27. Chapter 27

Chapter 27

A s the carriage rolled along the narrow road, Beatrice could not help but feel more than a trifle uneasy. The country lanes, so charming by daylight, took on a sinister air in the darkening evening. As the sun set, it seemed that the darkness outside the carriage windows simply stretched on and on, endless.

Being a creature of the city, Beatrice had no idea how the driver managed to keep the horses on the road, as she doubted that he could see past the ends of their noses. There were no convenient street lamps, no runners ahead of the carriage with lanterns on long poles to light the way. It was a moderately terrifying aspect, particularly as Beatrice knew first-hand that the roads were all bordered by steep ditches on either side.

Still, she refused to let her nerves show, particularly as she suspected that the colonel was a little bemused at her discomfort. He sat across from her, with his back to the horses as was proper for a gentleman escorting ladies, watching her. Beatrice kept her hands clasped together in her lap, and her eyes trained carefully out the window.

Beside her, Florence practically radiated tension and excitement in equal measure. As she sat so close to Beatrice, she could feel Miss Hillmot nearly trembling with the effort to keep herself from bouncing on the padded carriage squab in anticipation. Beatrice suspected that the girl's own nerves were keeping her tongue in check.

As Beatrice herself was bent on keeping her own counsel—afraid that she might blurt out her intentions, to leave as soon as a suitable replacement was found—she, too, kept silent. The colonel, normally taciturn, did nothing to encourage conversation either, though there was a strange sort of warmth in his eyes that made Beatrice's cheeks feel warm.

So the carriage rolled on through the inky darkness, profoundly silent, a world unto itself. Despite her trepidation about the roads, Beatrice wished fervently that they would arrive at the ball quickly. She was beginning to feel as if she could not breathe in the small space, hemmed in and unable to escape the colonel's gaze. His knee brushed hers as they jostled over a rut in the road, and Beatrice flinched backward, smoothing her long cloak over her legs.

***

T he Constable home was positively palatial, spreading out across the landscape like a palace. Beatrice, when she caught sight of it as she alighted from the carriage, could only stare in wonder at it for a moment. It was so wildly different from her expectations that she at first wondered if it might be a mirage.

The edifice, done in fashionable pale grey stone, was perfectly symmetrical. Each window was brilliantly lit from within, the light falling on the gold-painted window frames and making them shine. The centre of the circular drive, packed with carriages and horses, was crowned with a fountain. The doors to the home were thrown open wide, and even from her perch in the carriage doorway, Beatrice could hear music and laughter, and a heady mix of flowers and the smell of food wafted out to her.

Such was her distraction that she did not notice at first that the hand she was holding for stability, as was custom, was not, in fact, that of a postillion or a footman. She only noticed when a driver of another carriage yelled at them to clear the way, and the fingers holding her hand squeezed, getting her attention. Beatrice glanced down, and saw that it was the colonel himself steadying her.

"My apologies," she murmured, and stepped carefully down the remaining carriage steps.

"Not to worry," the colonel said, smiling his half-smile at her. "I will steady you whenever you like."

Beatrice, unable to take in anything more, breezed right on past that comment. She descended easily, turning her attention to Florence. She, too, was staring in bright-eyed wonder, though not at the house; she looked about at the people around her, staring at the glittering jewels and glistening silks. All around them, people were placing their masks on their faces so that they would not be recognised before they entered.

Florence, having not let go of her mask for the entire journey to the Constable home, eagerly placed hers against her face. She attempted to shuffle her fan and reticule to tie the ribbons behind her head. Beatrice, smiling a little, stepped forward to help her.

"Here now," she said softly, placing a steadying hand for a moment on the girl's shoulder, "we'll have you settled in no time at all. Just remember, no one knows who you are—for all they know, you are a very grand lady from parts unknown."

Florence nodded, then held still as she allowed Beatrice to tie the ribbon behind her head. Her mask was pure white, just as her gown was, embroidered with silk ribbons to look like flowers were blooming. The motif was repeated on the gown, making Florence appear like the very essence of youth and spring.

"Where is your mask?" Florence demanded, turning about.

"Patience, Miss Hillmot," Beatrice chided. She withdrew her own mask from her deep pocket, cut from the same red velvet as her gown. She engaged in her own fumbling about then, as she had elected to wear a fashionable turban in the same red to conceal her distinctive hair—everyone would have instantly recognised it, as it had been quite the topic of conversation about the county.

