A Masquerade
Summary: Anthony and Penelope meet on the other side of London.
Early May 1815 – The Evening Of
What had he been thinking?
He slowly lowers his head beneath the steaming hot water, feeling the warmth envelop him as he prepares for the masquerade later that evening. It's not his usual routine to take a bath on days with grand balls, as he typically saves them for the day after the revelry and partying. The drinking and smoking from the previous events tend to leave him feeling somewhat soiled, but today is an exception.
What the fuck had he been thinking?
Anthony conscientiously scrubs his skin using a gentle bristle brush and fragrant, moisturizing soap, carefully working up a rich, foamy lather. He has decided to take this bath alone and without the assistance of one of the servants, for he needed a few moments to think. Anthony dedicates particular attention to cleansing the hard-to-reach areas beneath his ears, as well as meticulously tending to the smallest crevices of his body to ensure a thorough and invigorating wash.
Had he been sick with a fever?
He must have been out of his mind when he agreed to be Penelope's "dance partner." Anthony pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to get rid of his nonexistent headache. He had made a point of having his footman shave his face today despite his behavior not being typical. Anthony caught an odd look in his footman's eye when he requested the shave.
What the fuck had he been thinking?
Anthony's head thudded against the back of the tub, jolting him into contemplation. The sound echoed in the stillness of the bathroom, a stark reminder of the weight pressing down on his mind. He had carefully selected his outfit for the evening: a custom-tailored navy suit with designs in iridescent blue, turquoise greens, and gold that hugged his frame just right. He paired it with a crisp white shirt and a silk tie to add a touch of flair. The masquerade theme was centered around animals, and he had promised Penelope that he would dress as a bird, symbolizing his agreement with their plans for the evening. He had chosen the peacock. The plans were firmly in place, a carefully orchestrated evening designed to impress and entertain. Yet, despite the excitement that should have accompanied such an occasion, a nagging sense of guilt loomed over him like a dark cloud, threatening to spoil the fun.
He had always prided himself on being a gentleman—or at least he believed he was. He held doors open, offered his seat to those in need, and never shied away from a chance to lend a helping hand. But as he lay there, submerged in the warm water, the soothing heat enveloping him like a comforting embrace, he couldn't shake the feeling that perhaps he was not living up to the ideals he had set for himself. Was he truly the man he aspired to be, or was he merely playing a role, a façade that would crumble under scrutiny?
These questions flitted through his mind like restless butterflies, each one more insistent than the last. He submerged himself in the warm water once more, allowing it to wash over him, hoping to cleanse not just his body but also the turmoil swirling within. The gentle ripples danced around him, a momentary distraction from the chaos of his thoughts. Emerging from the depths, he shook off the remnants of soap, the bubbles bursting like fleeting worries, and diligently rinsed his hair, the water cascading down his back in a refreshing torrent.
Once clean, he stood, the cool air of the bathroom contrasting sharply with the warmth he had just left behind. He toweled off the excess moisture, the fabric absorbing the remnants of his bath, and wrung out the last drops from his hair, watching as they splattered onto the tiled floor. Each droplet seemed to symbolize a fragment of his uncertainty, a reminder of the choices he had made and the paths he had yet to explore.
With a deep breath, he stepped out of the tub, the chill of the air invigorating him, urging him to shake off the lingering doubts. He glanced at his reflection in the mirror, the steam slowly dissipating to reveal a man caught between expectation and reality. He blinks twice, running his hand over his face, and something settles within him.
He walked into his elegantly appointed room and meticulously prepared himself for the grand ball. Anthony indulged in the ritual of applying cologne, savoring the invigorating blend of citrus with underlying notes of rosemary, lavender, and thyme. A quick glance in the mirror allowed him to ensure every detail was perfect, from the impeccably tied cravat to the addition of a golden peacock pendant adorning his scarf. With a sense of anticipation, Anthony left the room and called out for the footman, his voice echoing down the grand hall.
The footman enters the room, his footsteps muffled by the thick carpet. He carefully begins to adjust and straightens the Lord's outfit, fluffing out a few false peacock feathers that stand off of his left shoulder, ensuring every detail is perfect.
"Is everything prepared at my bachelor lodgings?" the Lord inquires as he gazes into the ornate mirror before him, meeting the unwavering eyes of the impeccably wigged footman reflected in the glass.
"Yes, as you requested, your bachelor lodging s have been cleaned," the young footman nods and smiles.
"Good." Anthony states, "If I don't return tonight, inform my family I will stay at my bachelor lodging s and send food."
