“Are you sure you still want to marry this woman? I will support you if you decide to break the agreement you made with her.”
That Harewood was completely serious bothered him. “Yes, I still plan to marry her. I just need to find her so I can press my suit.”
“You do know that usually you court the womanbeforethe betrothal, right?”
He put his hands together as if praying. “Sometimes, you just need to have faith, my son.”
Giving a loud snort, Harewood turned on his heel and moved off, obviously tired of his company. It was just as well as he still had yet to find Amelia and talking with Harewood too long would give his own identity away.
He needed to be more strategic in his search. What would she wear to a masquerade? Dressing as an artist would be far too obvious, and with so many neighbors knowing her penchant for painting, he doubted she would risk being discovered. He hadn’t seen any female artists, though he was sure there was a Michelangelo and a Rubin enjoying the ball.
Someone bumped into him from behind, and he turned, hoping she’d found him accidentally.
“Oh, pardon me, good friar. I did not see ye there blending in with the potted tree.” The feminine voice attempting a lower-class accent to match her street seller costume wasn’t the woman he sought, but he played his part and folded his hands. “Blessings upon you, fair lass and prayers for better eyesight.”
The young woman giggled before joining a group of revelers nearby. He scanned the crowd, but Amelia was not among them. He moved his gaze to the next group and then the next. He spotted Harewood’s sister Rose in a pretty butterfly costume, but none of the ladies with her fit Amelia’s shape and size. Amelia was more a sprite with a narrow waist, small bust, and her pixie like nose.
“Well, dash it all. Who’d have thought she could end up in such a hobble.” The street seller’s voice carried, which fit her language. Could Amelia have decided to dress as someone of a lower class? He shook his head. He couldn’t imagine that. It was more likely she’d dress prettily, perhaps as a bird or a butterfly like Harewood’s sister.
The street seller lady laughed loudly, catching his attention once more. He should probably move to another area so he could further his investigation. Taking a few steps toward the center of the room, a comment Amelia had made floated through his mind.I believe it was more that we were an oddity, like a monkey paraded about at court.While there were no monkeys at the ball… He stopped and glanced back at the street seller. Amelia’s humility had caught his attention from the beginning. Maybe he was looking for the wrong costume and in the wrong place.
If, as he now suspected, Amelia dressed in something that would attract little attention, he needed to relocate his search to the fringes of the room where a lady’s maid or governess costume would more likely be found, if the owner wished to portray their part more authentically. He strolled along the perimeter of the large area, though he was sure he appeared to waddle with his fake belly. He’d already determined that looking at eye color beneath the shadow of a mask was quite difficult, so he would have to find Amelia by instinct alone. He had navigated halfway around the room when he caught the scent of violets.
Of course! Following his nose brought him to a group of three women. Though all three were blonde, he immediately recognized her. The way she held herself and her wide smile revealed her identity.
He grinned at the cleverness of her costume. She’d piled four hats upon her head, each looking about to fall, but obviously pinned or sewn together. Attached to her wrist was a pin cushion with various hat pins, and she had two felt birds and three flowers affixed to her left shoulder. Her white mask had been embellished with flowers, ribbons, and a pair of tiny scissors, effectively covering most of her face with only her nose and mouth visible. She’d dressed as a milliner, and a very pretty milliner she was too. As usual, she wore a spring-colored dress, pale green, that was set off by the multitude of pastel hats on her head and the décor on her shoulder and mask.
Triumph filled him as she glanced his way. “Oh dear, I do believe a friar has come to lead us in prayer.” She gave him an amused smirk. “Father, please allow us to wait until the morrow in church.”
The other ladies chuckled and turned toward him.
He lowered his voice to disguise it. “I would not dream of interrupting your frivolity. However, if any of you wish to confess, I am at your disposal.” He let his gaze rest on each lady.
The woman closest to him, laid a hand on her chest. “Oh no, I am not ready to confess. I have yet to sin tonight!”
The other patted his wide sleeved arm. “And I fear, good sir, I’m not likely to sin with you, so as with my friend, I must keep searching.” The woman laughed and with that, the two ladies hooked arms and disappeared into the crowd.
He stepped closer to Amelia. “And what of you, miss? Do you have anything to confess?”
“Me? Now why would you assume that of me?”
Purposefully, he let his gaze roam from the top of her hats to the hem of her dress and back to meet her gaze. “I cannot imagine such beauty can be resisted by every man present here.” He opened his palms to indicate the entire assemblage.
She laughed quietly. “Then dear friar, I fear your judgement is poor. Perhaps it is due to being cloistered with your brothers. It can be difficult to understand the ways of the world when so isolated. Many a man respects a woman’s virtue and would not presume otherwise, even if she be no more than a modest milliner.”
Her reply pleased him. “Then since I have been cloistered for so long, would you walk outside with me and enlighten me on how life is beyond my monastery walls?”
She stiffened. “It would not say well of me if I were to go off with a stranger.”
That she didn’t recognize him was clear, but that she hesitated because of it had his heart beating hard with pride. She held to their bargain as strongly as he did.
Suddenly, her gaze moved past him.
He looked over his shoulder to see Harewood winding his way through the crowd toward them. With no mask on, his identity was obvious, and Amelia might easily guess who was beneath the monk robes. Confound it.
“I think some fresh air on the terrace for a short while would be most welcome.” Her sudden capitulation surprised him.
Did it have anything to do with Harewood or did she suddenly become curious about the friar before her? Not about to question his good fortune, he faced her again and held out his arm to lead her away toward the open garden doors. The chill air greeted them before they stepped out, perhaps the reason most people milled about away from the exit. He was pleased he wore the warm monk robes, though his bare feet, in the uncomfortable sandals, already began to grow cold.
