Dante stood at the gallery window and watched as droves of eligible daughters from some of the best families in England descended on Paradiso. Wasn’t it ironic? His great-grandfather had built this house as a retreat, a paradise from the turmoil of the outside world, and now it had become a living hell. Dante flexed his hand desperately wanting to hit something. He could no longer stomach the view in front of him. It pained him greatly to see his family legacy reduced to this, a forced marriage to procure an heir.
The servants would be busy with the final preparations, tending to the guests, and delivering the trunks. Dante hoped he could escape to the outdoors through the servants’ quarters without notice. Marching out the front door was not option. He turned his back on his duties and headed for the passageway that led to the servants’ quarters.
The whole house was a bustle of activity and his break from reality went relatively unseen. Loud sounds of laughter echoed against the peaceful countryside. Dante quickened his pace. He followed the familiar track that bordered the lake and headed toward the conifer woods. A few feet later, a less conspicuous pathway greeted his flight.
The pathway narrowed, the tall trees creating a shady green canopy. Ten minutes later, the outcropping of trees grew sparse and opened to a little garden that framed a small cottage.
Dante went inside and closed the door to the outside world. The familiar scent of paint reached his nostrils and teased his hands. He could not wait to unpack the paints he purchased from the Rowney Company.
If his grandmother knew that he had converted the cottage into his personal atelier, she would probably set the cottage on fire herself. Fortunately, she was not keen on walking in the countryside and had only ventured to the cottage once since it was built. That one visit had ended with her abed with a sprained ankle, causing her to miss most of the season.
The late afternoon had waned, creating a soft, ethereal glow. Dante pulled the cloth off the canvas and admired his latest masterpiece, Dancing Nymphs. Inspired by a painting his grandfather had brought back from Italy when he had gone on the Grand Tour in the last century, Dante had fashioned his ethereal beings with abandon. But sitting here now, he did not feel the joy of the dancing nymphs. Instead of reminding him of happier times, as they usually did, today they mocked and laughed at him.
He cast the painting aside and retrieved another that he had begun many years ago. Placing the small canvas on the easel, Dante peered at his subject, wondering what might have been.
The sadness that he had managed to keep at bay had resurfaced as of late. Pulling the necklace from his pocket, he admired the blue and white cameo of a young woman. It always reminded him of the only woman he had ever loved.
Loved and lost.
Dante clutched the precious item in his hand before tucking it back into his pocket. If only she hadn’t died. If only he had been able to save her. For eight long years he had mourned her death. Truth be told, he still wasn’t ready to let go, but his grandmother’s threats were far too severe to be ignored.
Green eyes stared back at him. Struck with inspiration, he grabbed his pad and pencil and began sketching. Within a matter of moments, his ideas came to fruition. The simple lines took the form of a female. He had often imagined her like this, reclined on a velvet settee. She had posed for him once and before he had had the chance to sketch her again, she had been snatched from his life.
* * *
If Anastasia did not know any better, she would have thought that they were travelling to the distant ends of the earth. Problem after problem had only delayed their journey. A simple day-and-a-half carriage ride had turned into three full days. Philippa had sent word ahead that they were to be delayed, but even she was beginning to express her anxiousness at their late arrival.
Philippa glanced out the window while tapping her finger on her lap. “I do hope we arrive before nightfall. It simply would not do to arrive after the evening’s entertainments had already begun.”
To make matters worse, in between Philippa’s worrisome remarks Isabel chattered on about everything she learned of the Earl of Huntingdon’s estate, Paradiso. “…And did you know that there is a lake surrounded by classical landscape? The previous earl travelled extensively on the continent and took much inspiration in the Italian style. Weston told me that all the temples and buildings are named to reflect the classical style. Do you think we will be able to take a tour of the estate?”
“I’m sure arrangements could be made,” Philippa said as she yawned. “Lord Huntingdon is very amiable.”
