Page 8 of The Gilded Masquerade

Glancing down at the book again, he gestured to pick it up. “May I?”

“Please.”

His gloved hand carefully opened the cover. The way he reverently turned each page, until he found what he sought, conveyed his esteem for the words within.

“What meaning,” he asked, pausing on a page, “would you assign to ilex aquifolium?”

She didn’t need to look at the text or the image, reciting softly, “Foresight, defense, and a wish for domestic happiness. The Romans believed the evergreen holly represented good fortune, goodwill, and friendship.”

He considered her. “Fitting sentiments for Yuletide.”

“And for adorning libraries,” she replied. “Which, I believe, are places of safe harbor where the friendship of a good book resides.”

His gaze held hers—unguarded for just a fleeting instant—and something in her chest tightened unexpectedly.

“Yes,” he said quietly, placing the book on the table. “They are … good friends, as you say. Were you seeking safe harbor?”

She thought for a few seconds. “In a manner, yes. Although I dearly love merrymaking, I’m happiest surrounded by words of fantastical adventures, poetry, and especially philosophia naturalis. There is so much to discover.”

“And flowers?”

“Oh, yes! Not only do flowers play an important role in science, they also passively convey words that cannot, or rather, ought not to be spoken.”

He laughed softly. “Fans, parasols, gloves, handkerchiefs and now the language of flowers. The gentlewoman speaks many foreign tongues, all which only seem to bewilder a gentleman, who must decipher whether a rose is an invitation or a warning, or an open parasol is to block the sun or a request for discourse.”

“Indeed, a challenge to be sure. A lady might say the same of a turned down corner or a barely perceptible pencil mark upon a gentleman’s calling card.”

“Yes, the language of courtship is a vexing quandary filled with riddles. I prefer the fundamental laws of employing direct and succinct words. How is a gentleman to discern what is implied when objects do the speaking?”

“As do I, although riddles can be quite entertaining.”

“Riddles are only effective when both parties are speaking the same type of language, then they may be considered an endearing practice,” he stated.

His soft, winsome smile bowled her over.

“As I said … it could be quite amusing. I empathize with your predicament. Imagine the poor young lady who has read so many conflicting manuals she cannot judge which code for which object is the correct one to simply say, ‘how do you do?’”

They both laughed lightly.

“Is this … your refuge?” she asked, suggesting the nook with her hand.

“It is, indeed.”

“I understand why.”

From the ballroom, music and the merry hunt for wealth and titles attempted to spoil the peaceful sanctuary.

But in the quiet glow of the library, with a very agreeable gentleman, she felt suspended in a brief, spellbound hush, like the lantern-lit snowfall. All she heard was the hypnotic mellifluence of his British voice swirling around her beating heart.

Flustered, she stammered, “Forgive me for keeping you from your evening. I … I should return before my aunt grows anxious.”

He nodded, though a shadow of reluctance flickered across his eyes. “As ought I, before my cousin sends a search party.”

Softly smiling, she gave a small curtsey. “Thank you, Mr. …?”—although she knew, and knew he knew she knew, given this was his library, but they continued on with the masquerade.

“Ah. But it is a masquerade, is it not, Miss …?”

Hesitating, she touched the edge of her mask.