A Lady to Heal his Scars (Preview)

Chapter One

The soft light of the afternoon sun flitted through the windows of the drawing room in the family estate. A modest yet elegant room, the home of Baron and Baroness of Wycliffe and their two daughters, Miss Miriam Everly and Miss Charlotte Everly, was warm and welcoming. All around the room were works of literature from various parts of the continent as well as numerous small paintings by lesser-known artists. Miriam in particular had an appreciation for these pastimes and her parents had fostered that curiosity whenever possible.

Many days had been passed there by the sisters, reading, delving deep into conversation, debating their opposing views or developing new curiosities. Only three years apart they had been closest companions from a young age on. Now at twenty-three and twenty they were still nearly inseparable.

That particular afternoon the small noble family had gathered there with a rare guest. They had spent the last several hours listening to a slew of beguiling tales of faraway lands. Miriam took a deep breath as she attempted for at least the twentieth time that hour not to roll her eyes. Lounging in the armchair across from her, Edmond Pritchard droned on, boasting about his adventures. The son of their close family friends, Edmund had just returned from traveling abroad and was no doubt hoping to impress the girls with his harrowing stories.

The way he tells this, you would think he was a knight fighting a dragon or some such nonsense. The hero of each story, Miriam thought to herself. Her patience had run out after their afternoon tea. His nonsense was now running into her afternoon reading time, not to mention a dozen other things she would far prefer to be undertaking. After hours of listening to his exaggerated tales of the luxurious foreign lands he had visited that summer she’d had quite enough.

“Oh, and remember that grey mare that I took with me? The one that the Sampson’s bred and raised? Well, the Maharaja himself bought that mare from me and for twice the amount I would have gotten here in England for her! Said he wanted to add new bloodlines to his stable, see if he could add some speed onto the endurance of his horses.” Edmund went on gloating, his eyes elated with greed, “And let me tell you the women of that land. Well, they are something to behold. Quite the contrast to our pail English ladies, they were all transfixed by my presence. The exotic Englishman from a distant land. The way they vied for my attention, I half expected them to brawl with one another.”

Charlotte and her parents continued to politely entertain his stories, nodding or expelling a shocked gasp when appropriate. Miriam wondered if they found the origins of these stories as suspect as she did. For one, she wholly doubted the authenticity of half of what came from Edmund’s mouth, but she was required to sit there and listen quietly, nonetheless. That did not, however, stop her from giving him a quiet disapproving look. Her sharp gaze fell upon Edmund as she internally scoffed at his ramblings.

Of all the self-centered, shallow and arrogant louts in England, why must this one be the one to visit us. I surely hope that father does not consider him as a suitor for either Charlotte or I, neither of us would be able to stand him! The grimace that appeared on her face at that thought must have given away her utter disregard for their guest.

“Such a dastardly hideous look for a face so beautiful as yours Miss Everly. What seems to have you all turned about?” Edmund asked haughtily as he smiled at her. “Something I said perhaps?”

“I simply find your stories of women feigning for your attention and all this boasting of accumulated wealth distasteful.” She said this quite blatantly, much to the displeasure of her family members. “While I can surely see the benefit in accumulating new business relations it cannot be fruitful in the long run to make such exuberant demands upon first patronage. Why as soon as someone else comes along with less demands, what keeps them from jumping ship from your dealings?” she said bluntly, much to the displeasure of her family around them.

“Miriam.” Her father warned in a tense voice. “Do not disrespect our guests in that manner. Mind your manners. My apologies Edmund, Miriam must not be feeling well.”

The look he gave her as he made the excuse was a warning. She was crossing a fine line between respectful disagreement and inhospitable nature. Which would be just another in a long line of improprieties she had made. Miriam was not known for her tactfulness, in fact quite the opposite. Unlike her sister she was prone to have a quick temper, a sharp tongue and a razor-sharp sense of pridefulness. These traits had embarrassed her father on numerous occasions. It was one thing to have strong willed daughters who knew their place, it was quite another to have one who was not afraid to speak her mind.