“Amiable or not, I am most interested in Paradiso. Did you know that there is a tower on the edge of the estate that was built in the first quarter of the last century? The views are supposed to be spectacular.”
Anastasia was curious. “How is it that you have so much interest in Paradiso and none regarding the Earl of Huntingdon?”
Isabel shrugged her shoulder, staring into one corner of the carriage. “I’m interested in art and architecture, and things of that nature, not men.”
“That might change one day,” Philippa said with a giggle.
Although Anastasia’s life had not turned out as she had hoped, she did wish that Isabel would find love and happiness. There was nothing more beautiful than the love between a man and a woman. That thought was accompanied by threatening tears. She did not want to think of him, the way he had made her feel, or why he left her. Blinking away the tears and forcing those emotions back into the recesses of her mind, she turned her focus back to her friend.
Isabel’s thoughtful stare lingered on. “I suppose one day a man might catch my eye, but he would have to be an exceptional man with an even more exceptional library. He must be kind and honest. Not too tall, but not too short either. I prefer a man who dresses in simple attire. No dandies for me. Oh, and if he detested poetry that would be in his favor.”
Laughing at the image that Isabel’s description conjured in her mind, Anastasia commented, “That is quite a list. Perhaps we should just wait and see how the week progresses.”
“There it is,” Isabel breathed out, her nervous energy filling the carriage.
“It’s beautiful,” Anastasia whispered as she glanced out the window. The impressive lawn seemed to extend for miles before gently giving way to the neo-Palladian façade. The sun had tucked behind the conifer trees, casting various shades of pink into the sky and creating a halo above the magnificent structure.
The extravagance of the privileged never ceased to amaze her. Her own modest childhood home would have easily fit in the portico with room to spare. When she moved to Knights Hall eight years previous, she thought that a spectacular estate, but Paradiso was beyond compare. Awe and intimidation mingled with the anxiety she had been fighting to control for the past several days.
“Is it too late to turn back?” Isabel’s voice cracked with emotion, matching Anastasia’s own musings.
“Weston has made it clear that he expects you to last the week. I promised him that I would help you,” Philippa offered a smile, but Isabel appeared not to notice. “We are in this together.”
Isabel eased back on the cushioned seat. She took in a deep breath and whispered out, “I really would have preferred to stay at Knights Hall. I’m just too different from all of them, and when I get nervous I tend to make a fool of myself by spilling something, breaking something, or…”
Reaching across, Anastasia took Isabel’s hand in hers. “You have nothing to worry yourself over. Just as Philippa said, we will get through this week together.” Anastasia wished she believed her own words. This world that she was entering just seemed too different than the life she had tried to carve out for herself over the past eight years.
Looking out the carriage window, up toward the darkening sky, Anastasia could not shake the feeling that she was being led to her doom. The uneasiness had increased with each passing second for reasons that she could not fathom. She did not know what to make of it, but she tried her best to put on a good face for Isabel and Philippa.
As the carriage came to a stop, efficient footmen were ready to assist. The door opened, revealing a large portico held up by eight columns topped in the Corinthian style. The windows glowed with activity.
Out of the corner of her eye, Anastasia saw Isabel gulp in huge breaths. “If I had any contents to lose, I would lose them right now.”
“It will be all right. Once we’re settled, you will feel much better. We can have a leisurely evening and be well rested for all the activities tomorrow.” Philippa stated before she turned and exited the conveyance.
Isabel eyed her with disbelief.
“I’m sorry, dearest, but we must make the best of our time here.” This week was going to be more difficult than Anastasia first assumed.
“Good evening, ladies.” Anastasia assumed it was the head butler who greeted them at the base of the steps. The man did not bother to introduce himself. “I have informed Lady Huntingdon of your late arrival.” He emphasized the word late before continuing on with his speech. “You will be shown to your room and then may join the others in the Italian room.”
