He searched her eyes. “Where am I going to get a domino?”
“I’ve asked Manning, the concierge, to organize one. He’s terribly efficient, and for some unfathomable reason, he’s decided he approves of you.”
Jack humphed. “Very well. If we must, we must.” That she’d spoken of “we” throughout mollifed him somewhat.
She stretched up and kissed him. Gently, lightly, a promise of things to come.
He accepted the caress, but made no move to take it further.
Ending it, she drew back, lifting one brow in patent surprise.
With his head, he indicated the door. “It has a lock, but no key.”
Her expression lightened. She laughed and stepped out of his arms. “In that case, it’s clearly time to leave. Let’s go back to Benedict’s. We can dine there.”
They did, then she dressed for the evening, and they took the carriage to the Bastion Club. Jack donned his evening clothes while Gasthorp
e relayed the results of the day’s search, an uninspiring negative all around.
Jack grimaced and dismissed Gasthorpe with a nod. Swirling the black domino Manning had had waiting for him around his shoulders, he tied the ties across his chest, made a horrendous face in the mirror, then picked up the black mask that completed the prescribed outfit, and went down to fetch Clarice from the parlor.
During the drive to Holland House, he told her of their lack of success.
Returning the clasp of his fingers, she leaned lightly against his shoulder. “You’ve done all you can.”
Their carriage joined the line of conveyances waiting to deposit their occupants before the arched entrance to the gardens of Holland House. Eventually, the carriage rocked to a complete halt; putting on their masks, they descended, then followed the graveled path beneath a stand of old trees to the conservatory where the Hollands stood waiting to receive their guests. Her ladyship’s famed bal masque was always held in the gardens rather than in Holland House itself.
The terrace onto which the conservatory opened was long, and lit by numerous lamps; when, after being warmly welcomed by Lady Holland and her much quieter spouse, Jack and Clarice emerged onto its flags, the wide expanse running the length of the house was already crammed with the cream of the ton, a strange sight in their crowlike dominos, with the bright colors of gowns flashing here and there, like jewels hidden beneath, while the genuine jewels garlanding ladies’ throats and winking from gentlemen’s cravats glowed with liquid fire.
The impression of a gathering of fantastical birds was heightened by the masks, some with long feathers adorning their upper edges, others with jeweled or gilt nosepieces very like beaks.
At this stage of the night, masks were compulsory, as were the black dominos. In a well-lit ballroom, it would be relatively easy to penetrate such an incomplete disguise, but in the Holland House gardens, neither the flickering terrace lamps, the moon that shed a gentle radiance, nor the small lanterns scattered about the gardens cast enough illumination to do anything other than veil every figure in mystery.
As more guests arrived, those already present spilled down the terrace steps and spread out along the lower walks and lawns; like a wave, they rippled expectantly across the paved court, an improvised dance floor. Descending the steps at Clarice’s side, Jack admitted, “It really is a magical sight.”
Hidden in a leafy grotto, the musicians set bows to strings, and the first haunting strains of a waltz floated out above the gleaming heads. Clarice turned into his arms and he gathered her in, then set them revolving.
She smiled. “It’s a magical night.”
At such a ball, until the unmasking at midnight, it was possible to dance with one partner exclusively without causing a scandal; with everyone masked and cloaked, how could any of the beady eyes watching possibly be sure, sure enough to risk comment? So they waltzed, and talked quietly as they moved through the crowd. Some guests, mainly the younger crew, grasped the opportunity of anonymity to indulge in rather more risque behavior than they would normally dare, yet the gathering was generally benign, a pleasant way to spend a spring evening.
Later, once dominos were put back and masks removed, the glitter and glamour of a ton ball would take hold, but until then, a sense of subtle mystery held sway.
“That’s Alton.” Clarice leaned close to Jack, indicating a couple standing nearby, totally oblivious to all about them. “At least he’s behaving. I haven’t sighted the other two, yet.”
“They’re here.” Jack steered her away from Alton and Sarah.
Clarice blinked up at him. “Have you seen them? How did you recognize them?”
He grinned. “They saw you. I recognized their reaction.”
She studied his eyes, confirmed he wasn’t joking, then humphed and looked away. Being taller than the average, she was relatively easy to recognize; spotting her through the crowd, Roger and Nigel had both headed in the opposite direction. Jack smiled, and turned her toward the dance floor; the musicians were getting ready to start playing again.
They were at the edge of the floor, waiting to step into the dance, when a younger couple, laughing, presented themselves before them.
The lady playfully wagged her finger at them. “Her ladyship says you’ve been dancing together far too much. You must mingle.”
“Indeed.” Her companion, tall and darkly handsome, grinned. “You are commanded to mingle.” He bowed flourishingly before Clarice. “My lady?”