Mary had the most peculiar dream.

She couldn't remember all the details, but remembered the pleasure she felt from it. She remembered that someone was there with her.

She remembered that it was Dowers.

"Miss?" It was Annie, stepping inside with Mary's dress over her arm.

Mary fought away a blush. She almost wondered if Annie had seen anything. Which of course she hadn't, unless she was a mind reader.

Calm down you ridiculous girl, Mary scolded herself.

She couldn't imagine how her mind was so fixated on Dowers. The man had only been in her acquaintance for a week. Why did she think of him so much? Why did she wonder if he thought of her?

If he were Dickon (not that she believed he was) why was he being so secretive? Why had he trifling with her so?

That's it. I will ask Dowers when I see him.

He'll think you're mad.

I will ask him.
OOO
Before the masquerade, Mary decided to being reading The Castle's Key.

It was about a small boy named Charlie who lived outside a very large castle. He'd always dream he was the prince and had the castle all to himself.

It seemed a rather fanciful novel, but Mary read on.

Where Mary stopped, Charlie had traveled to a city to go to school.

That was when Elizabeth had stormed in and flung herself onto the couch very dramatically.

"Are you all right?" Mary marked her page with a flower.

Elizabeth's face was as red as a rose, "Zelda is driving me mad! She's insisting on going to the party! She wasn't even invited to the party!"

Mary crinkled her brow, "Haven't you told her that?"

"Yes!" Elizabeth exclaimed. "But she insists that someone has invited her! And she won't tell me who!"

The clock chimed the hour and Mary stood.

"Well, perhaps she does have a date," Mary said. "I need to go get dressed. Excuse me."
OOO
Victoria was there.

The mask couldn't hide her friends beautiful blonde curls.

Mary's own mask was pink and gold and flared out to the sides. It only covered half her face, leaving the bottom half free.

She grabbed her friends arm, "You're beautiful, Victoria."

She hushed her, "No one's supposed to know who we are! That's what makes it romantic and mysterious," she sang the words.

Mary giggled, "Oh, yes. Very much so."

Victoria looked around, "Do you recognize anyone?"

Mary looked around the large ballroom. The D'Eyre family had thrown a ball in honor of their son's impending wedding. They had spared no expense in the doing of it. The ballroom was beautifully decorated with more flowers than Mary had seen in years. The room bustled with beautifully dressed people in ornate masks.

But Mary could not recognize anyone.

Well, maybe one.

Lord Navarlen had not worn a mask. He came to greet Mary.

She tisked, "Where is your mask, sir?"

He simpered, "I couldn't find one. Besides, I'm not the biggest fan of them." Lord Navarlen offered his arm, "Care for a dance?"

As if Mary could refuse.
OOO
Mary found an empty hallway to sit alone and catch her breath.

She'd danced two dances with lord Navarlen, both up-tempo lively dances, and she needed a rest.

And she wanted to be alone.

Mary gazed at the dancers, all wearing their masks in a myriad of colors.

She thought of her childhood in India, and the lavish parties she was never allowed in to.

That could not stop her from watching. Mary spent hours of her early years watching the extravagant parties her mother and father had thrown for all of their guests.

There were dancers, with their exotic and sensual moves. There were rich men clad all in gold. There were animals of every kind and people who looked just like them.

It was like watching a fairy tale.

It wasn't quite as splendorous as all that tonight, but still mystical. The masks that hid the guests' faces gave a sensual and mysterious air that reminded her of India.

Mary hadn't even noticed that someone had sat beside her.

"Beautiful, isn't it?"

Mary jumped and Dowers laughed.

She scowled at him, "Announce yourself next time please, James." Her voice ringed with a light laugh.

He was the handsomest man she ever saw.

His black suit fit him perfectly, outlining his slender body. His coppery, wavy hair was slicked back, a silver mask covering the top half of his face. Easily recognizable was his facial hair; the circle like strip of hair orbiting his lips.

"How on earth did you know it was me?" He asked with a smirk.

Mary reached with her gloved hand and cupped his face, "This gave it away." Gingerly, she brushed her thumb down from his mustache, over his lips and down his beard.