“It’s quite alright, I’m rather intrigued at the lady’s thoughts on the matter,” Edmund waved a hand for her to continue. “How is it distasteful?”

She looked at her sister for the briefest of moments, Charlotte was shaking her head silently pleading her older sister to stay her tongue. After a moment of deliberation however, Miriam decided she would not keep silent. The man had asked for her opinion, and she was happy to give it to him, unencumbered. Charlotte saw the moment the decision was, a sigh escaping as her cheeks reddened in embarrassment. Her sister then opened her wrist fan and began fanning herself quickly, no doubt attempting to hide the blush.

“The way you tell it you did all these wonderfully gallant things all on your own. If I remember correctly you were on this trip by your father’s arrangement. Aren’t almost all of these holdings with which you made transactions from his? Furthermore, telling women of society—especially youthful and unwed women who may have or may not have considered you as a suitor at one time or another—that you were surrounded by scantily clad women and could have your pick of them whenever you wanted is distasteful in the extreme. All of which makes you sound arrogant, shallow, even disreputable.” She challenged, head held high, back straight. Meanwhile, her mother had begun the same action as Charlotte, both women’s cheeks reflecting a slight flush of embarrassment as Miriam spoke her mind without reservation. “Why, listening to you, it would seem that all there is to a man’s life is money and women. Which is quite narrow minded don’t you think?”

“You have quite the sharp tongue, Miss Everly. I wonder if that’s why you remain unattached as of yet?” Edmund smirked.

With a raise of her brow she retorted, “Perhaps, Mr. Pritchard. Or perhaps I simply have standards.”

The air was thick with tension as the room waited to see who would say what next. No one made a move to interject between the two locked in their battle of wills. Knowing it would do no good where Miriam was concerned.

With a chuckle Edmund stood, a perceptive smile crossing his face. Turning to her mother and then her sister he acknowledged them both and then to her father he said, “It’s time I take my leave. I believe I may have outworn my welcome this afternoon. We shall speak more another time about the far-off wonders.”

Her father rose from his seat to escort Edmund out. Giving her a disapproving look as he passed by.

As he withdrew from the room Miriam heard Edmund mutter something about how some women never learn their place. He didn’t bother to acknowledge her and despite the blatant rudeness of the action she took no offense. His was not the first male ego that she had harmed and surely it would not be the last. She felt no remorse for her words, a lout was a lout even when dressed in silk clothing from faraway places.

Once both men had retired from the room and were far from earshot Charlotte dropped her fan into her lap in a huff, turning to Miriam and exclaiming, “Why must you always challenge people like that? You never simply let things go. Perhaps his stories were far-fetched and not fully truthful. But was it hurting you to be quiet and polite as a lady is expected to be?”

“And why should I?” Miriam retorted, folding her arms across her chest, “Should I simply nod along while he sits here and spews that blasphemy to inflate his ego? I will not waste my time on men who think their wealth, travels and ‘experiences’ make them superior. Why on earth would you, Charlotte?”

Throwing her hands up in exasperation Charlotte groaned in frustration before storming from the room. Their father had returned to the study just in time to hear the sisters exchange and was now exchanging a tired look with their mother.

“Miriam,” he said with a sigh, “go make amends with your sister. It won’t do to have the two of you at odds. It’s been a long day as it is.”

She groaned, “Very well. But that’s not to say I was wrong in what I said!”

They didn’t bother to respond as she briskly left the room, pursuing her sister. Miriam slowed as she walked up the hallway, then up the stairwell that led to Charlotte’s chamber. Usually, the two of them were of similar mindsets when it came to the peacocking of the men around them. Charlotte’s reaction this evening was out of character and concerning.

Reaching the door, Miriam took a deep breath before knocking softly. For a moment she thought Charlotte would not grant her entrance, but finally she answered.

“Come in,” Charlotte’s voice was quiet and distant. Opening the door slowly Miriam looked around the room for her. Finally, her eyes fell on her seated in the windowsill, looking out the window. As she approached she realized she had been crying. Silent tears streaking down her cheeks. Her irritation softened replaced by a pain in her chest.

