Chapter Fourteen
The night before the Masquerade Ball found Emma in an unusual state of anticipation. She stood still as Susan arranged her hair for dinner, watching her maid’s careful movements in the mirror without really seeing them. Tomorrow’s Ball would mark the end of the house party - an event that had begun with such trepidation and led to such unexpected developments.
“The blue silk for tomorrow, miss?” Susan held up the gown. “Or perhaps the new silver one?”
“The silver, I think.” Emma touched the fabric thoughtfully. “Though we’ll need to adjust the trim. It’s a masquerade - everything should have a touch of mystery.”
“Like the mask Lord Limnwood was working on this afternoon?” Susan’s eyes sparkled with barely suppressed excitement. “Cook’s assistant said he spent hours in the stillroom with the housekeeper, getting the silver paint exactly right.”
Emma’s heart warmed at this evidence of Nathaniel’s dedication to the preparations. He had thrown himself into the mask-making activity with the same focused attention that he gave to everything which mattered to him. That he counted this among such things spoke volumes.
A tap at the door preceded Lady Beatrice’s entrance.
“Oh good, you’re nearly ready. I simply had to come to tell you - Lord James just told me the most interesting thing about tomorrow night’s arrangements.”
“Did he indeed?”
Emma smiled at her friend’s obvious excitement.
“It seems that certain gentlemen have been practicing their dancing rather religiously, even though they already dance with exquisite skill.” Lady Beatrice settled onto the bed, clearly prepared to share every detail. “The Duke’s dancing master was quite impressed by their dedication.”
Emma’s fingers stilled on her pearl necklace.
“Certain gentlemen?”
“Mm-hmm. Particularly ones who wish to make a perfect showing at their first public ball since... recent developments.”
Warmth bloomed in Emma’s chest at this evidence of Nathaniel’s determination to make everything perfect. Even now, he was proving his dedication through actions rather than mere words.
“Though that’s not the most interesting part,” Lady Beatrice continued, her eyes dancing. “Lord James says that his brother has been corresponding with your father daily since that first letter a few days ago.”
Emma’s breath caught. She knew of the initial exchange - her father’s cautiously worded permission for Nathaniel to call on her in town, once they returned. But daily correspondence?
“He wants to do everything properly,” Lady Beatrice said softly, reading Emma’s expression. “To ensure that your father understands both his intentions and his character. Lord James says that he’s never seen his brother so determined about anything.”
“He need not try so hard,” Emma murmured, though her heart sang at this evidence of Nathaniel’s commitment.
“Needn’t he?” Lady Beatrice’s voice gentled. “After everything that has happened? I rather think that he feels that he must prove himself worthy of not just your trust, but your family’s.”
Before Emma could respond, another tap at the door heralded Lady Agatha’s arrival. Her aunt surveyed the scene with knowing eyes.
“Discussing tomorrow’s ball, I see.” She moved to adjust Emma’s necklace. “Though perhaps some details should remain surprises?”
Lady Beatrice’s eyes widened.
“Oh! You mean...”
“I mean nothing at all.” But Lady Agatha’s smile held secrets. “Now then, we should go down. I believe that certain gentlemen are already awaiting our arrival in the drawing room.”
The drawing room hummed with pre-dinner conversation when they entered. Emma was immediately aware of Nathaniel’s presence near the fireplace, deep in discussion with the Duke. He looked up as she entered, and the warmth in his eyes made her heart skip.
“Miss Everton.” He bowed perfectly. “Might I show you something? His Grace has been most helpful with a particular project.”
Emma moved to join them, conscious of the eyes following her progress across the room. The Duke’s smile held approval as he stepped away, leaving them in relative privacy while remaining perfectly visible to all.
“I wanted to ask your opinion.” Nathaniel’s voice was low, meant for her ears alone. “About the masks for tomorrow night.”
He drew a small package from his coat pocket, unwrapping it carefully. Inside lay two masks - one silver, one deep blue, both decorated with intricate patterns that somehow complemented each other perfectly.
