Dante looked about the room, wondering how long he would have to endure this masquerade before he could sneak off to his study and enjoy a quiet evening alone. He detested his new role as the Earl of Huntingdon.
Surveying the guests, he spotted Lady Brenda who, although quite beautiful in an elaborate white gown, did not attempt to hide her identity. He watched her move through the crowd of guests. Everyone seemed to naturally flock toward her. She was exceptionally comely, but there was something about her that he did not trust. He suspected that underneath her sweet façade laid a woman who would do anything to get what she wants. Dante chuckled inwardly; Lady Brenda reminded him of his grandmother and a woman such as that was not for him.
Somehow he had avoided dancing thus far, but with Lady Brenda approaching on the heels of his grandmother, Dante suspected his luck was about to change. He searched for a means to escape when from across the room he spied her. The unknown siren was draped in a deep green gown. Her mask of blue, green, and silver illuminated her eyes. The very essence of the masked beauty drew him closer. Who was she?
Even from this distance, he could sense that she was nervous—flustered even. Dante walked toward her with one intention.
“May I have this dance?”
She did not answer, but accepted his hand. An unexpected jolt surged through his body the moment their gloved hands touched. They moved in time to the rhythm of the waltz. The masked siren formed perfectly to him.
Swirling through the ballroom, whiffs of lavender and vanilla encircled him. It was a common enough fragrance amongst the ladies of the ton, but this, this was different. Honey. The faint sweetness of honey wafted through the air. He breathed in the intoxicating mixture. Without thought, he let out a sigh.
“Is anything the matter?” The masked siren whispered out as he led her through another turn.
“No, you just remind me of someone from a long time ago.”
“Someone you loved?”
Her question caught him off guard. His eyes met hers, but she glanced away. “Why do say that?” How could she see his inner thoughts after only a few minutes of dancing when he hardly knew himself anymore?
“I hear the sadness in your words.”
When he did not answer her question, she plagued him with another. “What happened?”
There was a long pause.
What could he say? “She died.” The two words spilled from his mouth without thought.
The lady missed a stepped and fumbled against him. He caught her and held her close. His body instantly reacted. “Who are you?” He said as he glanced down into her beautiful green eyes.
She did not answer. He had no clue as to who this woman might be, and before he could discover her identity, she struggled out of his grasp, pushing him away with force. Her brows were creased together in a sort of paranoid confusion. She reminded him of a caged animal trying to escape.
It all happened so quickly. One moment they were dancing, and in the next, she was pushing her way through the crowd of onlookers. Dante reached for her, but was blocked by the crush. Straining to see over the tops of elaborate hairstyles, he watched her run straight through the open veranda doors and disappear into the night.
Dante had to go after her, discover who she was. He had barely moved five feet when his grandmother halted him. “Let her go. Do not cause more of a scene.”
That was all his grandmother had ever cared about, appearances. Dante met her cold gaze. “I must see if the young lady is unwell.” He did not wait for his grandmother’s reply.
Shouldering his way through the guests, he edged his way toward the open doors. Once clear of the masqueraders, he picked up his pace and ran onto the veranda. The dark landscape consumed all that was around. There was not a soul in sight. Dante made his way down the steps, but a silver ribbon caught his attention. Bending down, he picked up a mask. It was the same his mysterious dance partner was wearing.
Who is she?
* * *
He didn’t know who she was.
He thought she was dead.
“Dead,” Anastasia cried into the night. She had not stopped running until she reached the temple. She rested her head against the cold, fluted column, pounding her hand over and over against the unforgiving stone. Pain ricocheted through her hand, but she didn’t care. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. What was he even doing here?
Anastasia knew exactly what he was doing here. While she had been rotting in her grief, Dante—no, she mustn’t think of him as the man she once loved—Mr. St. Clair had been living this extravagant life filled with parties and soirees. He had been happy and joyful, probably quite the rake about town while she was banished from her family in shame. If not for Weston and Isabel, she probably would have died. There were days when she wished she had.
“He didn’t even know me.” Rubbing her head against the column. A jagged sigh escaped her mouth, “He didn’t even know me.” The pain in her chest was almost unbearable.
What was she going to do? It was not like she could just leave. She had no means of her own. What was she going to tell Philippa and Isabel?
Nothing.
Anastasia could run away. She could leave her home at Knights Hall, leave Isabel and everyone she had come to care about. She could escape to some dark corner where no one would find her.
