Chapter 37

Chapter Thirty-Seven

R uth spent all of the next day with a boulder-sized weight in the pit of her stomach. She couldn’t keep herself from hoping that the bell might ring or that the footman might deliver a note to her from Philip—anything to put a stop to the alternating hope and despair she was feeling.

By the time the sun was illuminating the sky with the yellows and oranges of sunset, she felt an unbearable restlessness and stepped out onto the streets. She couldn’t remain cooped up in the townhouse, wondering whether Philip would emerge from the evening with permission from Mr. Devenish and a promise from his daughter—the very promise Ruth had engaged to make a reality when she had set out to help Philip.

In no part of her mind did Ruth believe that she belonged at Philip’s side more than Miss Devenish did, but never had her mind been so challenged by her heart.

She returned to Upper Brook Street just in time for the last purple hues of dusk to give way to the deep blues and star-speckled blanket of a nighttime sky. She turned back toward the street once on the doorstep, taking a moment to revel in what was likely the last night she would spend with such freedom at her fingertips. She had no intention of attending the Walthams’ masquerade on the morrow if she had not yet heard from Philip—indeed, she doubted she would be allowed inside without his escort—and she and Topher were set to leave the morning following it.

Silence reigned again at breakfast, as it had come to do in recent days, evidence of the humor both Topher and Ruth were in. But just as Ruth was finishing her cup of tea, a footman entered with a silver salver. He didn’t bat an eye to see Ruth in her woman’s garb—what Philip had said to his uncle’s servants to ensure their silence and acceptance of an utterly bizarre situation was beyond Ruth, but she was certainly grateful for it. She couldn’t imagine being cooped up at The Three Crowns as long as they’d been in Town, or being required to wear men’s clothing day and night.

Her heart sputtered and galloped as the footman handed a letter to Topher and then one to Ruth. She felt a sting of guilt as disappointment at seeing her mother’s script washed over her.

But she opened the note and smiled. The bottom half of the page contained a small, scrambled drawing from George and an attempt by Joanna to sign her name. Little notes from her other siblings filled the remainder of the space. Tears sprang to Ruth’s eyes, and she gripped at her mouth to keep it from trembling. She was anxious to be back home with her family. Much as her siblings tried her patience, their sweet embraces would be balm to her wounds.

Her mother expressed an anxiousness to have Topher and Ruth home, as well as a reminder of Joanna’s dearest wish to have a doll like Sophia’s—as though Ruth needed such a reminder. “ Though you mustn’t trouble your heads over something so superfluous and extravagant. I assure you Joanna will be content just to have you back.”

Ruth folded the note back up and looked to Topher, whose gaze consumed the note before him hungrily.

“Who is that from?” Ruth asked.

Topher didn’t respond for a moment, his eyes following the script on the page. When he had finished, he folded it up quickly, saying, “Just from Rowney. Is that from Oxley?” He indicated the paper in her hand with a nod.

“From Mama. Apparently the children insisted upon contributing.” She handed it to him, and he read over the contents with a little half-smile forming as he reached the end. “George is an atrocious artist.” He folded up the paper and handed it back to her as he rose from the table. “Is Oxley coming over today?”

Ruth cast her eyes down to her tea, stirring the little that remained. “I can’t be certain. Perhaps not. The Walthams’ masquerade is tonight, you know.”

“Ah, yes. I had forgotten about that. Are you to go?”

Ruth shrugged. “I cannot think what the point would be.”

Topher sent her an understanding grimace before leaving the room.

Half an hour later, Ruth stood in her room, looking at the place she had called home for the last few weeks, strewn as it was with a mixture of bonnets, top hats, slippers, and top boots. A strange scene indeed. A knock sounded on the door. “Another letter for you, miss. And a bandbox.”

She opened the door with a frown, and her heart immediately leapt at the sight of Philip’s script, only to plummet as she considered what news it might contain. She tried to keep her composure until she had closed the door behind her, but she set down the largest bandbox she had ever seen and hurriedly tore the seal on the letter, her eyes flying over the words within.

Little Panda,

I hope you mean to come to the masquerade tonight—I would like for you to be there for such an important occasion. I have sent along what you will need for the evening, compliments of the chest of belongings Alice has never removed from my townhouse. I meant to bring the things to you myself, but I have had some unexpected business to attend to today. Preparations and such. Both you and your brother are expected by the Walthams, under the names Mr. and Miss Franks. My Aunt Dorothea shall arrive to escort you at eight o’clock. I have taken her into my confidence, and she is thrilled at the prospect of accompanying you to the masquerade.

