Chapter 19
Although Felix felt himself obliged to attend the masquerade, his motivation for going was to see Lady Sophia.
It had been four days since the picnic and he had not been satisfied with his leave-taking, for once they had arrived in Grosvenor Square, their surroundings were too public for him to ask to see her again.
One point in his favor was that young Lord Poole did not seem to despise him.
But it all progressed too slowly, and he was determined to pursue Lady Sophia with more intention—to persuade her to begin a serious courtship.
It inspired him to take the one step he had too long hesitated over and purchase the house in Bloombsury.
It was still available, and he had an appointment with his solicitor to sign for it the next day.
There were no longer any doubts about the rightness of this purchase, and he dared hope the house would please Lady Sophia should he be so lucky as to win her for his wife.
He was glad to have Miss Edwards’s company, for she was just as pleasant and unaffected as she had been on the day of Hyde Park.
Miss Mowbray and Mr. Edwards had found a common subject of humor in one Admiralty clerk who was forever spilling ink over important documents or losing his spectacles only to sit on them.
Their laughter was not unkind, for Miss Mowbray began to think seriously about which young lady might suit him since he was clearly in need of a wife.
Miss Edwards, on the other hand, was pleased to follow Felix in a discussion much more suited to his own interest—Lady Sophia—even if the conversation concerned subscriptions for the asylum and the best way to secure them.
Shortly after arriving in the admiral’s booth, Miss Mowbray leaned in to murmur that her friend, Lady Sophia, was crossing in front of their supper box at that moment. She had borrowed her mother’s character disguise of Diana and did it not suit her fetchingly?
That was all it took for Felix to grow distracted.
Was that vision of bold loveliness truly her?
He had caught sight of red lips and hair that was thick and piled high with curls that escaped down her back.
She disappeared from his view where the path turned and led to the rotunda, but he kept his eyes peeled for her.
After a short time, he was rewarded. She returned with her sister, and this time directed her attention to their box—at him.
Perhaps it was her shyness, but she turned away before he could give any sign of recognition.
She should know him, should she not? For he was clearly standing with her friend.
But then, was that not what a masquerade was?
A chance to pretend one was not acquainted, thereby being free to express all that was on one’s mind. Very well, he would play that game.
If Miss Mowbray had not pointed out her friend, he would not have known her.
Lady Sophia generally wore discreet gowns, it seemed with an aim to blend into the room, clearly not realizing that her beauty did not permit such a thing.
But tonight her chiton, although modest, allowed a glimpse of her figure.
With red lips and hair cascading down her back, she revealed an entirely new, bewitching side to her.
Politeness compelled him to remain in the box while they ate and to stay afterward to partake in the conversation.
With his eyes continually on the crowds passing by, he did not miss it when Lady Sophia passed in front of him again.
Shortly thereafter, Robert and Grantly left their supper box, and Miss Mowbray invited them into hers.
Miss Edwards drew Mr. Grantly into conversation with surprising ease, and at the first opportunity, Felix excused himself by saying he wished to walk around.
He did not care whether Robert suspected his true aim or not; he had to see Lady Sophia.
The crowds had grown thick around the rotunda, making it difficult to spot her. He walked around it, craning his head to look, and then…she was there. Heart pounding, he approached and bowed, willing himself to fall into character and not propose to her on the spot.
“Do I have before me Diana, the goddess of the hunt?”
Her answering smile was arch and so unlike her in its teasing, his mind threatened to turn sluggish. “How ever did you guess?”
“Why, your legendary beauty.” He watched dimples appear in her cheeks below her mask, and she seemed to be fighting the smile that sprang up at his words. He reached around her, allowing his arm to brush hers as he touched the quiver strapped to her back. “And, of course, your weapon.”
“You must take great care, then, not to displease me,” she responded with mock severity. “And what are you, sir?”
It was then—only then—that the harmony of their costumes came to him. Endymion was the shepherd whom Diana loved; he loved her in return, although he could only meet with her in his dreams.
