There was suspicion in his voice. “You’re American?”
“Yes,” Mrs. Gunther replied.
“You’ll be a novelty, then.” He stepped out of the way of the door and opened it. “You’ll find the masks on the oak table just inside the entrance.”
Mrs. Gunther eyed him incredulously. “Masks?”
Clara nudged her through the door before she could question him further about the mask theme, for Clara did not wish to appear as if they did not belong. She wanted to fit in.
Once they were inside, Mrs. Gunther said, “I did not like that man.”
“Neither did I. I’ll feel better when we see Sophia and James.”
They found a large crystal bowl full of feathered masks just inside the door, and Clara chose a cream-colored one to bring out the auburn highlights in her dark brown hair.
A woman walked by while they were donning their masks, and Clara could have sworn she wasn’t wearing a corset. Clara’s lips fell open. She was about to say something to Mrs. Gunther but caught herself. Surely, she had been mistaken.
They withdrew to the cloak room to freshen up, then made their way across the crowded grand hall toward the ballroom.
As soon as Clara stepped inside, her mood lifted. She relaxed and cleared her mind of all the mistakes she feared she would make, for what a dazzling room it was. Couples swirled around the floor in bright splashes of color and glitter. The music from the orchestra seemed to come from the blue beyond, so skilled were the musicians, and all the ladies and gentlemen looked elegant and happy.
A footman approached with a tray of champagne and offered glasses to Clara and Mrs. Gunther.
Mrs. Gunther shook her head and waved a hand to decline. The man’s brow furrowed, and he looked at them strangely. “Really, you must,” he said in a pleasant tone, raising the tray toward them again. “Lord Livingston would be disappointed if you didn’t try it.”
Clara, still wanting to fit in, took a glass of the bubbly and carefully sipped, savoring its delicious taste and delighting in the way it poured heat through every limb. The footman winked at her as he left.
“Did you see that?” she said to her chaperone.
Mrs. Gunther touched her arm. “Pardon me? Oh, my dear, you don’t have a dance card.” She stopped a lady passing by and asked her.
Clara left the issue of the winking footman alone.
The woman, wearing a black and white feathered mask and a garnet gown trimmed in velvet, laughed. “We don’t bother with nameshere,”she said, then continued on her way.
Clara suddenly felt as if she’d followed Alice down the rabbit hole.
“Perhaps it’s because the Prince is coming,” Mrs. Gunther surmised. “They say he is not at all as prim as his mother, and he prefers to move with the fast set.”
“What if someone asks me to dance?” Clara whispered. “What about introductions?”
“No one else seems to be bothering with them.” Mrs. Gunther’s concerned gaze swept the room, and her voice took on that haughty tone again. “This is highly improper. Where is Sophia? I would like her to explain what we are expected to—”
At that moment, a young gentleman with gold spectacles and fair hair approached and bowed. “May I have the honor of a dance?”
Clara glanced at Mrs. Gunther who hesitated at the man’s informality, then nodded, albeit reluctantly. Clara was surprised her chaperone allowed it without a proper introduction, but she supposed the woman felt as anxious and out of place as she did and didn’t want these eminent lords and ladies to know it.
So, not wishing to defy her chaperone, Clara allowed the gentleman to take her champagne glass and set it on a table. She then accepted his gloved hand and walked onto the floor with him. They danced a waltz—she had yet to see any other dance performed—and when it ended, he escorted her back to Mrs. Gunther, thanked her, and went on his way.
“That was lovely,” Clara said, “but this is not at all how Sophia described it. She said the necessity for social graces was as bad, if not worse than New York, and she’d had a very difficult time. That man did not even know who I was, nor I he.” She leaned closer to Mrs. Gunther, and whispered, “A few of the gentlemen aren’t wearing gloves. Look at that man there.”
Another couple twirled by.
Mrs. Gunther raised her chin in the air. “I don’t know what the world is coming to. We may be approaching the end of a century, but I hardly think society should act in such an uncivilized manner—noble or otherwise. Why, at one ofmyballs....”
Just then, a tall, imposing gentleman entered the ballroom. Clara’s attention flitted away from her chaperone’s social commentary and landed lightly upon the man now standing just inside the doors. He wore a black suit with tails and a white necktie and waistcoat, and his hair—golden and wavy like ripe wheat in the wind—was an unfashionable length, reaching his shoulders. He stepped into the room with his hands clasped behind his back and tossed his head in a most arrogant manner, throwing an errant lock of that golden hair away from his face.
He wore a black mask that matched his attire, and consequently Clara could only see his chin and mouth. It was a beautiful mouth, she decided as she watched him move closer and smile and nod at a passing gentleman. A mouth with full lips and perfect white teeth. There was a deep dimple centered on his chin, and his angular jaw was firm. Clara took another slow sip of the champagne.
