Part 3 (2/2)
Lady Bethany smiled mischievously. ”If you can't discover her, you're a failure as both lover and Guardian. Good day, Ballister.”
He bowed as the older woman left, hardly able to control his excitement. When it came to an affair of the heart, he'd rather have Lady Bethany on his side than a Roman legion. A masquerade would be a chance to get close to Gwynne without setting her hackles up. The free atmosphere would surely create . . . opportunities.
He wasn't worried about locating her. Even if he weren't a Guardian, he could find Gwynne among a thousand masked women.
Gwynne let her hand trail over the side of her friends' boat, her fingers playing with the cool river water. She had been doubtful when she accepted the invitation to attend a masquerade with the Tuckwell family, her closet friends outside of Guardian circles. The couple was older than she, with children near Gwynne's age, but they had become good friends after her marriage, and had been especially kind and supportive after Emery's death. Every fortnight or so Anne Tuckwell invited Gwynne to dinner or some other entertainment.
Though her first impulse was to stay home with her books and Lady Bethany, usually she made herself accept, knowing how easily she might become a hermit. She invariably had a good time, too.
The torch-lit landing and steps up to their destination appeared ahead on the south bank of the river. Though she had attended concerts and other events at Ranelagh, which was a newer, more aristocratic, pleasure garden, this would be her first visit to sprawling New Spring Gardens.
Her initial doubts about the masquerade had been replaced by antic.i.p.ation, for the excitement of the unknown might distract her thoughts from Lord Ballister. Her mind knew that she was right to dismiss him -but other parts of her were not so sure.
Their boat nosed into the jostling group waiting for a place at the landing area. When their gunwale ground against the adjacent boat, one of the occupants, a gentleman in a Roman toga, grinned suggestively at Gwynne. Uneasy that he was within touching distance, she turned away and concentrated on donning her gloves, glad for the concealment of her mask. She wasn't quite ready for half-naked Romans.
Gaily costumed people streamed from the boats and up the brightly lit stairs as strains of orchestra music sounded from the Grove in the center of the gardens. It was a warm night, almost sultry. Perfect for an outdoor masquerade, if it didn't rain. She refused to think about how convenient it would be to have the Lord of Storms with her.
”I have been so looking forward to this evening,” her seatmate said dreamily. Sally Tuckwell, oldest daughter of the family, was nineteen and an unabashed romantic. ”I wonder if William will be able to identify me in this costume and mask? I wouldn't tell him what I was wearing even though he begged to know.”
Gwynne smiled as she regarded the girl's shepherdess garb. ”With your lovely blond hair and graceful figure, I'm sure he'll find you soon. And if not, you can catch him with your shepherd's crook.”
Sally laughed. ”One reason I chose this costume is because the crook can both capture and defend.”
”Now that you and William are engaged, you don't have to defend yourself against him with quite so much vigor,” Gwynne said with twinkling eyes. ”Perhaps he might even lure you down a dark walk to steal a kiss.”
Sally's lips parted as she contemplated the prospect. In later years, when she and William were sober, long-married citizens, they would no doubt exchange private smiles when New Spring Gardens was mentioned, and remember what they had done when they were young and in the first flush of love.
Gwynne shook off a pang of envy that she had never had such moments. She had loved Emery and her only regret was that their marriage hadn't lasted longer-but it would have been pleasant to have had a chance to be as young and giddy as Sally. Though only a few years separated them, Gwynne felt much older.
Their boat finally pulled up to the landing. The boatman and Norcott, a Tuckwell footman, jumped out to steady the craft. Sir George climbed ash.o.r.e, then a.s.sisted his wife up before extending his hand to Gwynne. ”I'll be much envied for escorting such beauty,” he said jovially. ”Three lovely ladies! What gentleman could wish for more?”
Gwynne laughed as she stepped from the rocking boat to solid land. ”That would be more true if we weren't heavily disguised.”
”Ah, but disguise stimulates the imagination,” Anne Tuckwell said. ”Any woman in a domino becomes a mysterious, alluring beauty, and every man can be a handsome prince in disguise.”
Gwynne smiled at Anne's imagination, but privately admitted that there was truth to her words. Not fond of fancy dress, Sir George wore his usual evening attire with only a mask, but Anne and Gwynne wore dominoes that completely covered their evening gowns with hooded cloaks of flowing silk. Anne was graceful in green, while Gwynne wore the s.h.i.+mmering scarlet domino that belonged to Sally.
When Gwynne had first donned the domino, she had thought it garishly bright. Yet in the festival night, she found that the sumptuous color made her feel like a sophisticated, worldly woman. Not like a book mouse at all.
After Sir George had paid their admissions, they walked through the arched pa.s.sage that led into the gardens and stepped onto the tree-lined Grand Walk. Gwynne stopped in her tracks, her eyes widening at the sight of thousands of lamps that brightened the night. Revelers in costume and dominoes filled the long promenade that disappeared into the distance. The sounds of music and gaiety were all around her, and she felt as if she had stepped from the normal world into fairyland.
