“Isn’t it peculiar?” asked Mama, swooping in and taking Rosanna by the arm. “Why would a gentleman choose a masquerade as his first public engagement? If one is here to introduce themselves, it seems one would wish for one’s face to be seen. Not that anyone knows what Mr. Tate looks like.”
“When one is wealthy one can be peculiar,” said Prudence. “It adds to his mystique.”
“More peculiar is that he’s donated quite a mighty fund to the local parishes to assist the laborers who have been so crippled by the poor weather this summer,” added Parker. “I was visiting a few of my charity cases, and they were talking of nothing else. Few of the landowners are stirring themselves to even lower the rents for the quarter, let alone such generosity. I am quite eager to shake his hand.”
But Mama was entirely unmoved by that declaration, her gaze scouring the people gathered in the room. For her part, Rosanna couldn’t help but agree with Parker. Not only was it peculiar behavior, but such generosity ran quite contrary to her expectations.
“No one seems to know where he is,” said Mama with a sigh, “and far too many have hidden their faces.”
“Odd behavior, that. What with it being a masquerade and all,” murmured Prudence whilst Parker hid a smile.
“I am going to do my best to ferret him out,” said Mama, glancing at Rosanna. “No lady here tonight is half so lovely as you, so it shan’t be difficult to secure a dance or two with him.”
“Mama,” said Rosanna with a frown. “Please leave it be.”
“I shan’t,” she said with a vehement shake of her head, which dislodged a flower from her coiffure, and it tumbled to the ground as though Mama were molting. “Or do you wish to allow Mr. Tate to slip through your fingers like Mr. Courtney?”
Rosanna drew in a deep breath. There was so much she wished for in this life, and not a single hope surrounded Mr. Tate. “He didn’t slip through my fingers, Mama. I rejected his suit.”
“Do you wish to end a spinster? You are still in your prime, but if you wait much longer, you’ll find yourself alone and unwanted,” said Mama with a scowl. “Is that what you wish?”
“Mama,” said Prudence, her voice cutting through the lady’s diatribe. With a bright smile, she nodded at Mrs. Garrison. “Isn’t that a fabulous gown? I wonder where she got the idea.”
With raised brows, Mama turned her attention towards the lady, and she straightened. “Oh, my. That is gorgeous. Rather puts me in mind of a fashion plate I saw inAckerman’slast month. Though I am not surprised. Mrs. Garrison has quite the eye.”
Prudence stepped forward and released Parker’s arm to take her mother’s, which freed Rosanna. As Mama babbled about the baubles and beading, Parker nodded at Rosanna, silently nudging her to flee. And she didn’t need a second prodding.
Slipping away, Rosanna left her dear sister and brother-in-law to manage the lady, and her shoulders loosened with each step that took her farther away. However, she didn’t get far before she was stopped. Though she recognized Miss Crewe beneath the gypsy costume, many of the others in their circle were impossible to identify at a glance.
There were feathers and swaths of silk flowing freely. Those who would never dream of being so bold in their regular fashions adopted fancy dress that would shock in any other setting, baring limbs and skin in a way that would have their grandparents swooning—if the older generation hadn’t been known for being even more daring in their masquerade fashions. Looking out at the displays, it was little wonder that many thought such festivities were wanton and improper.
But then, that made it all the more entertaining—something Miss Latham clearly believed as she beamed at the others, proudly strutting about in trousers like a London dandy.
“You look a picture, sir,” said Rosanna with a laugh, and Miss Latham dipped into a low bow, sweeping the beaver hat from her head.
“Indeed, I do,” she said as she straightened and plopped her hat back on her head. “Though that is hardly a surprise. I am quite the specimen of manhood.”
Waggling her brows at Miss Crewe, who giggled, Miss Latham added, “Please do not swoon, miss, for I would hate to cause yet another stir. I can hardly step foot in London, for everywhere I go, young ladies are throwing themselves at my feet. Quite embarrassing.”
“Pardon me, Miss Leigh.”
Turning towards the voice, Rosanna spied a gentleman in an attempt at a foreign costume. Chinese or perhaps Indian, though it was difficult to tell precisely, just as it was a struggle to identify the gentleman beneath the mask.
“If you are not spoken for, I would love to request your first set.”
“Of course,” said Rosanna, though her smile fell as the gentleman straightened and glanced over her shoulder with a gloating gleam in his eye. Glancing in that direction, she spied another waiting just behind her, looking as crestfallen as her present partner was triumphant.
Offering her his arm, the gentleman guided her toward the dancers.
“You are a vision, Miss Leigh,” he said. “Or should I call you Lady Guinevere?”
“As I am not dressed as that lady, Miss Leigh will do,” she replied.
“It is an honest mistake,” he said with a flirtatious grin. “You are certainly lovely enough to pose as that legendary beauty of old.”
As they took their places amongst the quadrille, Rosanna couldn’t help but laugh at that. “I would hope I am more sensible than someone who, at best, was an ornament on King Arthur’s arm, and at worst, a spiteful creature who destroyed an entire kingdom.”
Her partner stood there, blinking at her, and there was something about that expression that snapped her thoughts back into place and allowed her to see Mr. Woodhouse beneath the mask.