She pulled away instantly when he saw his eyes fixated on her and the wanting inside of them.

There was wanting inside of her as well.

"It is beautiful," Mary looked back at the party. She hoped as if she didn't address the previous moment it would be forgotten. "It reminds me of India."

He moved a bit closer, "Did you grow up in India?"

Mary raised her brow, but realized that Dowers couldn't see the expression from under her mask.

"How did you know that, sir?" Mary asked with a playful tone. I know who you are, is what she meant to say.

Dowers leaned in more, "I told you to call me James."

"That seems awfully trite when it isn't even your real name, James."

She was getting very good at this game.

His eyes held her there.

Until someone grabbed her shoulder.

"Mary!" It was Colin, out of breath and red faced. "Mary, it's father. He's been taken to a hospital."

Mary stood instantly, causing Dowers to stand as well.

"What? Why?" Mary pleaded, grasping her cousin's hand.

He wheezed a breath, "One of the butlers, Moseley, found him in the library. He wasn't breathing, Mary...my God..."

Mary covered her mouth with her hand.

Her uncle. Uncle Craven who'd taken her in when no one else had. Uncle Craven who treated her as though she were his own daughter.

Uncle Craven was dying.

Mary ran her fingers through her hair. A nervous habit she'd developed long ago.

"I need my coat. And my bag." She peeled off the ridiculous mask. "I have to go." Mary turned back to her cousin, "Who told you all this?"

"Moseley. He just came with the cab to tell me. We have to go now."

Mary nodded, glancing around the room. It was too big. Too full of people for her to get her things in a reasonable amount of time. She didn't even remember where she'd put them. She-

Don't panic, she scolded herself. Don't panic. You know what happens when you panic. You don't want to have to be checked into the hospital as well.

"Lord Craven," Dowers stepped in. "You go on to visit your father. I can bring Mary in my coach so that she can get her things."

Colin looked quizzically at the author man. "Thank you, sir. Most kind of you." He looked to his cousin, "Is that all right with you?"

Mary felt a sudden surge of affection. If Uncle Craven had been like a father to her, Colin had been a true brother all these years.

"Yes," she said. "I'll meet you there. St. Patrick's Hospital?"

Colin nodded, "Yes. I will see you there." He leaned forward and gave a kind kiss on the cheek. When he pulled away, Mary could see tears in his eyes.

As he turned to leave, Mary turned back to Dowers.

"I'll get the coach," he told her. "I'll be at the doors in a few minutes."

He left so quickly that Mary hadn't the time to thank him.

She turned back to the party, on a hunt for her belongings. The coat and purse weren't hard to find. She'd left them at one of the tables.

What was hard to find were her companions. Mary knew that she shouldn't just leave without informing at least one of them where she was going.

It was Zelda who found her first.

"Mary!" Her pixie like face filled with worry. "I heard about your uncle. I'm so very sorry."

Mary slid into her coat, "Yes. I'm off to see him now and... Wait, how did you hear about my uncle?"

"Miss Lennox," Lord Navarlen's voice sounded from behind her. She turned to him, his usual stoic face looking slightly bewildered. "Are you leaving?"

"Family emergency," Mary said. She almost laughed at his cocked head. Like a confused dog trying to understand its master. "My Uncle is very ill."

He straightened, "I will take you in my coach."

Mary smiled politely, "No need. Mr. Dowers has already offered."

Lord Navarlen's face lost its gentlemanly facade, "Oh. I see."

"I must be off. So sorry to leave," Mary turned and rushed through the clamor of people. The sea of masks was seemingly endless as Mary tried to make it to the door.

In all the hustle, Mary had nearly forgotten why she was rushing around in the first place. Her Uncle's illness was still a mystery to her. She didn't even know what he was sick from. She didn't even know if he was alive.

He was an old man, sure, but he was always healthy. And he was so kind. So wonderfully kind.

Mary wouldn't know what to do without him.

Dower's coach was right where he said. A footman helped her inside the black box where the author himself was sitting.

The inside was nicer than Mary had expected for a man of his position. The seats were well upholstered and the windows had beautiful red curtains around them. There was no bit of the night chill to be felt.

