Unmasking a Wicked Marquess: A

Historical Regency Romance Novel

Henrietta Harding
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Unmasking a Wicked Marquess
A REGENCY ROMANCE NOVEL

HENRIETTA HARDING
 Copyright © 2024 by Henrietta Harding

All Rights Reserved.

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 Table of Contents
Table of Contents
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Unmasking a Wicked Marquess
Introduction
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Epilogue
An Earl's Christmas Seduction
Introduction
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
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Unmasking a Wicked Marquess
 Introduction
Juliet has lived a life according to the rules, obeying her mother and father's expectations, until a meeting with a scandalous
stranger at a ball changes her life forever. His illicit kiss sets her on a path of rebellion leaving her yearning for more. Little
did she know, he is the wicked Marquess of Ashton, the son of her family's long-sworn enemy. As fate brings them together
once again, among Ascot’s fever, the old rivalry will start burning as hot as her untamed passion for the Marquess.

Can the fiery Juliet back away from the one man who has ever tempted her?

Edward, Marquess of Ashtonfreshly, has just returned from his travels in India. Having secured more horses for the king and
his father's races at Ascot, Edward feels alive with life and adventure. His frequent rule-bending during travels contrasts
sharply with the rigid world of the ton, leaving him restless and uneasy. Yet, his encounter with a masked beauty kindles a
desire for seduction. When he discovers Juliet's identity though, his spark only intensifies, defying the bitter history between
their families.

Will he succumb to the rules he has always resisted?

As Ascot approaches, Juliet and Edward navigate a world of secret trysts and hidden love. With false accusations, antagonists
and schemes behind closed doors, their flaming romance seems unattainable. Faced with accusations and their families’ feud,
they strive to defy societal expectations. Will Juliet and Edward defy the odds, or will the conspirators at Ascot succeed in
driving them apart?
 Prologue
Royal Ascot, England, 1798

“Robert? Philip? Are you two not watching? The race is about to begin.”

Robert pulled his attention away from where he was toasting with his friend, Philip Welton, the Duke of Lantham. They had
been laughing for so long that Robert couldn’t even remember how their discussion had begun, yet Philip was wiping tears
away from his eyes as Robert tried to stop himself from choking on his wine.

“You know the pair of them, dear,” Philip’s wife, Amelia, was saying with a laugh of her own. “Leave them to it. They’ll watch
the race when they’re good and ready.”

“I think our wives despair of us,” Robert said with a hearty chuckle, taking his friend’s shoulder and steering him away from
the carafes of wine towards the box that overlooked the racing field.

“You don’t say?” Philip laughed, shaking his head. “Amelia predicted it well enough. Whenever we’re together, we’re
incorrigible.”

“Soon enough, we won’t be able to get you apart,” Cecily, Robert’s wife, appeared at his side. He smiled when he looked at
her eyes – violet in colour. They were striking and so unique that he had never seen another woman with those eyes before. It
was one of the things he had first noticed about her, and since the day they had met, he had found himself growing more and
more in love with her.

Just a year ago, she had given birth to their first child, Juliet, and Robert was delighted that his good friend, Philip, had agreed
to be godfather.

“With your sister, Rob, and your brother, Philip, getting married, you’ll be in each other’s company constantly!” Cecily said
with a laugh. “On second thoughts, Amelia, I will take that drink.”

Amelia laughed and filled up the glass as they moved to the window of the box, laughing together.

“They’re right, you know,” Philip said, elbowing Robert. “We’ll be family soon.”

“Hmm. If you look at the pair of them, you’d think they were impatient for the wedding.” Robert pointed over his shoulder into
the far corner of the box, gesturing past others who were guests of the king in the royal corner of the racecourse. Through heads
dressed in fine hats and bodies clothed in smart suits, in the corner of the room, they could see Emily and Hugh together.

They sat calmly, talking to one another, perhaps even having forgotten that they were on a race day. Emily’s light-brown hair,
which was much like Robert’s own, was tucked up at the back of her head, curling softly. Her hand held Hugh’s tightly, and the
poor man seemed incapable of looking at anyone but Emily.

“Impatient? What gave you that idea?” Philip said with a wry tone as Hugh lifted Emily’s hand to his lips and kissed the back.
“I wonder.” Robert shook his head and turned back to face the window. “Cecily is right. The race is starting.” He gestured
forward beyond the open window down at the course.

The great lawn stretched out in front of them, dry and arid in the heat of the hot summer they had been enduring. Many of the
gentlemen gathered in the sun by the fences had shed their jackets in that heat, and the ladies had brought fans with them to
flutter in front of their faces. Above the many heads, with cheeks flushed red in the heat, people waved betting cards, either
eager to make their bets or wanting to claim their winnings.

At one side of the course, the horses were lined up, ready to start.

“Yours looks to be in fine condition,” Philip said with a begrudging pat on Robert’s shoulder. “No hard feelings if you win,
eh?”

“Same for you.” Robert nodded at the horses. “Neither of us cares about that commission to breed horses for the king, do we?”

“Not at all. Thought it might be useful,” Philip confessed with a small smile and a wink, the movement of his head making his
dark hair dance about his forehead. “Such a charter could be profitable indeed. So whichever of us wins it, or if indeed another
wins it, let us toast their success. Agreed?”

“Agreed.” Robert was all too happy to make this arrangement. He could not deny the royal charter would be useful for his
family as well. It would be a good advancement, and when his daughter was grown, maybe he could even introduce her at the
royal court if he could only move in the royal circles first.

“They’re starting,” Cecily said with excitement, clutching Robert’s arm. It was always the same; with any race they watched,
she held onto him tightly. He looked at her, feeling the warmth and love he had for her growing. “Oh, I do hope the animals will
be well. It pains me when they are hurt.”

“The horses are well trained, and the jockeys, too. They’ll be quiet safe,” Robert assured her, threading an arm around her
waist as the horses trotted into the starting blocks.

A general hush fell over the whole racecourse as a man stood at the side of the track, holding a pistol into the air.

Robert could hear his heartbeat in his ears as he stared at his horse. In stall number three, his horse, Midnight Dancer, was
raring to go. With a deep black coat, a long nose, and thick, strong legs, he was noticeable from a great distance away. Over the
last two years, Robert’s horses had been winning many races, and no other horse had won more than his prize stallion,
Midnight Dancer.

Come on. You can do it. Win me that commission.

Then the pistol fired, and the horses bolted out of the stalls.

“Look, look at them go,” Amelia called excitedly. Her hair, as dark as her husband’s, was braided at the back of her head and
now swung around as she jumped about with her excitement. “Oh, our two horses are ahead!”

Robert held his breath as Cecily beside him sent prayers to God to keep the two horses safe. It was true that Midnight Dancer
and Philip’s horse, Shadow, were neck and neck, striding out far ahead of the others.
“I don’t think I can watch this.” Philip turned away from the window.

“Are you mad?” Amelia cried and turned to her husband, taking his shoulders and forcing him back around to watch the race
again. “This has been the culmination of months of work.”

“Try years,” Robert muttered.

“Exactly.” Philip agreed with him. “It’s so close, I cannot watch.”

Suddenly, Midnight Dancer started to edge in front. It was by the smallest amount, his nose just stretching in front of the others.
The jockey rode him harder, raising himself with his knees, taking the brunt of the force of riding so fast. The stallion
responded and started to reach out in front of Shadow.

“Ah, it’s over.” Philip suddenly laughed. “Give my friend his money and his commission. He deserves it.”

“The race isn’t over yet,” Cecily reminded him.

Just as she said the words, they seemed to be an omen. The jockey shifted in the saddle as if he had nearly been thrown off, and
then Midnight Dancer bucked.

“Woah, what was that?” Robert muttered, starting to breathe again in short, shallow breaths.

Abruptly, the horse pulled up. Shadow struck out in front, riding ahead, and Midnight Dancer bucked and danced about the
course so much that those watching at the sides of the fences scurried back, taking refuge behind the betting stalls.

“He’s never done this before,” Cecily murmured. “What is wrong with him? He looks almost … possessed.”

Robert was not a superstitious fellow, but on this occasion, he was tempted to agree with his wife.

“What …” He didn’t finish the question. The horse rose back on its hind hooves and tipped the jockey clean out of his saddle.
“Thompson!” Robert cried in a sudden panic about the jockey’s safety.

Thompson was wise enough to roll away under the cover of the banner as Midnight Dancer struck out wildly in the air with his
front hooves. The other horses flew past him, galloping away after Shadow, and then the horse dropped down its hooves and
did a slow lope back in the wrong direction towards the stalls. He loped away, almost as if he was injured.

“Oh.” A breath escaped Cecily.

He knew what she was suffering. It was speechlessness, for he suffered the same thing.

As a roar went up from the crowd, Robert turned to see Philip and Amelia at his side. Neither one of them was celebrating, but
both were looking at Robert and Cecily.

“I’m so sorry,” Philip said, frowning. “I do not understand. He looked great around the parade ring just now.”
“Do not worry about it, my friend.” Robert cleared his throat and pushed away any grumblings he had about what had just taken
place. “You won the race, fair and square, and remember what we agreed.” He offered his hand to Philip. “I shall be delighted
for you. You will have the royal commission, and it will be going to no better man.”

“Thank you, Robert. That is very gracious of you indeed,” Philip said as he shook his hand.

Robert continued to smile, quite determined to be happy for his friend, even if the strange behaviour of his horse still niggled at
the back of his mind.

The moment they were done with the congratulations and Philip had to go and collect the prize for his horse, Robert left the
box, with Cecily hurrying behind him.

“Where are you going?” she cried, struggling to keep up with her hands reaching for the back of his waistcoat.

He ran to the stables as quickly as he could, where he found poor Thompson sitting against the wall of the stable yard. He
looked winded and repeatedly rubbed his back as he kicked off his riding boots.

“Are you all right? Shall I send for a physician?” Robert asked, hurrying to his jockey’s side.

“It is not me you should be concerned for, My Lord,” Thompson said with a heavy sigh. “I am quite well, but that …” He
jerked a thumb, pointing back into the stable. “I have never seen anything like it in all these years. Lady Clarence,” he
addressed Cecily directly. “I know your love for animals. I plead with you not to go in there now. It will only upset you.”

Yet Robert knew his wife. Her love for animals was only outweighed by a wish to do what was right. She ran into the stable
even before Robert could, and the gasp that escaped her made his heart tremble in his chest.

As he rounded the corner to his horse’s stalls, he saw Midnight Dancer on the floor, struggling on his side. He’d been tied with
his reins to a post, for a horse attendant was trying to still him to examine what appeared to be bloodied spots across his back.

“Wh-what is this?” Robert managed to stammer, his hands starting to shake with anger when he saw the pain his poor horse
was in.

The stable hand looked up, a grimace on his face as he wiped the sweat from his cheeks.

“It is sabotage, My Lord,” he said simply. “Someone fastened these pins to the seat of the saddle.” He took the saddle from its
discarded position at the side of the stable and turned it up. “He bore the pain for so long, but when the jockey drove him
harder, it was too much. Someone wanted to make sure Midnight Dancer could not win that race.”

***

“Lord Clarence? May I speak with you?”

Robert struggled to clear his mind. It was the morning after the foul race, and he was standing outside of Philip’s stable,
waiting for Philip to arrive so they could go riding together. Robert and his family were staying with Philip for a few nights,
and they had spent last night’s dinner going over everything that had happened to Midnight Dancer.
Philip had been horrified and urged Robert to engage a local constable to look into who might have committed the sabotage.

“My Lord?” the voice called to him again.

“My apologies, my mind was elsewhere.” Robert looked away from the cloudy sky that spelled imminent rain and turned to
face Philip’s stable hand, Wally. The young man was someone Robert had seen in passing a few times. A rather eager lad, he
was struggling to stand still now as he approached Robert rather nervously with his cap in his hand. “What is it?” Robert asked
him.

“I heard of what happened to your horse. I’m so sorry, My Lord, but I fear I have more bad news.” He looked at the ground
between them as if saying it was hard enough, but he could not look at Robert at the same time.

“I have to tell you something. I have to tell you that I saw a man going to your horse’s stalls and where the equipment was kept.
I know the man, and I know the Duke of Lantham pays him to do things. I fear he paid the man to sabotage your horse, so his
would win. So … so he could get the commission from the king.”

“You are mistaken,” Robert responded on gut instinct and shook his head.

Philip? No. Philip would never do this to me. He is a true friend.

“I am no liar, My Lord.” Wally looked up. The sudden power of those eyes boring into Robert’s made him pause. “I saw him,
as did others that I can bring to you to prove it to you.”

He believes it to be true and others saw it too.

“I know he feared your horse would win again. I overheard him talking to the duchess about such a thing, too.” Wally stepped
back. “I’m so sorry, My Lord. I thought it was right you knew.” With these words, he hurried away.

No, no. It’s not possible.

Robert stood for some time until the rain began, thinking about what he had heard. He didn’t want to believe it and refused
flatly, yet his mind kept working over it. He thought of the delight on Philip’s face when he came back to Robert, talking of how
he had spoken with the king about the royal commission.

Robert walked away from the stables. He went to the house and strode inside, where he found Philip in the entrance hall,
struggling to pull on his riding boots. Far behind him on the stairs was Amelia with her son beside her, holding his hand tightly.
Edward was the picture of his father, dark-haired and blue-eyed.

He watched his father, laughing at his ridiculous attempt to get the boots on. Behind Amelia was Cecily, with their baby
daughter in her arms. Juliet was just old enough to wave manically at Robert. Another time, he would have waved back at his
daughter, but he couldn’t.

“Ah, Robert. I’m so sorry I’m running late. I can’t get these damn things on,” Philip called, sinking onto the bottom step and
pulling the boot up to his knee.
“Don’t worry, it’s raining.” Robert’s cold tone alerted Philip to the fact something was wrong without him having to say any
more.

“What is it?” Philip asked, looking up from his boots. “Robert, what is wrong?”

“I just heard something. Something I do not want to believe.” He shook his head, his words creating an atmosphere around the
room. They all waited with bated breath, hanging onto his words. “Someone on this estate believes you, yes you, Philip, paid
another to bind that saddle to his back with pins.”

“Robert!” Cecily was outraged and covered their daughter’s ears, even though she couldn’t understand at her tender age.

“I am just repeating what has been said.” Robert stepped forward, needing to look his friend in the eye, needing to read the
truth.

Philip said nothing for a minute. A strange, eerie silence fell in the room, and then he stood slowly. Taller than Robert,
suddenly, Robert felt very small indeed. He could understand why Philip was so terrifying in business meetings when the
business partner had the misfortune to get on the wrong side of them. That expression was quite harrowing.

“You would dare to accuse me?”

“I am not accusing. I am repeating. Tell me it is not true, Philip.”

“I should not have to tell you it isn’t true. You are my friend, Robert. Do you honestly think I would do this to you?”

“I do not know what to think.” Robert felt sick. Why wouldn’t Philip just deny it? Why wouldn’t he just say, of course he had
not done it? The evasive answer made Robert begin to doubt his own knowledge.

Do I know my friend at all?

“You should know what to think!” Philip seethed and stepped towards him.

“Robert, please,” Cecily called from her position part way up the stairs. “These are our friends. We are staying in their house.”

“And my horse was sabotaged when we were racing for a royal commission,” Robert insisted, meeting his wife’s panicked
gaze.

“If this is jealousy at play, I will understand it and forgive it,” Philip said, his tone so calm that it infuriated Robert even more.
“But take back that accusation this moment.”

He still hasn’t said he did not do it.

