Chapter Twenty-Three
Hugo glanced outside the diamond paned windows of his chamber, trying to calm the anxiety that gnawed at him.
Outside, London’s gaslit streets were already alive with lanterns and carriages filled with Society’s revelers headed to the night’s festivities, most heading toward the Beaubrooke’s masquerade ball, no doubt.
Hugo lingered before his looking glass, savoring the last few moments of peace he had, even as his heart raced at how the night might end.
He knotted his cravat for what must have been the fourth time. Each attempt ended worse than the last as his mind continuously strayed toward a distant conservatory and who might await him in a few hours’ time.
He had rehearsed this night in his imagination countless times since he’d received that first letter from Millie.
Her wit and sincerity had shown through, even from the first. In her, he’d found a partner in discourse, a confidante, perhaps even a soulmate.
Before Millie, he would have never believed a man could fall in love with a woman whom he’d never even seen.
But perhaps it was the best way, after all.
With nothing between them but the pen and the page, they were able to be their true selves.
And he had precious little opportunities for that it seemed.
Everyone expected something from him. His parents expected obedience, maturity, dependability.
They expected him to make a good match and provide them with grandchildren to spoil.
Not bad or even unusual expectations. But expectations, nonetheless.
His friends expected him to always be the carefree gadabout. The jester. The mischievous scoundrel who avoided matrimony and responsibility at all costs. Society expected about the same and even forgave him for his foibles as long as at some point he buckled to their whims and did his duty.
But that was before Adaline. If Millie had been a pleasant surprise, Adaline had been a shocking monsoon that had come from nowhere and rearranged his entire view of the world.
The man he was before she had entered his life was a far cry from who he was now.
The hurt he had dealt her had changed him.
Made him want to better himself. Prove that he was more than a wastrel.
Ensure that he never wounded another person with his carelessness again.
They’d had their expectations of each other. In the beginning at least. She’d thought him nothing more than a puerile rogue. And he’d thought her a melodramatic harpy. But with each encounter, things had changed.
He never would have expected her forgiveness.
He still wasn’t entirely sure he had it.
Yet their mutual bitterness had given way to camaraderie.
Their rivalry had expanded to include laughter and the thrill of shared glances.
Adaline challenged his every word with a sharp tongue and sharper mind.
Her presence left him breathless and irritable by turns.
And left him craving more, no matter which.
Though, as his affection grew, so did the obstacles. He never would have suspected his family would be so set against her. They wanted him to settle down. He’d have thought they’d be thrilled he was finally considering doing so, no matter who his choice. But it seemed it was not so.
And his prospects with Millie were likely even more dire.
Unless she proved to be someone of such elevated station even his parents couldn’t argue with their unusual beginnings.
But if, as he suspected, Adaline and Millie were the same woman…
well…it would of a surety make matters worse with his family.
They would never believe she didn’t know with whom she corresponded.
If he were honest, the thought had crossed his mind more than once as well.
After all, the first letter had come from her.
If her motives were as nefarious as his family feared, their correspondence could have been a clever way to ingratiate herself with him.
But he couldn’t, wouldn’t believe that. He knew her too well now.
He hoped. Tonight he would find out for sure. A prospect that kept a continuous thread of dread-laced anticipation flowing through him.
He yanked on his cravat again and finally threw up his hands in exasperation and called for his valet.
Davies quickly entered Hugo’s dressing room and fixed the mess that he’d made of his cravat. Once all was put to right’s, Davies asked, “Shall I fetch the cape, sir?”
On the dressing table lay his mask, a domino of black leather embellished with a single peacock feather in the upper left corner.
The mask covered most of his face, leaving only his mouth and chin free, its edges sweeping up to the line of his hair.
Along with the emerald brocade cape that Davies helped fasten over one shoulder and under the other, the ensemble rather lent him the air of a highwayman or swashbuckling pirate.
He smiled wryly at his own reflection, imagining Millie’s, and Adaline’s, reaction.
Unsurprisingly, he thought they would react much the same.
Would Millie recognize him at all? He had no doubt Adaline would.
