“We’re to don our masks before entering?” asked Mirabella, finally able to get a word in.
“Yes. We’ll be announced as we arrive, but not with our real identities,” Maia explained before Aunt Iliana could speak. “Only by our character or costumes.”
She gestured with the gold mask in her hand and caught their chaperone’s indulgent eye. At least the elder lady didn’t seem to mind Maia’s managing ways—which was more than she could say for her own sister. “Everyone is to be unmasked at midnight. Although last year, the unmasking was much later,” she continued. “No one was ready until nearly one o’clock.”
“It’s our turn,” Angelica said as the voices of the driver and footman reached them. She was out of the carriage before Maia could respond, followed by Aunt Iliana and Mirabella.
Taking a bit longer, ensuring that her long, whisper-thin glittery-gold gown didn’t expose anything scandalous—like an ankle or a knee—Maia allowed the footman to help her alight.
When she stood still, the hem of her gown pooled on the ground in soft waves over her feet, which were encased in sandals with soles so thick they made Maia as tall as her sister. Instead of hanging in one single-paneled skirt, the gown was actually six panels that overlapped, but that were only sewn together to just below the waist. This meant there was ample opportunity for the long slits to show the sheer lace shift she wore beneath it.
Not for the first time, Maia wondered if she’d made a mistake in selecting such a potentially scandalous costume. But she’d loved it the moment the dressmaker showed her the design, andthat was the whole purpose of masquerade balls—anonymously walking the line of propriety. And, frankly, she’d hoped that Alexander would be back from Europe to accompany her to this ball so that it wouldn’t have mattered whether it was on the line of scandalous or not.
Deep inside, worry gnawed at her. Would he ever return? Had he changed his mind? She pushed the unpleasant thoughts away. Despite his occasional letter, the doubts had been coming more often than not lately. For all of her exterior confidence, Maia felt the fear of rejection, of scandal, of humiliation looming in her future.
And unlike most other problems in her life, this was one she couldn’t manage or control. She simply had to wait.
But here she was, without an escort, dressed in a column of cloudlike gold, with an underskirt as sheer and silver as a moonbeam…and completely anonymous. Between the several inches of added height, and the mask, along with the fact that dark horsehair curls had been interwoven with her chestnut hair, it was impossible she would be recognized; especially since no one would expect prim Maia Woodmore to wear such a thing.
So she allowed herself to relax a bit more than she normally would.