“I didn’t mean to make you cry, dearest,” Miriam said as she knelt beside her, gently taking her hand.

“It’s not you.” She wiped the tears away with her other hand, “you just happened to catch me at the wrong time is all. I don’t know how else to put it.”

“What is it that really is troubling you, Charlotte?” Miriam asked with concern. It wasn’t like Charlotte to keep things from her, generally they told each other everything. “If it wasn’t me there must be something else deeply bothering you.”

She didn’t answer at first, still looking out the window, the look in her eyes distant. After a long pause, she began to tell Miriam all that she had been hiding in her heart.

“I met someone, sometime ago actually,” she divulged, “he is kind and respectable and he loves me. And Miriam, I love him.”

Her tone increased with excitement as she spoke.

“Where did you meet him? How? I have so many questions!” Miriam burst out excitedly. She was both surprised and thrilled by her sister’s revelations. All she had ever wanted for Charlotte was to be happy and to be in love, especially with those affections returned. Was there anything that could make one happier?

“We met last season at the Countess DeClare’s dinner party. He was set beside me and was so kind even when I was so shy and unsure of myself. Oh Miriam, he’s so charming and handsome. Did I mention he is quite handsome?” Charlotte went on enthusiastically, “He is a Marquess, and Father would approve. I just know he would. We wish to be married.”

“So why doesn’t he court you properly then if Father would approve?” Mirriam forgot in her excitement that she herself was her sister’s hold up. The look Charlotte gave her brought reality back to her. Tradition would not allow her younger sister to wed until she herself was married first. “Oh…”

“That’s why I’ve kept it a secret. I’m sorry Miriam,” her voice a near-whisper, “I know it’s unfair. And I shouldn’t pressure you. You have every right to choose your own path. I just… I admire how fearless you are.”

“You have nothing to apologize for,” Miriam was touched by her sister’s thoughtfulness and pulled her into a warm embrace, “still you should have told me instead of bottling this all up inside. I would have shared in your excitement even before.”

Pulling away from one another they looked at one another with a new respect. Bound by more than blood, they were bound by their admiration of one another. Miriam had always stood up for Charlotte and despite being the youngest, Charlotte had always looked out for Miriam, in her own quieter way.

“Come, let’s walk in the garden. The fresh air will help us think.” Miriam pulled Charlotte to her feet, and they walked arm-in-arm down the stairs, and out the back door to the gardens.

“Do you truly love him?” Miriam finally asked when she was sure they would not be overheard. This far from the main house there would be no one, not even servants at this time of the evening. They would all be inside working to prepare to serve dinner.

“Yes, I truly do.”

“And you are sure that he feels the same?”

“Yes.” Charlotte assured her.

“Alright. Then I guess that settles it, I’d better start looking for a suitor of my own choosing. Once I’m engaged, he can come forward to father and ask for your hand. I am sure that will be acceptable. The wedding won’t be able to take place until after my own, of course. But there’s plenty of time to plan all of that…” Her voice trailed off as she became lost in thought. She had always been independent, determined to go her own way and build her own future. But for Charlotte’s happiness, she wondered—could she sacrifice her own freedom?

Chapter Two

The massive black thoroughbred stallion cut through the mist with ease, eating up the ground beneath his hooves and propelling them across the countryside in great strides. Dorian Blackwood, Duke of Ravenshire was right at home on the horse’s back with the feeling of the cold air lashing him in the face. It made him feel alive like nothing else did these days. Beside him was his friend, Viscount William Hawthorne, keeping pace. Though slightly smaller, the chestnut stallion he was riding matched the black’s stride almost step for step.

As they neared the edge of Ravenshire estate, his home, Dorian reined in his horse. This was as good a place to take a break as any. He needed the small reprieve before he returned to the solitude of the estate. On the back of his horse, hidden from sight by the misty air around them, he could feel free—if only for a moment. He turned the massive stallion in a few circles before he quieted the horse completely. William’s own horse settled with less enthusiasm, ignoring the other completely. Instead, he merely displayed its irritation at their interlude with aggressive flips of its head, and an attempt to pull the reins from his rider’s hands and continue the sprint.

