have a confession to make,” Charlaine admitted as the carriage rumbled down the street toward the Witherton’s townhouse. “There is someone I wish to see tonight.” Perhaps she could kill two birds with one stone, bring Pierce and Caroline together—finally!—and cheer up poor Nathanial. In all honesty, Charlaine doubted the man would find much amusement without a little bit of coaxing, and Pierce was definitely not the right person for the job.
Surprise shone on Caroline’s face. “Who is he?”
Charlaine chuckled at the memory of Nathanial’s tense face. “Oh, he’s a kind, young man who believes the world has nothing left to offer him.” She wiggled her brows devilishly, enjoying the way Caroline’s jaw dropped slightly. “I intend to disabuse him of that misconception.”
That was a promise.
After all, she had promised him to be his friend, and friends looked out for one another, did they not?
And she would, whether he wanted her to or not.
Chapter Eleven
Dancing Under the Stars
This had been a bad idea!
No, correction, this had been the worst idea of all time!
Not knowing where to look, Nathanial followed Lord Markham across the large, vaulted room, his gaze sweeping over sparsely-clad women wearing a variety of colorful masks to men dressed in black—not unlike his companion—giving them a forbidden air. Yet, the dance floor all but vibrated with cheerful voices as lords and ladies moved together, turning familiar dances into something utterly foreign.
Lights sparkled everywhere. Yet, the room seemed dim by normal standards, shrouding the masquerade’s guests in anonymity.
“Here, have a drink.” Lord Markham all but shoved a glass into Nathanial’s hand as they stopped by a heavily-laden refreshment table. “You look like you could use it.”
Still at odds, Nathanial gulped down the contents, then coughed. “You don’t truly intend to stay, do you?”
For a long moment, the other man regarded him. “Have you forgotten that you’re not yourself tonight? Although Nathanial Caswell might object to this kind of amusement, the man you are tonight does not.”
Exhaling a gust of air, Nathanial allowed his gaze to wander. “I wouldn’t know how to…” He couldn’t even finish the thought.
“Go and dance,” Lord Markham remarked, gesturing toward a group of women, who stood near the dance floor, chatting and laughing. “No matter what happens tonight, no one will ever know it was you.” He moved a little closer to be heard above the hum of the music as the orchestra began to play another hauntingly beautiful tune. “While others might be unmasked by their voices alone, you do not run that risk. We’re not in Boston. No one knows you here. Drop your accent and no one will know you.”
Nathanial sighed, not certain if his companion’s words should be understood as a promise or a threat. Indeed, no one knew him here. He was alone among strangers and, to a man like Nathanial, who had always cherished the comfort of family and friends, this was a most disconcerting thought. “What should I say to them?”
Beside him, Lord Markham chuckled, however, it was a companionable sound. “It does not matter.”
Gritting his teeth, Nathanial felt as though facing a horde of barbarians as he began to make his way across the room toward the group of ladies. His ears began to ring from the noise, and his palms started to sweat as his heart beat faster and faster.
One of the ladies noticed his approach and turned to him with a smiling face. She was dressed in a dark blue gown, her blond hair curled upward and a glittering mask fitted to her face.
Nathanial wanted to turn and run for he could only too easily imagine Abigail under that mask. Would he never escape the memory of her?
Still, his feet carried him onward and, for once, he decided not to argue, determined to heed Lord Markham’s advice. “Good evening,” he greeted her with a formal bow, uncertain what else to add. After all, inquiring after her name as well as other identity-revealing details was out of the question. What did one speak about to a stranger?
The lady in blue smiled at him. “Aren’t you a dear?” she remarked, a slight slur in her voice. Then she moved closer, and her hands danced like feathers across his chest. “Would you fetch me a drink?” Judging from the smell of liquor on her breath, she had already had a few.
Perhaps even a few too many for she suddenly began to sway on her feet, her hands closing around his lapels as she fought to remain upright.
Indeed, this