Lysander nodded. “And most willnae likely be wearing costumes at all. A masquerade is a chance to show off their fanciest—and most daring—gowns, along with their ornate masks.”
“Ye’re all caught up?” the laird inquired, but didn’t give Max a chance to answer before waving his arms expansively. “Good! This party is for ye, Maxwell, after all. I want ye at my side as we stand at Lady Dumpkins’s side.”
And as he strode off toward the front of the room, Lysander sent Max a grin. “Welcome to Highland Society, Max.”
Managing a grin, Max hurried after his newfound father.Society? He appreciated the welcome, but he couldn’t wait to get down to business at the factory. He didn’t belong here.
Ember walked to the Dumpkins Estate in an effort to remain unseen, but it was no great hardship. She was used to walking—albeit not in heeled slippers—and she was too excited to mind. Her cloak hid her gown from anyone who happened to glance her way and allowed her to slip in one of the rear entrances, so she didn’t have to worry about knocking on the big front door where all the fancy carriages were disgorging lords and ladies and honored guests.
Ember had been in the castle many times making deliveries and checking on servants who needed help, so it was second nature to slip in the back, remove her cloak, hurry down the long corridor, and climb the stairs to the main floor. There was even another entrance to the ballroom which allowed her to slip in behind one of the pillars, allowing her to observe unnoticed.
The room wasstunning!
The Dumpkins servants had outdone themselves; the entire ballroom was decorated to look like an indoor meadow, with green wall-hangings and potted trees and flowers on every surface.
Midsummer Masquerade, indeed. Everyone was pretending to be something they weren’t…including the architecture.
Ember took a deep breath, inhaling the riotous mix of fragrances, and smiled.
“Ladies and gentlemen!” Lady Dumpkins stood at the top of the steps, and at her call, everyone quieted. “I am delighted to welcome you all to my modest abode and my annual event. Isolook forward to spending the coming weeks with you, but for tonight, we must eat, drink and be merry. Allow me to introduce a man who needs no introduction, our Laird Oliphant.”
Around the room, the guests burst into polite applause, although there were a couple men—possibly already drunk—who roared the clan’s motto in good spirits.
Ember slid around the pillar so she could see a little better, not bothering to hide her fond smile. The clan had prospered under the big, jolly man’s leadership, and everyone loved him.
From the way Lady Dumpkins blushed happily as he took her hand and kissed her knuckles, the older widow wasn’t an exception.
But as Laird Oliphant stepped forward to speak, he gestured to a man standing below him on the steps.
“Thank ye for helping me to welcome a verra special guest. Mr. Deville has come all the way from America at the behest of my cousin Andrew, to manage Prince Armory’s interests in the Highlands.” As the cheering began again, the laird lifted his hands. “And coincidentally discovered he’s part of the family, too, eh?” The big man’s smile left no doubt he was thrilled to welcome another bastard. “He’s a fine young man, who has decided we’re no’ all that bad either!”
As the guests laughed, the guest of honor climbed the stairs to stand a few steps below the laird. Ember couldn’t tell much about him behind his mask, other than he was well-built—although anyone standing beside the portly laird would appear well-built—and dressed as a cowboy.
How…interesting. Weren’t cowboys rough and dirty men, who lived in the wilderness with their cattle? But Mr. DeVille was the son of the laird and had been sent by a millionaire to oversee an important business, so surely he was just as refined and sophisticated as the Oliphant brothers.
His costume choice—complete with an outrageously large cowboy hat—must be a joke toward his American status. That had to be it.
As the laird finished speaking, the musicians started to play, and with much gaiety, the ball officially began.
Despite her ensemble, Ember was content to stand in the shadows of the pillar, beside a large potted tree, and simply enjoy the pageantry of it all. She counted five women dressed as cats, one of them dressed in an orange-and-black gown with a striped mask. The rest wore simple tails attached to ballgowns as their only nod toward a costume. There were quite a few medieval knights—one in a full suit of armor, who didn’t look as though he could walk at all—and other lordly costumes from antiquity.
She was fairly certain she recognized one of the laird’s sons—the scholarly one was dressed in Egyptian garb—and a few others. But it was the servants who were easiest to pick out, as they wore their standard black, and she recognized most of them from her time in the village.
None of them would recognize her of course, and there was something exhilarating about that knowledge.
Shecould, if she wanted to, move out from behind the pillar, interact with these men and women, and none would know it was her. There was power in that realization. And power in the knowledge she was dressed as if she belonged there.
Oh! There was Tiffany, dancing with a man in elegant evening wear and a simple black mask. She glowed in the fancy electric lights Lady Dumpkins had installed, and Ember noticed more than a few people pointed to the shoes on her stepsister’s feet.
It was working!
Ember had known Tiffany would draw attention, and thus her shoes would as well. Perhaps soon, Ember would be able to convince Mr. DeVille to begin production on a new line of products.
Bonnie was dancing as well, although she didn’t seem all that happy about it. She kept glancing over at her mother, who made impatient little shooing motions with her hands. Machara was watching her daughters dance and was preening with delight. Bonnie, on the other hand, looked as if she’d much rather be standing behind a pillar—or hiding in the laird’s library—than be the center of so much attention.
It was all so dazzling, Ember stood for what seemed like hours, watching it all. The lights! The colors! The music! She hadn’t imagined anything like this.
Balls like this—even masquerade balls—were for people who weren’t like her. People like the Laird Oliphant and Mr. DeVille. People with money and sophistication and influence.
