Masked Love (A Christmas Regency Novella) by Nicole Zoltack Page A

was being a trifle bit absurd. She knew since a young age her parents had already chosen a future husband for her. It was not new news. Besides, Lady Theodosia’s parents loved her and would not choose a horrible man for their only daughter.
    So, she dressed them both and soon found herself looking nothing like herself in a pale rose-colored gown and black mask with silver markings that accented the darkness of her eyes and hair. Her stomach twisted into knots as she strolled around the ballroom floor, and she held up a gloved hand to refuse the tray of foods a servant proffered her. She tried to catch the servant’s eye, to acknowledge him, but he kept his gaze on the floor and rushed to another partygoer.
    The music was lovely, the most striking she had ever heard, and she inched toward the musicians. Lady Theodosia had left her side shortly after they had ducked inside behind a large group of nobles. So much for coming together. Much to Isabelle’s relief, no one looked her way or seemed to realize she had no business being here. Still, her nerves got the best of her, and she tugged on her gloves, her palms inside becoming dewy.
    The song ended, and Isabelle clapped eagerly.
    Darkness befell her left side, and she glanced over to see a tall man, his hands clasped behind his back. A lock of hair had fallen onto his forehead, the rest brushed up for added height. His large nose twitched, and his stare fell upon her. “Are you having a good time?” he asked.
    She flushed and averted her gaze. As a maid, she wasn’t used to maintaining eye contact. “Y-yes,” she managed after a brief, uncomfortable pause. Before he could say more, she scurried away, feeling like a wounded dog with its tail between its legs.
    The music wrapped around her like a welcoming cocoon, and Isabelle scanned the crowd for Lady Theodosia. At first, she saw her nowhere, but then, to her shock, she spied her lady talking to a man. They were tucked away in a dark corner, standing closer than was proper. Isabelle started toward them. Their hushed tones were inaudible, but she heard Lady Theodosia’s clear, giddy laugh easily enough. As long she was happy, Isabelle was happy.
    And alone.
    Always alone.

 
     
     
     

     
    Tagging along had been a horrible idea. She wandered around, staring at people’s shoes, sidestepping bouncy dancers, wishing time would tick along faster than its wearisome pace.
    “Now that is a lovely mask.”
    Isabelle kept walking until she realized she heard no response to the statement. Only a man stood nearby, with no one else close. Her cheeks grew hot, and she pointed to herself.
    He nodded, a wide grin stretching across his face.
    “Thank you,” she murmured so quietly he held his hand behind his ear. “Thank you,” she repeated, a smidgen louder.
    His own was exquisite: black with a red rose on the side, stones sparkling on the petals. A compliment died on her lips. Too much time had elapsed for her to issue one now to destroy the silence, for fear of it sounding like a lie.
    “Um … ”
    She found herself staring at his high polished shoes and wondering how long it had taken his servant to get them to look so shiny. Lord Haywood’s shoes never looked so fine. Black pantaloons enveloped the man’s legs. A dark cutaway coat stretched across his broad shoulders.
    “Do you like what you see?”
    So flustered was she that Isabelle answered without thinking first. “How can I when I know not who I am looking at?”
    He tilted his head back and laughed. A strong, hearty sound. She found herself giggling despite her incredulity. How could she have said something so bold?
    The tall man reached toward his mask, and she caught a glimpse of his wispy sideburns.
    “No!” She touched his arm—his clothes were so soft, his arm firm beneath it—and jerked back as if burned. Where had she left her head? Her indecorous manner could get her thrown out, her name as well as the Haywoods’ tarnished, her position taken