Robert glared at his friend and blinked. It was as if he saw Philip in a new light, that hard frown unshakeable.

“Cecily, we’re leaving.”

“What?” she spluttered, stepping around Amelia and Edward and coming down the stairs. “Robert, pray, think about this.”

“No, no, by all means, go.” Philip waved a hand at the door. “I will not have someone in my house accusing me of doing
something … so foul. Get out, Robert.”

“Philip?” Amelia was the next one to cry out. “Calm yourself.”

“I will not be calmed. Did you hear what he said?”

Robert strode to the door and practically jumped off the steps in his eagerness to get out of that house.

“Robert? What are you thinking?” Cecily cried, running after him with Juliet in her arms who was now crying in alarm at the
loud noises. Robert took his daughter in his arms, soothing her with soft tones.

“I don’t know what to think,” Robert muttered. “But if I find nothing to dispute what I have just heard, then I have no choice but
to believe it, do I? It’s possible, Cecily, that Philip was never my friend at all.”
 Chapter 1
Nineteen Years Later, 1817

“Careful with those horses. I cannot tell you of what value they are,” Edward called to the stable hands as he jumped down
from his own horse. He landed with ease on the cobbled ground of the stable yard and shrugged off his tailcoat, heated on the
bright sunny day.

The stable hands looked abruptly more nervous about their charges, eying the Marwari horses with wariness. The animals
were rare from his travels to India. Sleek in build, lithe, athletic, and with uniquely pointing inward ears, Edward knew what a
fine gift one of these animals would make to the king. The other was for his family to keep.

“Here, they are soft-natured if you know how to treat them right.” Edward strode towards the nearest horse and stroked him
down the nose, humming softly in his ear. At once, the horse that had appeared to have a wild temper before softened and
nuzzled his hand. “Good boy,” he whispered for only the horse to hear.

“We’ll look after them, My Lord,” called the familiar voice of the stable manager. A larger and burly bloke, he stepped
forward with his wizened face beaming in a smile and bowed to Edward. “It is good to see you have returned from your
travels.”

“Thank you, Bernard. It is good to see you too. I shall have to tell you all about what I saw some time.”

“I look forward to it.” Bernard waved his hat in farewell and went to help with the horses as Edward left the stable yard with a
spring in his step.

For too long, he had been gone. First, there was the university in Oxford, then his travels, focusing most particularly on India
and the continent. Now he was back and had sent his luggage ahead, he was impatient to see his family again.

He strode up the front porch steps towards the wide, red-bricked building, but before he could take hold of the door handle, the
door itself was flung open inward, and a shock of dark hair flew at Edward.

He yelped and jumped back in surprise, for one minute thinking his father had bought a tall greyhound in his absence. There
was raucous laughter from inside the house as Edward caught the unmistakable figure of his sister.

“Jane!” he shouted, catching her safely before they could tumble down the front steps together. “Oomph, you could have killed
us then.”

“You’re home, you’re home,” Jane cried repeatedly, jumping up and down as she released him. Just reaching his shoulders, he
could see she was much taller than when he had last seen her. Her dark hair was unmistakable, for it was the same black sheen
they all possessed, him, his father, and his mother. As he peered past his sister and into the entrance hall, he saw both of his
parents looked a little grayer than last time.

“There you are.” Philip opened his arms out wide, and Edward gladly walked towards his father, embracing him tightly.
“Beware of your mother,” he whispered in Edward’s ear.
“What?”

“I do not think she intends to release you again.”

Edward discovered how right his father was. Embraced by Amelia, he was quickly told off for not writing more and for
sending his luggage ahead as she had been so excited that morning when she had mistaken his luggage for his return. She kept
holding onto his waist, clinging to him, as Philip and Jane led their way into the drawing room.

“Come, we’ll start the tea,” Jane said to their father. “They can have some when Ma dares to release him.”

“You should have come home sooner,” Amelia whispered, showing no sign of releasing him.

“Missed you too, Mother.” He held her back and patted her on the shoulder, then urged her to release him a bit so he could look
at her face. There were a few more grays in her hair, and her face bore a few more wrinkles than before, but the most
noticeable thing was the unshed tears in her eyes that she was holding back. “What is it?”

“Happy tears.” She waved a hand at her face dismissively. “Someday, you will have a child of your own, and you will
understand how hard it is not to see one of them for so long.” She embraced him again, and he chuckled, holding her back
before they walked together into the drawing room.

“Hurrah!” Philip declared and clapped his hands together. “You have released him. Quick, get a drink, my boy, before she
embraces you again.”

Edward used the back of the settee to shift himself over and sit beside his father. The athletic, if informal, movement made his
mother tut as his father chuckled, passing him a teacup.

They started with Edward’s news, and he told them of the new rare horses he had brought back and some of his travels, though
he promised more tales in time.

“I’m too tired for more stories.” He slumped into his seat rather dramatically, earning another reproachful tut from Amelia.
“Jane, you tell stories for a while so I can take a break and drink my tea.”

“Very well.” She put her teacup in her saucer and sat tall so the fading light of the day through the windows shimmered off her
dark hair, and then she abruptly smiled broadly. “I have news for you, brother. News that we did not put in our last letters.”

“Oh? What is that?” Edward took a mouthful of tea.

“I am to be married.”

Edward choked on the tea so aggressively that his father actually slapped him across the back.

“Oomph! Dear God, your strength isn’t failing you, is it?” Edward jested, rubbing his sore back in surprise.

“I’m not that old yet.” Philip elbowed him.

“Why so shocked?” Jane was now on her feet, her hands on her hips. “Am I so disgusting I could not find someone to marry?”

“Forgive me my surprise, sister,” Edward explained, now wiping his mouth with a handkerchief that his mother produced from
where it had been neatly tucked under the sleeve of her gown. “When I left, you said you would never marry. You were quite
intent on that.”

“Oh, well.” She sat down, now all smiley once again, her spine softening. “That was before I met Fred.”

“Fred? He has a name, then. Anything else I should know about him?”

“Lord Frederik Winter, a baron,” Amelia explained with something of a sigh of wistfulness. “Oh, he’s a handsome fellow
indeed. He suits her very well.”

“He’ll pay for her very well, too,” Philip muttered, pulling a laugh from Edward.

“You checked, did you?” Edward asked his father.

“I wasn’t going to let your sister go to any man that didn’t have a good estate.” Philip shook his head as he laid back on the
settee, resting as he sipped his tea. “It’s important to me to see you both settled. Speaking of which …” He trailed off and
curved a single eyebrow at Edward.

“What? No. No.” Edward shook his head, aware out of the corner of his eye that Jane was struggling to hold back her giggle
behind cupped hands. “You’re not helping,” he added in her direction.

“Cake?” she asked sweetly, offering up the sponge cake from the tea tray that smelled distinctly sugary and full of strawberries.

“You know what’s coming as well as I,” Edward observed.

Amelia suddenly reached forward from her armchair and took hold of Edward’s shoulder.

“Ouch,” Edward winced for the second time in as many minutes. “Since when did your hands get like birds’ claws, Mother?”

“It is time you married,” she said with full heart. “Choose a good woman, someone who will make you happy,” she added with
that wistful tone once again.

“Someone with a good dowry,” Philip added matter-of-factly.

“So romantic,” Jane tutted at their father.

“One of us has to be practical.”

“Then let it be me,” Edward piped up. “I do not have to get married yet. There is plenty of time for all of that.”
Edward’s mind was suddenly full of pictures and memories of ladies shifting gowns from their shoulders and of beds with the
sheets ruffled and dropped to the floor. On the continent, he had not been as well-behaved as perhaps his parents thought. When
attending parties and masked balls in Italy and India, there had been a general air of temptation and scandal.

At some of the darker, more mysterious parties, it had not been unusual to see an unwed couple kissing in plain sight in
corridors. What Edward had got up to at night to gain his first few experiences of lovemaking was for his mind only to know.

What he did know was that after enjoying himself for the last few years, he was in no hurry to choose just one woman yet.

“Yet you stand a better chance of having many babies if you get married when you’re young and if you have a young bride too.
You’ll have the energy for the necessities then.”

“Mother!” Edward cried in outrage, nearly dropping what was left of his tea in his teacup.

“What?” Amelia looked around in innocence as Philip and Jane started laughing once more.

“This has escalated fast,” Edward observed. “This conversation went from you telling me to produce an heir to having many
children. Many?” he repeated in an incredulous tone.

“It is necessary,” Amelia explained with a shrug, reaching calmly for one of the pieces of cake Jane was now offering up.

“Necessary?” Edward was stuck just repeating other words now, unable to form his own thoughts.

“Yes, necessary,” Amelia said simply with a nod.

Edward looked at his sister, tongue-tied.

“I blame you for this,” he managed after a minute of silence, pointing at her.

“Me?” She offered the perfect innocent look.

“If you weren’t getting married, this conversation wouldn’t be happening.”

“The time has come, Edward.” Philip clapped him on the back again, softer this time as he did it only to have his attention.
“Now you are back, have seen the world, and are doing so well in your business affairs, not to mention the horses,” he added
with a smile, making the wrinkles around his lips deepen, “it is time to turn your attention to the other part of your life. This
season, you should look for a wife.”

“God’s wounds.” Edward fell back on the rococo settee. “I should have stayed in India.”

“I am glad you did not.” Amelia looked at him and flicked her fingers. “And sit up. You won’t catch a wife slouching like that.”

“I’m not hoping to catch one.” He slouched down purposefully a little further. “You speak as if you go fishing for a lady. I
hardly imagine that is how you two courted.” Edward glanced between his mother and father. The two of them shared a little
smile, and when Philip winked at his wife, Edward looked away, groaning loudly as Jane giggled.

“Is marriage so quickly really so important? On my travels, events were not so strict and formal. They were more fun, much
more relaxed. I confess, I loved it. Very much.”

“Then find someone who doesn’t mind a man slouching on his settee,” Amelia said with her lips curving up into a smile. “Yet
you must still find someone.”

“But –” Edward didn’t get a chance to say any more.

“There is a ball in two days’ time,” she continued. “You shall attend, and there you can meet the ladies of the ton. You can see
which one takes your fancy.”

“I am not picking a horse, Mother,” Edward said calmly, at which point his father laughed broadly once more.

“You will be there,” Amelia said simply, holding his gaze. “Besides, it is right we introduce you to society again now that you
have returned.”

“You can also meet Fred.” Jane sat forward, offering up the cake once more. Rather eager to say or think of anything else other
than a hurried marriage, Edward snatched up the cake and took a rather large bite. Jane giggled as if she could sense his
thoughts, but his mother just continued to talk.

“Yes, it will be lovely,” she said, sighing with contentment. “Both of my children married by the end of the summer.”

That fast?

“Summer!?” When Edward choked for the second time, his father was even quicker with the slap to his back.

***

“What do you think?” Violet gushed and pushed open the double doors.

To Juliet’s mind, it was as if someone had sprinkled the entire mansion in glitter or some magical dust. With the strong sunlight
of the morning gleaming through the windows, every surface shone and glowed. Juliet turned her head back and forth, looking
around the entrance hall in pure bemusement.

Atop a myriad of white alabaster plinths, there were marble busts of great philosophers and thinkers, some even politicians.
Behind these plinths were great swathes of red cloth, hiding the entrances to other corridors. The floor was made of a rich pink
marble, and the great staircase that stood at the far end of the room, four times as wide as most staircases, was lined with a red
carpet, the balustrade gilded in gold.

“Only you, Violet,” Juliet said, releasing a breath with a giggle.

“Only me, what?” Her sister turned with an apparent look of innocence, though her hands reached for her hips warily.
“Only you would end up with a house so elaborate as this. You have always been fond of anything ornamental, have you not?”
Juliet said with humour and took her sister’s hands from her hips, using them to turn Violet around in a happy circle. “Look at
you now.”

She nodded at the vast ivory gown Violet wore and the many jewels that glittered at her throat and hung like teardrops from her
ears. “I do not think I have ever seen you so happy. Married life plainly suits you.”

“Oh, it does.” Violet finished her spin on her own and giggled behind a cupped hand. “My husband is very sweet indeed, and
he is always buying me things. Though between you and me,” she caught Juliet’s hand and pulled her so close that they bumped
shoulders, clearly in the effort not to be overheard by any staff that might be passing, “he gives me other things, too. Things that
make me blush and oh …” She released a pleasant shudder.

“Good God, Vi,” Juliet murmured in amazement. “You would think the marriage bed a wondrous thing.”

“Wait until you see what it is like.” Violet winked. “Believe me, it is.”

Juliet bit her lip. Never had she been curious about what sharing her bed with a man would be like until this moment. Seeing
Violet practically shuddering with excitement and a blush creeping up her cheeks so that she was the colour of a beetroot
betrayed much.

“We must simply get you married next.” Violet took her hand and pulled her through the house towards the staircase.

“Me? I am not in a hurry to be married. Believe me, if it is going to make me blush like that and offer wistful sighs to everyone
who passes me by, I’m quite happy without it.”

“That is not what I am like!” Violet protested halfway up the stairs.

“You are,” Juliet murmured. “I’m quite content on my own for now.” Yet, there was a part of Juliet that simply did not want to
talk about this. She was the elder sister and, technically, should have been the one to marry first, but life hadn’t worked out that
way.

Violet had met her husband, Lord Brandon Boulder, a viscount, and she had fallen madly in love. Within a few months, it was
obvious the feeling was mutual as the two scarcely spent a minute apart from one another at any event in the ton.

Juliet had been dragged to every part of London, to the races, sailing regattas, the theatre, Somerset House, even concerts
where she thought the violin music sounded more like cats screeching than any true instrument, for Violet and her suitor hadn’t
been to these events for what they were, but to see each other. Juliet had been their chaperone.

“Where are you taking me?” Juliet said, trying to resist her sister, who dragged her up the stairs.

“To talk of the masquerade ball,” Violet declared with eagerness. They reached a bedchamber on the top floor, and Juliet
giggled when she saw the sight. Just like any other room in this house, it sparkled and was full of ornaments.

The bedframe had been painted a brilliant white, the vanity table glittered with jewels, and there was a rather vast settee where
the cushions looked suspiciously mussed. As Violet walked in, she replaced the cushions on the settee, blushing purple once
again.
Juliet bit her lip, trying not to laugh when she saw her sister’s actions.

“You really are enjoying your new husband’s company if you cannot even make it to the bed,” Juliet said with a laugh.

“You and that witty tongue of yours.” Violet waved a mad hand in the air. “You know what mother would say of you talking of
such things.”

“She thinks them too, even if she does not say them. I know that.” Juliet knew deep down she had got her loose tongue from her
mother, for Cecily would frequently smile as she reprimanded Juliet for speaking so openly.

“Now, here is what I wished to show you.” Violet reached for the vanity table and pushed aside the jewels, opening a rich navy
velvet box from which she pulled out a glittering ivory mask. “Here. For you to wear at the next ball.”

“For me?” Juliet stepped forward in surprise. “Is this not yours to wear?”

“I do not need it. I shall be wearing something else, and if you intend to wear that beautiful white gown of yours, the one with
the sage green hem, then this shall be perfect.” She placed the mask onto Juliet’s face before she could object any further.
“There, you shall be the belle of the ball.”

“I have no desire to be the belle of any ball.” Juliet scoffed at the idea. “I simply wish to enjoy myself.” She pulled the mask
down from her face.

“Oh.” Violet looked quite upset at the idea. “But how else are you supposed to get married?”

“Vi!” Juliet laughed loudly. “I do not remember saying I intended to get married.”