“The blue would suit you,” he said softly. “Though only if you approve, of course.”
Emma’s fingers traced the delicate silver work on the blue mask. The design incorporated tiny stars and what looked like ocean waves - a subtle reference to his naval background.
“They’re beautiful,” she breathed. “Though I suspect that they required rather more than just the Duke’s help?”
His smile held a touch of sheepishness.
“The housekeeper may have provided some assistance. And Lord James contributed his artistic talents. Though the design...” He hesitated. “The design is meant to show how two different natures might complement each other. Strength and delicacy. Rules and freedom. Perfect balance in seeming opposition.”
Emma’s breath caught at the deeper meaning in his words. Before she could respond, dinner was announced.
But as he offered his arm to escort her in, she saw in his expression all the hope and determination that had gone into creating something so perfectly symbolic of their journey together.
Dinner passed in a haze of anticipation, every glance between them laden with meaning. The Duke kept the conversation general, speaking of preparations for tomorrow’s ball, but Emma noticed how he skilfully deflected any references to previous events. The ton’s memory might be short when it chose to be, particularly when presented with a more interesting current narrative.
“I understand, Miss Everton,” Lord Radmill said during the fish course, “that you’ll be returning to town next week?”
“Yes, my Lord.” Emma kept her voice steady, though her pulse quickened at the thought of what awaited in London - properly chaperoned calls from Nathaniel, the chance to build something real beyond the magical atmosphere of the house party.
“Excellent timing,” the Duke inserted smoothly. “The Season will be beginning in earnest. I expect that we shall see quite a few familiar faces at various events.”
His meaning was clear - their courtship would have society’s approval and support. Emma caught Lady Agatha’s satisfied smile. Her aunt had played no small part in managing this transformation of circumstances.
“Though I fear that London’s ballrooms may seem rather ordinary after tomorrow night’s entertainment,” Lady Beatrice added. “His Grace’s Masquerades are legendary.”
“Particularly when certain guests put such effort into their preparations.” The Duchess’ eyes twinkled as she glanced between Emma and Nathaniel. “I was most impressed by the workmanship on those masks, my Lord.”
Emma saw Nathaniel’s cheeks colour slightly at this reference to his dedication to the project. But his voice was steady as he replied.
“I had excellent motivation to achieve perfection, Your Grace.”
The warmth in his tone made Emma’s heart flutter. She focused on her plate, aware of the knowing looks being exchanged around the table. Yet somehow, their gentle teasing felt like a blessing - society showing its approval of this careful courtship built on growing understanding.
When the ladies withdrew after dinner, Lady Beatrice pulled Emma into a quiet corner of the drawing room.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen Lord Limnwood so... transformed,” she whispered. “Who would have thought that the man who once lectured us about proper behaviour would spend hours crafting masks just to create the perfect symbolism?”
“He hasn’t transformed,” Emma said softly, understanding finally dawning. “He’s simply found a way to be himself - to balance his natural care for propriety with his capacity for deeper feeling. Rather like those masks of his - strength and delicacy in perfect harmony.”
When the gentlemen joined them, Nathaniel made his way to where Emma sat at the pianoforte. She had been playing quietly, more to occupy her hands than for any real musical purpose.
“Might I turn pages for you?” he asked softly.
She nodded, moving slightly to make room on the bench. As she played, she was acutely conscious of his presence beside her, of how his fingers brushed near hers each time he reached to turn a page.
“I received another letter from your father today,” he said quietly between movements.
Emma’s fingers nearly stilled on the keys.
“Did you?”
“Yes.” His voice held something she couldn’t quite identify. “He was most particular about which events he expects to attend this Season. Events where, he suggested, he might observe how well I live up to my written assurances.”
A smile tugged at her lips.
“Papa can be rather...”
“Protective?” His own smile held understanding. “As he should be. Though I confess, his attention to detail rivals my own.”
“I wonder where he learned such careful attention to propriety?”
She kept her tone light, though her heart raced at this evidence of how seriously he was pursuing her father’s approval.