Laughing, Sally caught her arm to get her moving again. ”It's far too soon to be wonderstruck. The park is filled with delights-cunning statues and bridges, cascades and temples, paintings and music. One could wander for days and not see everything!”
Gwynne resumed walking, the silken folds of the domino rustling luxuriantly. With the deep hood concealing her telltale hair and a closely fitted black half mask, she realized that tonight she had the freedom of anonymity. Her spirits bubbled up as she surveyed the laughing crowd, and for the first time since her mother died, she felt young. She could be as playful and giddy as Sally if she wished. Flirting with mysterious strangers would help her forget that wretched Scot.
Sally said with a touch of anxiety, ”With so many people here, perhaps William won't be able to find me.”
”Your father won't be hard to identify,” Gwynne said practically. ”William will recognize him, and be at your side a moment later.”
Sure enough, as their party prepared to take seats in the supper box Sir George had hired, a das.h.i.+ng, masked cavalier joined them. He bowed, the plumes of his hat brus.h.i.+ng the ground as he swept his arm grandly. ”What a perfect picture of rural innocence you are, my little shepherdess,” he said in William's voice. ”Perhaps I shall steal you away.”
As Sally giggled, Anne said, ”Very well, but see that you bring her back before midnight, n.o.ble sir. Or you'll have to face a mother's wrath.”
He grinned and kissed her hand, then offered his arm to Sally. As the young couple vanished from view, Sir George said, ”Gwynne, would you mind if I took my lady wife for a short stroll?”
The gleam in Anne's eyes demonstrated that it wasn't only the young who found the racy atmosphere exciting, but she hesitated when she glanced at Gwynne. ”We shouldn't leave our guest alone.”
”Nonsense,” Gwynne said. ”With Norcott to look after me, I'll be safe enough in the supper box until you return. I shall listen to the music and watch the pa.s.sing crowd and enjoy myself thoroughly.”
”If you're sure . . .” Anne said, willing to be persuaded.
Gwynne made a shooing motion with her hand. ”Be off with you, and there's no need to rush back. I'll do very well.”
The Tuckwells went off arm in arm. Gwynne expected that when they returned, there would be gra.s.s stains on Anne's domino. Perhaps that was why the older woman wore green? Smiling to herself, Gwynne turned to the supper box, then hesitated. The box would be safe, but she had spent too much of her life as an observer. The pleasure garden called to her, encouraging her to move and explore and see life.
”Norcott, I believe that I shall take a walk myself. Will you follow far enough behind that no one will realize that you are watching over me?”
The footman, a solid middle-aged man, looked uncomfortable. ”For a female to walk alone here suggests that she is . . . is seeking a companion.”
”I'll come to no harm as long as I stay on the lighted walkways. And if someone attempts to force unwanted attentions on me, you'll be there.”
He inclined his head but wasn't quite able to keep a note of disapproval from his voice. ”Very well, my lady.”
Even knowing that Norcott was behind her didn't interfere with Gwynne's glorious sense of freedom as she set out along the graveled walk. Had she ever been alone in a crowded public place like this? Not that she could remember. Glad that she had worn a comfortable round gown that was easy to walk in, she set off at a brisk pace, as if she had a destination. That way she wouldn't be confused with the languid ladies of the night who were trolling for customers.
Her strategy seemed to work. Though the scarlet domino drew speculative glances, no one accosted her. Safe behind her mask, she studied the gardens and her fellow merrymakers. As Sally had said, there were many sights to see, and she enjoyed every one of them. The Grecian temple that housed the orchestra was particularly splendid, with globe lanterns outlining the building's arches and columns.
Watching people was even more amusing. Most were obviously decent citizens out for an evening of pleasure. A toga couldn't conceal a solid merchant, nor did a domino turn a farmer into a prince. But there were a few male figures that stirred her imagination. Like the two lean, scarred men whose army uniforms were clearly earned, not costumes. Or the bored aristocrat whose lazy gaze surveyed the courtesans, as if looking for one worthy of his attentions.
Soon the orchestra that played in the Grove near the entrance could no longer be heard and the crowd was thinning out. She must be nearing the end of the gardens.
She was about to turn back when she reached an open area where a group of musicians on a canopied dais were playing. Below them, men and women were performing a country dance, the men lined up opposite the women. There was much laughter as they joined hands, spun apart, then came together again.
As the last couple clasped hands and skipped up to the head of the set, she halted, foot tapping in time to the music. Wistfully she wished that she was one of those merry dancers.
Against so much movement, her attention was caught by a solitary gentleman in a black domino who stood near the dancers with a stillness so intense it drew the eye. As she watched, she realized that his masked gaze was very slowly scanning the crowd, like a predator seeking his prey.
Abruptly he pivoted on his heel and walked away from the dancers, his movements smooth as a cat. Tall and powerful and clothed in night, he was a man to stir dreams. Maybe he was the prince Anne had suggested, or a rake in search of less innocent pleasures.
Perhaps she should find out. On impulse, she moved on a path that would intersect his. Though she had no skill at flirting, where better to practice than here, where no one knew who she was?
And perhaps he would dance.
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