At Phoebe’s frown, Genevieve laughed and clarified, “The red ribbons signify those naughtier rooms. It means there are amorous things at play within those walls.”
“Oh,” Phoebe acknowledged, and then it truly hit her. “Oh.” A flush of heat crept up the back of her neck, and she adjusted the straps of her mask to hide the scarlet that was surely blooming on her cheeks.
“Yes,oh. Now, go and explore, I beg you. Just meet me back here in an hour or so, yes?”
And with that, Genevieve let go of her hands. With one last blown kiss over her shoulder, Genevieve, also known as Fairday for the evening, descended into the ballroom.
It took only a second for her to disappear into the beautiful, colorful fray of anonymity. Phoebe had the chance to nod her agreement for their rendezvous before her cousin had vanished, and then she was left wholly alone.
Magic, she reminded herself.Find the magic.
So, Phoebe spun on her heel and left the ballroom. Her skirts swished lightly as she circled around the male ballerina.
While the girls had spoken to one another, he had continued to move in time with the music and had once more reached for Phoebe. She was uncomfortable with that dancer’s outstretched hand and did what she could to avoid taking it.
She did not want to be spun into such a whirlwind of stunning dancers where she did not belong. So, she fled that room and instead let herself fall into the flood of guests who occupied the hallway.
From there, she let herself be carried by the tide. A flock of young ladies who were dressed as peacocks knocked on a door three times and were granted admittance immediately.
Phoebe craned her neck to see what was happening inside the room but did not allow herself to be pushed through the entryway. She heard a bit of laughter before shuffling forward with the remainder of the throng.
One after another, couples, trios, and small groups of revelers rapped on doors then scurried inside. At each separate stop, Phoebe considered joining the multitudes just so she could remain clustered with the gathering, but then she gently chided herself.
I have never been afraid of being alone before. Why start now?
She lifted her chin, squared her shoulders, and continued sweeping down the hall. At the end of the corridor, she found herself standing in front of a dark, wooden door.
“Hello?” She spoke quietly while rapping on the door in a soft, respectful way. Phoebe could not decide if she wanted to hear someone call her from within and beg her to join them, or if she would be more content to be greeted by silence.
When nobody answered her call, she pushed open the door…
Only to find herself faced with one singular case of books.
“Huh,” she spoke aloud, drawing nearer to that bookcase.
The door shut on its own accord behind her as she moved further into the tight space. Because the room was so sparsely furnished, it did not take long for Phoebe to discover a screen. It was one made of wooden lattice and was perhaps built there to provide some private space for a guest to find a moment of peace.
Phoebe quite liked the idea of taking a moment to breathe, so she scurried behind the screen and ran her fingertip along the spines of the books.
Phoebe had just plucked a book from the shelf and opened the tome to the first page when from the other side of the screen came a voice.
“What are you here for, then? Perhaps seeking refuge, like me?”
Phoebe stilled at the velvety soft voice that came through the other side of the wooden lattice. She was stunned that she had not noticed another person in the room upon entry. Mortified to think that she had inadvertently invaded another person’s space, she froze and held her breath.
A long moment passed. Phoebe waited for the person to speak again, but no words fell between them. Feeling flustered, Phoebe gently closed the book and replaced it on the shelf.
“Perhaps,” she dared to admit as her gaze lifted through that latticed divide.
She had to squint to see clearly through the wooden slats, but when she trained her eyes she caught sight of a man.
He sat in a voluptuous green leather armchair with an ankle crossed over a knee and a book open in his lap. With his attention diverted, she was free to lean closer to the divide and peer closely at him.
In the dim light, his mask glimmered with green and yellow scales. Initially, Phoebe could not discern what these colors signified. Just as she had been baffled by Lord Spencer’s costume upon arriving at the event, she was equally stymied by the mask this man wore.
But then, ever so slightly, he tipped his head to the side, clearly examining the words that were printed on the page of his book, and that single movement provided an ounce of clarity.
The intricate, shimmering patterns made up a snake’s mask, she realized. Phoebe felt foolish. She should have seen the resemblance immediately and probably should not have been as intrigued as she was, but… she could not tear her gaze away from the man.