“Quit. Behave yourself, you brute.” Dorian scolded his horse as it swung its hip toward William’s horse sharply. He had raised the stallion and was familiar with its antics. It did not enjoy having to share its space. Ears flickering, it danced a moment longer. Finally accepting the request to stand still with a snort. “That’s better.”

“Still running away from it all, old friend?” William asked with a smirk, his blue eyes glimmering with good humor, blonde hair tousled by the wind from their ride. “You cannot run from everything and everyone you know. It’s simply not possible. Everything will catch you eventually. You won’t be able to hide out here forever either, your father won’t allow it.”

“I’m not running, or hiding for that matter,” Dorian replied, impassively. Not looking to rehash this conversation once again. As irritated as it made him, it inevitably came up each time they met. He went on matter-of-factly, “I’ve never been running, don’t paint me a coward. I’m simply protecting myself. You would do the same if our roles were reversed.”

That is as true today as it was yesterday and the day before, he reaffirmed to himself. Reassuring himself—for perhaps the millionth time—that he was not wrong to stay secreted away at his estate. The accusations of ‘running’ or worse ‘hiding’ had never sat well with him. It was bad enough he got it from his father, he didn’t need to hear it from his closest friend as well. Truly he felt that neither of them understood his plight.

Hiding would be crawling into a dark hole and never leaving. Here I have the freedom to move about, without judgement or fear. Without having to deal with people. I stay here because it’s peaceful… far away from gawking stares and prying people.

William was his closest friend, and had been since well before his current state had come to fruition. Sure, he would jab at him here and there about his reclusive tendencies; but he didn’t mean any harm in his words. He understood Dorian’s reasons, even if he did feel they were a bit over the top. No matter how much William willed it he could no more change Dorian’s mind than he himself could change the reasons for his solidarity.

His father had sent him to the top doctors in the country and none of them had been able to help him with his condition. After several years of trying, he had tired of the constant poking and prodding, as well as the pitying stares. He had given up any hope of recovery and made the decision to withdraw to the countryside on a permanent basis. Spending much of the time since trying to dissuade others from being concerned about him and his lack of societal inclusion, now he just stayed indifferent to the discussion altogether. Otherwise, it would try his patience and set off his temper. After all, it was nice to have someone around every now and again, to have someone remaining who cared if he lived or died. Even though he preferred seclusion he did like some amount of human contact and losing his only remaining friend would certainly put a damper on his meager social life.

“Ah, is that what we are calling it these days? Protection? From whom exactly? The opinions of others? Since when did that ever stop you from partaking in things in the past?” William chuckled with light exacerbation, shaking his head, his blonde locks ruffling back to their normal fall.

“That was before, when I still believed there was a chance of recovery. This is now. I know that there is no hope and no solution. Things changed, you know that.” he said firmly, “The seclusion is worth not being gawked at constantly. Making babies cry and what not.”

“You’re being a bit dramatic my friend, don’t you think? In all honesty, how long do you intend to go on this way? How long are you going to exclude yourself from the rest of the world? For one, your father will not put up with it indefinitely” William argued, “and for another it’s not healthy.”

“Since I realized that people are worthless, cruel, judgmental animals. That medicine is clearly not advanced enough and that my only remaining worth to my father is to be married off in some business arrangement for pure alliance. With or without my approval I may add, the next debutante that shows up on my doorstep will be the last straw. He goes too far,” he insisted with an exhale, his jaw tight. “And I will stay like this for as long as it takes. This world, especially not the soft social world of England, is not ready for my kind yet. As a matter of fact, there is a good chance that it may never be.”

By ‘my kind’ he meant the bruised, the broken, the less than perfect. The Ton was full of beautiful women, lavishly dressed men with brilliant features. No, the society he had grown up a part of was made up of the brilliantly glowing diamonds of the English upper class. Individuals such as him were kept apart from those at its center, cast away to the edges where they were spoken of like whispers and rarely if ever seen.