He affected a look of hurt. “Why, Diana, I am your Endymion. Can you not tell?”
It took a moment, then her eyes lit up, first in surprise, and then a laugh escaped her. “I see it now.” She then quelled her humor by scolding. “But should you not be sleeping?”
“You should not wish for me to sleep, my fair Diana, for it is our chance to break the eternal cycle. If we are meeting while I am awake, then it means we are destined to celebrate our love and not mourn its loss.”
She shot him a surprised look, and the way her mouth opened and closed let him know she did not miss the truth he had infused into his words.
“How is that so?” she asked, her voice now feeble.
Her return to shyness did not deter him.
Instead, it made him long to confess both his identity and his love, but he refrained.
It would be breaking the rules of the masquerade, and he might frighten her away.
He needed to pursue her in a faithful, open manner, and not give her cause to think him volatile. So he answered as lightly as he could.
“Why, Endymion’s story is a tragic one that we should not wish to reproduce. He is hopelessly in love with Diana.” He paused and allowed himself to give her a significant look before going on. “She can visit him only when he sleeps and at no other time.”
“So true. I had forgotten. Ah, tragic.” Lady Sophia sighed and, falling back into character, matched his light tone. “So we are destined to meet only in a dream.”
“I fear that is true.” His voice was deep, revealing more of his feelings than was wise. The introductory notes for the cotillion began, saving him from slipping his arm around her. “Since we are dreaming, shall we make it a pleasant one and dance together?”
“Yes.” Her face tilted up, and she set her hand on his.
They took their places on the crowded floor, and Felix remembered the part of her disguise that might be a constraint during the dance. He had left his staff in the supper box.
“Shall I hold your arrows for you?”
She tilted her chin and pursed her red lips. “You must not, for they belong to me. How will I be a huntress if I have no arrows?”
He swallowed over a dry throat at this bold version of Lady Sophia. The music began, and he turned at her side to pace the steps with her as he answered.
“Pierce with your gaze, with your voice”—they circled around others in the dance and returned to each other, coming face to face—“pierce with your lips.”
Lady Sophia’s red lips parted, her eyes widening under her mask, and as they were separated again by the dance, his heart beat in his chest—with excitement, but also with trepidation. He had gone too far, revealed too much. And yet, he could not help himself.
“Sir, you do not know me, and yet you dare speak such words,” she said as the dance brought them back together. Her character voice had returned—playful and aloof—and he knew he had not gone irreparably too far.
“How can I not know my Diana, since she is the one I am destined to love?” he answered back. “I must seize this occasion to speak the words, for I might never speak them in waking hours.” They stepped apart, then the music brought them together again.
“Well, then, speak,” she replied, boldly meeting his eyes through their masks. “For when your dream is over, you will have no chance.”
He truly was in a dream, and the words went through him as easily as any arrow.
The evening had cast a spell on them both, it seemed, so that they were neither who they truly were.
There was no difference of station, no risk of losing patronage, of alienating friends.
The evening had woven its magic, and he would take his chance.
“Then I will speak of my love.” He caught the look in her expressive eyes when they parted and came back together again. “The woman I love is pure of heart, incorruptible, and not like lesser mortals.”
She remained silent as they separated, and he looked into her eyes when they came together again. “The woman I love is strong and able to raise her voice to defend the weak. She settles the disputes of the proud.”
He saw doubt in her expression. She did not think he was speaking of her; he gave her hand a squeeze when they met again.
“She is graceful and elegant, and no other mortal can compare to her beauty.”
There was still uncertainty in her eyes when the music reunited them for the final chord. He stood as close as he dared—close enough to pull her into an embrace though he refrained. He held her eyes for a long moment, and when he spoke his voice had gone husky.
“The woman I love has pierced my heart and made me unfit for anyone else.”
The dance was over, and the partners gave their reverences. Felix bowed deeply, and when he rose, saw that she had remained frozen. He took a shaky breath.