Charming Miss Atherton

Twenty-Five

"Anybody who is anybody will attend my masquerade as a declined invitation might lead the ton to assume that persons not in attendance were shunned."-Baroness Cudley to her daughter Anne as she tallied the final headcount for her masquerade ball.

It was explicitly stated in Baroness Cudley's invitation that entry to her ball would only be granted to guests in possession of a midnight blue missive that would be delivered to each invitee's residence exactly one hour before the festivities began. Baroness Cudley took her position as hostess extremely seriously as evidenced by the detailed instructions that accompanied her original invitations.

Among the numerous rules (and the most important) was the warning that no guest would be allowed to reveal his or her identity until after the appointed hour. Mystery and anonymity were key components of ensuring her masquerade would be a success. And so when the footman appeared at Ripley's elbow with a midnight-colored piece of paper on a silver tray, Bridget knew that it would not be long before the entire ton knew of her new circumstances.

She inhaled a nervous breath. Despite Ripley's best efforts, she still could not dispel the lingering seeds of doubt that society would accept her. A warm hand rested on her bare shoulder. She turned to see Ripley's concerned face.

"Is everything alright?" he asked guardedly. His eyes were intense as if he were trying to lift the truth straight from her mind. She did not wish to keep secrets from her husband, but Bridget also did not wish to dampen the party spirit with her worries. "Just thinking," she replied with a serene smile.

"You looked quite serious," Ripley intoned, his expression thoughtful. "I wonder if there is something I could do to lighten your mood," he added, his voice barely audible. His fingers played lightly with a tendril of hair that skimmed her shoulder.

Bridget exhaled a contented sigh as his fingers traveled up the back of her neck and then one finger brushed lightly across her full lips. She turned, angling her face upward, and seeing the absorbed stare of her husband, she reached up and cupped her petite hands on both sides of his jaw. Their faces were mere inches from one another. "You are incorrigible, Lord Derby."

Ripley made a lopsided grin. "Whatever did I do?" he asked innocently.

Bridget tried to give him a reproving stare but fell short. She caught the corner of his mouth with a light kiss. "Too much as always."

Ripley laughed musically, his eyes bright with amusement as he led his wife out of the house to the waiting carriage. As Bridget, Ripley, Lord George, and the dowager ascended the steps of Baroness Cudley's Mayfair residence, they marveled in awe over their hostess's talent for transforming an ordinary residence into another world entirely. Cascading layers of black and midnight blue fabric were swept up from the marble floors up to the vaulted plaster molded ceilings. Ivory candles appeared to be suspended mid-air due to black iron-wrought supports that were difficult to see against the dark backdrop. Black runners crisscrossed over one another in star formation in the foyer adding an excited charge to the crowd of guests as they deliberated over which arched doorway they should take. Each doorway was heavily draped in black fabric so guests would not know what was on the other side until they stepped through. But they were assured that whichever passage they chose, a surprise of some kind would be waiting for them. The only question on everyone's mind was - was one door better than another?

Ripley led Bridget forward through the crush of guests. As they brushed past people, Bridget could not help but wonder if she had passed anyone among her acquaintance. It was somewhat strange to be at a party where she did not know the identities of those around her. But perhaps therein lay the novelty. Bridget could be anyone. She could have been a servant masquerading as a noblewoman in a fancy dress. In fact, she was certain there was someone there this evening doing just that. And what about the gentleman whose toes she just accidentally trumped on? He could have been the prince. Or a king. And more importantly, no one had any idea that she was the new Duchess of Derby. It was as thrilling as it was terrifying.