“While I appreciate your honesty, I do not like being taken advantage of,” Lady Duncaster told her crisply. “You know that your aunt is a longtime friend of mine and that it is my duty to support her wishes, yet you deliberately forced my hand.”
“I needed to see him again.” At least she was being honest about that.
Something in the old woman’s eyes shifted. “And did you?”
Mary nodded. “But he was wearing the mask again, so I have yet to see his face.”
“In other words, you are curious.” Laughter from the other end of the table caught Lady Duncaster’s attention. She looked away for a second, then smiled and said, “I suppose that is only natural.”
Mary shook her head. The strangest need to make Lady Duncaster understand, filled her. “No,” she said. “It is more than that.”
Lady Duncaster tilted her head. “Go on.”
“I feel a connection with him.” Staring into her teacup, Mary idly thumbed its edge. “It is difficult to explain.” Behind her, she could sense the footmen moving about, their precise footsteps vibrating through the floor and up the legs of the table. She watched as ripples formed in her tea, so faint they were barely visible at all.
“You do not have to,” Lady Duncaster said. “I believe I know precisely how you feel.”
“Really?” Surprised, Mary looked up, her hand jolting the cup and causing some of the tea to spill.
Lady Duncaster smiled warmly. “My husband had a similar effect on me when we first met. It always felt as though my stomach was turning itself inside out whenever he glanced in my direction.” She chuckled lightly before turning serious. “The trouble with your situation is that too many secrets are involved and in order to keep them, too many promises have to be made.” Reaching across the table, she took Mary’s hand in her own. “The masked gentleman you met at the ball does not wish for his identity to be revealed. He has his reasons for that. Your aunt, on the other hand, has a responsibility toward you. It would be terribly careless of her to allow you to associate with a man who refuses to offer her even his name. How can she know that you will be safe in his company when she has no idea of who he is?”
“I understand her reasoning perfectly, but—”
Lady Duncaster snorted. “You think you know better, because you have taken a liking to him.”
Mary knew how silly it sounded. “You said yourself that he comes from a highly respectable family with whom an association would prove beneficial.”
“So I did, and I stand by that statement. It was, however, meant to alleviate your aunt’s concerns, not prompt you into having secret meetings with the gentleman in question behind her back while making me a party to your betrayal of her trust.”
Put like that, Lady Duncaster made Mary feel as though she’d just committed a terrible crime. “I am sorry,” she said again. What elsecouldshe say? Her explanation seemed to have had little effect.
Lady Duncaster sighed. “You may not be aware, Lady Mary, especially not based on this particular conversation, but I am a big advocate of love matches. It is my fondest wish that everyone should be afforded a chance at a happily-ever-after, but in this case, I am too concerned that you might end up getting hurt.”
“BecauseSignor Antonio,” she said, refraining from disclosing her knowledge of his actual name, “might look different from what I expect? Because I will likely be disappointed that he is not as handsome behind the mask he wears as I might have hoped? I am not that superficial, my lady. It is his character that draws me. Nothing else.”
“And so it should be, if your feelings for him are genuine. But that is not what I am worried about.”
Mary blinked, surprised that there could be any other reason. After all, Lady Duncaster knew his identity and had been willing to vouch for him the night of the ball. Something must have changed. “Then what is it?”
“I have my doubts that he is ready to form a deep attachment with anyone. If you were to fall in love with him, there is a good chance that he may break your heart. Not deliberately, of course, but... a man like him is bound to have other secrets as well. Until he is prepared to reveal them to you, you will only see what he wants you to see.”
“You know something about him,” Mary murmured. “Something that makes you think that he may be hiding more than his identity.”
Lady Duncaster pressed her lips together before confessing, “All I have are a few suspicions—nothing concrete.”
“So you could be wrong.” When she didn’t reply, Mary said, “As grateful as I am for your advice, I am inclined to follow my own instincts.”
“In that case, I hope that he will be wise enough to place his faith in you.” She glanced past Mary’s right shoulder and smiled. “Lady Spencer, what a lovely surprise!”
“Good morning to you both,” Sarah said as she came to stand beside Mary’s chair. Glancing down, she addressed Mary. “Lady Foxworth has asked my husband and me to introduce you to some of his friends.”
Mary’s mouth dropped open. It took a moment for her to recover and say, “Really?” Just one single mention that morning about her disinterest in Rotridge, and now this.
“Viscount Belgrave has expressed an interest in making your acquaintance,” Sarah added. “If you will join me for a walk, we can meet with him and Spencer down by the lake.”
“I...” What could she possibly say without being rude? Glancing back and forth between Lady Duncaster and Sarah, she noted their expectant faces. “I would be delighted,” she said, swallowing her annoyance with her aunt as she excused herself to Lady Duncaster and left the dining room with Sarah.
As it turned out, Belgrave was not as dislikeable as she’d feared, following her experience with Rotridge, who’d thankfully refrained from approaching her that morning when they’d crossed paths in the hallway. Apparently his altercation with Richard the night before had had the desired effect. But Belgrave was nothing like Rotridge. Indeed, he was not only handsome, but courteous and well-educated as well. Of course he was not the sort of man who would ever be willing to accept Mary’s scandalous career choice, but at least he proved to be good company.
