Chapter 2 #3
The twig began to loosen its grip, and Arabella looked up again, hoping her cousin would have remarked her absence by now and returned to find her.
But there was no one.
She lowered her head, but something prevented it.
“Drat again.” It was her mask which had now caught on a branch.
Should she remove the mask and leave it hanging from the shrubbery?
The thought pained her deeply, for she had spent hours sewing on the beads.
“Might I be of assistance, ma’am?” asked a voice from somewhere behind her.
Arabella’s eyes widened as the man’s footsteps drew nearer. She might as well have been a hare before the hounds, for she could not escape—not without ripping her dress and her mask.
But the alternative risk was equally terrifying.
Men behave like common pigs in places like this. That was what Aunt Louisa had said.
Her eyes watched as the hem of a domino swept into view.
Her attention fixed on it for a moment, for it was unlike any domino she had seen this evening.
Rather than the taffetas and satins she had encountered, this one was of fine and heavy black brocade.
The starkness of the garment, however, was countered by the glint of gold thread that had been used to embroider an intricate design all over.
The man came before her and stooped, allowing her a view of his face, which was illuminated by the lamp behind her. A black mask covered his eyes and nose, accentuating the lighter color of his eyes.
His lips spread to reveal a handsome smile. “This butterfly chose an unfortunate place to land, it would seem. No matter. She will spread her wings soon enough.” His hands rose toward her mask, the weighty brocade of his domino slipping back over his arm.
Do not be fooled by their pretended chivalry.
“No,” she said.
His hands paused in mid-air, his gaze fixing on her intently and his smile diminishing.
“I can manage,” she said more calmly, her cheeks warming at the violence of her interjection. She must maintain her composure.
The man’s brows rose and his eyes shifted to her mask, then to her fingers fumbling with her hem.
“I can manage,” she repeated, trying to keep her voice calm but firm. Did pigs respond to calmness or firmness?
His smile returned, and Arabella found herself a bit breathless as their gazes locked. He was certainly a beautiful pig, and he smelled not of the sty but of some heady and exotic scent, reminding her of some of the spices in the still room at Wetley.
“An enterprising butterfly, then.” He looked at her another moment, then rose. “Very well.”
Her fingers finally broke the dress free, and she set to the mask as the man’s footsteps receded then stopped.
“When I see Fairchild, I shall inform him his cousin is safe.”
Arabella’s gaze whipped to him, and she caught a last glimpse of his smile before the black domino swept around the next corner.
He was acquainted with Mr. Fairchild? Apparently, well enough to know he had a cousin here tonight—but not to know that cousin by appearance.
Her fingers worked at the mask and finally, with a snap of a string, she was free. A few beads dropped to the dirt path, but she disregarded them, picking up her skirts and hurrying after Felicity. She would mend the mask later.
She was soon faced with a fork in the path, however, and was forced to stop to consider which way to go. If only she had the impeccable sense of direction Mr. Drake had attributed to her.
Nearby laughter caught her attention, and her heart leapt until she realized it was coming from behind, from the path she had just traversed.
It grew louder, along with footsteps—shuffling, uneven ones.
They certainly belonged to more than one person.
Male persons, based on the laughter. And they were singing—or trying to, at least. The song was almost unintelligible, so garbled were the voices and so off-key was the crooning.
Panic bloomed in Arabella’s chest just as two drunken men turned the corner. They slowed at the sight of her, their lazy gazes becoming more fixed.
“Now, who’s this pretty little thing?” one of them said, his speech slurred. The string of his mask had slipped below one of his ears, making the mask sit lopsided on his face. He could only see out of one eye, but this did not seem to bother him.
“Let me have a closer look,” said the other, and he stumbled toward her.
She drew back, and he smiled, revealing a mouth full of discolored teeth.
“A shy one,” he said to his friend.
“My favorite kind,” was the other’s response.
Arabella did not hesitate a moment longer, whirling around and taking the path on the right at a run.
Behind her, the men laughed, and quick, uneven footsteps informed her that they were following.
The black domino with gold embroidery came around the corner ahead, then stopped short at the sight of her running toward him just as the two men came hobbling around the corner behind her.
If you are not with a chaperone, they lose all sense of decorum.
Arabella’s hesitation lasted but a moment. Compared to the pigs behind her, this man who knew Mr. Fairchild was a veritable savior.
She ran headlong into his arms.