Yet Violet cocked a single eyebrow. Plainly, she did not believe a word Juliet had said.
 Chapter 2
“Are you sure you will not come?” Juliet asked as she stood fidgeting in the doorway of her house. The white mask had been
tied neatly at the back of her head, her white and green gown covered by a slim-fitting pelisse. As she looked in the mirror, she
chewed her lip, not convinced by her appearance.

To her mind, Violet had always been the most beautiful of the two of them. Where Juliet had auburn hair, to such a degree that
the red tinge was something she disliked intently, Violet had fair blonde hair. They had a similar facial structure, with the same
heart-shaped faces and curved cheeks, but Juliet had always preferred Violet’s eyes.

She bore the rich brown eyes of their father, soft and almost puppy-like in their sweetness. In contrast, Juliet’s eyes were a
strange violet hue. Sometimes one had to strain to see it, squinting to look at her, but other times they glowed this unnatural
colour in the candlelight, and people would comment on the oddity of it.

Juliet adjusted the mask on her face, hoping it would help to hide that colour tonight.

“No, no. Gone are the days when the pair of us went to such balls.” Cecily appeared behind her, lovingly placing her hands on
Juliet’s shoulders. “We were young once and danced happily at such events. There were nights where your father and I were
scarcely ever off the dancefloor.” She giggled warmly. “Yet not anymore.”

“My knees couldn’t take it!” Robert called humorously from the other end of the room. “Especially the way you and I used to
dance.”

“He’s quite right.” Cecily continued to pat Juliet’s shoulder. “You are not worried, are you? Brandon will be a very good
escort to you and your sister. He is so protective of her; he wouldn’t dare be anything else.”

“I know.” Juliet sighed deeply. “You must know as well as I, Ma, they are so recently married they shall spend all evening
talking to one another.”

“Good,” Robert called once more from the other end of the room. “That leaves you to do your own thing tonight. Find a suitor
of your own. Dance with who you wish to, within reason, of course.”

“Pa!” Juliet complained and turned away from the mirror. Her mother fussed with her pelisse for a few minutes, adjusting it on
her shoulders with eagerness.

“All I’m saying is do not dance with every man that asks you.” Robert was sitting near the front door, rubbing one of his sore
knees. He’d injured them in a riding accident many years ago, and he sometimes walked with a cane to assist him these days,
though to Juliet’s mind, he still looked too young to walk with a stick. “Not every man is worthy of you.”

“He’s your father,” Cecily reminded her. “It’s his place to worry for you.”

“How am I to know who I should dance with?” Juliet asked. “Should I ask for the man’s credentials and a detailed description
of his reputation before I consent to dance with him?”
“It’s hardly the worst idea in the world.”

“Robert,” Cecily hissed and walked over to him. “Do not be ridiculous. We want Juliet to enjoy herself tonight.”

“Yes, yes, indeed we do.” Robert stood, reaching for the cane beside him and using it to walk nearer to Juliet. “Do enjoy
yourself, and as for your sister’s preoccupation with her new husband, do not worry about that.” He smiled indulgently. “We
can tease you too when all you can think about is the man you will someday marry.”

“Why is everyone preoccupied with me marrying all of a sudden?” Juliet asked, her voice a little sharper than she meant it to
be. Her mother and father exchanged a look, but neither of them said anything.

There was a knock on the front door, and all three of them turned to look at it.

“You were saved from answering,” Juliet murmured as she walked to the door and opened it wide.

On the doorstep stood Violet and Brandon together. They were looking at one another with such fixed stares that it took them
both a few seconds to realize Juliet had answered the door at all.

“Good evening,” Juliet said pointedly to get their attention, even going so far as to wave her hand madly in the air.

“Good evening.” Brandon turned to face her. His fair hair, only a few shades darker than Violet’s, flicked around his forehead
as he turned to look at her. “Well, the carriage is ready if you are prepared to depart, Juliet.”

“I am indeed,” Juliet murmured. “As ready as a bee is to sting.”

“Juliet,” Cecily hissed in reprimand, though, as usual, she was doing her best to hide her smile. “Behave tonight.”

“When do I do anything but?” Juliet asked with innocence. “You must allow me a few jokes at their expense.” She gestured
between Brandon and Violet, who were already walking back to their carriage, arm in arm, and laughing about something
together. “I feel like a third horse attached to a carriage when there should be just two, out of place and unlikely to upset the
cart altogether.”

“Nonsense.” Cecily waved a hand in the air. “Now go, go.” Juliet stepped outside, hurried by her mother’s quick flicks of her
hands. “And remember to have a good time!”

“Oh yes, I may have forgotten otherwise,” Juliet whispered, though she was the only one who heard this particular jest as she
followed her sister into the carriage.

Sitting on the bench opposite Violet and Brandon, they waved at her parents through the window as the carriage set off and
jolted from side to side, rolling calmly away down the road. This early in spring, the evenings were still not bright, so they left
in darkness with a single lantern overhead, swinging from side to side with the flame casting orange streaks across their faces.

“Well, are you looking forward to the ball tonight, Juliet?” Brandon asked, clearly attempting to shift his focus away from his
new wife.
“I can barely contain my excitement.” Her sarcasm seemed lost on Brandon, though Violet tutted at her.

“It shall be a good evening,” Violet insisted. “You shall see.”

“I wonder if you are right about that. You see, I have always wondered about the nature of a masked ball.” She untied the
ribbon from the back of her head and lowered the mask in her grasp so she could take a better look at it. “I wonder what the
true purpose of such an event really is.”

“How do you mean?” Violet asked though she was already leaning on her husband, their hands clasped tightly together, her
attention slipping away.

“Well, to choose to hold a masquerade ball, you must have one of two intentions. Either you have some misdeed you wish to
hide in plain sight by concealing your own identity, or you are quite bored, and you enjoy the idea of everyone else’s confusion
and their own misdeeds done under a mask.”

“Ha! You are such a cynic, Juliet,” Violet said with a rich laugh. “Perhaps our hosts were simply hoping to have a good time.”

“Perhaps,” Juliet murmured, but she was not so convinced. As she tied her mask to the back of her head again, she saw a
problem with the request her father had made of her. In his wish for her to dance with only reputable men, he had quite
forgotten the fact every man there tonight would be wearing a mask.

Plainly, I shall have to ask any dance partner to remove his mask first if I am to please my father!

***

“Dear God, is this what classes as fun in the ton now?” Edward muttered in his sister’s ear as he escorted her into the
masquerade ball. Everywhere he looked in the great hall, he was reminded of a performance. It was as if every guest wore a
persona in their disguise and had not bothered to come as their true self.

Some ladies wore that much jewellery, it was impossible to see their true skin, and other ladies had such feathers thrust into
their hair that their hair was impossible to discern. Even some of the gentlemen looked just as ridiculous to Edward’s mind,
with dandies bearing ostentatiously laced cuffs and collars and some even wearing the thick white wigs that had been
considered fashionable in the last century.

Edward’s mouth hung open in wonder as he and Jane walked further into the ballroom. The more he looked, the more he
observed people’s behaviour.

Gentlemen stood rigidly as if pokers had been shoved up their backs, and ladies fluttered fans in most particular places,
perhaps making specific gestures to mean certain things, as per the language of fans, and other times just trying to draw their
suitors’ attention to the curves of their breasts or the flattering line of their gowns. Not one lady fluttered her face with a fan as
if she were truly suffering in the humidity of the room.

“Calm yourself. You promised our mother you would behave,” Jane whispered.

“Did I?” At Edward’s tone of defiance, she stood subtly on his toe. “Ouch, what was that for?”
“You are here tonight to meet my betrothed and to find one of your own.”

“Don’t you start sounding like our mother.”

“You must behave tonight,” she whispered and lifted her own fan, opening it wide to flutter it in the air quickly like the wings
of a butterfly. Fortunately, she raised it to cover her lips so she could whisper to him conspiratorially, “All jests aside, and our
parents’ wishes aside too, you cannot be completely against the idea of marriage, surely? A female companion, so you are not
lonely anymore?”

“I do not remember saying I was lonely. I’m quite comfortable in my own company.” His shrug made her close up the fan and
tap him around the arm with it in reprimand. “Ow.” He pretended to be hurt, wincing and rubbing the top of his arm. “Just so I
know, how many more injuries should I expect tonight?”

“Surely tonight, brother is a chance for you to meet ladies without our parents breathing down your neck.”

She nodded at the great room and the number of ladies wandering back and forth. Edward had to admit there was a significant
number, so many in fact that the gowns and headdresses started to blur together. He saw some ladies smile in his direction, and
others started waving at gentlemen with their fans, pointing at the dance floor most eagerly in the hope of getting an invitation to
dance.

“How can one truly get to know a lady when you cannot even see her face?” Edward pointed out, his eyes resting on the masks
on their faces. Some masks were slim things that barely hid an identity at all, but other ladies had gone to more effort. They’d
hidden their hair under turbans and wore masks that covered three-quarters of their face so they would not be recognized.

“Edward.” Jane rounded on him.

“What did I say wrong?”

“Do you mean to tell me that you are truly so shallow you must see a lady’s face before you decide whether you like her or not?
Is beauty all you think of? There is more to finding a companion in life.”

“Calm your blood, Jane.” Edward laughed at his sister’s reaction and the growing pinkness up her neck, a sign of her outrage.
Fortunately, the mask covered so much of her face it wasn’t easy to see the blush on her cheeks. “Come off it. I am not so
shallow as to think beauty is all that matters, but I am also a man of the world. To find a partner, to consider marrying them, one
must at least be a little attracted, must they not?”

“Whether or not your spouse has a fair face should not be important. It’s what’s in here that counts.” She tapped her own heart
with her closed-up fan. “Oh, oh. Here he comes!” She stepped excitedly to the side as a young man was hurrying towards them.

He had a mask in his hand and was evidently fumbling with the difficulty of tying the mask around the back of his head. His
face, fully visible, revealed strong lines with a handsome jaw.

“It’s Freddie,” Jane whispered to Edward in a rushed tone. The loose dark brown locks hung around the man’s ears, and the cut
of his suit sat neatly upon his shoulders. Jane bobbed on her toes, waving at him. When he saw her, he clearly recognized her at
once and hurried over.
“What was that you said about a fair face not being important in a spouse?” Edward asked pointedly. “Do you not take your
own advice, sister?”

“Do you want hitting again?” She threatened him with the fan, but he was fortunately saved by Freddie appearing at their side.
“Ah, Freddie.”

He greeted her hurriedly, fumbling so much that he dropped the mask. He revealed himself to be a clumsy fellow, though
Edward couldn’t knock the man’s eagerness to see Jane.

“I am glad to find you,” he said in a hushed tone, kissing the back of Jane’s hand and offering a kind smile. “You’re going to
have to help me, Jane. I am making an exhibition of myself as usual.”

Edward bent down and picked up the mask for him. “Ah, thank you,” he said, taking the mask back.

“Freddie, meet my brother.” Jane gestured between them. “He has just returned from his travels to India.”

“It is a pleasure to meet you, My Lord.” Freddie bowed in greeting. “I have heard so much about you from the family.”

“It is good to meet you, too.” Edward could see, though, that Freddie’s attention was already slipping back to Jane. Edward
was actually relieved by this eventuality. For one thing, he didn’t have to stand here stiffly and make an awkward conversation
with a man he didn’t know, and the fact Freddie was so keen on talking to Jane was a testament to his affection for her. “We can
talk another time, but I can see you two are longing to dance tonight.”

“A dance? Oh yes, let’s Freddie.”

“Of course, though, as usual, you will have to forgive my two left feet.” Freddie tried to put on his mask but struggled once
more. Fortunately, Jane took it out of his hand and did it for him.

Edward waved them off and left the pair of them to dance. For a few seconds, he watched them walk across the room in the
direction of the dance floor. Freddie stared at Jane with such intensity that Edward was struggling not to laugh.

You would think the man had been put under some spell or trance. I cannot imagine ever looking at a woman in that way!

Edward walked away and headed towards the refreshments table. Over his shoulder, he could now see people glancing his
way, clearly curious about his identity as he had been seen standing beside Freddie, who hadn’t had his mask on at the time.
Naturally, the normal rumour mill of the ton was in place, and they were all speculating as to who was keeping Lord Frederick
Winter company.

Edward glanced at some of the ladies who were now whispering behind fans. He felt rather like a tiger being hunted in the
depths of the Indian forests, not looked at so much for who it was but what it was. Some ladies in front of him stepped in his
way.

They fluttered their fans in front of their deep necklines, plainly hoping for an introduction, but Edward was fortunately saved
from such an opportunity as their hunt drew in two other men who approached the group.
Edward chuckled under his breath as he reached the refreshments table. Before he could reach for a glass of claret to quench
his thirst, someone bumped into his arm. A splash of cold liquid tipped down his tailcoat arm, and he looked down, seeing the
bubbling liquid spill everywhere. It may have been lemonade or champagne; he wasn’t sure.

“What the …” he murmured and looked up, ready to accost who had ever bumped into him. Was this someone else’s attempt to
get an introduction from him?

“I am so sorry.” The lady before him immediately put down her glass and offered up a handkerchief. “I was trying to escape
someone.” She waved a hand madly over her shoulder, and Edward saw a rather eager-looking gentleman standing at a
distance who had evidently wanted her attention. “Serves me right for not looking where I am going.”

“It is nothing,” Edward said, aware that she didn’t seem to pay attention to his words. She mopped up the spill she had made
on his jacket, her slim hands working quickly down his arm, touching him as if they knew one another.

For the first time, Edward looked at the lady. Her elegant fingers, covered in white gloves, led up to slender shoulders with an
open neckline, revealing the delicate collarbone. She did not wear excessive jewellery but a single silver stone at her throat.
Her white and green gown flattered the slim curves of her figure, and to his dismay, Edward found his eyes tarrying longer than
they should have done on the curve of her waist.

“I think you have got it all,” he said with a soft laugh as she finished mopping him up and lifted her head.

Edward felt his breath halt in his throat. She had tipped back her head, the curls of her auburn hair falling behind her ears to
reveal her face. Most of it was covered by an extensive white mask, but what had captured him was the colour of her eyes,
unmistakable in this candlelight. They were an unusual almost gray, but more purple hue. Quite stunning, Edward couldn’t stop
staring at them.

“Lost for words, sir?” she asked, her lips turning up into the smallest of smiles.
 Chapter 3
It was as if the gentleman before her had been struck.

Juliet smiled as the gentlemen laughed at her words and shook his head.

“Forgive me,” he muttered. Yet his eyes didn’t stray far away. If anything, they looked down at her gown again, then back at her
eyes.

Oh.

Juliet gasped at that look. Never could she remember being looked at in such a way before. Once again, it was as if he were
tongue-tied, unable to say a word as he stared at her.

“Permit me to hazard a guess,” she whispered. “Is it the odd eyes that have performed this magic?” She gestured to him with
the cloth she had just used to mop up her spilt drink.

“Odd? Well, I would not have called them that. There are a number of things that have now rendered me speechless, but it
seems as if every single one of them hardly flatter me; let us start again.” He turned to face her fully and offered his hand. “It is
a pleasure to meet you.”

He didn’t say his name. Curiosity burned within Juliet to know who this masked man was. His dark hair, wild and very short,
with just a few loose curls about his ears was tempting. She had an errant daydream about running her hands through those
curls, wondering what it would be like. His eyes, beyond a mask as black as his suit, were an almost shocking blue, so bright it
was as if she stared at a morning sky.

