Chapter Three

Outside the Willowbrook Manor, Juliet stood with her family, gently fanning herself as they waited for their respectful carriages. While the sun had disappeared entirely from the sky, the dresses they all had on still managed to put them in a lot of heat, Juliet especially. She was donned in a bright blue gown that dragged on the dirt as she walked. Her face was completely covered with a mask that had been designed by the dressmaker a few days back after Aunt Grace told her about the Masquerade Ball. The mask had slight adornment of roses on all sides, and to a point, she looked immensely ridiculous.

"I can't believe you're wearing this to the ball." Lord Peter sighed, taking another look at his daughter. He was making no effort to hide his dissatisfaction. "You might as well decide to only go to the ball in your inner wear."

Juliet said nothing. Angering her father as they waited for their carriages to arrive had never been a good idea. She'd seen it first-hand when he'd thrown a fit because one of his partners wouldn't let him have some share in a certain farmhouse. Her father could get really cross if he wanted to, and whenever he did, no one could do anything about it.

"It's the dress I wanted." She decided to say instead.

"Well, if your plan is to make sure all the men tonight stay away from you, I would say you're off to a good start." Adam sneered from the other side. Juliet turned to look at him, a devilish expression on her face. One he fortunately couldn't see due to the mask she had on. As usual, he had Camilla by his side. She was dressed in a simple green frock and had her hair done up by her maids. Her gloved hand had slipped into Adam's arm, and she'd leaned into him just as she did at the dining table.

"I know why I'm going to the ball, but why are you going?" She asked, still staring at Adam. "You already have Camilla. Why do you need to be there?"

A slight pause ensued between them as she watched Adam struggle to find his words.

"I'm going because Father's going." Adam replied, his voice hazy and lower.

"Father is going as my chaperone. Are you doing the same for Camilla as well?" Juliet asked, a smile creeping up her face.

Adam's face grew red. "What are you implying, Juliet?"

"Well, to each their own. Endeavouring to revive one's marriage is not always a misguided notion. At times, one simply requires the right individual to facilitate such a revival."

"Father? Did you hear her?!" Adam yelled, turning to look at Lord Peter.

"Stop angering your brother, Juliet." Peter said, looking ahead. A cloud of dust was slowly approaching them, and in front of the cloud were two carriages bearing the insignia of the Willowbrook Manor.

"Well, the carriages are here. Now you can keep your mouth to yourself as you ride with Lord Peter." Camilla said, a hateful expression on her face. Juliet smiled again, grateful they couldn't see her face.

"Would you like to have a mask too, Camilla? I could have the dressmaker bring it to you before we get to the ball."

Camilla's eyes grew dark. She was growing angry as well.

"You know, I heard Lady Violet Northam and her group of gossip mongers will be at the ball." Camilla resumed. "If I were you, I'd stay away from anything that could cause me any form of scandal."

"Are you sure she didn't just tell you herself? Perhaps you're a member of this group you speak of." Juliet retorted. Having a mask on her face might be the most excellent idea she'd ever had, after all. If her face had been uncovered, she wouldn't have been able to give back these sharp, snide remarks at her half-brother and his wife.

"That is enough!" Juliet heard her father yell. "You're a Lady, Juliet, and you will comport yourself as such. No one likes a Lady with a loose tongue."

"But Father—"

"Do not interrupt me again, or I will have this embarrassing thing taken off your face!" Peter continued.

The carriages stopped before them, and they all climbed in. Adam and Camilla got into one, and Juliet got into the other with her father.

"And you are still not free of your obligations. The whole reason I'm allowing this profanity of a dress in the first place is to make sure you secure a husband." Peter continued once the carriage started to move. "If you fail to do that today, I will be very disappointed in you."

Juliet sighed. "I feel very comfortable in this attire, Father. Any man worthy of my hand will wish to know my character before trying to see what I look like."

"I do not care for your tone, Juliet. I see the roses around your face are beginning to affect your tongue and your reasoning."

