Chapter Eight
Every body perseveres in its state of rest, or of uniform motion in a right line, unless it is compelled to change that state by forces impressed thereon.
—Isaac Newton
My heart sped, beating in my chest like a hammer against my ribs. I let out the breath punching at my lips, giving myself over to the heightened intensity of the moment.
“You are different tonight,” Blake said, eyes narrowed with interest as he pulled me in for the next turn of the cotillion, our right forearms intertwining as we circled each other.
“Whatever do you mean, my lord?” Gracious, even my voice sounded freer and less encumbered by all the rules and expectations of high society.
That said, it was Blake, so I wasn’t too worried about him finding fault with my comportment, but for once, I wanted to enjoy truly letting go during a dance.
A vision of sparkling blue eyes filled my head—would dancing with my tutor be half as thrilling as racing through a village in the dead of night with the threat of being caught at every turn looming over us?
It was strange to think that the incident at the gambling den had been only a few days ago.
The healing scab on my hand beneath my arm-length glove pulled slightly. Gloves had been a godsend.
Will and the others had also made it back safely, without being apprehended by any proctors or worse.
He had left a note tacked to my door, saying that he was never again trusting the twins.
I’d laughed and written him a short message, one that I left for my faithful yet anonymous scout to deliver, replying that it hadn’t been their fault and to go easy on them.
None of our group had been injured, thank goodness.
Unfortunately, I had been summoned to London by my mother, but the incident at the gaming hell had done something unexpected and unalterable to me.
All the rigid control I’d held over myself started to fray…
like a thread being ripped from its confining stitches.
Suddenly, I wanted to exist in the moment and experience each second as deeply as I could, even if it was during a simple cotillion. I wanted to be present.
Wasn’t that what life was about?
Newton talked about motion and his theory of being at rest versus the opposite.
Instead of being stagnant, I wanted to fly.
I wanted to soar and keep soaring, despite the risk of discovery for not being the decorous young woman everyone knew me to be.
My newfound thoughts were dangerous. No one in the ton wanted ladies who did not behave exactly as they were bred to—smiling when required, speaking when invited, performing like the perfect automaton.
“Something’s different about you,” Blake said again as he led me off the ballroom floor toward the refreshments room. “What’s going on in that inventive little mind of yours? What are you up to, Roz?”
I widened my eyes innocently. “Moi?”
“Oui, toi,” he shot back. “And now you’re being cute with the French. Something is up. Your eyes are glittering like you have a secret.” His stare intensified as he pressed a hand to his chest, always the thespian. “Be still my fluttering heart. Are you keeping secrets from me, Lady Rosalin?”
“Nothing of note, my lord, I promise you,” I said, accepting a glass of lemonade and collecting my breath. I was uncharacteristically parched. Perhaps it was because I was actually dancing instead of mapping out the steps like a master cartographer. In truth, the change had been exhilarating.
“I don’t believe you,” Blake said.
I almost laughed aloud at his peeved expression. “You’re imagining things.”
“Have you met someone?” he demanded, making me nearly choke on my next sip. “A clandestine lover? You can tell Papa Blake.”
“Goodness, you love gossip.” I wrinkled my nose. “And please, never refer to yourself like that again.”
I watched as a young woman approached, infatuation in her eyes, her dance card in hand.
I could sense Blake’s reluctance to leave our conversation unresolved, but he frowned at me with a resolute look that said he fully intended to get out whatever secrets I was harboring, one way or another.
Smirking, I arched a brow in challenge and was rewarded by a disbelieving snort, his eyes brightening with intrigue. “I knew it, you crafty minx!”
“You know nothing, Lord Blake.”
Something effervescent bubbled in my chest as he let himself be led to the ballroom floor by his eager partner.
I wanted more than anything to confide in someone…
give voice to the beautiful chaos bursting inside of me.
I was discovering who the real Lady Rosalin was, and it was glorious!
It finally felt like I was peeling back all the layers of myself…
and uncovering all the special, imperative pieces that made me who I was.
I enjoyed being seen and being valued by people like Will and the twins.
And him.
My inner voice was quick to chide me. He’s not seeing you. He’s seeing Ansel.
The reminder was harsh. But I refused to let my joy be crushed. Regardless of my false outer disguise, it was still me on the inside, and that had to mean something.