They followed the liveried butler up the steps in silence, each casting the other a look of disbelief. Philippa was the daughter of a viscount yet was treated no better than Anastasia, the disgraced daughter of a curate. They had just crossed the threshold into a stark, albeit grand three-story white marble entry hall when a formidable woman dressed in black crepe met them.
“Mrs. Weston, you have arrived at long last. We were beginning to wonder if there was further trouble with your carriage.” The constant reminder of their tardiness was wearing thin. It was not as if they had wanted a broken wheel, but some things were out of their control. Obviously Lady Huntingdon did not share Anastasia’s viewpoint.
“Good evening, Lady Huntingdon. Allow me introduce my sister-in-law, Miss Albryght, and her companion, Miss Quintin.”
Lady Huntingdon nodded in their direction but kept her gaze and attention focused on Philippa. “The week’s festivities are well underway. There is to be a masquerade this evening. I do hope you will be able to attend after such a tiring journey.” She had uttered the last almost as if she did not believe they experienced such cumbersome delays.
“We look forward to this evening, Lady Huntingdon,” Philippa said in a polite tone that was laced with annoyance.
Anastasia could almost read Isabel’s thoughts as panic streaked across her face. “Are you all right?” she mouthed.
Isabel shook her head with alarm. But before Anastasia could respond, a middle-aged woman with a scornful scour etched onto her face stepped forward.
“Ah, this is Dabney. She will see to your needs.”
Anastasia could not explain why, but there was something about Dabney that did not set well with her. If first impressions were to count for anything, she already did not care for Lord Huntingdon’s staff.
“Until tonight.” Lady Huntingdon started to walk away, and then, without turning around, she uttered over shoulder, “And please do not be tardy.”
The three ladies watched as Lady Huntingdon passed through an archway that presumably led toward the sound of laughter and merriment.
Isabel raised a brow in question. “Amiable?”
Philippa lowered her voice to a mere whisper so that Dabney could not hear her response. “I said Lord Huntingdon was amiable. His grandmother, on the other hand, is quite dreadful.”
“Ladies,” Dabney called to them.
Philippa pursed her lips shut, the edges rising up in a smile. She had been caught. Anastasia let out a slight giggle when the all too stoic maid glared at her.
“This way.” The woman guided them silently through what Anastasia supposed was the guest wing. The size of the wing was deceiving from the outside. The passageway seemed to extend forever, before turning a corner. Large windows allowed the diminishing sunlight to illuminate their way. The house was spectacular. Under different, and more pleasant, circumstances, Anastasia would have loved to explore.
Anastasia gazed on one painting after another of classical Rome. She had wondered how many variations of the same subject matter were displayed at Paradiso. Expecting to see another landscape with ruins in the background, the next painting took her aback. It was of a man, sitting in his study surrounded by books. Several maps were splayed across the desk. Beside him, a window opened up to a view of an Italian landscape. But it was his eyes that she found most alarming. They reminded her of…
“Your rooms are down this last corridor. The staircase at the end leads to the garden room and petit parlor.” Dabney’s firm voice broke through her pondering.
By the time they reached their rooms, the uneasiness Anastasia had felt during the journey here had only increased. Once they were left alone, she began to address her concerns.
“Is it me or does Lord Huntingdon’s staff seem aloof and unwelcoming?”
Isabel put her hand to her chest and sighed out, “Oh, I am relieved you noticed too. I felt as if we were trespassing.”
Waving toward the direction of their trunks, Philippa said, “At the very least, the servants are quite efficient. Our trunks have already been delivered.”
“Whatever is the matter?” Anastasia glanced over at Isabel, who looked positively terrified.
“Did you not hear? The masquerade is tonight.” Isabel plopped down on the sofa, her features forlorn. “There will probably be refreshments.”
Anastasia sat beside her and nudged her with her arm, and teased, “I suppose you are quite surprised by the turn of events? What form of monster would invite people to a party and then have the audacity to provide refreshments?”