William did not respond for a long minute. Silently contemplating his words, the look on his face told Dorian that he was undergoing an internal debate on whether it was of any value continuing the argument at that time. Then with a hearty laugh and a second shake of his head he chose to drop the subject. Dorian was thankful. They’d had this very same discussion on numerous occasions over the past few years, and there were plenty more to come.

For now. He’ll find a way to bring the conversation back around before the day’s end, he always does, Dorian scoffed internally. It’s a wonder Father and he have not joined forces to dissuade me from this path. Sometimes it surely felt as if they already had.

William was not the only person close to him that disagreed with his choice to stay in solitude at this country estate. His father had been after him for months to return to London, return to his duties as befitting his status in the family. To hunker down and choose a debutante to betroth, to provide heirs, and so on and so forth.

The truth was that he wasn’t ready to return, to face the Ton and its cruel nature. He hadn’t yet resigned himself to settling with some beautiful debutante that would never want to be seen with him. That wouldn’t be able to stand the sight of him. He wasn’t ready to live under such bleak circumstances.

Not giving them a chance to break the reprieve from that particular conversation, he turned his horse toward the manor and signaled it back into a full gallop. It didn’t take long for William to follow suit beside him. A smile on his face as they raced back to the manor, one last spurt of freedom for the morning.

The chestnut horse tried hard to surpass the black over the last stretch of their journey, but its legs were just too short, and in the end the black still led by several yards. Foam was present on both horses from the exercise and the men handed them off to the waiting stable hands with instructions to hand walk them extensively before rinsing and stabling them. With a pat on his horse’s powerful shoulder, Dorian stepped off toward the house, confident his instructions would be followed. Glancing briefly at William who was giving his horse a treat out of his saddle bag Dorian grunted, waving a hand dismissively, he’ll catch up.

“We almost had you,” William gloated with laughter, trotting to match pace with Dorian as he headed toward the main door. “One of these days, I tell you, one of these days, we will win.”

Dorian chuckled at his enthusiasm. Not even close, he thought. Then unable to resist teasing him a little, he said “Sure you will, when horses can fly. The chestnut wings may still be growing, though I didn’t see a trace of them today.”

“We will be in the drawing room, George, have someone bring tea and something to eat.” Dorian alerted the butler as he met them. Taking their riding whips and coats from them as they reached the top of the short entry stairway and entered the front room.

“Yes, Your Grace.” George replied with a quick bow before rushing off down the hallway to the right of the main staircase to do as he was bid.

William followed Dorian down the opposing hallway which led to the drawing room. It was by far Dorian’s favorite room with its vivid green velvet chairs, matching settee and heavy oak furniture; it was both dark and welcoming all at once. Like most of Ravenshire, it was dark and brooding on the exterior but soft and welcoming on the inside, much like its master.

Only the formal parlor and the dining room had been lifted slightly with lighter colors, grays and whites amid the dark nearly black greens. The one commonality between all three of the rooms was the presence of a pianoforte within. Dorian being an accomplished pianist found solace in his music, its presence the only light in his otherwise dark existence. When he was forced to host or socialize he often retreated to his music to calm his own rattled nerves and short temper.

William flopped into one of the armchairs while Dorian sat more gracefully across from him. The mood in the room was surprisingly light. The ride had apparently done them both good.

“Your Grace,” Anna, one of the maids, appeared in the doorway, a silver tray in her hands. “A special invitation arrived for you while you were out.”

As she stepped closer Dorian could see that the envelope contained no ordinary invitation, a gilded seal upon its wax closure. As Anna paused before them, William snatched it off the tray before Dorian, who grumbled disapproval at the man’s forwardness.

“Thank you, that will be all.” He dismissed her, and Anna bowed slightly before retreating quickly. Turning to his dastardly friend he said, “I believe she said it was addressed to me. Not you. Last I checked your invitations go to your estate, not mine.”

“Oh, stop complaining, let’s see what it’s about shall we?” He had already torn the seal and was reading the contents, a mischievous grin consuming his face, “A masquerade ball! How wonderful! Now that is exactly what you need. Music, dancing, entertainment, time away from this dark, dank home of yours.”