Juliet didn't think to protest. Nothing good was going to come from it.

"I apologise, Father."

Peter waved his hand in disregard as the carriage crossed over a huge stone, causing it to become unstable for a while.

"Remember, your only task today is to impress the members of the elite class in any way necessary. I do not care if they have to see your face. Make sure you represent Willowbrook in an orderly fashion. Do not wag your tongue dangerously at the men like you do to your brother."

"Yes, Father." Juliet replied.

"And try to behave like a lady this time. We do not want a repeat of what happened last year."

Juliet shook her head, trying to shake away the flood of memories threatening to escape their prisons in her mind. She had tried incredibly hard to forget what had happened the previous year but her father bringing it up now had made all her efforts ultimately futile.

She'd been in the garden at one of the grand affairs during the season, examining the roses. It also happened to be one of the days that Willowbrook Manor housed several people from all parts of London. She'd gotten stung by a bee and had grown disoriented. She'd fallen into the dirt soil, dampening her dress and her well-made hair. Somehow, she had managed to appear in the drawing room, looking majestically unruly and sending the ladies and the men into temporary shock. The look on their faces had continued to haunt her, even to this very day, more so now that her father had brought it up.

"Yes, Father." She repeated, now doing all she could to lock away those memories once again. Some part of her was looking forward to the ball, and not even her father's unkind remarks could take that away from her. She looked outside the carriage window as they rode past the rocky road. The sky was slowly darkening, and the cold, dry evening winds were starting to blow onto her face. Willowbrook Manor was a prison. One she couldn't wait to escape. She couldn't wait to be done with her father's temper tantrums and her half-brother's foolish remarks. Perhaps this might be the night she found her one true love, once and for all. She needed this to happen more than anything else.

***

As he adjusted his cravat in front of his mirror, Weston's mind strayed a little, and he wondered just how tightly he would have to squeeze it so he could die and escape his mother. She sat in his bedroom chair, watching him button up his red waistcoat.

"I don't know why you would choose to appear at the Ball looking like a merchant commoner. Your choice of color baffles and disappoints me, Weston." Beatrice started, staring hard at her son through the mirror.

Weston reached for his tie one more time and thought about how long it would really take for life to get sucked out of him.

"Couldn't you wear something else? Like the blue jacket, I had the dressmaker make for you the other day. You were supposed to wear it for Anne's coming out ball, and you didn't."

"Crimson has always been my colour, mother. You've seen me wear it almost all the time. I don't see any reason to change it this time around."

Of course, that wasn't the absolute truth. He couldn't be less interested in the ball. He was only going in the first place because it was another opportunity for his sister to familiarize herself with society's elite. Just because he couldn't find someone to settle down with didn't mean he wouldn't try to ensure Anne didn't suffer the same fate.

"You wouldn't impress many women in that garb, Weston." Beatrice continued.

That was the point. Weston thought, but he decided to keep it to himself. The last thing he needed was another fit on his hands. His friend, Charles, had traveled to South England and would not return until dusk. He had no one in his corner like he used to.

"The only reason I am attending this ball in the first place is for Anne. Nothing else." He said, remaining as level-headed as possible even though his heart and mind were both screaming out. "I don't exactly look forward to auctioning myself off like some prized horse."

"This is just as important for you as it is for Anne." Beatrice continued, a scalding edge evident in her voice. "Since you decided something was wrong with Lady Helena—"

"I never said anything was wrong with her." Weston retorted, growing well aware that his mother was only trying to bait him.

"I handed her to you on a silver platter, and you decided to do nothing with it."

"And that was no fault of Lady Helena, mother. I wasn't interested."

"You need to stop hounding around with this narrative. You're a Marquess now. It is your duty to have a wife. I don't want to hear any nonsense about Eliza anymore. It has been six long years. Brooding over the past is not going to do you or anyone else any good."

Weston nodded. "Yes, mother."