You’re deceiving them all.
I clenched my teeth at the sound of my self-righteous conscience. “Not where it matters,” I growled under my breath in a forceful tone, belatedly realizing that anyone who saw me might remark at my state of mind if I kept muttering to myself. “Get it together, for God’s sake!”
“Roz?”
My spine stiffened against the marble column that blocked my view of the entrance to the ballroom. That voice was one I knew. Panic exploded within me as my two separate worlds converged.
A smiling face peeked around the column, delighted surprise and then dismay running across his familiar features as he took in my profile, the feathers in my hair, and the length of my gown.
My stomach dipped unsteadily at the sight of Will but then righted itself when I realized my identity was safe. I was Lady Rosalin.
Will’s ruddy face paled to an ashen color as he bowed several times, resembling a chicken pecking at feed. “Oh, my lady. I do beg your pardon. I mistook you for someone else.”
I swallowed my immediate mirth at his adorably flummoxed reaction, guessing that he meant my cousin, and kept my face composed. Will would not take it well if a young lady laughed at his expense, and publicly at that. “And who might that be, good sir?”
While it was proper for young gentlemen to be introduced to ladies and not introduce themselves, there was no one around to judge either of us for one small impropriety.
I glanced up quickly, searching for my mother in the crowd, but she was in conversation with the Duchess of Harbridge.
If Blake had been here, he could have handled the situation more appropriately, but I could see him twirling his partner, his eyes shooting me daggers of doom every time he spun in my direction.
Will cleared his throat. “Er, my lady, may I beg your gracious pardon,” he repeated in a croak, sweat breaking out over his brow and his eyes wide.
“My friend Lord Ansel Chen. Your voice…er…is rather similar.” He blinked wildly.
“Not that your voice is that of a gentleman…I mean…your voice…is lovely…he…Roz…” He closed his eyes and sighed as if the world were ending with the forlorn breath that left his body.
“Please just forget I said anything at all.”
“Ansel is my cousin,” I said gently, taking care to soften the notes of my voice. “I’m Lady Rosalin.”
I turned, facing him fully, watching his expressive eyes round at the feminine version of the face he knew.
His gaze parsed over my sleek locks, which were pinned in whimsical loops over my crown and cascaded in soft inky waves over my shoulders, to my eyes and then my cheeks and lips that were stained a soft pink.
“L-lady Rosalin.”
I nodded. “We do share a strong family resemblance, I’m afraid. Don’t be troubled. The confusion happens more often than you know. I realize we have not been formally introduced, but I won’t tell if you won’t. Who might you be, sir?”
He straightened and gave a smart bow. “Viscount William Humbolt at your service. Lord Ansel has spoken about you.” His stare canvassed the crowded ballroom. “Is he here by chance?”
“Alas, no. My father required his presence, unfortunately.” I offered him a demure smile, ducking my chin slightly. “I suppose you’ll just have to put up with me in his stead. Tell me, my lord, how do you and my cousin know each other?”
“We met at university,” he said. “Capital chap, Roz is.”
Though my heart warmed at the praise for my alter ego, it also quailed when Blake glowered meaningfully in my direction once more. The minute that dance was done, he was going to stalk over here like a bull chasing a red rag. “Lord Ansel is well liked.”
My emphasis on my cousin’s title did not go unnoticed, and while it was a not-so-subtle reminder to Will about honorifics and the weight people in the ton put upon them, it was also a placid prompt for him not to employ the nickname I had foolishly insisted he use.
Especially because Blake was very familiar with that particular address for me.
Will’s throat worked as he gulped. “Indeed, Lord Ansel is the epitome of civility and kindness.”
With a nod of regard, I concealed my satisfaction. “Are you enjoying the ball, my lord?”
“Very much, Lady Rosalin.”
His cheeks reddened as though the exchange was almost too much for him to handle.
He didn’t have the relaxed, snobbish mien of many of the younger set of the ton…
that unmistakable air of privilege that most of the young aristocrats wore like a second set of clothing.
In truth, he looked like a fish out of water.
That pale blue gaze of his settled on my face, and he cleared his throat with an uncomfortable cough. “You really do look like him. It’s in the eyes.”