The footman steps back and nods once more at the request. Anthony smiled briefly before turning around and facing the footman.
"Thank you," Anthony states, then moves towards the door.
The footman trails behind, swinging the door wide to reveal the grand expanse of the estate, its opulence shimmering under the soft glow of the chandeliers. Anthony strides down the corridor, his polished shoes echoing against the marble floor, each step resonating with purpose. He descends the staircase, his posture confident, yet his mind is a tempest of thoughts. His eyes and ears are attuned to the flurry of his family members bustling about, their voices a cacophony of excitement and urgency as they hastily prepare for the ball. The air is thick with the scent of fresh blooms and the rustle of silks, a whirlwind of anticipation and disarray that envelops the household.
Yet, amidst the vibrant chaos, Anthony's mind drifts far from the festivities ahead. He can hear the laughter and chatter of his siblings, the clinking of glasses, and the distant strains of music that promise an evening of revelry. But his heart is heavy with a different kind of weight, one that pulls him away from the glittering scene unfolding around him. He feels a profound sense of detachment as if he is merely an observer in a world that no longer holds his interest.
His thoughts linger on what lies beyond the evening, a future that feels both inevitable and daunting. The offer he made to Penelope echoes in his mind, a decision that had seemed so clear in the moment but now feels fraught with complexity. He feels no remorse for his choice. Instead, a sense of resolve anchors him. He didn't know why he offered her what he did. But he did know that he didn't act out of necessity, a duty to his family and their expectations, but he can feel the weight of that decision as it looms larger than he anticipated.
As he reaches the bottom of the staircase, he pauses for a moment, taking in the scene before him. His family, vibrant and full of life, are oblivious to the turmoil brewing within him. He watches as his sister twirls in her gown, laughter spilling from her lips, and his brother adjusts his cravat with a flourish, both caught up in the magic of the night. Anthony's heart aches with a longing for that same carefree spirit, but he knows that his path is different. The responsibilities that come with his title and the expectations of his lineage bind him in ways that are both familiar and suffocating.
With a deep breath, he steels himself for the evening ahead, knowing that he must play his part in the grand performance of society.
"My lord?" the footman called from behind him. Anthony, dressed in a finely tailored purple suit with silver accents, turned to face the footman, who was adorned in a rich purple and silver livery, presenting something with outstretched hands. Anthony's gaze fell upon the object in the footman's hand, and dread filled his heart as he beheld the ornate mask. The mask was a mesmerizing display of intricate artistry, featuring vibrant shades of blue, green, and gold, embellished with feathers elegantly arranged at the crest in a striking peacock motif.
"Yes, of course," Anthony says as he picks up the mask. "Thank you," he nods.
Anthony walks towards the entrance, turning around with the mask in his hands, simultaneously gathering up and leading the family towards the carriages that sit just outside the entranceway. As usual, they are divided by gender: Anthony and Benedict are in one carriage, and his mother, Eloise, and Francesca are in another. Fatima and Gregory are too young for this event and will stay at home with their governess.
"Are you ready?" his mother asked as she stood outside, watching her children move about the entranceway.
"Yes, Mother, let us go," Anthony replied, waving Eloise and Francesca into their carriage.
As Anthony and Benedict stepped into the elegant carriage, the heavy door closed with a precise click, enclosing them. Benedict's attire immediately caught Anthony's eye—a dark suit adorned with intricate silver designs reminiscent of the graceful lines of a swan. Antony inquired about the inspiration behind Benedict's striking attire. Benedict shared that he had drawn inspiration from the mesmerizing ballet "Black Swan," a performance he had been captivated by several months ago.
"My brother, your feathers seem rather ruffled this evening," Benedict said with a grin as he watched his brother across from him.
Anthony sits across Benedict, his stomach in knots, carefully holding his elegant mask in his hands. Leaning forward slightly, he ensures that the delicate feather on his left shoulder does not bend. An air of nervousness surrounds him as he contemplates the evening ahead. He is unsure of what he truly desires at this moment. All he knows is that he desperately wants this night to unfold seamlessly, free from any disruptions. With a determined gaze, he silently promises himself that Benedict will not be allowed to spoil his long-awaited evening.
"Come off it," Anthony snaps back.
He sighs as Benedict chuckles. "Brother, I mean no harm by it," Benedict declares, raising his hands, one hand holding his black mask adorned with feathers.
"Benedict," Anthony called in annoyance.
"Anthony," Benedict replied with a smile.
Anthony sighed.