“And you,” she whispered, giving him her hand. As was customary, he bowed to her, bending over their hands, which were
now softly clasped together. His fingers, curling softly around her own, didn’t release her at once, and neither did Juliet pull
back from him. She was all too aware as he bowed to her that he held her gaze, never once looking away.

She took in as much of his face as she could judge beyond that mask. There was a strong jawline and the tiniest bit of black
stubble. Most men in the room were clean-shaven, but the rather more rugged appearance beneath that black mask, the
informality of it, had her mouth dry.

He stood straight, and they continued to stare at one another, neither of them saying anything for a minute or so.

“Well, do you think we have completed our impression of soundless statues for the night?” he asked her, his words breaking
her inability to speak. She laughed and shook her head.

“I think so. Shall we put it down to the effect of the masks, do you think?”

“We could say that or something else entirely.” He still hadn’t released her hand, and they just stood there together, holding
hands in the most uncustomary way, though still, she didn’t pull back. There was a warmth in that touch, a softness that seemed
to contrast the keenness of his stare so much that she didn’t know what to make of him. “You said you were escaping someone
when you bumped into me?”

“I was.” She glanced over her shoulder again, rather glad to see that the man who had been persistently trying to ask her to
dance had at last given up. “I am afraid I was quite desperate for an escape.”

“Then allow me to offer you another.” He shifted his hand from hers and travelled it up her wrist. The delicate brush of his
fingers on her gloved wrist made her tremble with a sort of thrill she had not known before. He opened the dance card, slung
loosely around her hand, and angled his head, looking at the lines written within.

“No partner for the next dance?” he asked, his voice soft. “Care to allow me to fill that space?” He moved his hand to hers
again, soft, giving her every chance to escape if she wished to.

Wordlessly, she nodded and allowed him to escort her away.

They moved from the drinks table through the crowds and towards the main dance floor, where they waited for the last dancers
to finish their cotillion. All left the floor, and new people took their places, with the pair of them included. They moved to the
very middle, where the masked gentleman turned to face her with a small smile lifting his features.

“I should mention,” he whispered, bending so close to her that she could practically feel his lips brushing her ear.

What is happening?

She swallowed, struggling to get past the perpetual dryness in her throat.

“It has been some years since I have danced in the ton, for I have been travelling. I may not remember all the steps.”

“Then I am privileged indeed,” she whispered playfully. “Your first dance on your return? And I treated you so awfully by
throwing a drink at you.”

He laughed warmly. Before they could say any more to one another, the music began.

He stepped back, the distance between them increasing enough to allow them to bow and curtsy to one another. The whole
time, Juliet felt his eyes upon her as if he couldn’t bear to look away. When she stood straight from her curtsy, she heard the
opening notes of a quadrille. The music consisted of deep low notes, the violins and bass struck with great fervour as the
dramatic piece filled the ballroom air.

Walking towards one another, the pair circled each other, not a touch between them, though strangely, Juliet itched to hold his
hand, for there to be some connection between them. They halted, having now switched places, and looked one another in the
eye as the couple to her left now walked around them.

“We should probably have some conversation between us, should we not?” he whispered to her. “Otherwise, it seems you and
I are likely to continue to stare at one another in such a way for this whole dance.”

She smiled indulgently, amused by his words.

“Yes, let’s talk,” she murmured as he took her hand and led her around the couple to her right. They changed places with the
pair, his hand gentle on hers. “I could ask you about your travels, and we could have a real conversation, or perhaps you prefer
the normal platitudes of a ball?”

“Go on,” he urged, his smile growing once more.

“Well, I believe it’s customary for one of us to talk of the weather. I’ll then comment on how hot it is in here tonight, and you
shall say something about there being too many couples. Indeed, we could spend an entire dance with such … uninteresting
conversation,” she said as he took both her hands. He led her around him, and they changed places one more before they came
together, standing so close that Juliet’s breath felt stolen from her body.

“Or …” he whispered, encouraging her on.

“Or we could talk of something real.” She watched as his blue eyes lit up beyond the dark covering of his mask. “Where did
you travel to, sir? Are you glad to be back? Or do you wish at this moment you were back somewhere far from here?”

“I cannot deny I miss it,” he whispered, shifting his touch to just one hand. They stepped towards one another and then apart
again, performing a deep and slow step perfectly matched to the dramatic tune. “Yet at this moment? Well, we could say I am
glad to be where I am.” He raised his hand, and she turned underneath it, flicking her head around so she returned her eyes
quickly to meet his own.

“I spent many a night waking up in the hot rooms of India, stepping out onto balconies and admiring the stars, with the scents of
turmeric and incense in the air. That is a beauty that is hard to compete with, but I am still very glad to be here now.”

“Oh, a compliment indeed.” She giggled and turned her head away from him, preparing to part for the next part of the dance.
“But perhaps you give such compliments to all ladies, eh? Silver-tongued gentlemen are good at making ladies hang on their
words.”

Then she parted, following the other ladies as they created two great circles in the middle of the floor. As she danced away,
she felt the gentleman’s gaze upon her. She glanced back, more than once, catching his eye before she returned to him.

They came together, taking each other’s hand and circling one another once more.

“No silver tongue here,” he whispered in her ear. “You’ll find I did not want to come at all tonight. I confess I’m relieved I
came now.”

“Why did you not want to come?” she asked as they turned to face one another. They had to wait for another couple to circle
them once more, so just stared at each other, hand in hand, neither moving.

Juliet felt such tension as she stared at him that her chest fluttered up and down with quick movements. She prayed no one in the
room was watching the pair of them, or they would undoubtedly note that she looked at this man as she did not think she had
looked at any other.

He didn’t answer her right away but grimaced.

“Come now,” she said, continuing her playful tone. “Did we not agree to share a real conversation with no platitudes?”
“Then I’ll be honest.” He turned her under his arm. “My parents insisted that I come, and I came to meet my sister’s betrothed.
Yet when I walk into this room, I find the whole formality, the performances the people put on,” he broke off and chuckled, “it
reminds me of being at the theatre.”

“It does?”

“For instance.” He turned her in so she was nestled under his arm, then he walked her down the line of the dance, changing
places with another partnership. So close to him now she could smell his scent. Reminded of what he had said about his travels
to India, she realized that the scent he wore was far different from the usual excessive sweetness of the cologne most men wore
in this room.

His scent was of spices and a vague fragrant note that hovered in the air. “How many people have you seen tonight who stand
as they think they ought rather than what makes them comfortable?”

“There is not a soul here who is not doing that.” She laughed warmly as he turned her out once more from under his arm. They
returned to the beginning of the dance, walking around each other without touching. “Everyone performs to a standard expected
of them. Even you, I am sure.”

“Me? Oh, outrageous! Surely not me.” His reaction made her laugh deeply. As they circled each other again, this time, they
walked even closer together in a way she was sure she should not have done. “I like to buck the trend, I am afraid.”

“How do you do that?” she asked, her curiosity piqued. Before they could say any more to one another, they broke off, forced
to make those circles with the other dancers again. As Juliet looked at the distance that separated them, she was certain she
saw him breathing as fast as she was now, and she hoped it had more to do with this meeting than just the dance.

When they came back together, they joined both hands, heads bowed together.

“Sometimes, I am fond of rebelling against the norm,” he whispered to her, his voice so deep that she felt a pleasant shiver up
her spine. “You look intrigued by the idea.”

“Perhaps I am.” She chewed her lip before a confession tumbled from her lips. It was strange, for she did not know this man.
She had known him for just a few minutes altogether and had no idea of his name, position, or anything about him, yet
everything in their conversation induced her to believe she could trust him with the confession she was about to make. “You see
before you a lady who has always tried to play by the rules.”

“Always?” He raised a single eyebrow as if in disbelief as he turned her under his arm, and she flicked her head around once
more, eager to keep looking at him.

“Well, my conversation might be a little rebellious at times, but I act as I should, and I do as my parents expect of me, but what
you speak of?” She paused, watching him intently. “You make me curious about the ways to bend the rules a little.”

The music was ending now, though she was scarcely aware of it. All she thought of was the way the masked man lowered their
clasped hands between the pair of them.

“Oh, I could show you many ways to bend the rules.” He winked at her, and her stomach did somersaults.
With the closing notes of the music, he kissed the back of her hand and bowed to her. He lingered with his lips on her white
glove, far longer than he should have done, though she found she didn’t mind. Let him bend this rule as well as any other he
wished to show her.

“For instance, if your dance card were not already taken, I’d ask you for a second dance now, yet I cannot.” Before any more
could be said between them, the gentleman who had written his name beside the next dance appeared beside her, trying to
muscle his way in. “Until later,” her masked man said in her ear, releasing her. “Maybe sometimes I can show you a little of
how to rebel.”

She looked around, wishing to follow him with her eyes, but he was already disappearing into the crowd.

Quite breathless, Juliet was scarcely ready for her next dance. She struggled to control her breathing and concentrate on the
dance as she was led back to the middle of the floor. She even stayed quiet compared to usual in her dances, for every time her
dance partner endeavoured to speak with her, she had to bite her tongue not to laugh.

He talked of the weather and the number of couples in the room, all the platitudes and dull niceties that she had wished to
avoid.

One dance blended into another, and another four dances passed where Juliet was asked to dance with a different gentleman
each time. Between each number, she looked around the floor, intent on finding the masked man she had first danced with that
night, but he seemed to have disappeared. She never caught sight of the curly black hair, the stubble, nor the dark mask that had
hidden his features so well.

When she grew quite parched, she flung the dance card from her wrist and conveniently dropped it into the middle of a drinks
table so no one would know it was hers and try to secure another dance with her. Snatching up a glass of lemonade, she hurried
to the side of the room, gulping the liquid to try and quench her thirst.

Seeing across the room that a man was looking at her, a man who was clearly debating asking her for a dance, she stole away
to the nearest exit. Clambering for the door, she pushed it open, hardly aware where it led.

She stumbled outside and onto a stone terrace. There were a few other men gathered here, some smoking and taking in the air
as they looked up at the moon. At the far end of the veranda was a group of ladies, all gossiping and so caught up in their
conversation they didn’t seem to notice anyone else beyond their circle.

Repeatedly raising the glass to her lips, Juliet hurried down a flight of stone steps. They led from the terrace to a second stone
veranda beneath the first. This one was mostly covered by the first, with a canopy of ivy and roses over her head. Hurrying into
the space that glittered with the occasional shaft of moonlight shining through the spaces, she breathed deeply, thankful for the
fresh air.

There was something mad to her about tonight. She had no doubt done as her parents wished of her, dancing with many men in
the hope that she would someday soon secure a suitor and marry, as her sister had done, but she had taken little pleasure in it.

There is only one dance I have enjoyed tonight.

She walked through the ivy arch, tipping the lemonade glass to her lips once more when she saw a figure at the end of the path.
Stumbling to a stop, she nearly dropped the glass as she stared at the figure. She should not be here alone, not with any man.
Without a chaperone, it would be scandalous indeed; then she saw the man thrust a hand into his hair and brush it through. The
dark curls were noticeable, and despite the fact she knew she should retreat, that at once she should find the canopy of others,
as this was most improper, she found herself walking forward.

Is it him?

Her heel on the stone path blared, and he jerked his head up. Turning, he angled his head around, revealing the thick black mask
on his face and those bright blue eyes that looked silver in the moonlight.

It’s him.
 Chapter 4
“It’s you,” Edward whispered, watching as the lady walked towards him with a glass in her hand. Her lips parted as she
looked at him as if in shock to find him here. “I take it from your expression you have not followed me then?”

“Followed you? No.” She shook her head, laughing at the idea. “Though I will admit, I am not running in the other direction
now I have seen you here.”

“You’re quite safe with me,” he assured her, his eyes darting over their secluded position.

He’d come out here in desperate need of some air, finding the whole performance that people were conducting inside the
ballroom infuriating. He had danced with many ladies, and not one of them had had a true and open conversation with him as
the lady before him had done. In fact, they had all spoken the same things about the weather that this lady had most particularly
avoided.

He beckoned her forward with a tilt of his head, and she approached slowly, placing her glass down on the stone balustrade of
the terrace.

“It was quite a dance we shared,” he whispered, stepping closer towards her. They both stood beside the balustrade, a single
hand each on the stone. The tips of his fingers were a mere inch from hers.

“It was memorable.” She slowly nodded, her lips spreading into a smile once more.

His eyes darted over the parts of her face he could see. He saw the delicate jawline and the full lips, but the eyes were still
what captivated him the most. That unusual colour, something he was certain he had never seen anywhere before, even in his
travels across the globe, he could not forget.

“I’d hate for it to be the last dance like that.” He inched his hand forward, his fingers sliding against her own. He wouldn’t
have blamed her for running from him right now, pulling back her hand and hurrying back to the ballroom, but she did no such
thing.

“Then perhaps we will meet again some night as this.”

“Perhaps,” he whispered. “Or you could tell me your name now? Then I can make sure we’ll meet again.”

Her lips spread into a smile.

“Or it could dispel the magic entirely.”

“How do you mean?” he asked, tilting his head as he moved closer to her. He was so near now he could steal a kiss. He was
on the precipice of it, so near that his eyes kept darting down to her lips.

“You have been a sprinkle of magic tonight,” she whispered softly. “But is the mystery of one another part of the magic? Or if I
lifted this mask, would you be quite disappointed?”
“Ha! I find that impossible to believe.”

“Or it could be true.” She continued to smile despite her words. “We could leave tonight as what it is, a dance to remember.”

“Maybe I cannot have the pleasure of knowing your name, but it does not quite have to end here.” He looked down at their
hands, turning them together so they ended up completely clasped. It was no longer just the teasing touch of a brush of their
interlocked fingers but a rather passionate grasp.

“What do you mean?” she whispered, with her voice breathy.

“You asked me earlier about rebelling.” He stepped even nearer towards her, testing the waters, giving her every chance to pull
back from him if she wished to. “Would you like a taste of rebellion?”

Her eyes were the ones to flit down to his lips on this occasion. She smiled a little, then bit her lip rather nervously.

“A first taste of rebellion?” she said, her smile growing. “Well, I may want another taste after that.”

“Oh, I hope you will.” He tilted his head, angling towards her own. When she raised herself on her toes, his breath hitched in
his chest.

A rebellion we can share together.

He kissed her, placing his lips to hers. At first, any fear he’d had that his ridiculous mask would get in the way plagued him, but
then such fears faded away. Her lips were soft against his, gentle, and what began as just a brush of lips changed when her
other hand came up between them. The way her fingers curled around the lapel of his jacket made something leap in his chest.

He angled his head further against hers and pushed the kiss a little further, making his lips firmer and begging an entrance with
a playful nip to her bottom lip. When she parted her lips, he brought up his other hand, placing it softly on the curve of her
waist and bringing her body to his.

Their tongues caressed one another. Far from being like any dance he had known before, the sensuality and the passion of it left
his body tense and aching to know more of this pleasure. Something about this mysterious woman before him with violet-hued
eyes put his body on edge, imagining things he knew he should not be imagining.

A sound beyond the terrace made them both pull back, their lips falling apart, though they did not release each other. They still
had hands clasped together, her hand upon his lapel and his other on the curve of her waist.

They both looked to the other end of the path, watching warily in case someone discovered them. A few seconds later, a
drunken man ambled past with a carafe of whisky in his grasp. He howled at the moon and walked further into the garden,
taking no notice of them.

They stayed silent until he had passed, then she giggled, and it broke the silence between them. Edward chuckled, too, quite
entranced by her reaction. Most ladies might have run from him by now, terrified of discovery, but not her.

