A Season of Masks and Masquerades

Chapter 38: The Radcliffe Soiree

The rock under her heel rolled and she slipped. Her first reflex was to shut her eyes and more importantly her fists tight, so she wouldn't lose her gloves.

One might think caring for some gloves while you're mere moments away from breaking your waist is ridiculously foolish. However, not for Esther. It wasn't her first time losing her balance. She'd been there quite a few times now and that was why she knew she wouldn't fall. Oh, how much she wished she would, for once.

She wasn't afraid of the slip of her foot but rather what followed. She was aware of exactly what was about to happen and there was nothing she could do than to wait.

But as she waited, she only fell more and more and soon she hit the ground, hard and hurting. However, the ground wasn't the only thing she hit. There was a stinging pain in her head as if she had banged it on a stone wall.

Her eyes flew open soon after she realized she was on the floor rather than floating mid-air in the prison of some very familiar arms. In her front was a dark and remarkable face with a jawline one would use the word chiselled for, who apparently was massaging his head just as vigorously as she. Amazingly enough, his jawline with a mild beard or the green pair of eyes outlined with the most perfectly sized eyelashes were not the highlight of the situation. The empty ink bottle in his hand and the drenched and stained gloves in hers were.

"Good lord! My gloves. Can you not see?" She exclaimed the moment she was done reading the situation. There was dark black liquid all over the ground, her dress and her hands that held the ruined gloves.

"My most sincere apologies, Milady! I did not see you there at all." The man spoke in an accent that was too British, even for her. He brought himself to a stand and offered her his hand soon after.

She took it. "I have to wear these today!" She heard herself say before thinking twice.

"Oh, I can buy you another pair, if they're not expensive, that is." He added almost instantly.

"They are expensive of course. And are now painted black."

"Ah, do not worry. This is red ink. It will turn red at drying. It will hardly be distinguishable from the fabric." He informed with zero sense of guilt in his voice.

"Is that your way of apologizing for your clear lack of attention?" She demanded boldly.

"The lack of attention was mutual, let us admit. Hence, guilt should be too." Clearly, the man was too brazen for a careless pedestrian. "Besides, my papers are ruined alike. They cannot even be used now. I own equal rights to demand guilt in your tone." He added and smiled immediately after.

Esther scoffed in bewilderment. "Guilt? Sir, you knocked a lady down on a busy market street. At least pretend yourself a gentleman even if you aren't one, pardon my words." She pulled out a few coins and handed him those. "Here is the compensation for your papers, hope you have a good one."

With a flick of her hair, she walked away.

Her hands and parts of her dress were all covered in ink. Mostly black and some parts red. She had fewer hopes of her gloves being wearable anymore. 

A great start for the evening to come, she thought to herself.

However, the preparations for the evening were not as bad on the other side of the town. The salon at the Valentine mansion was crowded with maids and dresses as they kept coming forward one after the other while Rebecca sat on a settee rejecting them one after the other alike.

The Valentine siblings were yet not back on talking terms. They, in fact, had resolved to ignore each other's mere existence, however, when Reuben caught Lawrence walking out of Rebecca's private salon with a red and tight face, he couldn't not dig up more into the matter. As ever since he forced the truth of Edward's masquerade out of him that evening, they were just as friendly to each other as Lady Valentine and Miss Sherbourne, visiting each other was out of the question of course.