“I begin to think,” he said softly, “that proper attention to form can come from care rather than mere rigid rules. Your father’s careful questioning shows his love for you far more than simple acceptance would have done.”
Emma’s breath caught at the deeper meaning in his words. Before she could respond, the Duke called for some Scottish reels.
“One last practice before tomorrow’s ball,” he announced cheerfully. “Though perhaps something livelier than waltzes for now?”
As they took their places in the set, Emma caught Nathaniel’s eye. The warmth in his gaze made her heart soar. Tomorrow’s ball might mark the end of the house party, but it felt more like a beginning than an ending.
A beginning built on understanding, trust, and the perfect balance between proper form and genuine feeling.
Later, as the evening drew to a close, Emma found herself alone with Nathaniel for a brief moment in the card room. They had been playing whist with Lord James and Lady Beatrice, but their friends had been called away by the Duke for some mysterious consultation about tomorrow’s festivities.
“I suspect,” Nathaniel said dryly, “that we are being managed.”
“By the Duke?”
“By everyone, I rather think.” His smile held rueful amusement. “Though I cannot find it in myself to object. Even if every moment alone with you feels rather...”
“Rather what?”
Emma’s voice emerged softer than she’d intended.
“Rather dangerous.” He met her eyes. “Not to propriety - we are in full view of the drawing room. But to my peace of mind. Every time I’m near you, I find myself wanting... more.”
The low intensity in his voice made her shiver.
“More?”
“More time. More understanding. More...” He broke off as footsteps approached. “More than I can properly express in a card room.”
“Then perhaps,” Emma said carefully, gathering her cards, “tomorrow’s ball will provide better opportunity for expression?”
His eyes darkened.
“I believe that it will. I have something particular in mind, if you’ll permit it.”
Before she could ask what he meant, Lord James and Lady Beatrice returned, full of elaborate apologies for their absence. But Emma caught the knowing look that passed between the brothers - something was definitely being planned for tomorrow night.
As she prepared for bed later, Emma found herself studying the blue mask that Nathaniel had created. Its intricate design seemed to shimmer in the candlelight, promising mystery and revelation all at once.
“It’s beautiful, miss,” Susan said softly, brushing out Emma’s hair. “Though not just for its workmanship.”
“No?”
Emma smiled at her maid in the mirror.
“No. It’s beautiful because of what it means. That he’d spend so much time making something perfect, just to show you that he understands.”
Emma touched the mask gently.
“Understands what?”
“How to balance things proper with things true.” Susan’s hands were gentle as she braided Emma’s hair. “Like you’ve been teaching him all along.”
Emma’s heart squeezed at this simple observation.
Tomorrow’s ball suddenly seemed full of infinite possibility.
*****
In his chamber, Nathaniel stood at the window, turning his silver mask in his hands.
Two weeks.
Had it really been only two weeks since he had arrived at this house party, so certain of his rigid principles, so sure that proper behaviour was the answer to everything?
The man who had arrived at Pelham Hall would never have spent hours crafting masks just to show a lady that he understood her heart.
Would never have valued trust over appearances, joy over rules.
Would never have learned that true propriety came from caring rather than control.
Emma had changed everything.
Not by trying to change him, but by being herself - showing him that one could maintain standards while still embracing life’s deeper pleasures.
That trust meant more than rules, that understanding mattered more than appearance.
His fingers traced the pattern he had worked so carefully into the silver - strength intertwined with delicacy, just as Emma’s spirit had intertwined with his more rigid nature, making both stronger.
Tomorrow he would take the final step in this transformation. Would show her, and all of society, exactly what she meant to him.
His heart quickened at the thought.
Looking out at the moonlit gardens, he remembered how he had once judged her behaviour there as too spirited, too free. Now he understood that her spirit was exactly what he needed - what made him more than just a collection of proper rules and rigid control.
She had taught him to feel, to trust, to hope.
Tomorrow, he would show her just how well he had learned those lessons.