Before the Storm by Melanie Clegg

her elderly admirer advanced relentlessly upon them. ‘I’ll come and find you just as soon as I can be rid of him!’
    Clementine smiled and went on her way, gently pushing through the dense crowd that packed the sides of the ballroom. She attracted curious looks from almost everyone that she went past, their eyes glittering behind their velvet and silk masks. She’d always thought masks had a rather devious, sinister look to them and now she was certain of it and even felt scared by them.
    ‘How pretty these French girls are,’ a plump woman with grey powdered hair said shrilly, stepping in front of Clementine and giving her a quick look up and down. ‘Paris fashions do such a lot for a woman, don’t you think?’
    ‘Can they speak English?’ her neighbour asked, giving Clementine a nervous look.
    ‘Not a word of it, I expect. You know what the French are like. Such an ignorant race.’ The grey haired woman smiled falsely at Clementine. ‘How charming to meet you, mademoiselle,’ she said slowly in bad French. Her scarlet rouge had gone on to her yellow teeth and Clementine could not help but stare at it in fascinated revulsion.
    Before she could reply, a crooked blue velvet arm appeared beside her and a male voice was addressing her in French. ‘There you are, cousin. You look very hot - will you allow me to accompany you to the verandah?’
    Clementine looked up to see a pair of light blue eyes smiling down on her from behind a black velvet half mask. ‘Yes, thank you,’ she said with real gratitude. ‘Madame.’ She swept a low curtsey to the grey haired woman and placed her hand on the man’s proffered arm before letting him lead her away.
    ‘You looked like you needed rescuing,’ he murmured as they walked to the gilt and glass double doors that led out onto the verandah. ‘I’ve never seen anyone look so piteous.’
    Clementine laughed. ‘Oh dear, was I that obvious?’ she asked with a blush.  
    ‘A little bit obvious, yes.’ He gave her a sidelong look. ‘Although you could have had a lot of fun with her bizarre assumption that you wouldn’t be able to understand English.’
    ‘How cruel you are,’ she reproved him before relenting and smiling. ‘But, yes, that would have been very amusing.’ He held the door open for her and she stepped out on to the verandah, which had been decorated with garlands of flowers and pretty, brightly coloured paper lanterns with tiny candles suspended inside. ‘Oh, how charming!’ she said, forgetting to speak in French then putting her hands to her mouth, hoping that he had not noticed her gaffe.
    He smiled but said nothing, preferring instead to lean against a wall and bring a small Sèvres snuff box from his pocket while watching her stroll up and down the verandah, admiring the flowers and lanterns. ‘Lady D’Eversley really knows how to throw a party,’ he   remarked at last.  
    Clementine sighed, looking back through the glass doors at the dancers in their bright silk clothes and glittering jewels. ‘It’s the loveliest thing that I have ever seen,’ she said sincerely.
    ‘Really? Lovelier even than your mother’s balls at the Hôtel de Choiseul-Clermont? I’ve always thought them to be particularly beautiful. The one where she made the footmen dress as cherubs with real gold dust on their wigs was extremely memorable.’
    She stared at him, utterly aghast. ‘Yes, of course,’ she mumbled. ‘They are also very beautiful.’ Too late she remembered that he had called her ‘cousin’ in the ballroom and now her only thought was to get away from him as quickly as possible before she had an opportunity to further betray herself.  
    ‘Poor Violette,’ he murmured sympathetically. ‘You have known me all your life. What a trial I must be to you.’
    Clementine laughed then, unable to help herself and liking him despite everything. ‘Yes, you are. A terrible trial.’ She looked at him curiously, taking in his slight frame, dark hair