As she was attempting to lift the back of the turban to tie on her mask, a pair of hands gently took the ribbons from her fingers. Automatically, she stiffened, but a familiar voice, quite near her ear said, "Please, allow me to assist."

Beatrice swallowed and nodded, giving the colonel permission. It was a shockingly vulnerable, intimate act, as she had to lift her turban, exposing the back of her neck as she did so. With surprising gentleness, he tied the mask on quickly, his fingers just whispering past her skin. The nearness made goosebumps raise on the back of her neck, and she had to suppress a shiver. Beatrice swallowed again, half-afraid that he would press a kiss to the exposed flesh, half-disappointed when he did not.

"There," he said at last, letting the ribbons go and stepping back. "Now, I believe we are all ready," he continued, having donned his own plain black domino. "Might I escort you in?" He offered his right arm to Florence, who eagerly accepted.

His dark eyes locked onto Beatrice's as he offered his left arm to her. Though his mouth asked a simple question, his eyes asked an entirely different one. There was a line that they were crossing, both of them together, and Beatrice did not know if they would be able to find their way back from it.

The sensation persisted as they crossed the threshold into the grand estate. It was like stepping into a different realm, one made up only of beautiful things, a veritable feast for all the senses. From every chandelier, cornice piece, nook and cranny, great swags of flower gardens were hung, braided with tendrils of ribbons. Greenery was positively stuffed onto every available surface, a joyful shout of spring that fairly defied any lingering traces of winter. The smells of jasmine, hyacinth, lilac, roses, even orange blossoms mingled into a heady blend.

Upon closer inspection, it became clear that the Constables employed a most clever chef: What first appeared to be bouquets were actually little cakes and treats cleverly arranged to resemble blooms. Beatrice stared in arrested wonder as a guest, casual as could be, simply plucked what she had thought to be a flower still in bud from a stem, and popped it into her mouth.

Once again, through a general pressing of the arriving guests behind her, Beatrice could tell that she was blocking the proverbial traffic again. Still a little dazed from the scenery, she allowed a waiting maid to help remove her long cloak. As the maid did so, those around her seemed to take a subconscious step backward.

While it seemed that the guests had by and large chosen pastoral characters and pastel colours, Beatrice's dark red gown stood out like an exclamation mark. It shimmered in the candlelight, the pleats and folds so dark they were almost black. In lieu of the traditional ribbon, lace, or flower trimmings that were found on evening gowns, Beatrice and the modiste had both agreed that the fabric should be allowed to speak for itself. It was deceptively simple, with pleated trim at the hem and the sleeves cut into fashionable poufs at the top, but fitted tightly to Beatrice's arms the rest of the way down. The addition of the red turban and mask in the same fabric only added to the striking effect, like a drop of blood on a field of white.

She had dug into her store of hidden gems, completing the look with gold earbobs set with topaz. Around her long, elegant neck, she had put a necklace of little gold starbursts, with a larger gold setting hanging from the centre with yet another topaz, large and finely cut.

Beatrice, a creature that was not only used to adoration, but craved it, held perfectly still for a moment, cutting an elegant figure so that all might take her in. It had been so long since she had felt so admired, and indeed, a smitten crowd did much to restore her. Even so, she found that there was one person in particular that she wished to see beholding her, and she looked for him as she scanned the crowd with cool eyes.

She was not disappointed.

The colonel was standing across the spacious entry hall, awaiting Beatrice and Florence. She could feel the exact moment that his eyes found her, for a shock of warmth went through her at the look that could not be concealed by his mask. He was dressed as a highwayman—a bold choice, given that they were a very real threat in the North still—in the style of the last century, with a tricorn hat and tall black boots. Still, even with the mask, Beatrice would have known him anywhere; there was no mistaking his perfect posture, nor his dark eyes.

They stared at one another, heedless of the motion around them, like two stones in a stream. He was not one of the handsome young rakes she used to bandy about London with, but there was an undeniable magnetism about him that was harder and harder to resist every day. Indeed, Beatrice could not even really remember why it was that she was fighting so hard against loving him.

Just give in , her heart whispered. Just let go...it will be the easiest thing in the world. So what if you cannot marry? Will you love him any less because of that?

Without any signal, both Beatrice and the colonel left their respective sides of the entry hall, meeting in the middle. Wordlessly, the colonel held out his hand, black leather gloves of such fine kid leather that Beatrice knew she would be able to feel the warmth of his hand through them. She hesitated, holding her hand back tentatively. He waited, watching, his eyes grave.

There's no going back now , Beatrice's heart whispered. You cannot go back from this moment, should you accept.