What the hell was I thinking?
Penelope can't decide what to wear.
She looks at the two options before her and considers which would be best for the night events. The masquerade theme was centered around various animals. Her family decided to base their theme around birds, especially tropical birds of South and Central America, with birds that carried orange, green, yellow, blue, and red hues. She had wanted to dress in pink, based on the flamingo of the Bahamas. But her mother had insisted on yellow, orange, and green as the colors to choose from as they were the family colors.
She then decided on the Phoenix, an imaginary creature, but a creature that fit her mother's aesthetics of yellow, orange, and red. However, if her mother ever asked, she would say she was a parrot. It didn't matter anyway.
As she reclines in the tub, her vibrant red hair elegantly pinned up, the steam rising from the hot water cocoons her in comfort. With dedicated care, she gently exfoliates her skin using a soft bristle brush, spreading the indulgent, fragrant, moisturizing soap to create a lavish, rich, foamy lather, savoring each moment of the cleansing ritual as a true indulgence.
She let out a deep breath, relishing the warmth of the steam rising from the soap that clung to her skin. The fragrant lather enveloped her like a comforting embrace, a fleeting moment of luxury in an increasingly austere life. In the past year, following her father's passing, she had been forced to tighten the purse strings of the estate and find ways to boost their income. The once-bustling household had transformed into a shadow of its former self, with echoes of laughter replaced by the somber reality of financial strain. One of the sacrifices they made was reducing the frequency of their baths, a ritual that had once been a cherished part of her daily routine. Now, the water was a rare indulgence, and their meals had shifted to a diet primarily of potatoes, reminiscent of the old ways back in Ireland, where her ancestors had to make do with what little they had.
Penelope felt a tightness in her stomach, anxiety bubbling within her like a pot on the verge of boiling over. The uncertainty of the evening ahead weighed on her, a heavy cloak of apprehension that threatened to suffocate her. She had spent countless hours preparing for this night, meticulously planning every detail, yet the unpredictability of it all gnawed at her. Would Anthony notice the subtle changes in her demeanor? Would he see past the mask she would wear, both literally and figuratively, to the woman beneath who longed for connection and understanding?
But she held onto the hope that it would unfold positively. The thought of Anthony brought a flicker of warmth to her heart, a spark of excitement that momentarily chased away the shadows of doubt. She had arranged for her maid, Amelia, to prepare the carriage that would take her from the masquerade to Anthony's bachelor quarters across the city. The prospect of the evening filled her with a mix of anticipation and trepidation. Would the masquerade, with its swirling colors and hidden identities, provide the escape she so desperately craved?
As she rinsed the soap from her skin, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, steam fogging the glass around her. The reflection staring back was a blend of vulnerability and resolve. She was determined to make the most of this night, to step into the role of the confident, enchanting woman she wished to be, if only for a few hours. With a final splash of cool water to invigorate her senses, she dried herself off and called in Amelia.
Amelia was gracefully assisted with the final touches of her exquisite ballgown. The fabric, a mesmerizing blend of warm orange and radiant gold, flowed around her in a luxurious swirl. Her hair meticulously brushed and elegantly pinned up, showcased a delicate updo adorned with a few artfully arranged stray curls that framed her face. As she twirled, the dress unveiled hidden accents of rich red in its underlying layers, creating a mesmerizing and enchanting spectacle. And she couldn't forget about her mother's favorite part about her dress, the feathers that lined the bottom of her dress in yellow and orange.
Penelope thought back to a week ago, the night after Lord Cotherington's ball. Her maid had delivered her response to Anthony's proposal. While it might not have been a formal acceptance, the note she sent contained a simple word: yes. It was a word that resonated deeply within Penelope's heart, igniting a flicker of hope that had long been dormant. The prospect of a future intertwined with Anthony, a man of such stature and charm, filled her with a mixture of excitement and trepidation.
It was only later, under the cloak of night, that Anthony made his way to the garden, where they could finalize their plans. The moon hung low in the sky, casting a silvery glow over the meticulously tended flowers and hedges, creating an atmosphere that felt both magical and secretive. Penelope, her heart racing, awaited his arrival, her mind swirling with thoughts of what this meeting could mean for them both.
As she stood there, she felt a wave of gratitude for the unwavering loyalty of her staff. They had become more than mere employees; they were her confidants, her allies in a world that often felt isolating and cold. She believed that Amelia's kind words about her were a testament to this loyalty, especially since her mother and sisters had shown little appreciation for their assistance. In a household where expectations were high, and affection was scarce, the warmth of her staff's support was a balm to her spirit.