I can already hear your excuses and arguments against this plan, but please lay them aside. I require your attendance this evening. After all you have done, you deserve a chance to enjoy yourself for a night—sans cravat. I shall see you this evening.

Yours,

Philip

PS Leave the spectacles at home

Ruth reached for the large bandbox, removing the lid and uttering a sharp intake of breath at the sight within. A delicate pink dress, overlaid with lace flower embellishments, rested in the box. She pulled it out and set it gently upon the bed. He wanted her to come to the masquerade in that?

She had never touched anything so fine, much less worn it. Another glance at the bandbox revealed a silver silk domino and a black mask. She pulled out the mask and set it next to the dress, letting the silk ribbons trail off the side of the bed. The domino was the last item in the box, and Ruth smiled as she saw that it was hooded. He hadn’t forgotten her short hair.

She let out a gushing breath, setting the domino on the bed. Could she go? Could she not go? Philip was expecting her—required her to be there, he said. I would like for you to be there for such an important occasion. Did this mean that he meant to offer for Miss Devenish there? It seemed so unlike him—the publicity of it. Or perhaps he merely meant that it was important because it was an ending to Ruth’s and his association.

Ruth swallowed down the thought.

She ran a finger along the embellished sleeves of the ball gown, imagining what it would feel like to wear such a dress—to wear any dress to a ball. And to a masquerade, no less. A final hurrah.

What would she tell Topher? He couldn’t go. Surely that wouldn’t be wise, even if he was masked. It was too risky. The last thing they needed was for Miss Devenish to have a reminder of Topher when Philip was so close to his goal.

But Ruth discovered from Lucy that Topher had left after the note from Rowney. She frowned. Every time he went with Rowney, he either returned in the small hours of the morning or not at all. It was his last night in Town too, though, and it was his decision if he wanted to make an uncomfortable journey back to Marsbrooke due to a night of too much drinking.

Whatever he was doing, he hadn’t returned by the time Ruth rang for Lucy to help her into Lady Tipton’s dress. She had an uneasy feeling about the evening—maybe it was just nerves at the prospect of going about dressed as a woman—oh, the irony of it! But she found she couldn’t resist Philip’s plea, nor the opportunity to see him for what might be the last time. If all it did was cause her pain, at least she wouldn’t leave London wishing she had gone—at least it would be the last painful evening she spent in Town.

Lucy worked at Ruth’s hair with the container of pomade Topher had brought with him from home, and Ruth allowed her to primp and prepare her for the evening. Lucy had become quite deft at styling Ruth’s hair in ways that accentuated her femininity and masculinity, depending upon what the occasion required. She deserved higher wages.

As the maid worked, Ruth traced the edge of the mask she would wear. She was becoming tired of wearing disguises, but this would be the last time.

“There. Let me see you now, miss.”

Ruth stood, smoothing down the dress skirts carefully—she didn’t want anything to catch on the lace embellishments. The dress was a bit short in front, but the domino would hide that well enough.

Lucy’s mouth drew into a smile. “You are a wonder to behold, if I do say so myself, miss.”

Ruth turned toward the mirror and went still. Her eyes stung, and she blinked quickly.

“Do you dislike it, miss?”

Ruth sniffed and shook her head with a watery laugh. “No, no. Quite the opposite. It has been so long since I felt like I looked the part of a woman, and somehow you have managed it this evening.”

Lucy let out a sigh of relief. “What a shame it is that you must wear that dreadful mask and hood. But it is a masquerade.”

Ruth clasped Lucy’s hand gratefully, and the maid admired her one more time before helping her into the domino.

“If Topher returns, please tell him that I am out with Lord Oxley and shall be ready to leave first thing in the morning.” She doubted Lucy would see him. But just in case.

The Walthams’ townhouse was located in Grosvenor Square, making it an easy enough distance to walk. But in donning Lady Tipton’s dress, Ruth had lost her freedom to walk around Town alone, and it was as the grand mahogany clock chimed eight o’clock that a carriage slowed in front of the townhouse in Upper Brook Street.

Ruth clutched the mask in her hand, nerves flapping and fluttering in her stomach. Philip said he had taken his aunt into his confidences, but what exactly did that mean? What if the woman was scandalized when she saw Ruth?

But Mrs. Barham’s face was wreathed in smiles when Ruth stepped into the carriage, interest and fascination alight in her eyes.

“Miss Franks,” she said, and she looked behind Ruth as if expecting someone else. “Does your brother not join us, then?”

Ruth shook her head. “I believe he decided to spend the evening with a friend.”

“Ah.”

Ruth took a seat across from Mrs. Barham, and that grand lady searched Ruth’s face. “Marvelous! I would never have even suspected you to be the same person.” She reached over and lifted the hood of Ruth’s domino then smiled. “That hair suits you.”

