LILLIAN STARTED when a man spoke directly into her ear. She sucked in a deep breath. Heaven help her, but she recognized that deep and melodious voice. Night after night she’d imagined that same voice soothing her when she cried over the death of man she’d imagined she’d loved, until his constant recklessness and his stream of women had cured her of the notion of loving him. Brent’s imaginary voice had reiterated that she hadn’t been responsible for her husband’s death, and that she should hold her head high and ignore the gossips.
Lillian swiveled to see his face, her hand flying to her mouth in a dismal attempt to smother her gasp. She stared, stunned, at her neighbor and confidant, a known recluse who should be in Cornwall and putting his adorable daughter to bed.
Lillian’s mind raced, scrabbling for an excuse for being here. Shock held her captive. Her best friend stood behind her and he’d recognized her, despite the pains she and Maggie had taken with their enormous masks and gowns purchased from the dressmaker who designed flamboyant gowns for courtesans. Lord Mallory, Brenton, was the last person she’d expect to meet at a ball for procuring a mistress.
Maggie, her companion and procurer of ball invitations, had assured her that the majority of gentlemen attending tonight would be vetted acquaintances of Lord Browning’s. Gentlemen on the lookout for a new mistress, young men eager to exchange their quarterly allowances for a brief affair with a rising star in courtesan circles, or men with aspirations of wealth who hoped to afford a full time mistress in the next year or two.
Brenton didn't fit any of those categories or perhaps she was mistaken and he lived an entirely different life than the one she saw. He’d barely ventured ten miles from his estate in the past five or six years and preferred evenings at home with his daughter to roaming London’s streets with his peers, gambling at clubs, or getting drunk and visiting brothels. She lifted her fan to her face and waved air across her heated cheeks, not wanting her male admirers to notice her distress. Maggie had promised that all conversations and connections were incognito, so Lillian wouldn’t be recognized as the duke’s disgraced daughter, giving her an opportunity to let the repressed side of Lillian to fly free.
The last thing she needed was a serious conversation with Brent, or to have him criticize or interfere in the outrageous night she and her companion had planned. Maggie had spoken about her previous experience attending a notorious ball a few months ago, after her own period of enforced mourning had finished. Maggie’s twelve months of wearing depressing black and pretending to grieve for a man who’d been cruel and abusive had almost destroyed her, so she’d urged Lillian to avoid her mistakes.
Advised Lillian to avoid spending twelve or eighteen months in seclusion and under censure from well-meaning but ignorant family members. Urged Lillian to do something rash and abnormal. Something to clear her mind and soul of the stink of her husband’s infidelity, uncontrolled spending, and irrational actions.
Lillian, like Maggie, was already sick to the stomach with pretending her husband had been a saint when, in truth, he'd been controlling, unprincipled, and self-absorbed. And also like Maggie, Lillian blocked her ears when her late husband’s family sang his praises, despite knowing his debts and obligations had depleted the family coffers and left them with a financial mess to clean up.
Why shouldn't she take the chance of a night’s fun and freedom, hidden from high-society an out of reach of the duke’s continual criticisms? She'd lost enough of her life married to a man who didn’t deserve either her patience or her fortitude. Starting tonight, she’d take control of herself and rebirth the confident and happy person that only appeared now when she was staying at her father’s country estate.
She'd been excited about this night for weeks and she’d no intention of running away before she’d explored and widened her experience, though only visually. Not even if Brenton threatened to expose her, or worse, visit her father and reveal where she’d been. Stiffening her spine, she took Brenton's hand and, after muttering a quick apology to her cluster of admirers, led him straight to one of the balcony doors. She didn't stop until they were in a darkened section of the balcony where no one could overhear their conversation.