Epilogue
The miraculous recovery of Lord Benjamin Archer, Fifth Baron Archer of Umberslade would be remarked upon for months, if not years. Indeed many a lady and gentleman could not account for it. The man had remained hidden behind a mask for as long as anyone could remember only to arrive at Lord Leland’s exclusive dance party and stroll directly out on the ballroom floor with his lovely wife, Lady Miranda Archer.
A hush of amazement ensued as guests realized the identity of the handsome man waltzing with Lady Archer. Some speculated, rather spitefully, that Lord Archer had never been disfigured, that he’d worn the mask simply to gain attention, a rather sad tactic indeed. But this theory was soon deemed illogical. A man as remarkably handsome and dashing as Lord Archer would not willingly hide such a countenance away for years. No. His recovery was nothing short of miraculous. And one could not help but smile at his good fortune upon watching him glide his wife about the dance floor as if in a dream. It was decided at that moment by many a lady of the ton, that theirs would be the first invitation Lord and Lady Archer received the next morning.
As for the couple in question, they realized in an abstract sort of way the stir they created, but it did not truly touch them.
“People are staring,” Miranda said, unable to hide her satisfied smile.
His gray eyes did not stray from hers, but merely crinkled at the corners. “Only because I am so handsome.” He pulled her a hair’s breadth closer. “And they are wondering how you tricked me into to marrying you.”
She chuckled, breathless as he spun her with effortless grace. “Undoubtedly. I suspect they are also put out that I have taken the best dancer in the room. I knew you’d be the very devil at dancing.” She glared but not very properly, for she was still smiling.
Soft lips brushed her ear as his hand slipped to her lower back, urging her closer. “Yes, but it takes two to waltz, my dear.” Her breasts brushed his starched linen, eliciting a soft ripple of shock through the crowded hall. “I should not waltz so well if it wasn’t for you in my arms.”
She let two fingers of her gloved hand slip past the silken barrier of his wide lapels—propriety be dammed—and he grinned in response. “Then I shall have to stay put,” she murmured. “Lest you suffer any embarrassment.”
All in all a good plan. And their happiness was a contagion, causing many a couple to dance a hair’s breadth too close for propriety’s sake. As the night wore on, all wished them well. All save one who stood in a far-off corner watching the couple with a pain-filled heart. His dream had not come true, and he wondered if he would ever find contentment. Bone weary, he turned from the room. There was nothing left for him here.