Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Aquarter-hour later, the carriage came to an abrupt halt in front of a beautiful townhouse draped in shadows; save for the low lamplight emanating from its windows.
Phoebe slowly exited the carriage even as Genevieve tugged her hand, urging her towards the door.
“Remember,” her cousin said, “Should you find yourself wandering outside with a suitor in tow, you need only knock upon the door three times to be granted readmittance to the”
“Oh, that shall not happen,” Phoebe laughed, scandalized.
“Well, if it should, three knocks will allow you to rejoin the party.”
Genevieve demonstrated how to rap sharply upon the door three times right before she tugged her mermaid-themed mask down and into its proper place.
Her cousin had selected this mask because she meant to mimic her favorite creature from books she had hungrily read as a child.
The mask displayed delicate pearls lined along the eyeline, and deep, blue whorls of colors mimicked waves along the bridge of her mask’s nose. With shaking hands, Phoebe pulled down her own mask right as the door opened.
This evening, with the aid of her costume, she presented herself as a fox, with sharp, bold lines that framed the holes around her eyes, making her own blue eyes look more striking than ever.
White and orange fabric framed the mask, causing her face to appear a lot more structured than it was. With the mask sitting securely and snuggly on her face, Phoebe knew what it felt like to be an invisible force floating into a room.
I am no longer the youngest daughter of the Earl of Tripleton, Lady Phoebe Webb, but instead I have become—
“And you are?” A voice dragged her focus to the doorway, where Genevieve had disappeared through. Instead, the shadowed silhouette of a man leaned against the frame.
Who are you, Phoebe, for you already know you feel different? She asked herself.
“Vanessa Delamere,” she answered automatically, the name rising to her tongue without the least bit of effort.
Perhaps because she had just been thinking of the books that inspired Genevieve’s costume for the evening, some of Phoebe’s favorite characters rose to mind and she combined the names of heroines who struck her as being particularly daring.
“I am Vanessa Delamere,” she stepped forward, faking what little confidence she could muster.
Their host, Lord Spencer, swayed in the doorway. He leaned against the doorframe like a lifeline and grinned at her as though he knew he was being given a false name.
“Well, then, do feel welcome, Miss Delamere. Come on in, Lady Fox,” he said.
She scrutinized Lord Spencer for a fraction of a second longer than propriety allowed. He was shorter than the average gentleman.
Leaning against the doorway in such a languid manner did little for his stature, or his authority for that matter. At least he wore a mask that was bejeweled with outrageously large rubies, which was rather unique.
Phoebe tried to make sense of his all-black garments coupled with the opulent mask, but she could not decide what he meant to be.
His costume is hard to decipher, yet he easily created a nickname for me based on my choice.
She snorted softly.
Lady Fox.
Phoebe did not care for the moniker, but she clung onto the alias she’d given in place of her own. The two heroines who supplied the name had always held a place in her heart.
They were fearless and far braver than she had ever been. Vanessa had been a merchant’s daughter who had sneaked away to a make-believe world, one of card games and prizes and a dark, beautiful villain.
Delamere had been a notorious family name belonging to a group of people who lived in the heart of a deep forest, a gathering of hunters.
When she had first encountered the text, Phoebe had been enthralled by the lack of propriety a woman showed by wielding a bow and arrow as naturally as she ought to hold an embroidery needle. Phoebe had been inspired by the Delamere family who did all these bold, brash acts, while she could not.
“Thank you,” she answered, stepping into the long hallway of the modest townhouse.
Lord Spencer did not offer her his hand, instead he straightened his stance, called upon by another guest, and disappeared around the doorway. Phoebe kept her eyes on his retreating figure, utterly perplexed by the strange man.
This is certainly no ordinary ball of the ton.
“Come, come!” Genevieve appeared out of nowhere, giggling and pulling her deeper into the masquerade. In that moment, Phoebe could not help but wonder: how many times her cousin had attended such a ball.
She clutched Genevieve’s hand like a tether, being led down into what appeared to be the main ballroom.
Her breath caught, for around her unfolded a true masquerade with elaborate and colorful costumes. The room was dimly lit, so she had to peer closely to see better to notice a scattering of animal masks—lions, wolves, and deer—as well as more fantastical ones like Genevieve’s.
