Taking Alfred's proffered hand, Caroline alighted from the carriage. Moving slowly with determined poise, she practically floated to the ground in a swath of gathered silk, ready to be admired.
It had taken her personal maid and several of the female house staff most of the day to painstakingly cultivate her final attire. Each fold of silk had been draped until perfectly placed, pinned and sewn as required to hug and fall suggestively across her form. Her hair was piled high and fell in loose cascades of ebony ringlets with golden threads and ribbons interwoven throughout. Due to the complexities of her costume a cloak or evening wrap had been thoroughly rejected. It was entirely out of the question; she had a tawny owl with its wings spread affixed to her right shoulder for heaven's sake, she was hardly about to risk displacing the item after it taking so long to get just right. Thankfully, the mid July evening was warm with a clear sky over head. Nothing was about to spoil her entrance.
She moved her hand to her face to check the position of her eye mask. All was well; the small golden mask sat perfectly above her cheek bones, the Italian matching gold lace covering part of her right cheek and forehead before it disappeared, attached beneath the rolls of her voluptuous hair.
She took one final look at her distorted reflection in the glow of the quarter light from the carriage window. Her costume was perfection. She was perfection. Darcy would not be able to ignore her, of this she was certain. She smiled to herself in satisfaction, Madame Della Rue had simply outdone herself. Good old Ruby she thought with affection. Following her brother, she allowed her cousin to lead her towards the building entrance and mass of people awaiting admittance.
As they moved closer to the queuing masses, she craned her neck scanning the crowd for the familiar presence of Mr Montague. She could not help but wonder what he would say upon seeing her. How wonderful it would be so show him the cleverness of her costume when compared to the unoriginality of his own. He would not be able to deny her the acknowledgement of a job well done. Yet knowing him as she did; would the gentleman chastise her taste or offer her praise? She shook her head, why was she even wondering such a thing? It was not as if his opinion really mattered.
Being a woman who could not help but feed upon admiration from the opposite sex; Caroline took great pleasure in the sheer look of admiration across her cousin's face. He had been unable to take his eyes off her from the very moment she had descended the stairs ready to depart for the masquerade. By way of encouragement, she gave him one of her most practised smiles, tilting her chin to look at him from under dark lashes. It was no mean feat for the man was a good two inches shorter than she. She watched him practically frisson in response. Alfred, rather predictably wore a tunic and matching biretta of deep burgundy. A cardinal; how droll, how very fitting.
She had no interest in her cousin, not in that way anyway; but no matter, even he was still good practise. He was not an unattractive man and his admiring looks did exactly as she intended, stroking softly at her ego. Oh yes, she was certain she looked quite marvellous.
Although securing her cousins unwavering attention had never been her intention, she could not help but believe it could only act in her best interest. There was an undercurrent to his character, moments when his guard would slip or his conversation would hint at something dark. She recalled his sudden remark from earlier in the week;
"What would you be willing to sacrifice in order to keep the wolf from your door?"
She had spent a rather sleepless night replaying their brief conversation, though he had never mentioned nor referred to it again. Whatever he wanted from her family, whatever hold he believed he possessed over them, she would find it out. No man would make a fool of her, threaten what she had worked so hard to protect and foster.
She alone would put an end to this farce, for Lord on High she could not rely on her brother. No, her cousin was perhaps not quite so harmless as she had allowed herself foolishly to believe. She did not believe he knew all of her secrets. No, of this she was certain.
"You are quiet cousin," Alfred remarked pulling her bare arm closer to his side. She could almost feel him breathing in the scent of her hair oil. She forced herself not to recoil at such familiarity.
She twirled the golden spear in her free hand, watching the small statue of Nike dance upon the end. "I apologise. It is one of the downfalls of such an evening. One spends so much time and energy in preparation for a ball, that when one finally does arrive, they feel quite fatigued."
"You look anything but fatigued dear cousin," he replied. "I have never seen a depiction of Athena more beautiful than you this evening. You are a vision. I am afraid like Ares I find myself quite defeated."
She raised a dark brow upon hearing his words. "You flatter me. If I recall, not even the battle thirsty Ares could over throw the Greek goddess of war." She stepped away from him greeting Mrs Avery, the stuck-up nosed twit, who guarded the doors of the great hall like the three headed dog of Hades.
