Why had her aunt never married? Her father told Jo she had settled into spinsterhood at a young age. Was it because she was near-sighted and forced to wear glasses? Had it made her shy? Aunt Mary’s support for Jo’s mother and father had enraged their brother, Sir Brian Endicott. He and Lady Endicott ostracized her mother and sent Aunt Mary packing, too. With nowhere to go, Jo’s parents took her aunt in. She seemed content not to marry, but to Jo, it seemed a poor life compared to the love of a husband and children.
At midnight they announced the unmasking. Laughter rippled through the room as masks came off. Relieved to remove hers, Jo searched for Mr. Ollerton but could find no sign of him. Had he left the ball? Perhaps he wasn’t interested in her. Disappointed, she danced another set, while her father, his mask pushed up on his forehead, danced with Mrs. Millet. Jo felt torn. While she was pleased for her father, who had remained loyal to her mother’s memory too long in her opinion, was, at last, enjoying himself in a lady’s company. She wished she could like that lady more.
Letty emerged from the crowd in gold silk, a black lace mask trailing from her fingers by its strings. Jo heard her infectious laugh as she wandered in their direction. A gentleman walked at her elbow, her husband, Mr. Cartwright. Jo sat forward in her seat when the dark-haired gentleman from the coach, dressed in black and white evening clothes, appeared. He must also have just arrived, she always had an eye out for him, and it would have been impossible not to spot him, for he was head and shoulders above most men here tonight.
With a welcoming smile, Letty approached Jo, accompanied by the two gentlemen. “Miss Dalrymple, and is this Miss Hatton? How good to see you this evening. Allow me to introduce you to my husband, Mr. Cartwright, and our friend, Baron, Lord Reade.”
The gentlemen bowed.
Jo took to Mr. Cartwright immediately. His ready smile put her at ease, but when Lord Reade’s firm lips curled into a beguiling smile, she felt unusually warm. Up close, he was the perfect depiction of masculine strength and beauty. His large eyes, deep and dark, observed her as if he could easily uncover her secret thoughts. A frisson of awareness rushed through her. She would be totally out of her depth with such a man. Her fingers coiled around her fan while she resisted snapping it open.
A baron, Lord Reade, came from a different world. He would not wish to marry the daughter of a haberdasher. It was just as well, for she couldn’t imagine him calling to take tea with her family.
While Letty chattered with her aunt, Lord Reade asked Jo if she approved of masked balls. His voice, low and seductive, held a sardonic note. Did he disapprove of her? Or the ball? A man had come dressed in a harlequin costume and danced around them, making people laugh.
“People’s behavior seems to alter while wearing a mask. I saw a gentleman cast himself at a lady’s feet and kiss her hem!” Jo said. As she sounded like a prudish governess, she hurried on. “I must admit I like to see people’s faces.”
“Some faces should never be hidden,” the baron said, an appreciative light in his eyes.
Mr. Cartwright chuckled. “And some are the better for the mask.”
When Reade’s dark eyes remained on her, she lifted her chin. “What is your opinion of masked balls, my lord?”
“These affairs have distinct advantages, Miss Dalrymple. I might be inclined to cast myself at your feet and kiss your hem.”
She gazed into those dark eyes. It was as though he had reached out and touched her. She swallowed. Was he flirting? Or toying with her? “It’s not that I’m disapproving of people’s actions, sir. I am merely surprised by them.”
Reade shrugged wide shoulders. “I am all approval when some of the ridiculous rules set by the doyens of Society are ignored.”
“For instance?” Mr. Cartwright prodded with a glimmer of humor in his blue eyes.
Reade shrugged again and cast a lazy smile at his friend. “Has marriage made you forgetful, Cartwright? I shan’t remind you of it, however, for it is not suited to a lady’s ears.”
Cartwright laughed.
“Forgive us, Miss Dalrymple,” Lord Reade said. “I should like to hear more of your fresh observations of theton.”
“I have none, sir. This is only my third ball.”
Dark eyebrows raised over amused eyes. “Then, I must be patient.”
He was teasing her! Might it be because she was new to London? A country miss? She had already had experience of such men and felt vaguely disappointed that he was one of them. “That would depend upon whether I’m willing to share them with you, my lord.”
Lord Reade bowed gracefully. “Arrêt à bon temps,” he murmured with that fascinating smile, using a fencing term Jo recognized from a novel.
Mr. Cartwright chuckled. His eyes full of laughter.
Letty paused in her description of the alfresco entertainments found at tea gardens, a mere carriage drive from the city, to raise her eyebrows at them. “I fear I am missing something vastly entertaining.”
“We are discussing the merits of masked balls while employing the art of verbal fencing,” Mr. Cartwright said. “Miss Dalrymple has made a fine riposte.”
Letty smiled and returned to her conversation. The three were obviously on good terms. Jo was pleased with herself for getting the better of him. As he and Cartwright joined into Letty’s conversation, she took advantage of the moment to study him. But she had misjudged him; he was not at all condescending. He carried himself like a soldier. Might he have been one? Since the war ended two years ago, many men had sold out.
A second waltz was announced.
“Will you honor me with a dance, Miss Dalrymple?” Lord Reade asked, turning to her.
“Certainly, sir.” Surprised that he would ask her, Jo rose and rested her hand on his arm.
