up, a sense of betrayal in them. “He shouldn’t have,” he gritted out, then held out the mask to Pierce.
Shaking his head, Pierce refused to take it. “He’s a good friend, and he worries about you.”
“I know,” Mr. Caswell muttered, his posture tensing with each word spoken between them.
“He asked me to help,” Pierce admitted, certain that Mr. Caswell would appreciate his honesty, “because he feared seeing him with his wife would only cause you distress.”
Holding Pierce’s gaze, Mr. Caswell pressed his lips together before swallowing hard. “He’s right,” he muttered then, resignation coming to his voice before he brushed a hand over his eyes, his thumb and index finger pinching inward as he closed them. “I should return home,” he finally said, then his lids fluttered open once more and he looked at Pierce. “I apologize for—”
“There is no need,” Pierce assured him. “I understand the pain you must be going through and—”
“Do you?” Mr. Caswell snapped, then all but flinched at the sound of his own voice.
Pierce sighed, realizing that, of course, Mr. Caswell was right for although the thought of losing Caroline to another was crippling, he could not imagine the pain of knowing that it would be so. “Perhaps I do not,” he finally admitted. “However, I do understand the fear of rejection.”
Mr. Caswell held his gaze for a moment longer, then nodded. “I do hope she accepts you,” he said then, compassion in his voice, “and that she means it when she does.”
Pierce paused at the sight of the man’s turmoil and suddenly remembered how Charlaine had spoken to him about loss and the chances life offered. “How long has it been?”
“Almost two years.”
Still, the man’s anguish rang loud and clear in his voice, not lessened by the passing of time. “Has she married another?”
Mr. Caswell’s jaw tensed further. “No.”
“Do you want her back?”
The man flinched at the thought of seeing the woman who’d broken his heart returned to him, and Pierce could see that his heart and mind were at war about it. Clearly, he still longed for her, wishing that life had taken a different turn. Another part of him had to know that her betrayal was not something one ought to forgive.
“Then you need to let her go,” Pierce said gently.
Mr. Caswell closed his eyes. “How?”
“One step at a time.” Lifting his own mask, Pierce put it on, his gaze on the man seated across from him. “One step at a time.”
Pembroke’s brother inhaled an agonizingly slow breath, and it was obvious that the effort to move on was exhausting. His eyes lingered on the simple black mask in his hands for a long moment. Then a muscle in his jaw twitched, and his hands rose to fasten the mask to his face.
“Tonight, you’re not you,” Pierce told him as the carriage drew to a halt outside the Whithertons’ townhouse. “Tonight, you’re not Nathanial Caswell.” They stepped from the carriage and proceeded up the few steps to the large entrance. “There are no expectations here tonight, no identities, either. Tonight, you can be whoever you choose to be. Say what you wish, do as you please, and forget about tomorrow. Perhaps in doing so you will remember the man you once were.”
Mr. Caswell drew back his shoulders, his hands tense at his sides, before he stepped across the threshold and into a world unlike his own.
Pierce remained at his side, ready to offer assistance or encouragement when needed, all the while thinking of Caroline and the future he would face if she refused him. Still, before thinking about her rejection, he first needed to contemplate addressing her.
Telling her how he felt.
What she meant to him.
And he would do so.
Tomorrow.
He needed to know.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Another World
Caroline could not help but think she was most indecently dressed. And indeed, by her standards, she was. Never before had she worn a gown that revealed as much skin as the one Charlaine had selected for her.
And it was a sparkling ruby red!
Staring at herself in the tall mirror, Caroline felt her breath lodge in her throat as her eyes swept over the smooth fabric, holding her body in a tight embrace. White gloves ran all the way up to her elbows as her gown possessed barely enough fabric for rather delicate-looking puff sleeves covering her shoulders. Her hair had been swept up on top of her head with only a few soft tendrils dancing down her temples, their tips tickling the bare skin on her neck. Her