“Hardly.” Dorian scoffed, narrowing his brows grumpily, “And my home is not dark and dank. I just prefer the richer, earthier tones, they make me feel at home.”

“Yes, this is exactly what you need. A chance to get out into society, enjoy yourself, meet people. Without your normal concerns of judgement. It’s a masquerade ball, that means lavish costumes and even more lavish masks to hide one’s identity.” William argued, giving him a look that said, ‘you’re going.’ “Not a soul will know it’s you! You have no excuses this time. Besides, look at who is hosting you cannot turn it down. It would be indecent not to accept.”

Handing the letter over, Dorian took it in his hands. Reading it in its entirety with mild apprehension. He was right, he wouldn’t be able to refuse this one and avoid further social ruin. There was already enough rumor milling around his name, his father would not tolerate him giving the masses any further fodder.

With a deep sigh of resignation, he accepted that William was right, and he would in fact be attending the masquerade. He could not refuse, he just had to be brave enough to make it through the occasion. His mind started wandering to mask designs, running through scenarios until he had a design that would hide the entirety of the left side of his face. For a fleeting moment, a glimmering feeling of something akin to anticipation or maybe it was excitement that dawned within him.

“Perhaps you are right,” he admitted hesitantly, “this may be exactly what I need.”

“There he is! I knew your good-natured self must still be somewhere inside that dark brooding body of yours,” William teased. “Now, what shall we wear?”

Dorian couldn’t help but smirk, perhaps this will be a nice change of pace after all.

Chapter Three

The air was thick with excitement as their carriage neared the front of the line, music lofting through the open windows. As it rolled to a stop in front of the entrance to the grand masquerade ball, anticipation brewed in the two young women passengers. Exchanging an exhilarated look, the sisters clasped hands and squealed in excitement before recomposing themselves and exiting the carriage. They stepped down on the iron step with the assistance of their footman.

It was the first time they had been allowed to attend such an event without being escorted by their mother and father, who had chosen not to attend the festivities this year, much to the ultimate surprise of their daughters. They had placed their trust in the girls fully to represent the family with honor and grace on their behalf. The decision was slightly taboo, as neither of the women was betrothed nor married. However, the choice had been financially motivated and at the end of the day the best way for them to make advantageous matches was to be out among the masses of society.

We will make you proud, Miriam silently vowed, reflecting on her mother’s look of pride as she had helped the girls get ready for the evening. She had carefully curled and pinned each of their hair in styles befitting their hair type. Miriam’s brown hair curly with volume; Charlotte’s similarly-colored hair just the opposite—straight and silky—pinned up into loose spirals with their mother’s own bobbles. Miriam knew it had been difficult for her to send her daughters out without her, but she had held back from divulging her worries. She could tell, though, the need for them to make suitable matches and save the family’s standing was becoming more and more dire by the day.

“So do I get to meet your mystery love this evening?” She inquired quietly as they ascended the steps to the entrance.

“Soon sister, soon. Tonight is a masquerade, no one is supposed to be able to recognize anyone. Wouldn’t meeting him defeat the very purpose of the festivities?” Charlotte responded gleefully.

Dozens of voices in joyous discussion sounded through the doorway as they stepped across the courtyard and as they headed up the steps the sound amplified. Miriam was in a dress of deep emerald-green, complete with a matching mask featuring gold accents, in patronage to their host partially covering her face. While Charlotte wore a deep purple gown with a gold threaded bodice, her mask was less intricate but still complemented her dress. Despite their families ailing finances the girls had both been able to muster up suitable gowns for the occasion, taking on the task of making their own masks to match. Charlotte was half the artist that Miriam was and while she had offered to help her sister, she had insisted on them making their own.

“Hmmm. Perhaps,” she acquiesced finally. Whispering teasingly, “But mark my words, Charlotte. I will figure out who it is. I’m a fine detective after all.”

