Page 58 of Red Masquerade

I hated it. The soft blue skirts went all the way past my knees, nearly to my ankles. There was a sash at the waist, to pull in and show off my figure to the lucky bachelor, and three-quarter sleeves. It was a modest and humble gown, with lace accents and ribbons, but it was something Mother had picked out. In her vision, I’d be the perfect docile lady, enticing to a man wanting a young wife. He’d see me and have no worry that I’d make a wonderful housewife, a dotingmother. Because surely, the heir of a barony wanted children. A son.

Mother had instructed my maid that I was to wear this dress, even if I gave her trouble. And I wouldn’t, because it was not her fault Mother had such a domineering hand.

I had heard the gentleman arrive earlier in the afternoon. I’d retreated to my room to think on what I was to do—I couldn’t go through with this, couldn’t bear to accept another man, notnow—when downstairs came the sound of the front door opening and Lucas gaily greeting our guest. The servants had been in a tizzy all day, making every room just so, even though Lord Highsmith was staying at a hotel a couple blocks away.

There was much banter I could hear from the foyer, and theclunkof trunks being set down. The male voice I didn’t recognize was rich and baritone, and I knew with the way he spoke with Lucas, with such casualness, they were somewhat close, this agreement likely bonding the two men even further.

A sudden pull to my scalp made me hiss in a breath.

“Sorry,” my maid said. “But you are all done. We should get you dressed.”

I said nothing as I stood, not wanting to look at the haunted girl in the vanity’s mirror any longer. Sighing, I let the robe fallfrom my shoulders as the maid lifted the dress to help me into it. I saw her eyes linger on my hips, on the red marks slowly healing there, the only evidence of my night with Adam. But she didn’t let her surprise show as the dress came over my head, skirts falling and fluttering around my waist.

“You look beautiful,” she tried.

“I suppose.”

“Everything will be alright, Helena.” She set about straightening the gown, pulling it into place, securing ribbons, tying the sash. When I didn’t reply, she looked up at me from her kneeling at my feet. “I truly mean it.”

“I am just being dramatic,” I said, but had to cover my eyes with a hand, my head beginning to ache.

“No, I don’t think so.”

She stood before me. Her curly hair was neat and restrained by a white headband, her black clothing prim and pressed. I knew she was maybe my age, and what had she experienced that I had not? But when I looked into her eyes, I saw a young woman who spoke with a confidence I didn’t feel at that moment. I had not given her a good look before, and maybe if I had, I would’ve found a true ally.

“What’s your name?”

Her eyes widened at my question. “Oh.” Like it never occurred to her that I’d ever ask. The dusting of dark freckles on her cheeks reddened at my attention. “Séraphine, Miss. Séra.”

“Séra.” I held out my hand. “Helena. It’s nice to formally meet you.”

She’d worked for us for months yet, and I’d never asked her name. Maybe I was turning into a selfish prick like Lucas.

She grasped my hand, her fingers tinier than mine, a chill to her skin. She smiled up at me, softly, almost conspiratorially. If we were different people, if the roles were reversed, would we come to the same conclusion, tentative confidants?

A knock at the door and I suddenly ripped myself away, running my hands over my skirts.

“Helena?” Mother.

Séra turned and tidied the vanity. It was covered in rouges and barrettes and jewelry and kohl, all instruments of my transformation into would-be-wife.

“Yes?” I cleared my throat, avoiding looking toward the mirror, as she entered the room.

Mother clasped her hands together when she saw me. “Oh, Helena!” Grabbing me as though to pull me into a hug, she looked down at the gown, at the job well done by Séra. “You look perfect!”

“I suppose,” I repeated.

“Lord Highsmith is eager to meet you,” she said, smiling. Shewas dressed in her own pastel evening gown, gloves on her hands, her light hair braided around her head, stuck with flower pins. I hadn’t seen her get so dressed up in a while, but I supposed we didn’t have many visitors.

And this one was important—a bachelor wanting to marry her daughter.

She couldn’t stop beaming at my dress, like her dreams finally came true.

While mine were shattering.

I could just walk out the door,I thought.Wave down a taxi and save Highsmith the embarrassment of a runaway bride at the altar.Most anyone would stop a car for a desperate woman, would they not?Someonesurely would get me away from here.

“Come,” Mother said, pulling me from my fantasies. “Let us go down to dinner. Magda has worked hard all day on the feast she has prepared for us to celebrate, and I’m sure Lord Highsmith would like to dine after all his travel.”