"Miss Bingley," she did not smile, barely curtsying in reply. She looked to the gentleman.
"Please allow me to introduce my cousin, Mr Alfred Bingley. Of course, you know my brother."
"Ah Mr Bingley," cried Mrs Avery, her face bright and welcoming as her eyes fell upon Charles. "My, a maharaja! Are you not just the perfect king of the east? I must say for we have several this evening, but none quite so fine as you."
Both her brother and cousin began to converse with the horrid little gossip woman, as others began to flock and join in alongside them. Caroline stepped to the side, now within the flower filled entryway of the ballroom. She was more than used to being snubbed by such woman. She was determined not to let her vexation show.
She noticed several men cast appreciative glances in her direction. She smiled to herself feeling her confidence soar.
She looked around the room taking in the décor, the orchestra setting and the sea of colourful costumes which swam about the room. The first set was underway with around thirty couples already upon the dancefloor. She scanned the room for Darcy. She could not see him anywhere. She frowned, he was unlikely to be in costume, for Darcy hated dress up. No, she would find him dressed in his usual attire, perhaps a small black eye mask across his handsome, which would do very little to disguise his person.
She looked to the rows of couples dancing, running her eye along the line, but he was nowhere to be found. She pouted with sullen disappointment. Her eye was drawn to a tall gentleman in a feather crown partnered with a small fairylike creature with matching headdress. Even she could not deny it, Anne de Bourgh looked quite beautiful this evening Even for a woman so late in her twenties. She watched as Colville whispered something into her ear to which his partner responded with a most unladylike open-mouthed laugh. The pair seemed quite oblivious to the crowd which surrounded them, both fixated on the other. What Caroline would do to have Darcy look at her in such a way, for him to whisper to her such clever words and she simply laugh in reply. She had been wishing for it for so long she knew of little else. Of course, there had been other men, men who actually had shown her preference, even brought her gifts. But who could compare to a man such as Darcy? She was determined she would only marry the best.
To the left of the happy couple Caroline saw the familiar figure of Miss Julianna Mycroft. She wore a long red gown, trimmed in white fur at the hem and ends of her wide, trailing sleeves. Around her waist was a collection of golden jewellery and amulets creating the most ornate belt Caroline had ever seen. A matching crown adorned the top of her head with her natural golden red hair falling like a fiery waterfall down her back. Clearly proud of her appearance, the girl had not even bothered to wear a mask. Stupid girl, did she not know that was indeed the entire point of a masquerade.
She looked across at the gentleman who partnered Miss Mycroft on the dancefloor. Ah yes, the King Arthur to her Guinevere. She smiled to herself as even from where she stood, she could see at least four other couples of the same pairing. Caroline had only seen one roman emperor and empress so far, Mr Bankston and his wife in a matching robe, though there was no comparison between the frumpy older woman and herself.
She looked at Julianna's partner. He did wear a mask alongside a rather ridiculously large red velvet cape with black and white fur trim which billowed behind him as he danced. She watched as he moved through the steps rather awkwardly. Well neither wonder, the chain mail and silver breast plate alone must weigh heavy; but to then add dragging around about five yards of heavy fur and velvet! It was a wonder the man could even walk let alone dance.
She found herself focusing on his mouth and the shape of his jaw. There was something so familiar about the strong jawline. She saw the way in which Julianna Mycroft stared adoringly at her partner. Surely not, why on earth would he of all people be dancing with...
She tensed feeling a warm hand placed upon the bare skin of her back, where the fabric of her dress hung low in a scoop displaying the curve of her spine.
"I must warn you, even I am having ideas most sinful upon seeing you within such a dress. Or should I say, ideas of seeing you out of it?"
"Dear Colonel Fitzwilliam, should you not be minding the children? I would hate for poor Miss Carmichael to be overcome with excitement without a subtle chaperone such as yourself."
"But then of course you open your mouth and all the magic is gone. Have you heard the news?"
"Yes, I took tea with the Glanville sisters yesterday, they could gossip of very little else. Now if you could only but confirm that there was, shall we say, an urgency behind your need to marry the chit, I would be much appreciative if you would let me know. I have a wager of five whole pounds I am rather keen to collect."
