“You have not seen his face?” Sarah asked with a note of surprise and interest.
Mary shrugged one shoulder. “It is a masquerade. The novelty lies in the mystery.” In truth, the more she’d spoken to Signor Antonio, the less she’d cared about what he might look like beneath his mask, though she’d be lying to herself if she said she wasn’t curious.
“I suppose that is true to some extent,” Sarah agreed. “Besides, a man may be the handsomest one in the world, but that is neither here nor there if he lacks the ability for intelligent thought and conversation.”
“I completely agree,” Mary said. Her eyes strayed to Lord Spencer who was too busy talking to his friend, the Earl of Chadwick, to be paying attention to the conversation that Mary was having with his wife. “But it does look as though you have managed to acquire a husband who lacks neither wits nor looks.”
Smiling broadly, Sarah sighed with obvious contentment. “I know. I am the most fortunate woman there is.” Lowering her voice to a whisper, she leaned a little closer to Mary and said, “Perhaps you can be too.”
Mary felt her spine stiffen. “A brief encounter with a perfect stranger is hardly enough to suggest an imminent courtship.”
“You never know,” Sarah insisted. “It did for me.”
“Yes, but your situation is entirely different. You have always wanted to get married.”
“And you have not?”
The look of incomprehension in Sarah’s eyes made Mary feel like a whale who’d somehow managed to get itself stuck inside a fish bowl. She shook her head. “I like my life the way it is.”
“But what about your aunt? I thought she brought you here with the sole purpose of securing a good match for you.”
It was true. In fact, her aunt was growing quite desperate where Mary’s prospects were concerned—a difficult situation since Mary had other plans for her future. To Sarah she said, “That does not mean that I am destined to end up at the altar.”
“But surely you must have considered the idea of marriage and what the benefits would be for you?”
“Of course I have,” Mary said, recalling the conversation she’d had with Signor Antonio earlier. Reading MissAusten’s books had made it very difficultnotto consider it. But what most people did not think about when they read such books, was that they only described the process of falling in love. They did not address the life that followed the early days of young romance or the restrictions forced upon women the moment they entered into the marriage itself. “After much deliberation I have come to the conclusion that the benefits will be few when compared with what I stand to lose. I value my independence too much to sacrifice it for any man.”
“Independence should certainly not be dismissed, but unlike you, I do believe it is worth sacrificing for therightman.” Glancing toward her husband, Sarah said, “Especially since the right man will not seek to restrict you without good reason.”
“I shall have to take your word for that as the more experienced woman among us,” Mary said, deciding not to argue.
Sarah smiled. “I know that you are not convinced and yet I cannot help but wonder if your mystery companion might tempt you to change your mind.”
Deliberately, Mary rolled her eyes, diminishing the impact of Sarah’s words. “When I know next to nothing about him? How absurd!”
“And yet you continue to blush whenever he is mentioned. I find that delightfully curious.”
“Very well,” Mary conceded. “I will admit that I thought him both charming and interesting, but to imagine that he and I might form an attachment based on that alone would be quite a stretch, would it not?”
“Oh, absolutely,” Sarah said with trembling lips. “I cannot see how it can possibly work when you are so set against it.”
“Now you are just mocking me,” Mary muttered.
“I would not dare.” But the sparkle in Sarah’s eyes said otherwise, and Mary couldn’t help but laugh in response.
Returning to the terrace after supper, Mary joined Lord Bertram for the reel. He was an older gentleman—perhaps fifteen years her senior—with polite manners that unfortunately failed to compensate for his lack of conversational skill or sense of humor. As the well-bred young lady that she was, Mary made a genuine effort to respond to his comments. But discussing how wonderful the evening was, the magnificence of Thorncliff, and their good fortune in regard to the weather, proved increasingly tedious. So much so that Mary was extremely relieved when the dance finally drew to an end so she could escape Lord Bertram’s company.
Looking around, she sought Signor Antonio, wondering where he might be, but was quickly discouraged from doing so when Lord Rotridge stepped into her path. “Are you ready for our country dance?” he asked with a crooked smile. Dressed in evening black, he’d chosen a domino that revealed more of his face than it hid, making him easier to recognize than most.
“Certainly, my lord,” Mary said with a final glance directed toward the far corner of the terrace where light disappeared into darkness. A figure stood there, silhouetted against the shadows. Mary stared, the leap of her pulse ensuring her of who it was, even as he melted away completely. Inhaling sharply, she turned away and accepted the arm that Rotridge offered, acutely aware that she was being watched.
“You look delightful this evening,” Rotridge said as he guided her between the colonnade of dancers a few minutes later. “Such a lovely departure from your usual self. A man would have to be mad not to dance with you.”
Mary couldn’t help but frown. “Is that supposed to be a compliment, my lord?”
He chuckled slightly. “Forgive me, Lady Mary. It was not my intention to insult you but rather to praise your choice of costume. I cannot recall ever seeing you with your hair down before. It suits you.”
Looking up at him, she studied the confident glow in his eyes, “I must admit that I was surprised when you asked me to dance with you this evening. You have never made the effort before.”
