A fairy tale unfolding, except the tale had a borrowed gown and the wrong ending.
The jewels had vanished. The music had stopped. And Ash, no, Lord Ashcombe, had proposed to her in the most public, irreversible way possible.
Not to Leticia Salisbury, exactly. But to the woman he believed her to be.
The shock of it hadn’t landed until well after the dancers had scattered, the whispers had started, and Barrington’s sharp command had drawn Ashcombe away. Then her aunt appeared at her side.
“I suspect that wasn’t planned,” her aunt said, her tone dry.
She hadn’t answered for Erica. Or him. She had answered for herself. Leticia could only shake her head. Her hands trembled, but she kept them clasped tightly at her waist.
“I’m told the jewels were real. And now they are very much not here.”
Leticia glanced at her. “Do you believe I had anything to do with it?”
Lady Eastbury arched one eyebrow. “I believe you wore a gown that didn’t belong to you, attended a masquerade you weren’t meant to enjoy, and accepted a proposal that wasn’t yours to receive. That’san impressively full evening.”
“I didn’t plan any of it.”
“I rather assumed that.” She squeezed Leticia’s arm gently. “You needn’t explain yourself to me. But you’ll need to decide how you mean to proceed.”
“I don’t know.”
“Then be certain of your next step, Leticia, because you may not get another. Now go. Get some fresh air. A walk in the garden will do you good. Breathe. Decide.”
So Leticia had stepped into the garden. Not to flee. To think. Her slippers crunched softly on the gravel. The air was cooler here, tinged with sea salt and something quieter. Moonlight, perhaps, or the hush that follows catastrophe.
She stood near the edge of the path, the sounds of the ballroom muffled by distance and clipped hedges. Lanterns glowed along the walkways, soft and low. The pulse in her chest had not yet settled. She stood between two lives, the one she had borrowed and the one she might lose.
She heard his footsteps before he spoke.
“You left quickly,” Ash said.
“I needed air.” Her voice was thinner than she intended.
He stopped a few paces behind her. “I didn’t expect…” He paused. “None of it went how I planned.”
Leticia turned. The moonlight caught the edge of his jaw, the line of his mouth drawn tight.
“You didn’t plan to propose?”
“I didn’t plan to propose to you.”
The words were blunt. Not cruel, but close.
She nodded once, as if confirming something she had long suspected. “And yet, I said yes.”
He looked away. “You didn’t correct me,” he said quietly.
“No.”
A moment passed between them, too full of all the things neither knew how to say.
“I was aware the moment Erica showed,” he admitted. “I should have seen it earlier.”
“Too many masks,” she murmured. “And borrowed gowns.”
He looked back at her then. Not with regret. Not with apology, only awareness.
