Meredith Montgomery wandered aimlessly through the ballroom, wishing she could be anywhere but there. Masquerade balls were so boring. Why did people like them so much?
And yet there she was, just where her mother wanted her to be. She had dressed in the exact manner her mother had dictated. She wore the green silk sleeveless gown that showed a very generous amount of cleavage. She also wore a green and gold papier-mâché mask that her mother had picked out. ("It matches with your dress!" her mother had enthused.) Her hair was done in a ridiculously youthful fashion—a loose chignon with titian ringlets cascading down her neck and forehead. She looked every bit the society widow in want of a second husband, which was precisely what her equally widowed mother had wanted. Meredith had done everything that Caroline Foster had wanted her to do, but she drew the line with her neckline. Her mother had insisted on tightening Meredith's corset almost to the point of breaking her ribs, just so that her generous cleavage would be more prominent. Her breasts had jutted out so much they'd almost popped out of her bodice, but she'd put an end to her mother's demands by loosening the whalebone stays on her corset and opting for a more decent look. She had some standards, after all.
Meredith was all false politeness and decorum with the hosts—the fabulous Mr. and Mrs. Dawson, of the Philadelphia Dawsons—and the other rich families in the county, but she found it difficult to hide her distaste the moment she was introduced to the Viscount of Brighton. It was a good thing she wore a mask. Thank God for small miracles.
"Meredith! Come over here, child!" Mrs. Foster called out from across the ballroom. "I'd like to introduce you to a very honorable guest. Mrs. Meredith Montgomery, meet Mr. Joseph Deadlock, or rather, the Viscount Deadlock of Brighton."
Sighing, Meredith walked over to her mother and the rather imperious-looking blonde man standing beside her. She couldn't see his entire face, for he wore a white mask, but she saw that he had light blue eyes and a fine chin.
The viscount bowed before her, to which Meredith responded with a clumsy curtsy.
"It is a pleasure to meet your acquaintance, Mrs. Montgomery," the viscount said with an English accent that was not at all unpleasant to hear.
Meredith felt her mother's hand nudging her forward. She shot her mother a glare before stammering, "Good evening, my Lord."
Mrs. Foster smiled approvingly. "As I've said, Lord Brighton, my daughter here lost her loving husband all of two years ago and she has finally opened up to the possibility of a second marriage. She is quite lovely under the mask . . . Remove the mask, dear. Do let his lordship see you!"
Meredith rolled her eyes underneath the mask before removing it. Lord Brighton smiled as he feasted his eyes on her lovely face and even lovelier bosom. "Charmed," he purred heartily.
As Meredith donned the mask, she sensed someone was eyeing her from across the room. Surveying the large crowd of guests, she spotted a dark figure standing at the entrance of the ballroom, his gaze fixed on her. Or at least he appeared to be looking at her. The man wore a black jacket and matching waistcoat, with a pristine white shirt and cravat that had been fashionable decades ago. He also wore black breeches and knee-high black leather boots that also seemed to have come from another time. As far as fancy costumes went, his was quite dashing, not to mention sexy. The dark artifact concealed his features, and the only discernible thing about him was his short black hair. He was tall, with broad shoulders and a slim waist. Meredith shivered. She had no idea why, but the strange figure reminded her of—
"Oh! And this is my wonderful younger daughter, Miss Daphne," Mrs. Foster chirped, interrupting Meredith's train of thought. "And the gentleman beside her is her fiancé Mr. Alfred Wells."
Daphne and Mr. Wells approached them. Daphne looked breathtakingly beautiful in her silk ivory gown. Meredith's younger sister had been blessed with silver-blonde hair and a large set of aquamarine eyes that gave her that perpetual deer-caught-in-headlights expression that men seemed to adore. Gentlemen often fell for her angelic beauty upon sight. Meredith couldn't believe that her sister was betrothed to Mr. Wells, a middle-aged man who resembled a toad not only in looks but in personality as well. Daphne wanted to marry a wealthy and respectable man, even if it meant throwing away her chance at marrying for true love—or at the very least for true lust. If there was someone who needn't marry beneath her expectations, it was Daphne. Meredith felt fortunate to have loved her late husband. If she married again—a big emphasis on the
if
—it would be for love. She wouldn't settle for less.
"Charmed again, I'm sure," Lord Brighton intoned with a leer he hadn't been inclined to hide.
Meredith regarded him with distaste before glancing over her shoulder to catch a peek at the mysterious man in black, only to find that he was no longer there. Disappointment seized her. She hoped he hadn't left the party.
One thought had entered her mind and wouldn't let go.
If only it were him
, she thought.
If only it were Alex,
my
Alex.
Her mother's loud chirp interrupted her reverie. "As you can see, my Lord, Miss Daphne is quite the beauty. The most beautiful young woman in all of New England. She is nineteen and is to marry Mr. Wells no later than this winter. That is why she wears no mask. I insisted upon it. It would be a shame to hide so much loveliness, don't you think?" Mrs. Foster turned her beady blue eyes to Meredith. "Meredith is quite handsome as well. Not as beautiful as my Daphne, true enough, but very few women are."
"Indeed," Lord Brighton responded, glancing between Daphne and Meredith before turning to Mrs. Foster. "You must be quite proud, Mrs. Foster, for having two such lovely daughters."
