Page 57 of The Maid of Fairbourne Hall

Relieved at Craig’s interference, Margaret made a mental note to be nicer to the young man in future and continued to the salon.

At one of its double doors, she lingered, getting a lay of the land.

Two older gentlemen stood in front of her, taking turns speaking loudly into one another’s ears to be heard over the music.

She hovered a few feet behind them, using the men as a sort of shield as she took in her surroundings.

At one end of the room, a five-piece orchestra played.

At the other, a punch table stood ready to offer refreshment.

In the center of the room, twelve couples danced.

She spied her sister, Caroline, among the dancers. Her partner: Marcus Benton.

Her heart soured to see sweet Caroline in his arms. Caroline smiled as she reached her hands forward to Marcus, who caught them with a grin of his own as the ladies and gentlemen changed sides in the dance.

Obviously Caroline did not know what sort of man Marcus really was.

She saw only his good looks and charm. As had Margaret, initially.

Thank goodness her little sister had no fortune to tempt the man—at least, not into marriage.

Would Caroline even heed a warning if Margaret managed to get close enough to impart the words?

She had to try.

She waited until the set ended and Marcus escorted Caroline back to their mother.

Oh! Margaret’s heart pricked with a sudden needle of homesickness at seeing her mother’s graceful form.

But then Sterling Benton appeared at her mother’s side, handing her a glass of punch, and Margaret’s heart dulled.

She would never have the courage to approach Caroline or her mother while they were standing with him.

She wished Caroline might excuse herself in search of the ladies’ dressing room, where Margaret might speak to her in private, but for several minutes her sister just stood there, smiling and talking with the Bentons and her mother.

Glancing about nervously, Margaret saw Piers Saxby and Lewis Upchurch talking with Miss Lyons.

Margaret had been surprised to hear Saxby had broken things off with the beautiful brunette.

He and Lewis were once again costumed as pirates, while most of the other guests had settled for dominos, or simple masks with traditional evening clothes.

Margaret fidgeted. How long dared she stand there, lurking?

Finally, she had her chance. Caroline walked across the room to speak to a girl near her own age, perhaps a school friend.

When the music started and that girl’s partner came to claim her, Caroline was left alone.

Margaret walked quickly over to her, doing her best to keep her face averted and her back to the side of the room where Sterling stood.

She did not wish him to recognize her. Not yet, at any rate.

“Hello, my dear,” she began in an affected voice, should anyone be listening. “Will you not join me in the ladies’ dressing room? I have not seen you in an age!”

Caroline’s mouth dropped open. “Margaret?”

“Not here, my dear,” she said breezily, taking her arm. “Let us speak in private.”

She managed to lead her sister toward one of the doors before Caroline pulled her to a stop and faced her. “Margaret! I knew it. I knew you could not be dead.”

“Hush, Caroline.” Margaret looked about, but no one seemed to be paying them any heed. “I cannot stay long. I only wanted you to know I was well and to warn you. I—”

“But Mother and Sterling are here!” Caroline began pulling her arm, in the direction they had come. “We must tell them. How relieved they shallbe.”

Margaret resisted, grasping her sister by both arms. Everything within Margaret warned her that if Sterling got her alone, it would all be over.

He and Marcus would take her arms in a steely grip and escort her from the house before she knew what had happened.

“You may tell them later. Caroline, listen to me. You must be on your guard with Marcus Benton.”

Her sister’s face clouded. “We were only dancing. I thought you didn’t like him, so I didn’t see the harm in—”

“I know he seems charming, Caroline,” Margaret interrupted. “I thought so too at first, but he pressured me to marry him in a most ungentlemanlike manner. For the inheritance. That is why I left.”

Caroline shook her head. “But I have no inheritance.”

Margaret closed her eyes and asked for patience. “Money isn’t the only thing men want.” Suddenly she sensed someone watching her from the side of the room.

She glanced over and saw Nathaniel Upchurch staring at her from behind his mask, looking as though he had seen a ghost. Did he see a woman he once knew? Or was he stunned for another reason—did he see “Nora” masquerading as a lady in a blond wig?

———

Were his eyes playing tricks on him—was this a figment of his imagination?

For there stood Margaret Macy in all her fair glory.

A mass of white-gold hair crowning her head, curls on delicate bare shoulders.

Her gown shimmered white and seemed somehow familiar.