“How was your first taste of rebellion?” he whispered, with his head bent down towards her again.
“Better than I could possibly describe.” She inhaled deeply, looking up at him, those violet eyes even more striking than before
in this light. “I should return to the ballroom, for my sister will be wondering where I am, though rest assured I will not be
forgetting this night in a hurry.”

He released her waist, lifting their clasped hands and turning them over so he could kiss the back. The whole time, he held her
gaze, and he slowly slid the glove down from her elbow and across her wrist, revealing a bare spot that he could kiss. The
touch of their skin together made a heat spread through him, and he judged himself not to be the only one for a pink hue spread
across the delicate line of her neck and collarbone.

“Until next time,” he murmured.

“Next time?” She laughed. “You and I do not know one another. We might never recognize each other again.”

“After a kiss like that, I have a feeling you and I will find each other again. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

He kissed the inside of her wrist once more, feeling the excited tremble as it passed up through her arm, and then she backed
up. Her fingers slowly slid out of his own, and she turned away, hurrying down the path. At the end, as she stepped out of the
canopy of ivy and onto the stairs, she hesitated and glanced back.

She was so striking to him that Edward was certain of one thing as she waved a hand to smile in goodbye.

Mask or no mask, I will recognize you anywhere.

***

“You did what!?” Violet spluttered as they entered the chamber where Juliet was to spend the night in her sister’s house.

Juliet hurried in front of her, tearing the mask off her face as she shook and realized just how mad it may have been to reveal
the truth of all that had happened to her sister that night.

“Erm, well …” Juliet murmured as Violet slammed the door shut behind her and leaned upon it.

No words passed between them as Juliet busied herself by gathering a tinderbox and lighting a candle. She placed the burning
tallow flame on a small chest of drawers and turned to face her sister.

“Well?” Violet said expectantly, her eyes growing wide. “You kissed a masked man, and you think nothing of it?”

“On the contrary, I think much of it,” Juliet said with a sigh of satisfaction, sitting down on the foot of the bed.

“Juliet!” Violet hissed, but it was not with the anger that Juliet had expected. Her sister gathered a stool from a vanity table and
pulled it in front of the bed, hastily sitting down too and turning to face Juliet. Her smile was broad, her manner eager, so much
so that she was in danger of falling off her stool. “Are you in earnest? You danced with a man once and decided you liked him
so much that you kissed him outside of that ballroom?”

“Well … yes,” Juliet murmured. “I know, I know it’s mad.” She held up her hands in innocence. “I do not know him. He could
have been a cad, a perfect rake –”

“Could be, indeed,” Violet nodded, with much more eagerness than Juliet had expected.

“Yet I do not know; there was just something about him that made me …” Juliet faltered as she thought back to their dance that
night. The way they had talked, the way they had danced together was unlike any other she’d ever had.

Even when she stood outside with him under the canopy of ivy, and he’d brushed his fingers against her own on that stone
balustrade, her heart had thudded in her chest so hard, it felt as if it were trying to escape out of her ribcage.

“I know this look.” Violet clasped her hands together, looking quite dreamily at Juliet as if they were talking of some great
romance play on a stage. “You are quite at risk of falling in love.”

“Love? Pah!” Juliet laughed loudly and stood from the bed, rounding it and hurrying to the changing screen at the side of the
room. She unlaced her dress hurriedly, determined that if she readied herself for bed, Violet would soon leave.

Why did I tell her? I should not have told her about that kiss!

Yet, in her excitement, it had fallen quite naturally from her lips.

“I spent at most ten minutes in a man’s company tonight. It is impossible to fall in love within that time.”

“Have you not heard of love at first sight?” Violet called with that same dreamy tone as before.

“Equally mad idea.” Juliet peered around the screen, looking at Violet with narrowed eyes. “For one thing, I could not exactly
see him properly, could I?”

“Would you know him again if you saw him?” Violet asked, standing from her stool.

Juliet didn’t answer, for she was not so sure. His hair, the stubble across that distinctive jawline, seemed all so recognizable,
but in another room and a different amount of light, maybe he would be impossible to see.

She stepped out of her gown and flung it across the changing screen.

“There is one question I have for you,” Violet said, her voice now coming directly from the other side of the screen.

“What is that?” Juliet asked, reaching for her corset. She could have called for a maid to help her or even asked her sister, but
instead, she scrambled most ungainly to untie the laces at her back, for she longed to be alone.

“Why did you not ask his name?”

Juliet paused with the laces and hung her head. He’d asked for her name, yet she had refused it.

“In truth, I am not sure,” she mumbled now, thinking her own mind an odd one. “It was all too good to be true, Vi. It was a
perfect dance full of excitement. Then, when we were outside, that kiss …” She paused and flung the corset free from her body.
She discarded the chemise and her stockings next, feeling the cool air of the chamber prickle her skin and make goosebumps
rise across her thighs.

“It was as if I had walked into some book and was reading a favourite chapter. Or that I had walked onto a stage and was
living out a perfectly written moment. Life does not work like that, not in reality.”

She halted once more and reached for a night shift, which hung off the other side of the screen. She pulled it on over her head,
scrambling to get herself ready, then reached for a dressing gown and slung that over her shoulders, too.

“If I discovered his name, then I do not doubt the next time I saw him, we would both be disappointed. We’d miss the magic of
this night.”

“What happened to your romantic side?” Violet struck the other side of the screen so much in frustration that it wobbled.

“That could flatten me if you push it much further.”

“I am not that bad,” Violet muttered. “Come on, Juliet. Are you seriously telling me you did not ask this man’s name because
you thought it all too good to be true?”

“Yes,” Juliet spoke with decisiveness as she stepped out from the screen. She went to the vanity table and sat down, quickly
unpinning her hair from its position. The dark, auburn locks fell loosely around her shoulders.

“Why?” Violet asked, appearing behind her reflection in the mirror. “Why would you think such a thing?”

“The first time you and Brandon met, how did you feel? It surely must have been no fairy tale.” Juliet laughed at the idea.

“That’s where you’re wrong.” Violet stepped forward, her face now clearer in the candlelight, her smile reaching so far that
the skin around her eyes crinkled. “It was my perfect fairy tale.”

Juliet paused, with her hands still placed in her hair.

“Sometimes people are unlucky in love, but sometimes, people are lucky too.” Violet took Juliet’s shoulders and spun her
around so quickly on the stool that she nearly toppled from it. “What if this is your lucky find? What if the man you met tonight
could be the man you love? The man you are destined to be with.”

“Pff, I do not believe in destiny.” Juliet waved her hand in the air and turned away again, facing the mirror. “What if your
destined partner was born on the other side of the world? You would have no chance to meet one another. That would make the
world a cruel place indeed.”

“Oh, you’re being difficult on purpose,” Violet huffed and sat on the foot of the bed, flopping her body down.
“No, I am being practical.” Juliet took out the last pin out of her hair and looked at her face in the mirror. She couldn’t help
wondering if the mask she wore had offered some protection that night, though it was not a thought she would voice to her
sister. What if the mask had hidden enough of her face to make her seem more beautiful than she was? What if the masked man
had been disappointed when she revealed it? “Tonight, shall be just what it was, a perfect memory.”

She smiled rather sadly, watching in the reflection as Violet eyed her with more than a little resentful look.

“Or maybe you have missed out on the love of a lifetime.”

“You’re so dramatic.” Juliet laughed and waved a hand in the air. “I am sure I have not missed out on such a love. Just because
he was interesting, and …”

Passionate.

She decided to keep the thought to herself and stopped her own body from raising her hand and placing it to her lips. She had
not expected a kiss to feel like that. Any kiss she had ever seen on stage was chaste, merely a press of lips together, yet the kiss
she had shared with this man had been nothing of the kind.

The sensuality of his tongue brushing her own, the excitement it had elicited in her gut, to the point that her hand trembled as it
clutched her lapel, was intoxicating. She didn’t think she’d forget for a long time the way his hand had rested on the curve of
her waist, pulling her to him as if she was the very thing he had desired at that moment.

“You’re staring in the dreamiest way into that mirror.” Violet’s words broke the quiet. “You are more like me than you think
you are.”

“Am not,” Juliet said defensively, but smiled all the time. “Anyway, what is done is done. I cannot turn back the clock and ask
his name now, even if I wished to.”

“Do you now wish you had?”

“I am not saying that.” Despite Juliet’s certainty that it was best to leave the one magical night as it was, her curiosity burned
within her.

Who were you? This mysterious man who could kiss with such passion and spend his days in India, bringing the scents of
spices with him when he came to a ball?

“Well, maybe you do not want to know his name, but I certainly do.” Violet stood and walked towards the door with a fixed
look of determination in her eyes.

“Vi? What does that mean?” Juliet asked in a sudden panic and followed her, running and picking up the hem of her dressing
gown to make sure she didn’t trip.

Violet opened the door and stood with her hands on either side of the frame, a victorious smile spreading across her cheeks.

“I was excited in much the same way the night I met Brandon. Now, if there’s a chance that you one day could be as happy in
marriage as I am, how can I miss this chance? Leave it with me.” She patted Juliet’s cheek lovingly and retreated into the
corridor. “I shall discover the name of your masked suitor.”

Juliet said nothing and stared after her sister, with her mouth opening and closing like a goldfish. She did not know whether to
call her sister back to argue with her or to let her go and do as she pleased.
 Chapter 5
“Well?” Amelia sat in the chair beside Edward with such haste that the slice of toast he had been holding threw into the air and
he had to catch it with his other hand to stop it toppling to the ground.

Across the table, Jane sniggered into her teacup as Edward’s eyes slid to his mother beside him. She seemed rather like a child
who had just been promised the finest of sweetmeats, perching on the edge of her chair with her cheeks flushed red and her
eyes open wide.

“Well, what?” Edward asked with perfect innocence, being careful to take a large mouthful of toast to delay this conversation
for as long as possible.

“Jane says you danced last night at the ball with more than one lady.” Amelia waved her hands animatedly. Behind her, Philip
walked into the room. He chuckled, clearly having already expected this conversation.

Proceeding to stand behind his wife, he calmly took her shoulders and moved her back in the chair. She gave no sign of
noticing what he was doing, for she didn’t look at him, though she did indeed move back in the seat. “What did you think of the
ladies? Was there one you liked?”

“Mother, please.” Edward sighed deeply and stared down at his coffee cup.

He had no intention whatsoever of telling anyone in his family about the particular lady who had captured his attention the night
before. She was entirely different from any other lady he had danced with, so much so that falling asleep hadn’t been a simple
thing. He kept seeing her in his mind’s eye, and more than once, he had dreamt of the two of them still outside under that canopy
of ivy on the stone terrace.

He dreamt of what more could have passed between them other than a single kiss. He’d imagined himself kissing down her
neck and pulling the hem of her skirt, dragging it up to reveal her legs. He pictured her tipping back her head, maybe breathy
moans escaping her.

Revealing to his mother and father that he had met a woman he desired so strongly he could not sleep seemed an unwise idea
indeed.

“Amelia, calm yourself.” Philip chuckled as he took his place at the head of the table and poured out two cups of tea, one for
himself and one for his wife. “Asking Edward to decide in the space of one evening if he wished to marry a lady or not is a bit
much, do you not think?”

“You made your intentions clear after the night we had met.” Amelia’s firm words made Philip turn a little pink as he poured
the milk into his cup.

“One night?” Edward asked, his lips stretching into an amused smirk. “You work fast, Father.”

“I called on her with flowers. I did not declare an all-consuming love, nor did I get down on one knee and propose there and
then.”
“I suppose not.” Amelia seemed put out about the idea as she turned in her seat to thank her husband for the tea. “Still, Edward
could tell us if a lady caught his eye.”

“I thought one did catch your eye,” Jane spoke up, putting down her teacup with an alarming clink that drew everyone’s
attention.

“Truly?” Amelia made her own crockery rattle for she leaned forward so far.

“Ahem.” Edward cleared his throat, stepping into their conversation. “No lady caught my eye more than any other last night.”

At least, I am not yet sharing her.

“No?” Jane asked, her mischievous smile still in place. “I could have sworn there was one lady that you danced with whom
you seemed a little more –”

“Speaking of which, when is your wedding, Jane?” Edward saw an opportunity to stop her mischief by causing some of his
own.

“In a month, they are to be wed; why do you ask?” Philip said, putting down the milk jug at the head of the table.

“Just with how close Jane and dear Fred seemed to be last night, I would have thought it would be sooner.”

Jane’s foot thudded under the table in a way that suggested to Edward she was trying to stamp down on his foot to halt him from
saying anything further. He tucked his feet out of her reach, knowing full well that there had been a period the night before
where he had not been able to find his sister and Fred.

“The month will be fine. Everything is all set,” Jane said simply and sat back in her chair. She had clearly taken the hint that if
she spoke about that particular lady from the night before, he would bring up how she had gone missing in the company of her
betrothed, for she said nothing more on the subject, even when Amelia pressed her.

“Oh, come on, Edward. You must be able to satisfy my curiosity with something. Who is this young lady?”

“There was no young lady.” Though Edward knew even if he had wanted to tell his mother, he could not answer this specific
question. He had no idea who the lady beneath the white mask had been, though he longed to know her name.

“Then you will have to attend more events of the ton,” Amelia said with finality. “See who else you can find.”

“Very well, but not yet. I’m going to assist the groomsmen with training the new horses over the next few days.”

“Must you?” Amelia sighed heavily. “You are almost as bad as your father used to be.”

“We take pride in our work.” Philip winked at him. “That is all.”

“There must be time for family too, and for starting a family.” She looked pointedly at Edward with these words.
“I’m not starting one yet!” He objected to the amusement of his father and sister. No matter how much his mother pressed him
for more information, he refused to speak of the lady from the night before, though he had to accept something to himself.

Someday, I will find her. I cannot imagine going through my life without another of those kisses.

***

“Well, that is infuriating.” Violet huffed and dropped down into the chair beside Juliet’s own in their library.

Juliet lifted her head from where she had been staring at her atlas. It was a well-thumbed book that she had perused many
times, paying particular attention to the pages that discussed the great animals to be found across the globe. Today, she had
spent many minutes dwelling on the pages about India, longing to ask the gentleman she had met at the ball two days before if
the illustrations in her atlas were accurate or not.

“What is infuriating?” Juliet whispered, raising a finger to her lips and showing her sister they had to be quiet.

Across the room and sat by the fire was their mother, fast asleep. Cecily had been suffering from heated spells all morning but
was now chilly and tired, huddled by the fire in the corner of the library with a blanket on her lap. Juliet was the one who had
threaded that blanket around her mother and now watched on.

“I have asked everyone I know,” Violet started again in a much lower tone than before, “who that masked man from the ball
was. You know, the one you were so smitten with.”

“I was not smitten –”

“Pff. We both know you were.”

“Shh.” Juliet waved a hand at their mother again. “I not only do not wish to wake her, but I don’t want our mother to hear of
what I did at that ball. It is our secret.”

Violet tapped the side of her nose in agreement.

“I asked the hostess if she knew who he was. Oh, she was so in her cups that night she couldn’t remember one masked man
from another.”

“I rather imagine that is the point of a masked ball,” Juliet said simply, turning the pages of her atlas. As she looked down, she
bit her lip, trying not to give away the fact that she had been secretly hoping her sister would discover something about the
mystery man’s identity. To have no leads was disappointing.

“I asked Brandon, but he did not know. I even asked his friends to make some small enquiries, but no one even knew who he
was talking about. Oh, it’s ridiculous. It’s as if you are the only one who noticed him there that night of the ball.” She huffed
once more and sat back uncomfortably in her chair, making it creak loudly. “You didn’t imagine him, did you?”