Penelope surmised that her efforts in managing the estate had not only earned her the staff's fidelity but also their commitment to safeguarding her secrets and her clandestine meetings with the enigmatic Lord Bridgerton. She had worked tirelessly to ensure that the estate ran smoothly, pouring her heart into every detail, from the grand dining room to the smallest corner of the kitchen. In doing so, she had cultivated an environment where her staff felt valued and respected, and in return, they had become fiercely protective of her.
As she waited in the garden, the scent of blooming jasmine enveloped her, and she reflected on the delicate balance she had struck between her duties and her desires. The thrill of her secret rendezvous with Anthony starkly contrasted with the mundane expectations of her daily life. It was a reminder that beneath the layers of propriety and obligation, there lay a world of passion and possibility waiting to be explored.
Penelope let out a soft, wistful sigh as she gazed down at the intricate gold mask resting before her. The mask appeared delicate and fragile, its golden surface catching the light and dazzling her eyes. The nose of the mask was expertly crafted to resemble a bird's beak, adorned with tiny, intricate details. At the top of the mask, delicate red fabric roses lay across, adding a touch of elegance and mystery. Adorning it further were golden spikes, each one carefully embellished with a single stunning red ruby, adding a captivating charm to the overall design.
Penelope grasped the mask tightly in her hand, its delicate design a stark contrast to the heavy silence that enveloped her. With a deep breath, she stepped out of her room, the familiar creak of the floorboards beneath her feet echoing in the stillness. As she made her way to the staircase, the air felt thick with memories, each step a reminder of the vibrant life that once filled the house.
The grand foyer, usually alive with the sounds of laughter and chatter, now stood in stark contrast to its former self. It was eerily demure, devoid of the familiar sounds of her sister bustling about in preparation for balls or luncheons. The absence of her sister's lively spirit was palpable; the house felt like a shell of its former self, stripped of the warmth and joy that had once radiated from its walls.
Penelope's heart ached as she thought of the countless afternoons spent together, her sister's laughter ringing through the halls as they navigated the intricate dance of social obligations. They had been a whirlwind of energy, with maids hurriedly trailing behind them, trying to keep up with their demands and add the final touches to their appearances. The scent of fresh flowers and the sound of rustling silk had once filled the air, creating an atmosphere of excitement and anticipation.
But now, the vibrant chaos had faded into a distant memory, leaving behind a stillness. The echoes of their shared moments lingered in her mind. She longed for the days when her sister would burst into her room, dragging her into the flurry of preparations, their laughter mingling with the clatter of dishes and the chatter of guests.
As she descended the staircase, the weight of the evening ahead pressed down on her. It was just her and her mother now, the two of them navigating society together. Penelope glanced at the portraits lining the walls, the only one of her family with her father standing tall, holding her mother's shoulder with her and her sisters smiling brightly. She missed the lively gatherings, the shared secrets, and the comforting presence of her sisters by her side.
With each step, she felt the mask in her hand, symbolizing the roles they had played in society and the expectations that still loomed over her. She knew she had to put it on to step into the world outside, but the thought of facing it alone once filled her with anxiety. Now that she had the money and means to support herself, she didn't feel too frightened about her situation.
"Miss?" Amelia asked, tapping on her shoulder.
Penelope turned her head around to look up at her maid. She was now standing at the bottom of the stairs, watching the last of the servants readying her mother for the ball ahead. She stepped forward, allowing the maid to step in front of her. The maid reached out her empty hand for the mask clutched and hers.
Penelope stood still. Her eyes fixed on the delicate mask held in her hand. At that moment, a sudden wave of blankness washed over her mind, leaving her momentarily lost.
"Miss, it is time to go," Amelia reminded her, returning her attention to the maid. Amelia stood with a smile.
"Yes, of course," Penelope said with a smile as she handed the mask to Amelia. Penelope turned back towards the entrance as Amelia began placing the mask on her face, tying it up in the back, and securing it to her face.
As she turned around, she caught sight of her mother's elegant attire. Her mother was wearing a stunning light green dress adorned with feathers that perfectly matched the ensemble. Her dress trailed behind her as she prepared to attend the masquerade. The elaborate mask her mother wore was also embellished with feathers, unlike her own, and it effectively concealed most of her face.
"Where have you been?" her mother asked with an exasperated sigh before waving her off. "Never mind. You could have made us late."
Penelope nodded and said, "Yes, mother," before following her mother out of the house.