The fate of Estfield Manor relies on you. Look at what happened to Richard."

Weston drew a tired breath. Not this again.

"He died without an heir. Do you want that to be your fate as well?"

"No, mother."

"Then I suggest you start impressing on London's elite spinsters. None of them will be as influential as Lady Helena, but we might be able to salvage what's left of this crisis."

Weston nodded again, his hands now on his sides as he stood before the giant mirror. He was done dressing up.

"I will get married when I am ready, Mother. Not a second before."

"You will not take that tone with me, son." Beatrice retorted, rising from the chair. Her shoes knocked menacingly into the ground as she walked towards Weston, an angry expression on her face. "Be that as it may, I am still your mother."

Weston nodded and lowered his face to the ground. "Apologies, Mother."

"Now, you will attend the ball with your sister, and be sure to talk to a few other women. Most of them are going to be behind their masks, so striking conversations shouldn't be as hard as it has to be. Do you hear me?"

"Yes, mother."

"Good. I shall go check on your sister to see if she's ready. Inform the steward to ready the carriages. We leave in a few moments."

Weston nodded.

"And change that waistcoat. The blue one is far bet—"

"I either go like this, or I don't go at all." Weston interrupted, his voice solid and firm. He might be required to obey his mother, but this decision he had to make himself.

Beatrice huffed in desperate resignation and, a few moments later, stalked angrily out of her son's room.

Weston turned to look at the mirror. The clothes made him feel restricted and somewhat limited. He wasn't free. The pressure of the title was bearing down on him, and he knew it was only a matter of time before he snapped.

A few months back, he'd purchased a cottage along the Scottish border. No one else knew this apart from Charles. For a few moments, he entertained the thought of having to retire to the cottage and live the rest of his life surrounded by silence and sheer freedom. He exited his room and asked one of his servants to fetch the head steward.

"Are the carriages ready? We leave soon." He asked once the steward appeared.

"Yes. The horses are being brushed one last time, Marquess." The steward replied. Weston nodded and watched him retire back into his duties.

He was absolutely sure the steward would be capable of taking care of the Manor himself if he had to. He returned to his room and looked outside the window at the vast grassy fields ahead. The sky had grown entirely dark, and the moon was beginning to appear slowly. He reminded himself once again that he was only doing this for his sister. The image of his secret cottage resurfaced in his mind once again. He thought of the silence he would be able to enjoy if he could escape the shackles of politics. He never asked for any of this, and if he could give them away, he would in a heartbeat. The idea of living out his years among tall trees and a babbling brook became a guilty fantasy of his.

"This is only temporary." He whispered as if giving himself a sordid reminder. All he needed to do was ensure his sister was well-received by the social society. He liked the lieutenant she had danced with the other day. If he were serious about her, he would return to ask for her hand. Weston was sure Anne liked him too, and if all went well, a wedding would be underway. Once he managed to marry his sister off to a good man, he would try to escape his life. He would run away from the estate, from his mother, from the title and the pressure that came with it. He would leave everything behind.

Even his beloved crimson waistcoats.

A maid gently knocked on his door, shaking him from his reverie.

"What is it, Hilda?" He asked, turning to look at her and muster the slightest smile.

"Lady Beatrice and Lady Anne are ready for you, my lord." Hilda replied, taking a slight bow.

Weston nodded and gently waved her off. "I shall join them in a moment."

He turned to look at his mirror once again. He just had to get through tonight and a few other nights that would come with it. This was only temporary. Once his sister was settled, this would no longer be his story. He could reach for the freedom he had been dreaming about for so long. Once and for all, he would be able to have a life of his own and live it the way he wanted without any input from his mother whatsoever.

But for now, he needed to face this night and everything it would bring head-on. No matter how hard he tried to protest, there was no escaping the night. He'd been attending events for a long time. This would be no different. He just needed to get through the night, and then, freedom would be on the horizon.

He reached for his mask atop the bedroom dresser.