Isabel shook her head and eyed her with feign contempt. “Isn’t it bad enough that I have to be here, but do you really have to tease?”
“I’m sorry, dearest,” Anastasia took Isabel’s hand. “I’m just trying to help.”
“I know and I appreciate it, but I’m just too concerned with causing a scene…again.”
Philippa stepped forward and then joined them on the sofa. Her delicate blonde brows were drawn together with concern. “What happened?”
“I have only ever attended two balls in my entire life, and neither went very well. I spilled punch all over Miss Saunders at one and all over myself at the other.”
Attempting to lighten the mood, Anastasia teased, “Clearly we must keep refreshments from you.” Isabel narrowed her eyes. Trying a different tactic, Anastasia suggested, “You don’t have to accept any refreshments.”
“I’m most certain that this time will be different,” Philippa said with her usual joie de vivre attitude.
“True, but then there is the other issue. All the people. I never know what to say. I tend to fade into the background, becoming almost invisible.”
“You would rather be noticed and sought after?” This conversation was quickly becoming a battle of wits—one that Anastasia suspected Philippa would win.
“No, not entirely,” Isabel pouted. “And besides, I don’t like to dance. I would rather play the pianoforte and just watch everyone else. And another thing, I have never been asked to dance.”
Anastasia and Philippa glanced from one another as understanding dawned on both of them. Isabel had never danced with a man, and was most likely scared. Before Anastasia could ease her mind, Isabel crossed her arms and firmly stated, “I will not go.”
Anastasia would have to address one problem at a time. “You have to. Lady Huntingdon is expecting you to attend.”
“You can go for me.” Isabel’s eyes brightened with the mischievous look she had learned from Philippa.
“That is a wonderful idea,” Philippa chimed in a little too enthusiastically. She went to one of the trunks and began pulling garments from it.
“Lybbe is going to be quite distressed when she sees what a disaster you are creating,” Isabel playfully scolded her sister-in-law, all semblances of her worries from a few moments ago having gone by the wayside.
Pulling out an elaborate and far too exquisite dress for Anastasia, Philippa announced, “Here it is.” Philippa held up the dress that had been designated for Isabel. “I know you don’t care for green, but think how your eyes will stand out.”
“You will look lovely in my dress,” Isabel commented, a wide smile gracing her features.
“Isabel, dearest, I really do not believe it a wise idea for me to pretend to be you, even if it were only for one evening. And besides, it isn’t proper to pretend to be someone I am not.”
Philippa gave her an incredulous glance. “You are not really pretending to be Isabel. You are just not being yourself. It is a masquerade, and no one is who they say they are. Everyone needs a little adventure in life.” She ended her lecture with that same mischievous smile Isabel displayed just a moment ago.
Once upon a time, Anastasia would have agreed with Philippa.
“Please, I promise not to put up a fuss for the rest of the week if you will go to the masquerade tonight.” If Isabel were the type, she would have batted her eyelashes at that point.
“And what do you intend to do while I am parading around as you?”
“Read, of course.”
“I don’t know. What if Lady Huntingdon discovers that we switched places…?”
“Nonsense, how is she going to find out? I will be there.” Philippa was not going to back down. “If Lady Huntingdon does begin to suspect, I will distract her and you can hide yourself away. And besides, a night of frivolous entertainment where no one will recognize you is just what you need.”
Shaking her head, Anastasia directed her retort to Philippa, not even trying to disguise the sarcasm, “I am so relieved that you have figured out what I needed.”
“I am not going to argue with you. Isabel and I insist that you attend and that is final. Now, let’s get you dressed.”
Anastasia knew she would not win this argument. When Philippa set her mind to something, no one was safe. “Fine,” she harrumphed. “I will wear Isabel’s costume.”
“Thank you,” Isabel said as she came up and hugged Anastasia. “I know that you will have a wonderful time. You won’t regret this.”
She already had.