Ruth was grateful for the dim lighting as her cheeks warmed. “Thank you, ma’am.”

Mrs. Barham gave the signal, and the carriage pulled forward. She continued to regard Ruth with interest, a little smile tugging at the corner of her rouged mouth. “All this time, I thought my nephew to be a pattern card of propriety, when he has been harboring the most wondrous secrets from us all.” She gave a delighted laugh.

Ruth tried to keep smiling, but the words struck her conscience. Philip was proper, and Ruth disliked the feeling that any aberration from his normal behavior should be laid at her feet. “I am afraid that mine is a secret he has been obliged to keep—not one he would have chosen if he had known the truth from the beginning.”

“Oh, nonsense.” She looked through the window as they approached Grosvenor Square. “It is high time he broke free from the Trent stranglehold. He is meant for much greater things than the stuffy nonsense with which they inculcated him.”

Ruth said nothing, momentarily dazzled by the light of the gas lamps which illuminated the Waltham residence. It was so very bright. Would she be recognized? Lucy had assured her that, with the hood and the mask, there was no chance at all of it, but she couldn’t help the nerves fluttering inside her.

“Come, child,” Mrs. Barham said, stepping down from the carriage, and the epithet made her feel cared for and protected even as she stepped into a world that was not her own. For one last time.

Mrs. Barham brought her handheld mask to her face and leaned over to speak in low tones. “I am here to do whatever strikes your fancy. My presence here lends propriety, just as Philip wished for, but you know how I feel about such things, and I assure you that I shan’t be a stick in the mud. The evening is yours, and I shall be quite content to introduce you to whomever you wish to dance with, all the while delighting in the delicious fact that no one here knows you as Mr. Ruth.” Her ill-stifled smile underlined her assertion, and Ruth managed a smile back, wondering what Mrs. Barham would think if she knew that the only person Ruth had any desire to dance with that evening was Philip.

Mrs. Barham gave their names to the servant at the door, and Ruth took in a steadying breath. She would do her best to enjoy herself.

Chandeliers full of tall, white candles illuminated the path to the grand ballroom, and Ruth gazed around in awe, while Mrs. Barham provided the names of various people in the room.

Even if the majority of the people hadn’t been wearing masks, Ruth doubted she would have recognized many of them. She was still woefully ignorant regarding the identities of those who frequented such gatherings as this one, and her eyes searched for the familiar—they searched for Philip. She hadn’t any idea what he was wearing, but she didn’t doubt she would recognize him, despite that.

And she did, with a leaping of the heart. Like Ruth’s own mask, his was black—dark enough that his hair looked lighter than usual in contrast. His matching black domino draped over his broad shoulders, and his mouth stretched into the contagious smile that made Ruth ache.

He seemed to be laughing in response to the man beside him, a stranger to Ruth. Though half of his face was concealed behind a white mask, the man was objectively handsome—perhaps most people would consider him more so than Philip. His dark eyes peered lazily through the narrow slits in the mask, and they held a glint in them that simultaneously intrigued and unnerved her.

“Ah, there is Philip,” said Mrs. Barham entirely unnecessarily. “And Finmore with him, of course. Shall we go over to them? Finmore will wish to dance with you, no doubt.”

Ruth shot a hand out to stop Mrs. Barham. “No, not just yet.” If Philip wanted to see her, he would find her. But this evening was always meant to be about him and Miss Devenish, and Ruth would not ruin that. “I thought we might see what refreshments they have. This is my first time at a masquerade, and I find that I am a bit nervous, which always makes my mouth terribly dry.”

Mrs. Barham patted her arm and smiled. “Of course. I quite understand.”

Ruth sent another sidelong glance at Philip, and she watched his eyes move to the door, neck craning slightly to look for Miss Devenish’s arrival, no doubt. Ignoring the twinge in her heart, Ruth walked alongside her chaperone toward the long tables that lined the far wall of the room. They were covered with white, lace-edged tablecloths and wreathed in flowers.

With a glass of ratafia in hand, she and Mrs. Barham found a space along the windowed wall, which looked out onto a candlelit terrace. Ruth sucked in a breath as the gaze of a masked man settled on her.

It was Munroe, and there seemed to be a glint of recognition in his eyes that sped her heart. But he turned his head away, and Ruth assured herself that she must have imagined it. She was far too much on edge.

The ballroom was filling quickly and the musicians strumming and tuning their instruments in preparation for dancing. Ruth had a feeling that Mrs. Barham wouldn’t allow her to merely watch from the walls. She would find her some partner or other, and Ruth would do her best to enjoy herself. She didn’t want to look back on her last evening in London wishing she had made a greater effort to take advantage of it.

