“Come, come!” Genevieve appeared out of nowhere, giggling and pulling her deeper into the masquerade. In that moment, Phoebe could not help but wonder: how many times her cousin had attended such a ball.
She clutched Genevieve’s hand like a tether, being led down into what appeared to be the main ballroom.
Her breath caught, for around her unfolded a true masquerade with elaborate and colorful costumes. The room was dimly lit, so she had to peer closely to see better to notice a scattering of animal masks—lions, wolves, and deer—as well as more fantastical ones like Genevieve’s.
The music that played was not like that which might be heard at the usual balls, full of slow waltzes and more up-tempo melodies that encouraged guests to kick their feet over their ankles in lines.
No, what surrounded Phoebe was syrupy and enticing. The music filled the room like seduction poured into strings and ivory keys. The sounds were an invitation to find another masked partner and forget oneself for the night.
However, it was not just the masks, nor the music, that enthralled Phoebe and dissipated the nerves still fluttering in her stomach, but the performers.
A smattering of entertainers was scattered around the room, dancing and gyrating to the erotic music. Phoebe was momentarily mesmerized by the sight. She watched as the dancers moved their bodies so fluidly while clothed; even if that clothing was tight and low-cut or short-skirted. The displays felt more intimate than anybody without clothes would manage.
It was the trick of the imagination, the blatant invitation to watch and imagine what might linger underneath. Phoebe was immediately drawn into appreciating the spectacle of the performances.
With the echoes of her favorite romance novels in her head, the ones featuring scenes far too scandalous to recall in public, Phoebe let her eyes glance over one man who spun himself on the spot, pirouetting beautifully with his arms outstretched.
When he stopped, his palm was reaching for her, and she turned quickly, unsure if it was mere coincidence or deliberate, but she could not and would not allow herself to move an inch closer to him.
She would not engage with a beautiful male dancer who looked as though he had poured himself into his costume of a tight, black mesh tunic and breeches. He looked like some sort of ballerina, lithe and gorgeous to watch, but Phoebe could not let herself linger.
Still, as she took in the rest of the ballroom, with its low, glimmering baubles of light and overflowing refreshment table, Phoebe took it all in with a tight chest.
“It is beautiful,” Genevieve whispered, her eyes wide, as if seeing it for the first time, even though her familiarity with their entry and carriage ride said otherwise.
It was obvious that Genevieve said as much for Phoebe’s sake, to check if she was all right without directly asking and riling her worries once more. Phoebe was immediately grateful.
“It is,” Phoebe allowed. “I am… I am rather overwhelmed.”
“Then you must explore!” Genevieve insisted, turning to her and adjusting the grip on her hands. “The ballroom is not the only room with plenty to see. There are smaller rooms, quieter rooms, if that is what you need. Every room here will hold some sort of magic, and I know you are rather partial to that.”
Her sly grin revealed she’d seen Phoebe’s secret novels, making Phoebe blush and cough in embarrassment.
“Magic is feeble,” she tried to say in the most dismissive manner she could muster. “It is?—”
“It is lovely,” Genevieve interrupted. “So, go and experience it for yourself.”
“Without you?” Phoebe’s eyes widened beneath her mask.
Nervously, she tugged on her pendant, but Genevieve clasped her hand again. Still, with her other hand, she fingered the silk skirt of her daring gown.
“Exactly,” Genevieve told her. “We shall both have our magical nights, and you must explore without me guiding you. Is that all right? I wish to keep you at my side, do not get me wrong, but I think it will be good for you to explore without me hovering like some chaperone. Besides, I think I recall a certain masked person down on the dancefloor, and I wish to speak with them again.”
“Again?”
Genevieve giggled girlishly. “I admit, I have attended several of these balls. I sneak out a fair amount, but I have not yet confessed that to you.”
“I assumed you had,” Phoebe said, her nerves turning her response into laughter. “But I was not fully certain.”
“Then be certain that I will be fine, just as you will be. After all, I attended my first Lord Spencer Masquerade alone. And if you feel unnerved or too overwhelmed, I promise I will not stray far. If you cannot find me, then ask for Fairday.”
“Fairday?” she echoed.
“Just like you, dear cousin, when I arrive at Lord Spencer’s affairs, I supply the footman and host with a fake surname,” Genevieve explained. “I was too nervous at my first ball to think of a full name, so I used one I saw briefly mentioned in a newspaper the morning of my first attendance.”
At that, Phoebe’s nerves loosened even further as she giggled too. She had already done slightly better by creating a full name, at least.
“Go,” Genevieve encouraged. “Let me give you this gift in full. Explore any magical room you find tonight. I promise that Lord Spencer leaves no door unlocked, whether it is for performers, or musicians, or…. Well, other, naughtier reasons. Just keep an eye out for rooms decorated with red ribbons, avoid those and you should be fine.”