“God, I hope not,” Juliet mumbled. “Or maybe I truly am losing my marbles.”
Over the past two nights, she had woken up briefly heated in the night. For one mad minute, she had thought she was suffering
her mother’s pains, but early in life, then she realized she was suffering no such thing. Her heated spells at night were due to
her dreams.

Each night, she dreamt of the masked man from the ball. She dreamt he was in her chamber. She always pictured him with that
mask on, though he was frequently pulling at his clothes and hers, too, shedding other layers to get to one another.

All Juliet knew of what passed between men and women at night had her picturing what would happen in her bedchamber with
him there. Would they leave the cushions mussed as Violet and Brandon did? Would they be so desperate to reach one another
that they’d forget to lock the door on their way to the bed?

If I am picturing all this with a man I imagined in a mad moment, then dear God, I am not well!

“He existed,” Juliet muttered eventually, quite certain of it. “My imagination may be a competent one, but it isn’t so good as to
imagine what passed between us without …” She trailed off before she could say without experience. It had been her first kiss.
How would she have known what to imagine otherwise?

“There’s nothing else for it.” Violet folded her arms, nodding her head with resolution.

“Oh dear, I know that look. You have a plan.” Juliet closed her book. “Am I going to like this or not?”

“Probably not.”

“How reassuring!”

“You simply must attend every event of the ton that you can.”

“Every single one?” This time, it was Juliet speaking too loudly in her outrage. Violet hissed at her to be quiet as, at the other
end of the room, their mother murmured in her sleep and shifted her head on the armchair, turning her face more towards the
fire.

“Come, Violet. I go to all the events our parents ask of me, but surely, I do not need to attend every single one. They grow
tiresome after a while. We do all stand there, straight-backed and rigid, all afraid to step on one another’s toes. No one speaks
freely.”

Not like he did.

“Don’t you see?” Violet asked in excitement. “This is why you must go. Your masked suitor –”

“He was not a suitor. He was …”

“A rebellion?”

Juliet shifted uncomfortably, rather startled her sister had discovered the very word that she and the masked man had used that
night when they had kissed.

“Anyway, how are you supposed to find him unless you do attend every event. The one event you do not go to might be the one
he does attend. You must go.” Violet patted the closed atlas with finality. When Juliet tried to open it again, Violet placed her
palm flat upon it, keeping it closed. “Promise me you will go.”

“Must I?” Juliet sighed dramatically. As little as she liked the idea of attending the event, she could not deny a longing to see
the man again.

“In fact, go shopping tomorrow. Take the carriage out of London and go to that modiste you like so much who lives on the edge
of the city. Buy yourself something nice to catch his eye.”

“Well, if you insist upon it, sister.”

Violet clapped with delight, and their mother jumped in her sleep, sitting bolt upright with wide eyes.

***

Edward left the stable yard when the sun showed signs of slipping in the sky. He’d spent the whole day watching over the
grooms’ and jockeys’ work, not only with the horses owned by himself and his father but the horses they were training for the
king, too. Each animal was coming on in great strides, and even the two rare Marwari horses that had just begun their training
were settling in well.

Pulling himself into the saddle of his well-trained black steed, he turned the animal back towards the streets of London. After
the hard day’s work, he had taken off his tailcoat and flung it across the front of the saddle with the sleeves of his shirt rolled
up to his elbows.

There was a thin gleam of sweat on his neck, though he didn’t mind. He loved these hard days, and seeing the success the
horses were making in their races was worth the effort.

Soon, when the racing season began in earnest, he’d be able to see the fruits of his labour properly.

To avoid the busiest stretches of London, he headed through the quieter roads that led towards the west bank and close to his
father’s estate. So few people knew about these back roads that there was scarcely a soul upon them. Still on the edge of the
countryside, sycamore and oak trees stretched high overhead, their new green leaves shimmering in the last light of the day.

As he rode on, he nodded his head at passing farmers who walked on foot. At one point, he passed an elderly couple who
shook their heads between them. They acknowledged him, nodding back, but continued their conversation, clearly caught up in
the excitement of having just witnessed something.

“A wonder they are not dead,” the elderly lady muttered to the man beside her. “Never seen a carriage ride in such a way.”

“I daresay you’re right.” The man nodded, his wrinkled jowls shaking with the movement. “It’ll be a wonder if there is no
accident.”
Another random document with
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from this 800 men stated to have been lost before entering Tlascala, not counting
those who fell in other provinces, leaves about 580; yet he acknowledges only 440
alive. Hist. Verdad., 108 et seq. Herrera is also contradictory, admitting in one
place 500, and in another ‘less than’ 400 soldiers and 600 allies. Oviedo reduces
the soldiers to 340. iii. 513. Vetancurt adopts Bernal Diaz’ 440 soldiers and
Herrera’s 600 allies. Prescott hastily declares Gomara as nearest to the truth, yet
he departs from him in the result. With regard to the allies, he reckons the full
number of all who were brought to Mexico, while it is pretty obvious, from figures
and facts, that a portion must have been allowed to return home during the
inaction of the emperor’s captivity. The list of losses, as given by different
authorities, stands as follows: 150 soldiers, over 2000 allies, Cortés; over 200
soldiers, over 2000 allies, Lejalde, Probanza; nearly 200 soldiers, over 1000 allies,
Solis; 300 soldiers, over 2000 allies, at one bridge, Sahagun, 122; 450 soldiers,
4000 allies, Gomara, followed by Ixtlilxochitl, Clavigero, Camargo, and others;
over 500 soldiers in all New Spain, Carta del Ejército; over 600 soldiers,
Robertson; over 600 soldiers, B. V. de Tapia, in Ramirez, Proceso contra
Alvarado, 38; 800 soldiers in all New Spain, Cortés, Residencia, i. 42; 870 soldiers
in all New Spain, Bernal Diaz; 1170 soldiers, 8000 allies, Cano, in Oviedo, iii. 551.

[858] The loss in horses varies from 45, in Cortés, to 56, in Lejalde, Probanza,
both acknowledging 24 left.

[859] ‘Perdidose todo el oro y joyas y ropa,’ etc. Cortés, Cartas, 135. It had been
confided to Tlascaltecs, and was nearly all lost, says their chief. Camargo, Hist.
Tlax., 169-70. The officers testified afterward before public notary: ‘Se perdió todo
el dicho oro é joyas de SS. AA., é mataron la yegua que lo traia.’ Lejalde,
Probanza, in Icazbalceta, Col. Doc., i. 425. Two witnesses during the residencia of
Cortés stated that the general had two mares, one given to carry the royal
treasures and the other laden with his own. The latter being lost, he claimed the
other to be his, and in this manner appropriated 45,000 pesos or more which
belonged to the king. Cortés, Residencia, i. 69, 101-2. Not long after the retreat he
called on all to declare, under penalty, what gold they had saved of that taken from
the unappropriated piles. From those who did so the treasures were taken,
although it was understood that they had been given to them. All this Cortés kept.
Id., 101-2, 241-2; ii. 402. Many refused to surrender, and since the leaders had
also secured shares from the common pile, the order to reveal possession thereof
was not enforced, says Bernal Diaz. He adds that one third was to be retained by
the possessor as a reward. Cortés kept as a forced loan what had been
surrendered. Hist. Verdad., 117-18. The loss of treasure, that thrown away by
carriers and pressed soldiers, or sunken with their bodies, has been estimated at
from several hundred thousand pesos to over two millions, in the values of that
time; to which Wilson sarcastically objects, that ‘nothing was really lost but the
imaginary treasure, now grown inconveniently large, and which had to be
accounted for to the emperor. The Conquistador was too good a soldier to hazard
his gold; it was therefore in the advance, and came safely off.’ Conq. Mex., 412-
13.

[860] ‘Si esta cosa fuera de dia, por ventura no murieran tantos,’ adds Gomara,
Hist. Mex., 161. While grieving he recognized ‘el manifiesto milagro que la reyna
de los angeles su abogada, el apostol San Pedro, y el de los egércitos Españoles
Santiago, habian hecho en haberse escapado él.’ Ixtlilxochitl, Hist. Chich., 302.
Vetancurt moralizes on the flight as a chastisement by God, who saved the
remnant to spread the faith. Teatro Mex., pt. iii. 145-6.

[861] On a later page Bernal Diaz says he fell at Otumba. Hist. Verdad., 107, 246.

[862] Herrera attempts to save somewhat the reputation of the astrologer by the
statement that he prophesied death for himself or his brother.

[863] Every one, say Cortés and Herrera; but Ixtlilxochitl states that one sister of
King Cacama was saved, and he intimates that one or two of his brothers also
escaped. He is contradictory, however. Hist. Chich., 302, 390. The one who
escaped must have been Cuicuitzcatl, the newly made king of Tezcuco. Brasseur
de Bourbourg adds two of his brothers, probably from misinterpreting Ixtlilxochitl.
Hist. Nat. Civ., iv. 339.

[864] Ixtlilxochitl names some of the chiefs to whom these offers were made. Hist.
Chich., 302.

[865] Ávila, a veritable martinet, maimed a soldier with a blow for stepping from
the ranks to pluck some fruit. Herrera, dec. ii. lib. x. cap. xii. The same story has
been told of Ávila in Cempoala.

[866] Cortés allows the five scouts to defeat the enemy, who are frightened by the
supposition that a larger force is upon them. Cartas, 137. Herrera is more explicit
with regard to the ambuscade, and makes Ordaz lead up the reinforcements. dec.
ii. lib. x. cap. xii.

[867] ‘Mas no cenar.’ Gomara, Hist. Mex., 162. Sahagun states, however, that this
was the town to which the Otomís had on the preceding day invited them, chiefly
because they were related to the Otomís of the Tlascaltec division under Cortés.
Hist. Conq., 34-5. A risky proceeding, if true, for an isolated community, on whom
might fall the vengeance of the hostile Mexicans. In the account of the route
followed to Tlascala Cortés is still the best guide, for he not only kept a record, but
wrote his report while the occurrences were yet fresh. He is wanting in details,
however, and fails to give names to localities. These omissions are remedied by
Sahagun, who now seems more reliable. Other authors are vague or misleading
for the route, but the occasional incidents told by them are noteworthy. Bernal Diaz
indicates only one stopping place, Quauhtitlan evidently, before Otumba is
reached. Camargo skips to a place adjoining Otumba, and Ixtlilxochitl takes the
army to Quauhximalpan, a place which modern maps locate south of Remedios.
He resumes the northern route, but names some towns that cannot be identified.
Gomara adheres pretty well to Cortés, but his commentator, Chimalpain, supplies
names for places, which differ from Sahagun and indicate a deviation from the
extreme northern course, as will be seen. Torquemada follows chiefly Sahagun,
whom he recommends. Orozco y Berra has closely studied the journey, and
throws much light on it, more so than any other writer; yet his conclusions are not
always satisfactory. Itinerario del Ejercito Español, in Mex. Not. Ciudad., 246 et
seq. I have already spoken at length, in Native Races, iii. 231-6, on the life and
writings of Father Sahagun, and will here refer only to the twelfth book of his
Historia General, inserted by Bustamante, at the beginning of the set, under the
title of Historia de la Conquista de Mexico. This copy is from one found by Muñoz
in the Franciscan convent of Tolosa, in Navarre. Another copy of the twelfth book,
in possession of Conde de Cortina, claimed as the true original, was published
separately by the same editor, at Mexico, 1840, with lengthy notes from Clavigero
and other writers to complete the chain of events, and to comment on the
suppression in the former issue of statements concerning Spanish misdeeds. It
has also an additional chapter. Neither copy, however, corresponds quite to that
used by Torquemada, who in more than one instance quotes passages that are
startling compared with the modified expressions in the others. The severity of the
friar toward Spanish conquerors was no doubt a strong reason for the suppression
of his work. The twelfth book begins with Grijalva’s arrival and the omens
preceding it, and carries the narrative of the conquest down to the fall of Mexico.
According to his own statement, on page 132, it is founded to a great extent on the
relations given him by eye-witnesses, soldiers who had assumed the Franciscan
robe and associated daily with the friar; but much is adopted, with little or no
critique, from superstitious natives, the whole forming a rather confusing medley,
so that it is difficult to extract the many valuable points which it contains. This
difficulty is, of course, not encountered by such followers as Bustamante and
Brasseur de Bourbourg, and similar supporters of native records or anti-Spanish
versions.
In the Native Races I give the traits which characterize the French abbé and
his famous works on Central American culture and antiquities, and it remains only
to refer briefly to his version of the conquest, comprised in the fourth volume of the
Histoire des Nations Civilisées. His pleasing style lends attraction to every page,
but his faults become more conspicuous from the comparison presented by a vast
array of authorities, revealing the indiscreet and enthusiastic readiness to accept
native tales, or anything that favors the hypotheses by which he is ruled, and in
the disposition to build magnificent structures on airy foundation. His version,
indeed, strives rather to narrate the conquest from a native standpoint, and to use
Spanish chronicles only as supplementary authority. To this end he relies chiefly
on the now well known writings of Sahagun, Ixtlilxochitl, Camargo, and
Torquemada, and it is but rarely that he is able to quote the often startling original
manuscripts possessed only by himself.

[868] ‘Mordiendo la tierra, arrancando yeruas, y alçãdo los ojos al cielo, dezian,
dioses no nos desampareys en este peligro, pues teneys poder sobre todos los
hombres, hazed que con vuestra ayuda salgamos del.’ Herrera, dec. ii. lib. x. cap.
xii.

[869] Herrera conforms to Cortés and Gomara in admitting a stay of two nights at
one place, but makes this Tecopatlan, called ‘duck town,’ from its many fowl. This
is evidently Tepotzotlan. But it was not near the lake like Citlaltepec, and ‘duck
town’ applies rather to a lake town, in this region, at least. Cortés also writes, in
Cartas, 137, ‘fuimos aquel dia por cerca de unas lagunas hasta que llegamos á
una poblacion,’ and this does not apply well to Tepotzotlan, which lies a goodly
distance from the lakes, requiring certainly no march along ‘some’ lakes to reach
it. Hence the Citlaltepec of Sahagun must be meant. This author, however,
supposes the Spaniards to stay one night at each place. Hist. Conq., 36 (ed.
1840), 129. Ixtlilxochitl calls the place after Tepotzotlan, Aychqualco. Hist. Chich.,
302. At Tepotzotlan, says Vetancurt, some of the people remained to receive the
Spaniards—this is in accordance with one of Sahagun’s versions—and here
remained to hide the son of Montezuma, whom he supposes to have escaped with
the troops. Teatro Mex., pt. iii. 144. According to Chimalpain’s interpretation the
Spaniards stay the two nights at Quauhtitlan, and thence proceed by way of
Ecatepec, now San Cristóbal, skirting the northern shore of Tezcuco Lake, and on
to Otumba. Hist. Conq., i. 304-5. This route certainly appears the most direct, but
there is no authority for it. The sentence from Cortés might no doubt be adopted
equally well for this road; but Sahagun, Ixtlilxochitl, and Herrera name towns which
lie east and north of the Zumpango Lake, and during the rainy season now
prevailing the passages between the lakes were rather swampy. Tezcuco was
beside too close for the fleeing army. Alaman accepts the route south of
Zumpango, Disert., i. 122, against which nearly all the above reasons apply.

[870] ‘Nos convenia ir muchas veces fuera de camino.’ Cortés, Cartas, 138.
Owing to the guide’s inefficiency, adds Gomara, Hist. Mex., 162.