She breathed in the scents of the ballroom—flowers, fruit tarts, candles, and hair pomade—and pulled her mouth into a smile. She would recount every detail of it to Joanna when she was back in Marsbrooke.

She took a sip of ratafia, letting her gaze take in the merriment around her, where couples whispered and smiled at one another, emboldened by the masks they wore. She choked suddenly, blinking quickly to focus through the water in her eyes.

Standing together in a corner of the ballroom in close conversation were Topher and Miss Devenish. He held her hand in his, just as he had done that day in the Park when Ruth had first discovered them.

How could Topher? And why? What could have possessed him to come? And to treat Miss Devenish with such familiarity after everything?

Ruth’s eyes flew to Philip, but his back was to them—he was unaware, just as he always had been. Just as Ruth had let him be. But certainly not for long.

Philip’s gaze met hers, and his mouth stretched into a smile. He took hold of Finmore’s arm, saying something in his ear, and Finmore’s eyes searched the room before landing on Ruth and narrowing in curiosity. He allowed Philip to pull him in their direction.

Ruth stifled the impulse to tidy her hair and dress—likely she would never rid herself of that irritating desire to look her best for Philip.

The beginnings of a waltz strung out from the instruments, and couples moved to the ballroom floor. Out of the corner of her eye, Ruth was aware of Topher leading Miss Devenish there. Panic bloomed in her chest, even as she felt her head swim with the view of Philip’s smile directed toward her. His domino swished as he and Finmore came to a stop before the two women, and Ruth smelled that faint but unmistakable rush of amber.

“Aunt Dorothea. Miss Franks.” His eyes twinkled at her through the black mask, as if they had needed anything to accentuate what a beautiful combination of light brown and green they were. “Miss Franks, allow me to introduce you to my friend, Mr. Julius Finmore.”

Finmore stared at her with an intent, evaluative gaze and extended a hand. She hesitated a moment before offering hers to him, and he planted a kiss upon it, directing his eyes up at her from his stooped position, as if watching for her reaction to his dalliance.

She glanced at Philip, and the way he watched her, completely ignoring his friend’s flirtatious gesture as his own warm eyes rested upon her, made Ruth’s heart skip and stutter.

“Enough, Fin,” Philip said. He bowed gracefully, eyes never leaving Ruth’s. “Will you dance with me, Miss Franks?”

Ruth swallowed and glanced at Mrs. Barham, who looked on with a pleasant, indulgent expression. “Go on,” she said.

Ruth put her hand in Philip’s, hoping her legs would carry her to the dance floor, despite feeling as though they might give out at any second. She had never waltzed before—not in public. It would be considered fast of her, not that it mattered on her last night in London. No one even knew who she was.

“You don’t have to do this,” she said.

Philip looked down at her, the same warmth there in his eyes. “Do what?”

“Dance with me.” She looked away. “I believe your aunt intends to force some unsuspecting gentleman of her acquaintance into taking on that task.”

“But I don’t want other gentlemen to dance with you.”

She forced a laugh. What was he trying to do to her?

He led her to her place in the set and stood before her. “I am feeling selfish tonight.”

He took his place across the set from her, smiling, and she couldn’t help following suit, not daring to inspect his words more closely.

The dance began, and Ruth was grateful for his steadying hands—they kept her grounded, kept her near him as they turned about the floor.

He smiled down at her. “You look even more the little panda with that mask on.”

“And you the giant one.”

He laughed. “We are well matched, then.” There was a pause as they finished the figure, and he continued. “I thought you said you weren’t skilled at dancing. Yet another lie.”

Her smile wavered, and his gaze moved to her lips briefly. A rueful half-smile formed on his lips. “I have been waiting to dance with you since I arrived, but now that we are here, I find myself wishing to be alone rather than surrounded as we are now.”

And Ruth saw it there—the thing in his eyes which she had thought was her own feelings staring back at her, everything she had wanted him to feel almost since meeting him. She saw love.

They broke apart for the next figure of the dance, and Ruth caught sight of Topher and Miss Devenish on the other side of the ballroom floor. Panic dispelled the brief moment of hope inside her.

Clearly Philip hadn’t seen them yet. If he did, would he recognize Topher?

It didn’t matter. Ruth couldn’t continue deceiving him. She should have told him long ago. It might cost her three hundred pounds, but surely being poor was better than feeling the guilt and disgust with herself that she now felt?

They came together again, shoulder to shoulder, two hands joined in front. “Would you like to join me outside?”

She swallowed, stomach swirling with sickness as she thought how he would look at her when she told him the truth. But she nodded. It was now or perhaps never.