The warmth drained from her body and a heavy ache settled in her limbs. She was drowning in grief and tired of avoiding people for the fear of someone discovering what she had done. Why should she alone bear the weight of that mistake? Had she not suffered enough? Her family had been cruel, had sent her away. Perhaps they had told Dante that she was dead, but why?
Reason was edging into her thoughts. Although life had not turned out the way she thought it would, she was part of a family now, a family who cared about her, and she did not want to lose them.
None of this made any sense to her. Even if her family had told him that she was dead, she had sent dozens of letters before being sent away. Why hadn’t he answered them? Why does he deserve happiness and she does not? One night, one mistake and her whole life had changed. She pushed off the stone column, her hands clutched at her sides. She wanted answers.
Trying to determine her next course of action, she paced the length of the temple portico. She did not know what to do or how to proceed. Closing her eyes, she inhaled the cool night air.
Anastasia could not go on alone. There was only one thing she could do. She would have to reveal her past to Philippa and Isabel. She only hoped that their opinion of her would not change for the worse.
With that settled in her mind, it was time to retreat back to her room. There was one problem, though: the masquerade. She was unsure how to reenter the house without being seen. And then a thought occurred to her.
Anastasia made her way back toward the house, hoping not to encounter anyone. As she neared, she watched and waited for the stroke of midnight when the masks would be removed, revealing everyone’s identity. She hoped that Mr. St. Clair would be amongst those waiting to take off their masks and not searching for her. She would then sneak back up to her room. It was a simple plan in theory but fraught with problems.
The veranda doors were still open, allowing the faint sound of music to waft through the summer night. A sudden cool wind sent a shiver down her spine. It was nearing midnight. The couples looked like they were moving toward the center of the ballroom.
Sliding against the balustrade, she edged up the veranda steps, and stopped behind a large marble urn and peered around. The masked guests had congregated at the center of the ballroom, waiting for the stroke of midnight. With haste, Anastasia moved around the urn and continued ascending the stairs. She kept to the darker parts of the veranda, hopefully out of sight.
After surveying her surroundings, she determined which opening she must enter through in order to go unseen. Slinking inside the ballroom, she kept herself concealed by a large portly woman who was commenting to her neighbor about how handsome Lord Huntingdon looked this evening. Not being able to resist the curiosity, Anastasia stretched her neck, but to no avail. She had yet to meet, let alone see the elusive new Earl of Huntingdon. Balancing on her tiptoes, Anastasia tried to catch another glimpse, but a tall, broad-shouldered man blocked her view.
Deciding it was best to keep to her original plan, she eased back toward the wall and kept her head down. When she heard the call to remove masks, she picked up her pace. This was her chance. While everyone was intrigued with who was who, she could make her final escape.
The moment she saw the masks begin to come off, she practically ran toward the passageway that she hoped led to her room. Anastasia bumped into several people, but only offered a quick apology and kept running.
By the time she reached her room she was so out of breath, she thought to tarry a bit in the hall before entering her room, but the sound of voices getting closer caused her to reevaluate that plan. She hoped that Isabel was not waiting up for her. She was not up to revealing her secrets to Isabel tonight.
Anastasia gently turned the knob and opened the door that led to their adjoining sitting room, and then with the same amount of caution closed it, careful not to make a sound. She slinked to her room and slid inside. Anastasia didn’t know how she managed it, but somehow she was able to undress herself. However, she was most certain that the dress would need mending.
* * *
Dark shadows danced across the muted walls. For one brief moment, a glimmer of light streaked across, scaring the shadows away, then like all the joy in her life, grew smaller and smaller until once again darkness ruled.
Anastasia ripped the covers off her and stormed to the windows. She could not open the window quickly enough. She was suffocating under her own sadness. She fought for air, consumed by sobs. Her fingers fumbled with the latch before she was able to open the window. Cool air rushed across her wet, hot face, but it offered no relief to the inner turmoil boiling inside. She inhaled deeply, taking in the sweet country air.
Moonlight danced across the landscape, reminding her of a bygone time when two lovers had snuck into an abandoned cottage and proclaimed their love.
Stop! Her mind screamed its demand. Stop torturing yourself. He didn’t know her. How could he not know her? She had forbidden those thoughts from manifesting for eight years and they had acquiesced, until one dance brought it all back.
The painting she saw when she first arrived not only stirred those feelings, but also made them worse. He looked so similar to the man in the painting. Could Dante really be related the Earl of Huntingdon? She searched her memory, hoping for some recollection or clue. Nothing came to mind. She really did not know if he was related to this family or not. After all that they had shared, wouldn’t he have said something about being related to an earl?
