The rhythmic clatter of hooves on cobblestones and the gentle rocking motion of the carriage gradually brought Viviana back to the present.
The carriage slowed, the horses neighing softly as the coachman, his voice a low rumble from outside, reined them in. "Whoa there, steady now." A final, gentle jolt, and the vehicle came to a complete stop before a blaze of lights that was the Valerius estate.
"We have arrived, milady," the coachman announced from his perch, his tone respectful.
Almost instantly, a footman, clad in a smart, dark green uniform with gold braid, his face smooth and utterly impassive, opened the carriage door. A gust of evening air, cooler now and carrying the distinct scents of freshly cut grass from manicured gardens and the damp, earthy smell of old stone, washed over Viviana.
She took a slow, deliberate breath, composing her features into an expression of cool, almost aloof indifference. It's time.
She placed a gloved hand – the gloves were fine black lace, ending just above her wrists – onto the offered arm of the footman. He was sturdy and silent as she stepped out onto the gravelled driveway. Her other hand, also gloved, instinctively went to smooth down the crimson silk of her gown, ensuring it fell just so.
She walked with a measured pace towards the grand entrance doors, her borrowed high-heeled slippers making a soft crunching sound on the drive. Two imposing guards, dressed in similar uniform to the footman but with the addition of ceremonial swords at their hips, flanked the doorway. One stepped forward.
"Your invitation, milady?" he asked, his voice polite but firm.
Viviana produced a thick, cream-coloured card embossed with a golden crest. The guard inspected it briefly, nodded, then gestured to a small, velvet-lined tray held by his companion. On it lay an assortment of simple black stick masks.
"As it is a masquerade, milady," the first guard explained.
Viviana selected a plain black satin mask, elegantly shaped to cover the upper portion of her face, held on a slender ebony stick. It was perfect – concealing enough, yet allowing her eyes, her most expressive feature, to remain visible.
Inside, the entrance hall was a cavern of marble and gold, buzzing with the muted sounds of an orchestra and the murmur of many voices. An announcer, portly and important-looking with a scroll in his hand, stood at the top of a short flight of wide stairs leading down into the main ballroom.
Viviana approached him. "Lady Cassandra," she said, her voice a cultivated, soft tone, "from the house of Beaumont."
The announcer, without looking directly at her, cleared his throat and boomed, "Announcing Lady Cassandra, of the esteemed House of Beaumont!"
Viviana offered a slight, graceful curtsy to the assembled, mostly unseen company below, then began her descent. Her fan, made of black lace and dark feathers, fluttered gently near her nose, a shield and a prop. She moved with an elegance she had practiced for weeks, her crimson dress shimmering under the light of a dozen crystal chandeliers.
The ballroom was a sea of colour and movement. Masked figures in silks, satins, and velvets twirled to a waltz, their laughter tinkling like breaking glass. Jewels flashed on necks and fingers, and the air was thick with expensive perfumes and the scent of beeswax from polished floors.
As other guests were announced, Viviana made her way with apparent aimlessness towards a long table laden with refreshments. She selected a tall, slender glass of lemonade, the cool crystal a welcome sensation against her gloved fingers. Her eyes, sharp and observant behind the mask, scanned the room, taking in the shifting hash of guests.
Then, she saw him. Lord Collin Valerius. He stood near a towering floral arrangement, a glass of wine in his hand, listening with an air of polite boredom to a stout, red-faced man gesticulating wildly.
Collin himself was tall, with dark hair swept back from his brow, his evening attire impeccable. He was younger than the man she imagined when she received this mission. He was the reason she was here, in this gilded cage, playing a part.
Her breath hitched slightly. He looked up, his gaze sweeping the room, and for a moment, his eyes met hers. A flicker of something – curiosity, perhaps – crossed his features. Viviana held his gaze for a heartbeat longer than was strictly proper, then, as if suddenly shy, she lowered her eyes, her fan fluttering a little faster. She took a delicate sip of her lemonade, feigning a demure interest in the bubbles rising in her glass. The lure was cast.
A few minutes later, she sensed him approaching.
"Pardon my forwardness, my lady," his voice was smooth, cultured, with an undertone of charm. "But your entrance, I must confess, did not go unnoticed. Might I presume this is your first season gracing our humble gatherings?"
Viviana turned, a small, almost startled look on her masked face. She managed a slight, shy smile, her eyes lifting to meet his, then dropping again as if overwhelmed by his directness. "Oh, my lord. You are most kind to say so." Her voice was soft, a little hesitant. "It is not my first season, precisely, but I confess, I am not one for the… for the intensity of such grand affairs. I find them a little… overwhelming at times." She let her fan drift closed, holding it in both hands.
Lord Collin gave a slight, charming bow, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Forgive my dreadful lack of manners, then. Such beauty should not be left to stand alone. Lord Collin Valerius, at your service, my lady." He offered his name with an easy grace, expecting hers in return.
Viviana performed a small, graceful curtsy, her crimson skirts whispering around her. "A pleasure, my lord. I am Lady Cassandra. Of the Beaumont family." She delivered her false name smoothly, with just the right touch of modest dignity.
"Lady Cassandra," he repeated, his voice like velvet. He took her offered hand, his touch lingering as he brushed his lips over her gloved knuckles. Viviana fought the urge to snatch her hand away, to wipe it clean. Instead, she allowed a tiny, almost imperceptible shiver to pass through her, as if his touch had flustered her. "A name as enchanting as its bearer. The Beaumonts, you say?" He tilted his head slightly. "I confess the name is not immediately familiar, which is entirely my loss, I assure you. A new star in our firmament, perhaps?"
Viviana let out a soft, nervous-sounding giggle, her fan opening with a little snap as she began to wave it gently before her face. "Oh, we are a rather quiet family, my lord. Seldom in the city. Our estate is quite… removed." She hoped she sounded convincing, the timid country flower unused to the bright lights of society.
"Indeed," he murmured, his gaze lingering on her. "It is rather warm in here, is it not?" she ventured, fanning herself a little more energetically, her eyes meeting his for a fleeting moment before she looked away towards the crowded dance floor.
Lord Collin seized the opening. "Indeed it is. The air can become quite… close with so many revelers enjoying themselves. The gardens, however, offer a most refreshing breeze, and the roses are particularly fine this year, I am told. Might I offer you my arm, Lady Cassandra, for a brief respite amidst the blooms? A chance to breathe, away from the throng?" His smile was persuasive, his eyes holding hers.
Viviana looked up at him, feigning a mixture of gratitude and delightful surprise. "Oh, my lord, that would be most kind of you. Truly. The heat is a little… trying." She placed her fingertips lightly on his offered arm. "Thank you. I should like that very much."
"The pleasure is all mine, Lady Cassandra," he murmured, his hand covering hers briefly where it rested on his arm.