They moved away from the floor, and Ruth was vaguely aware of all the eyes on them, frowning at the strange behavior. If she looked as sick as she felt, perhaps the audience would believe she was near to fainting.

One gaze followed their progress with especial curiosity, and Ruth’s stomach clenched at the knowing glint in Mr. Munroe’s eyes.

Her hand was in Philip’s, and she was barely aware of anything but that fact as he led her out of the ballroom, down the stairs, through a room, and into the small garden courtyard. Cool evening air licked at the skin on Ruth’s face, but it brought little refreshment.

He led her toward the side of the garden where hedges grew as tall as him. “Here.” He turned to face her, still holding her gloved hand in his. “This is much more comfortable.”

Ruth’s heart thumped uncontrollably.

“When I saw you upstairs, I was surprised—I had been watching the door for your arrival ever since my own, but I must have missed it somehow.”

He had been watching for her? “Philip.” She forced herself to speak before her courage gave out. It would be too easy to stand here alone with him, letting him think she was better than she was. “I need to tell you something.”

He nodded. “And I you.” He put his other hand around hers, enveloping them as though they were small and precious.

Hesitation nipped at her, binding her tongue with the same contradictory reluctance and urgency that bound her heart.

“Wait.” He pulled his mask down, redirecting his gaze at her. “I want to see you.” He put a gentle hand to her head and pushed back the hood of her domino. His hand paused as his eyes roved over her hair and face, pinning her in place, then reached his hand back behind her head and gave a soft tug on her mask strings, sending shivers down her spine as the silk ribbons slipped down the bare skin of her back beneath her domino, dress, and chemise.

He let his hand cup the back of her head, and she felt every shred of power slip away as his eyes locked on her lips, the same longing in them that Ruth had been feeling for weeks.

“I have been waiting—wanting—to finish what we twice began.” His other hand slipped around her waist, and Ruth struggled for the briefest moment before letting her eyes close, no longer fighting what she wanted more than anything to give into.

Muted voices from the ballroom floated above them, and Ruth felt Philip’s face nearing hers, as if her body was attuned to his movements as much as to her own. The hand at her waist pulled her closer, and she ceded to it willingly.

They had touched many times, but for so long, it had been masculine—jabs with an elbow, helping her hold a pistol, bracing grips on the shoulder. But now, Philip held her like a woman, and with that first soft touch of the lips that made her shiver, he kissed her like a woman—with care and need and tenderness, his lips exploring hers gently, his hand holding her against him just as they had done in the drawing room.

Only this time, he didn’t let go. He anchored her to him, where she belonged, and he kissed her. And she kissed him back, hoping that he could feel her love for him through it, just as she had told him a kiss should do.

Footsteps sounded behind Ruth somewhere, followed by voices, growing louder.

“There he is!”

Ruth and Philip broke apart, heads whipping toward the source of the interruption.

Unmasked, Munroe stood in the doorway that led from the house to the garden, the sneer of victory on his face.

Philip stood beside Ruth, holding her hand, even as unfamiliar faces gathered behind Munroe.

“What do you want, Munroe?”

Munroe’s mouth tugged up on one side, the lopsided smile enhancing his smugness. “So she caught you after all.”

Philip grasped Ruth’s hand tighter, and she struggled to breathe evenly.

“The Swan,” Munroe clarified, raising his voice far louder than was necessary to make it heard. “The woman who’s been parading herself around town dressed as a man for the last month, swindling us all—and none more than you, Oxley.”

Murmurs sounded, and Ruth realized that there were people on the terrace up above.

Philip laughed caustically. “Says the man who challenged a woman to a duel.”

Munroe’s smile faded, turning back into a sneer. “I cannot be blamed for that, surely.” He looked at Ruth. “Not when she looks more boy than woman. Perhaps I should have known, though, by her cowardice.”

Philip started toward Munroe, but Ruth held him back.

His chest rose and fell. “If your idea of honor is challenging women and boys to duel you, then you and I are even more different than I believed us to be, Munroe.”

Munroe made a sweeping bow, looking up at the people who were congregating up on the terrace. “A compliment if I ever heard one. I admit, I am surprised to find that you knew Ruth was a woman this whole time, but I am more surprised to find you kissing the minx who’s been leading you such a dance and making you look a fool.”

Ruth’s heart sank, and she pulled Philip back as he tried to lunge toward Munroe. But she was no match for his strength, and he broke away from her, reaching Munroe in two long strides and punching him in the face.

“Ruth!” Topher’s voice rang out from the terrace above, and she glanced up at him. He was hand in hand with Miss Devenish.