dark—it could have been black, blue, or brown for all I know."
Annabella reflected that there had been quite a few men dressed as Cavaliers at the masquerade, and though most of them had dressed in lighter shades, there were a few—her own Cavalier amongst them—who had costumes of a more somber color. It could have been any one of them. But if Lord Bowerland was right, that his rescuer was no more than middling height, perhaps it was the same one as hers. She frowned. How frustrating it was that she had no clue to her Cavalier's identity!
Well, she had one the Cavalier had given her: his kiss. Annabella opened her fan and fanned herself, glad the evening was warm enough to give an excuse for her heated cheeks. A little annoyance rose in her. He had charmed a kiss from her, and she had allowed it. She frowned more deeply. It was no clue at all! She could hardly go about kissing gentlemen to find out if it was indeed him.
"My dear Miss Smith, there is no cause to frown, is there?"
Annabella turned and found the Duke of Stratton gazing down at her. She smiled politely at him. "Oh, no. Only a brief, unpleasant thought that distracted me—inconsequential, I assure you."
"Perhaps a more pleasant diversion would help. A walk out on the balcony, perhaps?"
She gazed at him, at his smiling face and his eyes that never revealed anything more than pleasantness, and suddenly she did not want to walk with him at all. But what excuse could she give? She nodded.
The duke took her hand, laid it on his arm, and led her to the large windowed doors that opened to the balcony. A quick look at the rest of the company made her blush. She could see speculative looks cast her way, and she wished very much that she had found some way to avoid walking out to the balcony. It was not at all a scandalous thing to do, for it was in full view of the rest of the company. She could imagine the thoughts going through the guests' minds, and the feeling of oppression, the desire to turn and flee increased.
As she moved toward the balcony door, she caught another glance from Mr. Wentworth. Once again he looked away from her, in the way he did before, as if he did not want to be caught staring. She remembered how she'd gone to the edge of the Wentworth woods, and how she wished she were not Annabella Smith, but a wild Wentworth instead.
And before the thought was half finished in her mind, she made herself stumble and step heavily on the hem of her dress.
A loud rip echoed through Lady Bowerland's drawing room, and heads turned. Annabella felt her face flame hot, then she hastily seized the seam she'd ripped and drew it modestly toward her.
"Oh, heavens! How clumsy of me!" she exclaimed. She looked apologetically at the duke, who gazed at her with upraised brows. "I am terribly sorry, Your Grace, I simply do not know how I came to stumble so." She looked down at her dress and made a distressed sound. "Oh, dear! I must repair it. Please, if you will excuse me—I cannot go out with you in this condition."
"Of course," Stratton replied and released her hand.
Lady Bowerland was already at her side, clicking her tongue in dismay. "Oh, my! Of course you cannot be in company with your dress torn, Miss Smith. I will get my maid, and you may go to the Grey Room to repair it there."
Annabella smiled gratefully at her. "Thank you, my lady! You are so kind. I really do not know how I came to be so clumsy."
Lady Bowerland waved a dismissing hand. "We all have our accidents, my dear. In fact, I have had many such, though you would not credit it, I am sure! But it is true that I have torn any number of dresses, although, of course, perhaps fewer than most any other lady. Indeed, I have heard it from Lady Jersey herself that she has torn more dresses than I! That was in our childhood, when we were young girls, and it would not happen now—"
"No, my lady, of course I would never think it of you now," Annabella replied, edging away from her hostess toward the
Annabella reflected that there had been quite a few men dressed as Cavaliers at the masquerade, and though most of them had dressed in lighter shades, there were a few—her own Cavalier amongst them—who had costumes of a more somber color. It could have been any one of them. But if Lord Bowerland was right, that his rescuer was no more than middling height, perhaps it was the same one as hers. She frowned. How frustrating it was that she had no clue to her Cavalier's identity!
Well, she had one the Cavalier had given her: his kiss. Annabella opened her fan and fanned herself, glad the evening was warm enough to give an excuse for her heated cheeks. A little annoyance rose in her. He had charmed a kiss from her, and she had allowed it. She frowned more deeply. It was no clue at all! She could hardly go about kissing gentlemen to find out if it was indeed him.
"My dear Miss Smith, there is no cause to frown, is there?"
Annabella turned and found the Duke of Stratton gazing down at her. She smiled politely at him. "Oh, no. Only a brief, unpleasant thought that distracted me—inconsequential, I assure you."
"Perhaps a more pleasant diversion would help. A walk out on the balcony, perhaps?"
She gazed at him, at his smiling face and his eyes that never revealed anything more than pleasantness, and suddenly she did not want to walk with him at all. But what excuse could she give? She nodded.
The duke took her hand, laid it on his arm, and led her to the large windowed doors that opened to the balcony. A quick look at the rest of the company made her blush. She could see speculative looks cast her way, and she wished very much that she had found some way to avoid walking out to the balcony. It was not at all a scandalous thing to do, for it was in full view of the rest of the company. She could imagine the thoughts going through the guests' minds, and the feeling of oppression, the desire to turn and flee increased.
As she moved toward the balcony door, she caught another glance from Mr. Wentworth. Once again he looked away from her, in the way he did before, as if he did not want to be caught staring. She remembered how she'd gone to the edge of the Wentworth woods, and how she wished she were not Annabella Smith, but a wild Wentworth instead.
And before the thought was half finished in her mind, she made herself stumble and step heavily on the hem of her dress.
A loud rip echoed through Lady Bowerland's drawing room, and heads turned. Annabella felt her face flame hot, then she hastily seized the seam she'd ripped and drew it modestly toward her.
"Oh, heavens! How clumsy of me!" she exclaimed. She looked apologetically at the duke, who gazed at her with upraised brows. "I am terribly sorry, Your Grace, I simply do not know how I came to stumble so." She looked down at her dress and made a distressed sound. "Oh, dear! I must repair it. Please, if you will excuse me—I cannot go out with you in this condition."
"Of course," Stratton replied and released her hand.
Lady Bowerland was already at her side, clicking her tongue in dismay. "Oh, my! Of course you cannot be in company with your dress torn, Miss Smith. I will get my maid, and you may go to the Grey Room to repair it there."
Annabella smiled gratefully at her. "Thank you, my lady! You are so kind. I really do not know how I came to be so clumsy."
Lady Bowerland waved a dismissing hand. "We all have our accidents, my dear. In fact, I have had many such, though you would not credit it, I am sure! But it is true that I have torn any number of dresses, although, of course, perhaps fewer than most any other lady. Indeed, I have heard it from Lady Jersey herself that she has torn more dresses than I! That was in our childhood, when we were young girls, and it would not happen now—"
"No, my lady, of course I would never think it of you now," Annabella replied, edging away from her hostess toward the
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