[871] Sahagun also calls the mountain, or the slope, Tona. His confusing versions
sometimes reverse all the names. Cortés places it two leagues from the last camp.

[872] ‘Detrás dél [hill] estaba una gran ciudad de mucha gente.’ Cortés, Cartas,
138. Zacamolco is also called a large town. There could hardly be two large towns
so close together in a district like this, so that the other must have been
Teotihuacan, ‘city of the gods,’ with its ancient and lofty pyramids, sacred to all
Anáhuac, and one of the chief centres of pilgrimage. For description of ruins, see
Native Races, iv. 529-44.

[873] ‘Con un golpe de piedra en la cabeza tan violento, que abollando las armas,
le rompió la primera tunica del cerebro.’ So Solis defines the wound, which
afterward grew dangerous. Hist. Mex., ii. 203. He supposes that it was received at
Otumba.

[874] ‘Le comieron sin dexar [como dizen] pelo ni huesso.’ Gomara, Hist. Mex.,
162. ‘La cabeza cupo a siete o ocho.’ The horse was Gamboa’s, on which
Alvarado was saved after his leap. Herrera, ii. x. xii.; Bernal Diaz, Hist. Verdad.,
107. Ixtlilxochitl says that Zinacatzin, of Teotihuacan, killed it—he whom we shall
find leading the enemy on the morrow.

[875] ‘Y pareció que el Espíritu Santo me alumbró con este aviso,’ exclaims
Cortés, Cartas, 139. Many a soldier carried a comrade on his back. Gomara, Hist.
Mex., 163.

[876] According to Cortés, whose dates I have already shown to be reliable. He

makes it a Saturday. Prescott makes it the 8th, a mistake which has been copied
by several writers, including Brasseur de Bourbourg and Carbajal Espinosa.

[877] ‘Llanos de la provincia de Otupam.’ The battle taking place near Metepec.
Ixtlilxochitl, Hist. Chich., 302-3. Plain of Otumpan, also called Atztaquemecan.
Camargo, Hist. Tlax., 170. ‘Los Llanos de Apan.’ ‘El Valle de Otumba.’ Lorenzana,
in Cortés, Hist. N. España, xiv. 148. Clavigero calls it the plain of Tonan, derived
from Sahagun, who applies the name to the slope of the range bordering it.

[878] Following the intimation given by Sahagun, Torquemada states that the
enemy came pouring in from rear and sides to surround the troops, i. 508.

[879] While they were halting, writes Ojeda, a big Indian with club and shield
advanced to challenge any Spaniard to single combat. Ojeda responded, but in
advancing against the man his negro slave followed him, and either the sight of
two frightened the native or he sought to decoy them, for he retreated into a
copse. Herrera, ii. x. xiii.

[880] Camargo, Hist. Tlax., 171-2; Torquemada, i. 509. Ixtlilxochitl spells the name
Zihuatcatlzin, and Oviedo calls it Xiaquetenga, based probably on that of the
Tlascaltec chief. Duran, Hist. Ind., MS., ii. 480. ‘La flor de Mexico, y de Tezcuco, y
Saltocan.’ Bernal Diaz, Hist. Verdad., 108.
[881] Solis clears the way with volleys, but only seven muskets remained and no
ammunition.

[882] Camargo states that he lived to an age exceeding 130 years. Heroes in all
ages have enjoyed the privilege of not being tied down to laws governing ordinary
mortals.

[883] An ill-natured brute, which attacked the enemy with teeth and hoofs. He did
good service all through the following campaign, till he fell in one of the last battles
of the great siege. Camargo, Hist. Tlax., 172.

[884] ‘Duró este terrible conflicto por mas de cuatro horas.... Llegado el medio dia,
con el intolerable trabajo de la pelea, los españoles comenzaron á desmayar.’
Sahagun, Hist. Conq. (ed. 1840), 132.

[885] ‘En vnas Andas, vn Caballero mandando, con vna Rodela Dorada, y que la
Vandera, y Señal Real, que le salia por las Espaldas, era vna Red de Oro, que los
Indios llamaban Tlahuizmatlaxopilli, que le subia diez palmos.’ Torquemada, i.
509. ‘Su vandera tendida, con ricas armas de oro, y grandes penachos de
argenteria.’ Bernal Diaz, Hist. Verdad., 108. Ixtlilxochitl calls the gold net
matlaxopili. Hist. Chich., 303. Camargo more correctly agrees with Torquemada.

[886] The accounts of this incident vary greatly. According to Bernal Diaz ‘Cortes
dió vn encuẽtro cõ el cauallo al Capitã Mexicano, hizo abatir su vãdera ... quiẽ
siguiò al Capitan q̄ traia la vandera que aun no auia caido del encuentro que
Cortes le diò, fue vn Juan de Salamanca, natural de Ontiueros, con vna buena
yegua ouera, que le acabò de matar.’ Hist. Verdad., 108. The banner could not
have fallen without the general. Gomara intimates that Cortés charged alone
against the ‘capitan general, y diole dos lançadas, de que cayo y murio.’ Hist.
Mex., 163. This is also substantially the view of Duran and Camargo. Herrera
leaves the impression that Salamanca alone follows Cortés in the charge, and
cuts off the head and banner of the commander after his chief had wounded and
overthrown him. dec. ii. lib. x. cap. xiii. Torquemada, Clavigero, Prescott, and
others, also assume that Cortés lances the generalissimo, but they let the cavalry
follow. Sahagun, who obtained his information from participants that afterward
became friars, merely states that Cortés and one other led the charge, which
resulted in the overthrow of the general and his banner. Hist. Conq. (ed. 1840),
132. Cortés is still more reticent in saying: ‘quiso Dios que murió una persona
dellos, que debia ser tan principal, que con su muerte cesó toda aquella guerra.’
Cartas, 139. The assumption that Cortés overthrew the commander with his lance
rests chiefly on the fact that Cortés as leader of the charge receives credit for
everything that happens. Writers also forget that the commander was carried aloft
in a litter the better to observe the movements of the army. His burdened carriers
would with greater likelihood have been overthrown by the horses or in the
disorder created by their advance. This supposition is confirmed by Cortés’
reference to the affair, wherein he gives credit to none for the act, his usual
custom when some one else performed a noteworthy deed. He was seldom chary
in giving credit to himself for achievements, as may be gathered alone from his
account of the stay in Mexico City, which announces that he it was who tore down
the idols, who captured the temple after another had failed to do so, who single-
handed covered the retreat of his comrades on the Tlacopan causeway on the
morning preceding the flight, and who with less than a score that ‘dared stay with
him’ protected the retreat of the last remnant from the city. The supposition
receives further support from the permission given by the emperor to Salamanca
to add to his escutcheon the trophy taken from the commander. This implies that
although the victory was due to Cortés he could not have inflicted the mortal
wound. Salamanca became alcalde mayor of Goazacoalco. Bernal Diaz, Hist.
Verdad., 108, 111.

[887] ‘Los principales, lleuarõ cõ grã llanto, el cuerpo de su general,’ says Herrera;
but this is doubtful, to judge also from his subsequent observations.

[888] ‘Murieron ... casi todos los amigos de los españoles, y algunos de ellos
mismos.’ Sahagun, Hist. Conq. (ed. 1840), 132. Solis acknowledges only
wounded, of whom two or three died afterward. Hist. Mex., ii. 203. Cortés did not
escape additional wounds, from which he was soon to suffer intensely.

[889] The natives were particularly ready to testify to this supernatural aid, as
Camargo relates, Hist. Tlax., 172, perhaps for their own credit, as good converts
and brave warriors.

[890] ‘Never,’ writes Gomara, ‘did a man show such prowess as he, and never
were men so well led. He by his own personal efforts saved them.’ Hist. Mex., 163.
‘Se tuuo la vitoria despues de Dios, por el valor de Cortés.’ Herrera, dec. ii. lib. x.
cap. xiii. While quite prepared to uphold the general as a hero, Bernal Diaz takes
exception to this praise as unjust to his many followers, who not only did wonders
in sustaining him, but in saving his life. Hist. Verdad., 111.

[891] Ixtlilxochitl assumes that another army was encountered and routed with
great slaughter, a few leagues ahead, at Teyocan. Hist. Chich., 303.

[892] Ixtlilxochitl. Chimalpain calls it Apam, which appears to have been situated
farther north. Lorenzana refers to all this extent as the plains of Apan, the name
which it now bears. Camargo names the plains of Apantema, Tacacatitlan, and
Atlmoloyan as traversed by the army to reach Tlascala. Hist. Tlax., 172.

[893] Cartas, 140. ‘Pues quizà sabiamos cierto, que nos auian de ser leales, ò que
voluntad ternian.’ Bernal Diaz, Hist. Verdad., 108.
[894] Brasseur de Bourbourg gives to a village here the name of Xaltelolco. Hist.
Nat. Civ., iv. 352. Ixtlilxochitl refers to it as Huexoyotlipan, and states that
Citlalquiauhtzin came up with food and presents from the lords.

[895] Cortés calls the town Gualipan; Bernal Diaz, Gualiopar; Gomara, Huazilipan;
Herrera gives it 2000 houses.

[896] ‘Yo queria,’ said Maxixcatzin, ‘yr en vuestra busca con treynta mil guerreros.’
Bernal Diaz, Hist. Verdad., 109. This is confirmed by the Aztec version of Duran,
which says that the rumor of Tlascaltec preparations helped to intimidate the
proposed Mexican reinforcements for Otumba. Hist. Ind., MS., ii. 483. According to
Oviedo, 50,000 warriors, followed by 20,000 carriers, met the Spaniards at the
frontier, iii. 514. Camargo extends the number to 200,000, ‘who came too late, but
served nevertheless to check pursuit from the enemy.’ Hist. Tlax., 173. Gomara
stamps Oviedo’s statement as hearsay, but adds that the Tlascaltecs declared
themselves prepared to return with the Spaniards at once against Mexico. This
Cortés declined to do for the present, but allowed a few soldiers to join a band in
pursuit of marauding stragglers. Hist. Mex., 164. The delay in collecting the
proposed reinforcements may have been due to the small faction hostile to the
Spaniards, headed by the captain-general, Xicotencatl the younger, who seems
never to have forgiven the disgrace of defeat which they had been the first to inflict
upon him. He had accompanied the lords to Hueyotlipan, perhaps to gloat over the
misfortune of his victors. According to Herrera, Captain Juan Paez—Torquemada
writes Perez—was one of the invalids at Tlascala, and to him 100,000 warriors
had been offered to go to the aid of his general; but he declined, on the ground
that his strict orders were to remain with his 80 men at Tlascala. For this he was
naturally upbraided by Cortés as a coward, fit for hanging. The story is not very
probable. dec. ii. lib. x. cap. xiv,; Torquemada, i. 512.

[897] ‘Que estimó él mucho, y puso por una de sus armas.’ Ixtlilxochitl, Hist.
Chich., 303.

[898] Cortés, Cartas, 140. Bernal Diaz intimates one day.

[899] ‘Cõ mas de duzientos mil hombres en orden: yuan las mugeres, y niños, en
la delantera.’ Herrera, dec. ii. lib. x. cap. xiii. This order may have been intended to
signify peace and welcome.

[900] Camargo differs from Bernal Diaz, in intimating that all were lodged in
Maxixcatzin’s palace, while Ixtlilxochitl assumes that Cortés was the guest of
Xicotencatl. ‘Magiscacin me trajo una cama de madera encajada, con alguna ropa
... y á todos hizo reparar de lo que él tuvo.’ Cortés, Cartas, 141.
 CHAPTER XXVIII.
INVALUABLE FRIENDSHIP.

July-September, 1520.

Divers Disasters to the Spaniards—Mexico Makes Overtures to Tlascala

—A Council Held—Tlascala Remains True to the Spaniards—
Disaffection in the Spanish Army—Cortés again Wins the Soldiers to
his Views—Renewal of Active Operations against the Aztecs—Success
of the Spanish Arms—Large Reinforcements of Native Allies—One
Aztec Stronghold after another Succumbs.

At Tlascala were certain invalid Spaniards, who praised the

natives for their kind treatment, and for the almost universal
sympathy exhibited with regard to the misfortunes at Mexico. The
army now learned that disaster had also befallen the Spaniards in
other parts of the country. The news of the flight had spread with
marvellous rapidity, and Cuitlahuatzin’s envoys had not failed to
magnify the successes of his arms while urging throughout the
country the extermination of the invaders. This advice had found
ready acceptance in the provinces west and south of Tlascala, which
had additional reasons for hostility in the assumption of the little
republic since she became the ally of the strangers.
Shortly after the departure of the army from the coast a party of
fifty men with five horses had followed with baggage and valuables.
At Tlascala a portion of them, with two horses, under Juan de
Alcántara senior, received the portion of treasure set aside during
the late repartition for the coast garrison, estimated at sixty thousand
pesos. With this they set out on their return to Villa Rica,
accompanied by a few invalids. On the way they were surprised and
slaughtered, the treasures and effects being distributed as spoils.
[901]