Charlotte just smiled and winked playfully in response. They were almost to the front of the line to be introduced by the herald. Not by name of course, instead by their costume. Miriam could feel the bubbling excitement rolling off of her younger sister as her eyes wandered the guests gathered therewithin. Disappearing only moments later into the swirling crowd gathered around them. Miriam highly suspected her sister had gone in search of her secret love. She would have to keep an eye out and see if she could gander a look at the mystery man. Though she had finally confided in Miriam what had been weighing so heavily on her, Charlotte had refused to share his name with her.

Left alone, she wandered into the crowd exchanging brief hellos as she went. Nabbing a glass of wine from the tray of a passing servant she sipped on it with deliberate pretentiousness. When no one in particular took notice of her she sighed, she had hoped for some semblance of entertainment tonight. Settling along the wall she gazed out at the dance floor, admiring the swirling skirts of various colors.

It is going to be a very long, very boring night, if I have to stand here alone, she thought with a deep sigh.

A mere moment later an extraordinarily striking figure caught her eye moving amongst the crowd to a spot further up the wall to her right. Tall with broad shoulders and brown hair he moved gracefully through the crowd unhindered, as the guests parted for him. It wasn’t just the utterly exquisite craftsmanship of the mask itself. It framed his eyes in a way that made them stand out. It was intricately graced with golden flaking, that through delicate brushwork formed a sort of lace pattern from cheek to cheek. As an artist she could not help but notice. Yet it was his hauntingly beautiful dark eyes that shone through it that mesmerized her instantly. He was watching her with an unreadable expression.

Intense, dark, his presence was powerful. When his gaze locked with hers, her breath caught, a sudden blanket of goosebumps covering her skin. Her pulse raced, unsteady, she quickly looked away. A nearly painful thrill shooting through her chest. What was that?

In a wild game of cat and mouse the two of them circled through the crowd, slowly being drawn together by their growing curiosities. Fate drew them together moments before the first chords of a waltz started up, with only a smile in greeting he extended his hand to her. With only a mere moment’s hesitation she took it and let him lead her onto the dancefloor. They took up their position alongside the pairs already gathered there.

As they took their first steps in perfect balance, that thrill shot through her again. It seemed effortless when they moved through the steps, their dance flowing with skill and grace. She was taken aback by the way their bodies oriented around each other. It was oddly natural, knowing without question where the other would move to. As though they had danced this dance together a million times before, surely far longer than that single dance. The world narrowed around them until it felt as though it was just the two of them.

They didn’t speak, living fully in the brilliance of this moment. His eyes never left hers and for a moment she saw something real, something raw within them. Such an intense feeling of belonging overcame her that she was both disappointed and relieved when the final notes came, and the song ended. Bowing formally then rushing to the open air of the balcony beyond.

I can’t breathe…

Stopping there with her hands on the railing to stead herself, her mask forgotten in one and the cold marble in the other. Overwhelmed by the unexpected connection she had just shared with a complete stranger. Either she had held her breath through that dance, or her mystery man had stolen her breath away completely. Either way she needed the immediate relief of fresh air in her lungs.

It wasn’t more than a minute before she felt those dark eyes watching her from the shadows. He had followed her, pausing only briefly before stepping onto the terrace beside her. As drawn to her it seemed as if she was drawn to him. Miriam looked at him and their eyes met again. An odd expression crossed behind those dark eyes of his, something akin to hope.

“You left in quite a hurry,” he remarked, his voice as dark and rich as his eyes, the sound of it only adding to the moment.

“I… that is to say…” she stumbled on her words, surprised by his voice. Usually articulate and strong, words escaped her briefly. Clearing her throat, she recovered swiftly. “The air inside was quite stifling after such a dance. Don’t you think? After all, you did follow me out here.”

“Who’s to say I followed you and did not intend to come out here as well?” He challenged her with a playful grin.

“Perhaps. Or perhaps you did follow me. Only you can know the answer.”

Standing so close, she could see the intricacies of his mask. The gold flaking wasn’t all that made up the lace pattern. She could make out small flakes of colored glass, lining the edges to create a contrast. The way the two met looked smooth and she longed to touch it.

“You know it’s rude to stare don’t you?” There was that voice again, startling her attention back to the person behind the mask.

“I’m sorry,” she blushed, “I was admiring your mask. You’re still wearing it, you know.”