"You have all the charm of a fishwife Miss Bingley."
"I have learnt from the best," she replied stepping away from him. "If you will excuse me."
She moved away from Richard with haste. Lord how idiotic she had been in the past to align herself to him, how naïve to think he would actually help her advance in society. To think she had even helped him in attempting to create a wedge between his cousin Anne and Lord Colville. The man only thought of himself! Suddenly a hand grasped her forearm harshly from behind, she spun to see Alfred, his expression like thunder.
"Who was that?" he demanded, tightening his grip around her arm until the pain felt almost unbearable.
"Unhand me sir," she whispered savagely through gritted teeth scanning those around her, appalled that someone should witness this gross behaviour from her cousin.
"I asked who was he?"
"You mean Colonel Fitzwilliam? He is nothing but a family friend. He is a cousin of the Darcy's."
"I saw you, do not deny it. I saw the way you looked at him. I saw him place his hand upon you."
What lunacy! With her temper now rising she barked at him. "I warn you sir, unhand me this instant. And how dare you imply such things of me! It is none of your business but I can assure you I have never looked upon Colonel Fitzwilliam with any sort of favour."
Without letting go of her arm, he pulled her to the far side of the room, towards the corridor which ran parallel to the main hall. All her instincts told her to pull her arm free and scream at him for such behaviour, but this she could not do. This was the Mayweather ball! The highest members of ton society were in attendance. As much as his behaviour alarmed her, it was her embarrassment that concerned her most. She scanned the crowd as they passed, hoping that no one had taken notice of the scene between them.
He ushered her into the corridor, pulling her into a darkened alcove, away from prying eyes.
"Have I not made my intentions abundantly clear cousin? I will not tolerate sharing. I am not the fool my father was. It may not have been my design in coming, but it certainly is my intention now. I refuse to allow you to make a mockery of me."
"What the devil are you referring to?"
"I intend to have you, Miss Bingley. I intend to take you as my wife."
"Poppycock! Why in the devil would I wish to marry you! You, whose only reason for being here present is in an attempt to extract money from my very family. Why in the devil would you think that would give reason to recommend you?"
He stepped closer to her; his breath warm against her cheek. She took a step back, her back now against the wall.
"Now see here cousin. A very valid point you do make. Perhaps it was my initial intention, but now no longer my sole ambition. In truth I have the power to destroy your brother's social standing and in doing so take my rightful share. Hi ruin would be your ruin. I could take everything from you. No gentleman of standing would ever so much as look at you." He pushed himself against her, moving his left hand to run his fingers up the exposed skin of her upper arm. "Just like your mother you would have nothing but a pretty face and the pleasure to be sought between your legs to recommend you."
She struck him. Hard. He staggered back in surprise, clutching his cheek. His eyes suddenly darkened as his jaw clenched. He raised his arm high preparing to strike her when suddenly he felt a large hand grasp his own arm harshly from above, pulling him almost off balance.
"That is enough sir. Might I suggest you get out of my sight before I am unable to account for my own actions."
Alfred paused looking up at the tall, broad shouldered gentleman whose grip around his arm felt like a vice. He began to speak, but no words came out. Furious at being caught, he pulled his arm free and stepped back looking between his cousin and the unwelcome gentleman.
"We shall discuss this later cousin. Mark my words you will not be so foolish when you fully comprehend the alternative." He walked away from them briskly heading back into the safety of the crowds.
Caroline stood open mouthed, her hand aching acutely from where she had struck Alfred with all her mite. She looked up at the gentleman whose arrival had saved her from receiving a similar blow.
"I always much preferred Lancelot to King Arthur." She spoke with false bravado, doing all in her power to compose herself. He looked down at her, his face concerned and full of another feeling she did not wish to acknowledge. Her lip began to tremble and she could feel the tears dangerously close. She tightened her jaw against the tremble, but her eyes clearly expressed her upset. Without another moments hesitation he stepped forward pulling her rather forcibly against the cold metal of his ridiculous armoured breast plate, encircling her tightly within his arms.
"Montague, he knows everything. He knows it all! What am I going to do?" She buried her face into the velvet of his cloak and burst into tears.