Hugo hesitated, his hand hovering over the mask. Each letter exchanged with Millie had been a revelation. Of her and of him. But always clever, intimate, sometimes teasing, always honest. And tonight, everything depended on whether Millie and Adaline were one and the same.
He pressed the mask to his face, securing it with the silk ribbons.
A thrill of anticipation coursed through him, mingling with the customary nerves that attended such occasions.
Would she see past the mask and know him?
Would he, in turn, find the truth behind her own disguise? Would she even come?
Hugo stopped short, belatedly realizing she might decide not to attend at all. He gave his head a little shake. That was one possibility on which he could not dwell. He blew out a deep breath and continued on.
Downstairs, laughter and voices floated from the drawing room.
The Brelsford family was in full pre-ball regalia.
His father, distinguished as always in an embroidered tailcoat.
His mother draped in crimson silk and a delicate filigree mask set with ruby crystals.
Arthur lounged against the banister in a harlequin-patterned ensemble, his mask cocked rakishly to one side.
Hugo’s three sisters, all married, moved about with an energy he envied, their costumes a riot of color—gold for Mary, deep green for Elizabeth, and a soft lilac for Louise.
“Ah, Hugo, there you are!” cried Louise, her eyes dancing behind her gilded mask. “Come, let us see if our eligible brother is suitably attired for a night of mischief and matchmaking.”
Mary laughed, fanning herself. “He looks quite dashing. Perhaps tonight he’ll finally choose a bride and save us from Mother’s constant reminders.”
“Oh, hush girls. You look most distinguished,” their mother said to Hugo, coming over to straighten his lapels with a pat. There was pride in her voice, but it could not quite mask a note of concern.
His father looked him over, then gave him a satisfied nod. “You are punctual tonight, Hugo. I trust you are prepared for a long evening of introductions and pleasantries.”
Hugo forced a smile. “I am, Father.”
His mother’s lips pursed, her gaze drifting to the small clock on the mantelpiece. “You will remember, of course, the importance of making new acquaintances. The ball is an opportunity, after all. There are young ladies of excellent breeding and demeanor in attendance tonight.”
He knew what she meant. Knew, too, the name she left unspoken.
Hugo stiffened. “Miss Girard is not—” But the words faltered on his tongue.
What could he say? That her laughter was genuine, that he’d seen kindness in her eyes and heard vulnerability in her voice?
That the ambition they thought they saw in her was merely a desire to be accepted?
Wanted? That she had become precious to him, despite all the reasons she should not?
His mother touched his arm, her expression softening. “We only wish for your happiness, Hugo. A fortune-hunter has little interest in anyone’s happiness but their own.”
“Nor,” his father added, “do we wish to see you wounded. By disappointment, or worse, by scandal.”
Hugo looked away, jaw tight. “You do not know her as I do.”
“Perhaps not.” His father’s voice was quiet. “Though consider that perhaps, with the absence of the affection you obviously carry for her, we may see the situation a bit more clearly.”
Hugo longed to defend Adaline, but there was little he could say to change their minds. Their prejudice stemmed from her acceptance of his brother and her seeming transference of that interest to him. Even he could admit that it did appear suspicious.
Instead, he offered a nod. “I know, Father. And I do appreciate your concern. Even if I feel it is misplaced.”
No more was said as the family piled into their carriages, his sisters in one with their husbands, Hugo and Arthur with their parents.
London’s night air was crisp outside the carriage windows.
Gas lamps flickered in the dark, casting a hazy glow over the cobblestones, shadows shifting as the wheels turned.
Hugo gazed out the window, his thoughts straying to the woman whose words had enchanted him—whose laughter, wit, and kindness he longed to witness in person. Arthur nudged him, voice low. “Nervous?”
“Not at all,” Hugo lied. “Just eager.”
Arthur snorted. “Just remember, if you find her and she is not the woman you hope, you must be gracious. There’s always another mystery waiting at a masquerade.”
Hugo’s lips pursed, unsure what exactly he hoped. He wanted Millie to be Adaline, needed her to be. He had rehearsed what he might say, how he might reveal himself. Or… not. Would she know him? Would he know her? Or would they remain strangers beneath their masks?