The larger division of the party, under the hidalgo Juan Yuste,
[902] which were to join Cortés, also picked up some convalescents,
together with additional treasure and baggage, and proceeded to
Mexico by the way of Calpulalpan. They numbered five horsemen,
forty-five foot-soldiers, and three hundred Tlascaltecs, the latter
under command of one of Maxixcatzin’s sons. Advised of their
approach the natives of Zultepec, among others, were induced, more
by cupidity than patriotic zeal, to form an ambuscade along the steep
declivity of a narrow pass which had to be followed. Here they fell
upon the party on all sides as they descended in single file,
encumbered beside by their burdens. Resistance was ineffective,
and those not slain were carried to Tezcuco to be offered up to the
idols, while their effects were distributed, some of the trophies being
dedicated to temples of the Acolhuan capital, there to tell the
mournful tale to the returning conquerors.[903]
About this time a vessel arrived at Villa Rica with three or four
score of adventurers, under Captain Coronado, and being told of the
fabulously rich Mexico they resolved to lose no time in following the
army, in order to secure a share of treasures. It was just after the
flight from Mexico, and the provinces were in arms, elated at the
triumphs at the lake. On approaching the Tepeaca district the party
was surprised, and partly slaughtered, partly captured, the prisoners
being distributed among the towns of the province for sacrifice.[904]
These reports created no small alarm for the safety of Villa Rica,
and several Tlascaltec messengers were sent with letters, by
different routes, to bring news. Orders were also given to the
comandante to forward powder, fire-arms, bows, and other
necessaries that he could spare, together with some men, sailors, if
no others were available. The reply was reassuring, for although the
natives had fuller particulars of the disaster at Mexico than Cortés
had chosen to impart to the garrison, yet everything remained quiet.
The remittance of war material was small, and the men who
convoyed it numbered less than a dozen, men stricken by disease,
and led by Lencero, who became the butt of the drôles de corps.[905]
Every attention and comfort was tendered at Tlascala to the
Spaniards while caring for their wounds and awaiting the
development of projects. Hardly a man had arrived scathless, and
quite a number had received injuries which maimed them for life or
resulted in death.[906] Cortés’ wounds were most serious. The
indomitable spirit which sustained him so far now yielded with the
failing body. Severe scalp cuts brought on fever,[907] which caused
his life to hang in the balance for some time. Finally his strong
constitution and the excellent empiric methods of the native herb
doctors prevailed, to the joy, not alone of Spaniards, but of
Tlascaltecs, who had shown the utmost anxiety during the crisis.
During this period of Spanish inaction the Mexicans were
energetically striving to follow up their blow against the invaders. The
first act after ridding the capital of their presence was one of
purgation, in which the victorious party fell on those whose
lukewarmness, or whose friendly disposition toward Montezuma and
his guests, had hindered the siege operations and aided the enemy.
A tumult was soon raised, wherein perished four royal princes,
brothers and sons of Montezuma,[908] whose death may be
attributed to Cuitlahuatzin’s desire to remove any dangerous rival to
the throne. Not that this was a necessary precaution, since his
standing, as a younger brother of Montezuma, and his successful
operations against the Spaniards, were sufficient to raise him above
every other candidate.[909] Furthermore, as commander-in-chief of
the army and as leader of the successful party, he held the key to the
position, and accordingly was unanimously chosen. About the same
time Cohuanacoch was elected king at Tezcuco, in lieu of the
younger brother forced on the people by Cortés, and
Quauhtemotzin, nephew of Montezuma, rose to the office of high-
priest to Huitzilopochtli. The coronation was the next prominent
event,[910] for which the indispensable captives had already been
secured from the fleeing army. What more precious victims, indeed,
could have been desired for the inaugural than the powerful
Spaniards and the hated warriors of brave Tlascala? And what
grander site for the ceremony than the great temple, recovered from
the detested intruders and purified from foreign emblems? In
connection with this came a series of festivals.[911]
The utmost activity was displayed in repairing the damage
caused by the Spaniards, and in fortifying the city and its approaches
against a possible future invasion. The construction and discipline of
the army were improved in some degree after the examples given by
the Europeans; its tactics were revised, and its arms perfected with
the aid of captured weapons, the Chinantec pike being also
introduced and tipped with Toledo blades or other metal points.
Envoys were despatched to near and distant provinces, bidding for
their support by remission of taxes and tributes, by restoration of
conquered territories, by patriotic appeals, and by roseate views and
promises.[912] The Spaniards were painted as selfish, perfidious,
and cruel, intent on conquering the whole country, on enslaving the
people, on extorting their substance, and on overthrowing social and
religious institutions. Spoils and heads of Spanish men and horses
were sent round to disabuse the people of their supposed
invulnerability; and as a further encouragement the dreaded Cortés
was declared to have fallen.
 The most important missions were those to Michoacan and
Tlascala, the former an independent kingdom of considerable extent,
stretching westward beyond the lake region to the Pacific, over an
undulating, well watered territory, which abounded in all the
resources of a rich soil and a tropic climate. The inhabitants, the
Tarascos, were distinct from the Aztecs in language, but fully their
equals in culture, which was of the Nahua type, and as a rule
successful in resisting the armed encroachments of the lake allies.
The present ruler was Zwanga, who held court at Tzintzuntzan, on
Lake Patzcuaro. He received the embassadors of Cuitlahuatzin with
due attention, but hesitated about the answer to be given. The
Aztecs had from time immemorial been the enemies of his people,
and to aid them would surely bring upon him the wrath of the
Spaniards, who must still be powerful, since the Mexicans came to
plead for his alliance. In this dilemma it was resolved, with the advice
of the council, to send plenipotentiaries to Mexico, in order to learn
more fully the condition of affairs, and there determine what should
be done.[913]
More decisive in its results was the mission to Tlascala.
Regarded as the most important of all, it was intrusted to six
prominent men, of acknowledged talent for negotiation. They came
fortified with choice presents of robes, feathers, salt, and similar
desirable commodities, and were received with customary courtesy
by the assembled lords and council. The eldest was the first to
speak. He recalled the intimate relationship between Mexico and
Tlascala in blood and language, deplored the feud which had so long
existed, and urged the establishment of permanent peace, for mutual
benefit, whereby the Tlascaltecs would gain all the advantages of a
long prohibited trade. One obstacle alone interposed to prevent a
happy harmony, which was the presence of the Spaniards, to whom
was due the unfortunate condition of the whole country. Their only
aim was to make themselves masters, to overthrow the gods of the
natives, to enslave the inhabitants, and impoverish them by
exactions.
The Tlascaltecs would after rendering service be treated with the
same base ingratitude and perfidy as the over generous Montezuma,
and reap not only universal detestation, but the anger of the gods.
Better, therefore, to seize the present favorable opportunity to deliver
themselves from dreadful calamities, to establish prosperity and
independence on a firm basis, and by a joint alliance recover the
alienated provinces and share the revenues therefrom.[914] The first
step to this desirable end was the destruction of the Spaniards, now
at their mercy, whereby they would gain also the gratitude of
neighboring peoples, the fame of patriots, and the blessing of the
gods.
The speech delivered, together with the presents, the envoys
withdrew to let the council deliberate. Bitter as was the enmity
between the two peoples, intensified by the recent defeat, there were
not wanting persons to whom the argument and offers seemed all
that the most brilliant fortune could bring. What, indeed, had they in
common with a strange race by whom they had been conquered,
and whose presence portended many changes in their social and
religious institutions, transmitted by their forefathers, and upheld with
the blood of generations? Their independence would be
endangered. Besides, the invaders had been shamefully defeated,
and might never again hold up their heads. The whole country was
mustering to drive them out, and, if successful, woe to Tlascala, as
their ally. In any case a struggle was in prospect, wherein their sons
and brethren would be sacrificed by the thousands. And for what?
For the benefit of strangers, always ready with their yoke of slavery.
On the other hand, they were offered the peace so long desired, with
its accompanying blessings; deliverance from the trade blockade
and seclusion which had so long afflicted them, together with the
attractive adjunct of assured independence, and the triumphant and
profitable position of conquering allies of the Mexicans.[915]
The strongest advocate of these views was Xicotencatl junior,
who had never forgotten the several Spanish victories that checked
his triumphal career as soldier and general, and humiliated him in
the eyes of the whole people. Yet this feeling was tinged with love for
the independence and welfare of the country, threatened, in his
eyes, by the invaders. With the news of disaster at Mexico his party
had assumed respectable proportions. Some of its members were
impelled by motives similar to his own; some were bribed by
Mexican gifts, and promises of wealth and preferment; some were
tempted by the arms, baggage, and treasure of the fugitives, whom it
seemed easy now to overcome. Not a few considered the burden of
maintaining a horde of strangers, with the prospect of afterward
yielding them service and blood for their aggrandizement. When the
collectors of provisions for the Spaniards made their rounds they
could not but observe the bitter feeling which prevailed in some
quarters.[916] The elder Xicotencatl appears to have remonstrated
with his son for breeding trouble; but this availed little, as may be
supposed. During the deliberation of the council on the Mexican
proposal the young chieftain stepped beyond the timid suggestions
of those who inclined toward an Aztec alliance, and boldly advocated
it as the only salvation for Tlascala.
Next spoke the wise Maxixcatzin, the leading representative of
the republic. In his chivalrous nature devotion to the Spaniards
exercised an influence, while as ruler of the richest district, in
agriculture and trade, he had also an eye to the benefits which would
accrue from an alliance with them. He recalled the many instances of
treachery and want of good faith on the part of the Mexicans to show
how little their promises could be relied on. It was merely the
presence of the Spaniards that prompted their offer of alliance, which
was to restore Mexico to its former terrorizing strength. This
accomplished, the ancient enemy would not fail to remember that
Tlascala, in addition to the old-standing enmity, had been one of the
chief instruments in their late suffering and humiliation, and had
figured as conqueror and master over them. They would lose no time
in avenging themselves, and by the destruction of the republic
remove forever so dangerous an enemy. Far better, then, to maintain
the friendship of the Spaniards, whose good faith had been tried,
and whose prowess was not broken by one defeat. Previous to their
arrival they had been suffering from the want even of necessaries,
and had been exposed to incessant ravages and warfare, which
threatened their very existence. With the Spaniards’ aid they had
been freed from this want and danger; they had enriched themselves
with trade and spoils, and had raised the republic to the most
prominent position it had ever occupied, all far beyond what the
Mexicans would ever permit. What did the gods say? Oracles and
omens had foretold the doom of the empire. It was in vain to struggle
with fate, which had decreed the control to the new-comers. The
interests of the state demanded the friendship of these destined
victors, who offered them wealth and glory, while good faith and
honor demanded loyalty to the invited guests, from whom so many
benefits had already sprung.
Observing the effect of the appeal on the wavering members,
young Xicotencatl hastened to defend his cherished plans, but with
such imprudence as to rouse Maxixcatzin to strike him. He was
thereupon jostled out of the council-chamber, badly bruised and with
torn clothes.[917] Against this expulsion none of his supporters
ventured to remonstrate, and the vote being unanimously in favor of
Maxixcatzin’s views, the Aztec envoys were notified accordingly.[918]
How momentous this discussion! And did the council of Tlascala
realize the full import of their acts? For thereby they determined the
present and permanent fate of many powerful nations besides
themselves. Undoubtedly the country would at some time have fallen
before the dominant power; but, had it been possible for the nations
of the great plateau to combine and act in unison, very different
might have been their ultimate condition. Cortés and his company
owed their safety to a decision which kept alive discord between the
native tribes, while the Tlascaltecs were saved from what probably
would have been a treacherous alliance, perhaps from annihilation,
only to sink into peaceful obscurity and merge into the mass of
conquered people.[919] They endeavored to keep the disagreement
in the council-chamber a secret from Cortés, but he heard of it, and
failed not to confirm Maxixcatzin in his devotion by holding forth the
most brilliant prospects as the result of this alliance. The words by
which the council decided for Cortés were to him as drops of
perspiration on the lately fevered brow, which tell that the crisis is
passed.
There was another cloud about this time appearing on the
horizon of the fortunes of Cortés. During his stay at Tlascala the men
of Narvaez began again to moot the subject of return. The golden
vision of Mexico’s treasures had been rudely dissipated, leaving only
the remembrance of hardships and disgrace. The flowery Antilles
appeared more alluring than ever to these gold-seekers, only too
many of whom were more accustomed to the farm than to the camp.
They could think of nothing but the ease and security of the fertile
plantations, where nature unloaded its wealth, and where docile
natives ministered to every want. In furtherance of this idea it was
urged on Cortés, by Duero and other leaders, to retire, to Villa Rica
before the Mexicans had succeeded in their efforts to cut off his
retreat. There they would intrench themselves while awaiting aid
from the islands and arranging a fresh campaign, having the vessels
to fall back on, if necessary. But to these intimations Cortés would
not for a moment listen. And there were many reasons for this—his
ambition to be all or nothing in this enterprise, his crimes against
Velazquez, his irregularities regarding the king’s interests, which only
brilliant success could redeem. As well might they talk to the
unyielding hills; he would join his dead comrades in the canals of
Mexico, or voluntarily ascend to the sacrificial stone, but he would
not turn back from this adventure.
When the general revealed his firm intention to renew the
campaign as soon as possible, the outcry became loud. The Noche
Triste and the narrow escape at Otumba had left impressions too
horrible to be easily forgotten. They shuddered at the thought of
renewing such risk, and cursed the gold which had allured them to
former discomfitures. If the general wished to throw away his life he
might do so, but they were not such madmen. Moreover, it was
highly imprudent to place so much faith in the Tlascaltecs, who might
at the first encounter with the enemy abandon or betray allies
differing so greatly in language, religion, and customs. A formal
demand was therefore addressed to him, through the notary, to
return to Villa Rica, on the ground of their small number and
dismembered condition, devoid as they were of clothing, arms,
ammunition, and horses, and with so many maimed and wounded.
They were wholly unfit to undertake any campaign, much less
against an enemy who had just defeated them when they were far
stronger in number and armament than now. Declared, as it was, in
the name of the army, though in truth by the men of Narvaez only,
[920]and headed by such persons as Duero, with invocation of the
imperial name, the proposal placed Cortés in a dilemma. Yet it
roused in him only a firmer determination. He was more master now
than ever he could be under the new proposal; and Cortés loved to
be master. The same reasons which had moved him before to
advance into Mexico in quest of independent fame and wealth, and
to evade the prospective disgrace and poverty, imprisonment and
death, were reasons stronger now than ever.
Here was another of those delicate points on which the destiny
of the Estremaduran seemed ever turning. Rousing himself to meet
the issue, though still weak with disease, he summoned an
audience. “What is this I hear?” he asked of the assembled soldiers.
“Is it true that you would retire from the fertile fields of New Spain,
you, Spaniards, Castilians, Christians! leave the ship-loads of gold
which in the Aztec capital we saw and handled; leave still standing
the abominable idols with their bloody ministers, and tamely summon
others to enjoy the riches and glories which you are too craven to
achieve? Alack! for your patriotism, for duty to your emperor, to God,
for the honor of Spanish arms! Know you not that one step further in
retreat than necessary is equivalent to the abandonment of all? Or
perhaps the fault is my own. I have been too careful of mine ease,
too cowardly to expose my person to the dangers into which I
directed you; I have fled before the foe—help me to remember,
friends—I have left my comrades to die unaided on the battle-field
while I sought safety, I have fed while you starved, I have slept while
you labored, or my too sluggish brain has refused the duty due by
your commander.” The speaker paused, but only for a moment. At
this, the very beginning of his plea, a hundred eyes were
affectionately regarding him through their moisture, a hundred
tongues were denying all insinuations of baseness as applied to him,
their great and brave commander. Already their hearts were aflame
with avarice and ambition; aflame, like St Augustine’s, with Christian
zeal and fervency of devotion, soldier fanatics as they were, stern,
forehead-wrinkled men—for fighting men, no less than fighting dogs,
display a gravity in their every-day demeanor unknown to tamer
spirits. “Are not my interests yours, and yours mine?” continued
Cortés. “Therefore, I pray you, ascribe not my views to disregard of
your wishes, but to a desire to promote the good of all. What people
going to war that does not sometimes suffer defeat; but what brave
men ever abandoned a glorious campaign because of one repulse?
And do you not see that it is more dangerous to go than to remain—
that to retreat further would only invite further attack? I will not allude
before soldiers of mine,” concluded the speaker, “to the everlasting
infamy of abandoning these brave Tlascaltecs to the enmity of the
combined forces of the plateau for having stood the Spaniards’ friend
in time of danger. Go, all of you who will! abandon your sacred
trusts, and with them the riches in mines, and tributes here awaiting
you, and fair encomiendas, with countless servants to attend before
your new nobility; for myself, if left alone, then alone will I here
remain and general Indians, since Spaniards have all turned
cowards!”
Hearts of steel could not withstand such words so spoken; and
loud came the shouts of approval from Cortés’ old comrades, who
swore that not a man should be allowed to endanger the common
safety by leaving. This manifestation was in itself sufficient to shame
the disaffected into resignation, although not into silence, for
mutterings were frequent against the quality of persuasion employed
by the general and his beggarly followers, who had nothing to lose
except their lives. In order somewhat to allay their discontent Cortés
promised that at the conclusion of the next campaign their wishes
should be consulted, and the first favorable opportunity for departure
be tendered them—a cool proposal, affecting only those who would
be left of them, yet made with sober visage by the artless Cortés.
[921]

The determination of Cortés was now what it always had been,

namely, to conquer and become master of all New Spain; and the
greater the difficulty the greater the glory. Fearing that further evil
might result from continued inactivity, and from remaining a burden
on the allies, Cortés resolved to lose no time in taking the field.[922]
In the fertile plains to the south of Tlascala lay the rich province of
Tepeyacac,[923] euphonized into Tepeaca, long hostile to the
republic. Intimidated by the subjugation of Tlascala and Cholula, the
three brothers who ruled it[924] had tendered their submission to the
conquerors, only to return to their old masters, the Aztecs, the