“Good evening, gentlemen,” she said. “I’m glad to see you have all returned for tonight’s game.”
“I hope it’s not charades,” one of the gentlemen said, which brought a small mumble of laughter from the crowd.
“That is one favor I can grant you, Mr. Quinton,” she said, then gestured to a servant who produced a large round box and flipped open the lid.
“Tonight’s game is called The Masked Token,” she announced. “Please come forward.”
One by one each gentleman was handed a black mask that obscured most of their face.
“You are to go into the maze,” she said, “where the ladies are wandering, waiting for you to find them.”
“Seems simple enough,” Mr. Crowley said under his breath, and Tom was inclined to agree, except that this was the Lyon’s Den, and Mrs. Dove-Lyon would not make it that simple.
“When you approach, they will have a question for you, which you may answer with a single word only. If your answer satisfies her, she will give you a token. Each gentleman must collect two tokens to proceed.”
Excellent. He would seek out Miss Morehouse, who already seemed determined to have him, collect his token, and move on to the next round.
“If your answer does not satisfy her, or you identify yourself,” she continued, “you will receive a black ribbon and be expelled from the game.”
One of Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s acolytes walked solemnly past them, leading their way toward the start of this masquerade hunt. Tom secured the mask to his face, adjusting it to ensure his vision would not be obscured, then rubbed his hands together, eager to get on with it. He had no idea what types of questions the ladies might pose.
What if he came upon Georgie? The last time they’d met and he’d asked for her favor, she’d rejected him. Surely, she would not see him ejected from the game. Still, he might take extra care to avoid her notice, just in case he failed to answer her question to her satisfaction.
Once upon a time, they talked so easily; he’d prided himself on knowing what she might say before she’d had the chance to voice it. Indeed, she too seemed to anticipate his every word. And so many times, they’d been able to sit in companionable silence, because just knowing they were together had been enough.
She was out there, now, waiting. But not for him. The pang hit him like a lead ball, and he found himself putting his hand to his chest for a moment to dull a pain that shouldn’t be there.
“Gentlemen,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon called out, raising her hand, “to the maze. Your potential bride is waiting.”
Tom dropped his hand, allowing a cool resolve to fill the void where the pain had been. That heartache was a reminder of why he was here, why Miss Morehouse’s indifference and the fortune their marriage would grant him had to be enough.
Georgie clutched thesmall bag of tokens she’d been given by Mrs. Dove-Lyon before donning a mask and being sent to wander the meandering paths of the garden maze. Now, she was waiting to be caught.
How nerve wracking was it to be wandering alone at night, waiting for a stranger—or six—to find her? Of course, Mrs. Dove-Lyon assured all the ladies that they were in control of their contact with each gentleman. The men were not to speak, unless she chose to speak with them. They could not approach—and certainly not touch—unless invited.
She breathed in, hoping the fresh evening air would settle her.
The moon was a sliver, a smile in the night against a backdrop of diamonds unfolded against a velvet sky. Georgie closed her eyes, taking in the silence, the din of activity from the Lyon’s Den off in the distance. The gardens were lit with lanterns placed creatively along paths, providing those who wanted to explore the gardens at night the safety to do so.
The sound of footsteps, muffled by the grassy floor of the maze, caught Georgie’s attention. From out of the darkness, a masked gentleman appeared. She tried to recognize him from his gait, which was ridiculous, considering she didn’t know any of the gentlemen very well, except of course for Tom. But even his bearing had changed since their youth; living the life of a soldier gave his stride an air of purpose that was new. So much about him seemed to have changed. Once upon a time, he’d been so protective of her. So eager to shelter her from the confines of a life lived solely to cause as little bother as possible.
What might have happened if she’d said yes?
Her father would have dismissed the Blakeys without reference, and she was sure, would have tracked her down and marched her to the altar. Of that, she had little doubt. She’d spent her life placating her father who spent every momenttrying to hold on to a legacy that seemed to be unraveling around him. He would never have abided her leaving, and there was nothing Tom could have done to stop him.
“Good evening,” she began, as gaps of silence hung where conversation should have been. As per the rules of the game, the gentlemen were only to speak when bidden, and as little as possible. The masked gentleman before shuffled his feet, waiting on Georgie’s question for his opportunity to gain the token that might push him on to the last round of the game.
Goodness, but this was awkward.
She and the other ladies had come up with a list of potential questions to ask the suitors, all of which seemed to have escaped her memory now that the moment had arrived.
“What is your favorite animal?” she asked at last. How one could possibly choose a potential partner from a few simple questions was quite impossible, but she started with a simple assumption that any person who didn’t like animals was of a questionable character.
“Dogs,” came the reply.
Not Mr. Osbourne then, who would have clearly chosen horses. And not Tom either. Not that Tom didn’t like dogs—he loved them in fact. But the voice wasn’t his. She plucked a token out of her silk bag and placed it into the gentleman’s hands. Within seconds he had disappeared.
Not long after, a second gentleman approached. The pressure of not speaking must have gotten the better of him, for he not only introduced himself, but gave three reasons why he felt spaniels were superior to beagles. Having not the heart to give him a black ribbon for breaking the rules of the game, she merely dismissed him without a token. Mr. Osbourne, whom she recognized not only by instantly declaring horses as his favorite animal, readily added “most especially Turkmens,” which technically might have earned him a black ribbon as well,but she could not help but smile as she placed the token in his hand.