The small mask she wore did little to disguise the blue eyes, the high cheekbones, the arch of golden brows, the sensible nose, the wide, shapely mouth he had memorized and dreamt about.

How could he be certain? She was wearing a mask, after all. Was it wishful thinking on his part? He knew himself fallible in recognizing women who’d changed their hair color. But, no. It was her. He knew it.

A rush of emotions swamped him. Curiosity. Concern. Why was she revealing herself here and now, when the men she had ostensibly been hiding from were in attendance that very moment? Did she not know? Should he warn her?

Nathaniel watched surreptitiously as Margaret spoke earnestly with a younger girl—her sister, he believed.

When she turned and would have hailed the Bentons, Margaret gripped her arms and stayed the gesture.

Clearly Margaret wanted to talk to her sister alone, likely to assure her she was all right.

Margaret glanced over her shoulder, and Nathaniel followed the direction of her gaze. Sterling Benton suddenly straightened, eyes alert. Nathaniel straightened as well.

He could stand back and watch or he could do something to help her. He did not know exactly what she was after or what she was up against, but he knew she was eager to avoid Sterling Benton. The look of fear on her face made his decision for him.

Pulling off his mask, Nathaniel strode over to her, reaching Margaret just ahead of Sterling. Margaret whirled, prepared to take flight, but Nathaniel blocked her way.

Jaw clenched, he offered his arm. “My waltz, I believe.”

She stared up at him, mouth slack. He was oddly tempted to strum his thumb over her protruding lower lip.

Instead Nathaniel took her hand, tucked it beneath his arm, and all but pulled her onto the dance floor. Behind him he heard the low rumble of Benton’s voice, peppering the sister with terse questions.

What am I doing? Nathaniel berated himself. How did asking Margaret Macy to dance jibe with his determination to avoid her? How would feeling the warmth of her hand spread up his arm and into his chest help him forget her?

He bowed to her, and she, belatedly, curtsied. For a moment he feared the tall wig would topple from her head.

“Mr. Upchurch?” she whispered, breathless before the dance had even begun.

“Yes, Miss... ?” He lifted his brows expectedly.

She frowned. “Miss Macy. Margaret Macy.”

He lifted his chin. “Ah. I thought so, but I was not certain I was supposed to recognize you.”

Her brow furrowed.

“With your mask, I mean.”

“Oh!” She blushed and reached up to touch her mask, as though she had forgotten she wore one.

The music passed the introductory notes and swelled into tempo. Nathaniel grew increasingly disquieted by the direct stare of her blue eyes. He looked instead down at her waist, more disquieting yet, and placed his hands there. Oh, not helping at all.

She reached up and placed her hands on his forearms.

Quite the opposite. One tug and she would be in his arms, snug against him. He grimaced, attempting to banish the thought.

Her eyes widened. “Did I step on your foot? I am sorry if I did.”

“Not at all.”

She lifted her chin. “You needn’t dance with me if you don’t wish to.”

He glanced over and glimpsed the Benton party gaping at them. Lewis and Saxby as well. “I thought you might appreciate the... diversion.”

He tightened his grip on her waist and whirled her around, too preoccupied to recall the various positions of the German and French waltz. She seemed preoccupied as well, craning her neck to look over his shoulder, keeping an eye on the Bentons as she spun past.

“All of London speaks of you. Of your disappearance,” he said, as they repeated the basic step and turns.

“Do they?”

“Is that why you came? To prove you are alive and well?”

A worry line appeared between her brows above the mask. “In part, yes.”

“Then why not remove your mask and show the world who you really are?”

“It is a masquerade, Mr. Upchurch.”

“Ah. I see. And you are the queen of disguises.”

She darted a look up at him, unsure of his meaning.

Lewis appeared beside them, roguish grin on his handsome face. “Miss Macy, as I live and breathe! How I have longed to see you again. Do say you’ll dance with me. Nate won’t mind if I cut in. Will you, ol’ boy?”

Nathaniel felt the old stab of jealousy. He glanced from his brother’s face—perfectly confident she would agree—to Margaret’s.

She looked at Lewis squarely and said, “Actually, I would prefer to dance with your brother.”

Lewis’s mouth parted in disbelief.

Heart lifting, Nathaniel whirled Margaret away from his stunned brother. It was likely the first time a woman had turned him down for anything.

His fleeting feeling of victory faded, for Margaret suddenly looked quite distressed.