Tensing he replied, “I prefer it.”

“It’s beautiful, who is the artist?”

“I am.”

“You? Truly?” She said with some surprise, such talent was rare.

“Truly, My Lady.” His voice was slightly less tense now, though his shoulders did not relax.

“A mask, while beautiful, cannot hide everything can it?” She said, smiling playfully. Her mind wandered back to the artistry of it. Reaching out absently her fingertips grazed the edge of it.

He flinched away, pulling back as if by instinct, stepping back sharply. His voice suddenly became harsh and clipped, “Don’t you dare touch it!”

Recoiling, she was stunned by the sudden shift in his demeanor. Unwarranted at best, she had simply been curious about the texture of it. Her expression hardened, offended at his churlish behavior.

“The mask certainly cannot hide your rudeness.” She barked, turning on her heel without another word. Striding away, leaving him in turmoil rooted in the place they had been standing.

Intent to leave the ball then and there she went in search of Charlotte, as they had arrived together, they would need to leave together. Her socialness was depleted for the night, irritation brewing within her. The night had taken such a beautiful turn then just as quickly turned into disappointment. Miriam had no desire to stay and resume being a bored wallflower.

Wandering through the hall she searched for her sister to no avail. Passing one of the numerous alcoves off of the main hall she heard tidbits of a conversation between two young ladies she knew only from pleasant introductions. The name Margaret, that of her lady’s maid, had passed their lips and caught her attention. Sure, there were a few Margarets in their common circles, it was the words that followed the name that had drawn her attention.

“They’re absolutely hideous!” one was saying. “Can you imagine?”

“No, truly I cannot. I’d break every mirror there was to avoid seeing myself. Let alone go out in public!” the second exclaimed.

Margaret had suffered an abnormal amount of face bumps throughout her teenage years and now at twenty and two her skin was marred with scars. Fury ignited within Miriam as she listened to them continue on about how monstrous the scars would be for them.

“How dare you!” She finally interjected, her voice sharp as a blade. Instantly drawing the shocked attention of both women, frozen in place they gaped at her as she went on, “You think yourselves so beautiful? So perfect? You’re nothing but pitiful creatures, entertaining yourself with the suffering of others! Margaret’s beauty is far beyond anything you could ever understand, either of you. For it is not that her beauty is merely skin deep, it is deep within her very being. It is the individual’s character that matters above all else. That is true beauty, a sort of beauty you will never possess. Nor do I expect you to understand from the sounds of this conversation. But tell me. What good is a flawless face when your soul is so ugly?”

Angered for the second time within the hour she turned abruptly to storm away, continuing the now desperate look for her sister. When she did so however, she nearly collided with a familiar tall, dark and brooding figure. He was standing so close, yet she had not heard him approach amid her angst with the two snotty women—still staring at her like a deer under a hunter’s gaze. He too was gaping at her, only with a far different look. Judging from the way he was looking at her she would suppose that he witnessed the entire scene. Something in his gaze had shifted since their last moment together when he had been so uncouth.

Mask still in hand she didn’t spare him another look, choosing not to linger. She swept past him, only barely recognizing the shaky breaths he was taking as she did so. Despite the offense that she still felt at his earlier behavior the sight of him made her heart race once again. Try as she might she could not ignore the way he made her feel or the way they had danced together… as if they had known each other forever.

Overwhelmed to the maximum she gave up on attempting to find her sister and made her way to the foyer. Asking one footman to have her carriage brought around, she asked another to locate Charlotte and tell her that she was leaving. Giving her the option to join her now to retire for the evening or to find her own way home later on. I can always have the driver return for her, she told herself. Her emotions were in overdrive and for the first time in many years she felt as if she wanted to cry. The feeling was unsettling and distasteful.

You will not cry over some mannerless man you’ve probably never met before, nor will again, she chastised herself. The night had not gone at all how she had expected. Now she almost wished she hadn’t even attended. Only then, she wouldn’t know what it was like to be so completely in sync with another person. Before tonight she hadn’t even known that that was possible.

I don’t even know his name.