* * *
With Lybbe’s assistance, and Isabel’s commentary, Anastasia and Philippa had dressed for the masquerade. As discussed, once Philippa was ready, she left for the ballroom ahead of Anastasia while Lybbe completed the final touches. Philippa had thought it best that she arrived first, engage Lady Huntingdon in conversation, thus providing a distraction for Anastasia.
Anastasia looked at herself in the mirror, hardly recognizing the woman who was staring back at her. She was not used to wearing fancy clothes. Tilting her head, she admired the elaborate hairstyle. Lybbe had even managed to weave some silver ribbon through her hair.
She was actually getting excited. She had never attended a masquerade before and this would be her first and last.
Isabel walked up with the ornamented mask in hand. “Time to put this on.”
Anastasia held the blue and green creation with silver scalloped edges in place as Lybbe tied the ribbon in back. The moment the mask was in place, it was if she became another person. A sense of freedom that she had long thought dead bubbled within. It was as if she were seventeen again and the world held so many promises.
“You are so beautiful,” Isabel said over Anastasia’s shoulder. Anastasia noticed tears welling in Isabel’s eyes before she turned away. The thought brought a smile to her face. Isabel was not as composed as she always tried to appear.
“Thank you, dearest.”
“Now, off you go. I will wait up for you and Philippa.” Isabel ushered her to the door with haste. “Have fun,” Isabel whispered with excitement as Anastasia left the room.
Anastasia wandered through the vast house, making her way to the ballroom. There were no other guests in sight. She must have tarried longer than she thought. She was so nervous that she imagined that if she opened her mouth, the butterflies fluttering in her stomach might escape.
This was insane. She was insane.
She shouldn’t be here. What did she hope to achieve by dressing up and attending the masquerade? One night to be free. One night to pretend.
It had been so long since she gave into such diversions. Perhaps one night was possible. One night to lose herself in everything that she had wanted and could not have. She leaned over the marble balustrade and watched the dancing couples below. Fanciful plumes glided over elegant ladies. Pinks, blues, and greens mingled in the sea of costumes. An intoxicated black and white domino whisked through the crowd bumping into several ladies, causing a ruckus. A beautiful young woman clad all in white waltzed through the vibrant colors, reminding Anastasia of sea foam brushing the shore.
“Oh, how I wish I could have had just one more dance with him,” she murmured under her breath. “I know we could have been happy together.”
Anastasia blinked away the tears. She had the rest of her life to dwell on what could have been, what she hoped her future would have been like. Tonight was for giving into her folly, her desire, one night to forget the past and live in the present.
Before she changed her mind, Anastasia pushed away from the banister and hurried toward the grand ballroom. At any moment, she suspected the guards would interrupt her flight of fancy and take her away to Bedlam.
A lively tune greeted her as she neared the ballroom. There was a lightness in her step and a sway in her soul. Anastasia could not remember the last time she danced.
An image flashed through her mind of a young couple waltzing endlessly through a shady copse. Laughter filled the air followed by a sweet first kiss. Despite everything that had happened, she longed for his kiss and the way he made her insides flutter.
So lost in her own musings, Anastasia had not realized that the music had stopped, nor that all eyes were upon her. Thankful for the mask that hid her features, she glided down the steps into the warm room hoping to disappear without further attention into the sea of costumes.
Lavender, lilac, rose, vanilla, and several other unknown odors assaulted her senses. She edged her way from the crowded area, hoping to find a quiet spot to recover when out of the corner of her eye, she saw Lady Huntingdon push her way through the crush of people.
Anastasia’s first thought was to run. Lady Huntingdon could not discover that she and Isabel had switched places. The excited butterflies had turned into treacherous locusts threatening to destroy her. She had to leave. Anastasia turned, and bumped into a man dressed all in black, including his mask which covered most of his face. Warm brown eyes glistened in the candlelight, inviting her into his world.
“May I have this dance?”
Anastasia’s mouth went dry. She knew that voice. The heartache that had been lingering for years burst into flames.