When Aunt Mary complained of the discomfort of peering through slits and fiddled with the ties on her pink mask, Jo realized that it prevented her from wearing her glasses. A half-hour passed, while they wondered where her father had got to.
Mrs. Millet approached them with a slim, fair-haired gentleman at her side. He was of average height and wore a black mask, his crimson cape pushed back over his shoulders.
“Miss Hatton, Miss Dalrymple, I should like to introduce you to Mr. Ollerton.”
“Ah, you have given me away, Madam. Were we not to be unmasked at midnight?” Mr. Ollerton smiled, revealing even, white teeth. The candlelight from the enormous chandelier overhead painted his hair gold.
“Forgive me, Mr. Ollerton,” Mrs. Millet tittered. “I could not introduce you to these ladies otherwise. And you did insist.”
Jo wondered why he wished so ardently to meet her when her mask hid most of her face. But she smiled to welcome him.
He sat for a moment and chatted with Aunt Mary, who was effusively describing her new cottage garden and her cats.
A good listener, Mr. Ollerton seemed kind-hearted.
The waltz was announced, and the musicians tuned their instruments. “Would you give me the pleasure of this dance, Miss Dalrymple?”
Jumping up, Jo bobbed. “Delighted, sir.”
“Jo, I’m not sure you should…” Aunt Mary began.
“No such rule applies at a masked ball,” Mrs. Millet said firmly. She had instructed Jo earlier to only waltz with her father. Jo thought it a silly convention.
The dance seemed perfectly respectable, although perhaps more license might be taken. But she wasn’t about to bring it into question, for she longed to waltz. With a smile, she rested her fingers on the gentleman’s arm, and he led her onto the dance floor.
Mr. Ollerton danced well. At first, surprised by their closeness, she was enjoying her first waltz, when he spoke and drew her attention to what she could see of him below the mask, his mouth and rounded chin shaved smooth.
“You hail from the country, Miss Dalrymple?” He led her through a turn. “Near Bath, I believe?”
“Marlborough, sir.”
Jo waited for him to lose interest as another gentleman had done.
“Beautiful countryside in those parts. I know of the Marlborough white horse,” he said. “I went to view the figure on the hill when traveling once to Bath. It stands out impressively. However, I am not cognizant of its history.”
“A boy named William Canning designed the figure of the horse and marked it out early this century with the help of the other boys from Mr. Greasley’s Academy,” Jo said. “William’s family owned the Manor House at Osbourne St. George.”
“Fascinating,” he said with his attractive smile. “Will you promise to tell me more? If I may call on you tomorrow?”
“I should be happy to,” Jo said, pleased for the chance to see him again.
He exhibited a pleasing lack of condescension. While she would have to see more of him to judge, he could fit her idea of a husband. He was one of the most interesting men she had met. And the most elegant. The cut of his coat spoke of fine tailoring, his cravat tied in an intricate knot, and a fine gold fob decorated his white silk waistcoat. Perhaps he was wealthy and had no interest in her dowry. She caught her lip in her teeth in consternation. When had she become so hard-hearted and suspicious? And she was yet to see his face. What color were his eyes? Impossible to tell through the slits of his mask. Hazel, perhaps.
“An elegant gentleman with exquisite manners,” Aunt Mary said approvingly when he had left them.
“Yes.” Jo watched him make his way through the crowd. “He is to call on us tomorrow.”
“My, my,” her aunt said. She fell silent, offering no further opinion.
“Then you approve of me waltzing with him, Aunt?” Jo asked after a moment. Her aunt was usually forthcoming in her opinions.
“I like to see you enjoying yourself. They didn’t dance the waltz in ballrooms in my day. I have to admit it looks exhilarating.” She waved her fan before her face. “As long as you don’t come under criticism.”
“I doubt I’m of any interest,” Jo said. No one paid the slightest attention to her.
“But you are. You’re the prettiest debutante here tonight.”
Jo smiled at her loyal aunt. “I’m not, but thank you for saying so.”