Mary smiled at the man across from her, "Thank you so much, sir."

Dowers returned the smile, "It's not a problem at all." He'd taken his mask off as well. "I'm sorry your night was cut short."

"It's all right," Mary sighed, looking out at the night as it rolled past the windows.

"You still have your dinner tomorrow," his voice was quiet.

"Yes," Mary said. There was no enthusiasm in her voice.

Lord Navarlen was going to propose. She knew that. And Mary should expect him. It was a good match. He was a good man. A wealthy man. He could give her a wonderful life. Their children would have wonderful lives.

She would be safe and secure. Something she truly needed to be if her uncle were to...

No. She mustn't think like that. She couldn't.

Marrying Lord Navarlen wouldn't be truthful. She did not love him. She could not love him.

You don't live in a novel, Mary scolded herself. Be happy he is a good man. Stop worrying about love.

Mary glanced at Dowers again. So handsome. So intelligent.

So mysterious.

Why did he keep so many secrets? What did he have to hide?

"Will you accept his proposal?" Dowers asked suddenly. "Sorry. That was intrusive."

"Yes, it was," Mary snapped. Her eyes went right back to the window. He had no room to pry on her life. Not when he shared so little of his own.

They hardly knew each other. He had no right.

But that was cold. Even for strangers.

Mary exhaled, "I suppose I will."

Dowers waited before asking, "Do you love him?"

Now that was intrusive.

But Mary still answered.

"No," was the honest truth. "I do not."

The air inside now had a peculiar chill of its own. A chill formed not by the ice in the air, but the ice in their words.

Dowers looked at the ground, "It seems ridiculous to me to marry someone you do not love."

"That's a very romantic thought."

James smirked, "I do write romantic novels."

Mary wrapped herself further into her coat. She wasn't sure how long they'd been driving and she was sure how close they were to the hospital.

What she was sure of though was that Dowers was making her upset. How dare he sit there and talk to her like he knew her life? How dare he sit there and judge her silently?

Mary had once been a rather fiery child. She'd say things and act out in a very passionate manner.

Sometimes that child came out.

"Life isn't a romance novel, Mr. Dowers," she said. "That's not how it works. You can't just sit there and judge me for not 'following my heart' and all that nonsense. You hardly know me." She tugged her coat once more. She even dared a glance at him.

He was looking at her with an amused smile.

Mary squinted, "I don't even know what being in love is like."

Dowers leaned back, folding his hands in his lap, "It's when someone would do anything for you. Like forgive her friend for breaking a prized vase just to make her happy. Or give you a copy of his book. Or leave a party to drive her to a hospital."

Mary felt her heart fluttering but she would not drop her facade.

She scoffed, "Are you saying I should marry you?"

"Yes."

The nerve! The absolute nerve of this man. Just because he wrote about love did not mean he was an expert on it. It did not mean he was an expert on Mary. That loathsome, egotistical, conniving-

"You've known me for barely a week, sir."

Dowers gazed at her intensely, "I've known you a lot longer than that, Miss Mary. Or have you forgotten?"

There it was. The confession she'd waited for. Right in front of her.

He was Dickon and he was alive.

She would've jumped up and kissed him if she hadn't wanted to smack him so bad.

"Why didn't you just tell me?" Her voice was small.

His eyes lit up, "You knew?"

"Of course I knew," she said. "So why didn't you just tell me?"

Dickon shifted, "It's complicated. I-"

"You should've just told me!" Her voice came out far more powerful than she had expected. "Jesus Christ, Dickon! You treated this like a game! Like I was a puppet! You made me feel a fool! The least you owe me is an explanation!"

The carriage shook to a halt.

Mary face was redder than the curtains and Dickon was too dumbstruck to speak a word. Without waiting for the footman, Mart pushed open the door and stepped into the chill night air.

The hospital loomed in front of her.

Dickon stepped out, "Mary, wait!"

"I'm done with waiting," she murmured for only her to hear.

She walked up to the hospital, not sure if she was crying for her uncle, Dickon, or simply for herself.