Images of their brief time together danced through her mind. It had been the most wonderful year of her life. She remembered the first day they met as if it were yesterday.
The days had shortened and the wind had turned cold, but for the first time in over a week, there was not a cloud in the sky. Anastasia remembered that she was supposed to be helping her brother. Previous lashings from her father when he had discovered her disobedience had been sealed in her mind forever, but she could not resist the clear blue sky or the beautiful scenery. It was too nice of a day to be cooped up indoors. She snuck out the back door of their modest home. Her father had asked not to be disturbed while he prepared his sermon. At least she knew that her brother would not be able to tattle on her right away.
Anastasia ran from the house with only one destination in mind. By the time she reached the old abandoned cottage, she was out of breath and giggling with her successful flight. She glanced at that old structure with fondness. One day she wanted to live there. It was in the most perfect location. A large oak shaded it from the summer sun, while a little stream careened around it in the near distance.
Her father had caught her playing there when she was a child and forbade her to ever return. When she questioned why, he scolded her something terribly in front of her siblings. After that humiliation, she never asked again. Her eldest brother had told her that they used to live in that cottage, but after Mother passed away they left and never returned. Anastasia knew the reason why. It was her fault. Everyone blamed her for Mother’s death, but how was a newborn baby responsible for that?
“One day,” she sighed out, lost in her own thoughts.
“One day what?”
Anastasia whipped around and came face to face with most handsome man she had ever seen. His eyes were like sipping chocolate, warm and inviting.
The word squeaked out. “Nothing.” She cleared her throat, attempting to sound more like a woman than a mouse. “It’s…I plan to live here someday,” she had managed to say with pride.
The handsome stranger peered around her. He cringed, clearly noticing the dilapidated state of the structure. Anastasia’s dignity dwindled. She thought he would tease, so when he spoke his next words, it came as quite a shock. “I think it would make a lovely home.” Then he smiled at her and at that moment she knew her world had changed forever.
Too overcome with the new sensations fluttering through her, Anastasia scurried off. She had not even learned his name. That night, so upset, she cried herself to sleep.
The next day had proved to be the worst day of her life, up to that point at least. The torrential rain had prohibited her from journeying out, and worse still, her father was so furious for the previous day’s folly that he had given her extra chores.
By the following day, the rain had stopped, but the sky was still grey. Anastasia knew it was silly to believe that the handsome stranger would appear again, but as soon as her morning chores were complete, she had hurried to the cottage.
Over the years, she had attempted to keep the cottage in the best repair she could. She had spent many hours cleaning it and dreaming of her future. Her heart sank as she neared. He was nowhere to be seen. Feeling disheartened, she walked up the overgrown path and opened the rickety front door that was in need of replacement.
Anastasia stopped short. The table in the small foyer had been uncovered. A simple white vase filled with wildflowers stood proudly in the center. Did someone break in? Her heart pounded, but then reason questioned. Why would a stranger break into an old cottage and bring fresh flowers? Her imagination was really getting the better of her.
Reaching for her necklace, she fingered the cameo. It had been her mother’s. It was the only keepsake she had been given, or rather taken from her mother’s trunk that had been left to rot in the attic.
“Is anyone here?” she called out.
A figure emerged from what was supposed to be a sitting room. Anastasia jumped back and was about to run for her life when sunlight streamed into the small space revealing…her stranger.
“I didn’t mean to frighten you.” He strolled toward her. He was quite tall, and even more handsome than she remembered from just two days ago. “It’s just you left in such a hurry the other day, I didn’t have the opportunity to introduce myself.”
Anastasia was paralyzed, not with fear, but with another, entirely different and unfamiliar feeling. She watched as he moved closer, unable, and simply not wanting to move. Perhaps she should be frightened or at least a little wary, but she was not.
He bowed in front of her. Lifting his gaze, his brown eyes met hers. “Dante St. Clair, at your service, my lady.”
Anastasia’s world had brightened that day, and for many days after, until…
An owl hooting in the distance, the wind rustling through the trees, all sounds from the living world brought her back to her lonely present. Anastasia blinked several times.
“Dante,” she whispered into the night, hoping that the wind would carry her troubles far away. Hot tears stormed down her cheeks. She was tired of being strong, tired of always trying to hide her emotions.
Not tonight.
Clutching the drapes, she gave into the heartache and cried.