The music that played was not like that which might be heard at the usual balls, full of slow waltzes and more up-tempo melodies that encouraged guests to kick their feet over their ankles in lines.
No, what surrounded Phoebe was syrupy and enticing. The music filled the room like seduction poured into strings and ivory keys. The sounds were an invitation to find another masked partner and forget oneself for the night.
However, it was not just the masks, nor the music, that enthralled Phoebe and dissipated the nerves still fluttering in her stomach, but the performers.
A smattering of entertainers was scattered around the room, dancing and gyrating to the erotic music.
Phoebe was momentarily mesmerized by the sight.
She watched as the dancers moved their bodies so fluidly while clothed; even if that clothing was tight and low-cut or short-skirted.
The displays felt more intimate than anybody without clothes would manage.
It was the trick of the imagination, the blatant invitation to watch and imagine what might linger underneath. Phoebe was immediately drawn into appreciating the spectacle of the performances.
With the echoes of her favorite romance novels in her head, the ones featuring scenes far too scandalous to recall in public, Phoebe let her eyes glance over one man who spun himself on the spot, pirouetting beautifully with his arms outstretched.
When he stopped, his palm was reaching for her, and she turned quickly, unsure if it was mere coincidence or deliberate, but she could not and would not allow herself to move an inch closer to him.
She would not engage with a beautiful male dancer who looked as though he had poured himself into his costume of a tight, black mesh tunic and breeches. He looked like some sort of ballerina, lithe and gorgeous to watch, but Phoebe could not let herself linger.
Still, as she took in the rest of the ballroom, with its low, glimmering baubles of light and overflowing refreshment table, Phoebe took it all in with a tight chest.
“It is beautiful,” Genevieve whispered, her eyes wide, as if seeing it for the first time, even though her familiarity with their entry and carriage ride said otherwise.
It was obvious that Genevieve said as much for Phoebe’s sake, to check if she was all right without directly asking and riling her worries once more. Phoebe was immediately grateful.
“It is,” Phoebe allowed. “I am… I am rather overwhelmed.”
“Then you must explore!” Genevieve insisted, turning to her and adjusting the grip on her hands.
“The ballroom is not the only room with plenty to see. There are smaller rooms, quieter rooms, if that is what you need. Every room here will hold some sort of magic, and I know you are rather partial to that.”
Her sly grin revealed she’d seen Phoebe’s secret novels, making Phoebe blush and cough in embarrassment.
“Magic is feeble,” she tried to say in the most dismissive manner she could muster. “It is—”
“It is lovely,” Genevieve interrupted. “So, go and experience it for yourself.”
“Without you?” Phoebe’s eyes widened beneath her mask.
Nervously, she tugged on her pendant, but Genevieve clasped her hand again. Still, with her other hand, she fingered the silk skirt of her daring gown.
“Exactly,” Genevieve told her. “We shall both have our magical nights, and you must explore without me guiding you. Is that all right? I wish to keep you at my side, do not get me wrong, but I think it will be good for you to explore without me hovering like some chaperone. Besides, I think I recall a certain masked person down on the dancefloor, and I wish to speak with them again.”
“Again?”
Genevieve giggled girlishly. “I admit, I have attended several of these balls. I sneak out a fair amount, but I have not yet confessed that to you.”
“I assumed you had,” Phoebe said, her nerves turning her response into laughter. “But I was not fully certain.”
“Then be certain that I will be fine, just as you will be. After all, I attended my first Lord Spencer Masquerade alone. And if you feel unnerved or too overwhelmed, I promise I will not stray far. If you cannot find me, then ask for Fairday.”
“Fairday?” she echoed.
“Just like you, dear cousin, when I arrive at Lord Spencer’s affairs, I supply the footman and host with a fake surname,” Genevieve explained. “I was too nervous at my first ball to think of a full name, so I used one I saw briefly mentioned in a newspaper the morning of my first attendance.”
At that, Phoebe’s nerves loosened even further as she giggled too. She had already done slightly better by creating a full name, at least.
“Go,” Genevieve encouraged. “Let me give you this gift in full. Explore any magical room you find tonight. I promise that Lord Spencer leaves no door unlocked, whether it is for performers, or musicians, or…. Well, other, naughtier reasons. Just keep an eye out for rooms decorated with red ribbons, avoid those and you should be fine.”