She didn’t, not if she wanted to save her family from complete ruin. She didn’t want to spill all the sordid family secrets, no one needed to know that her father owed various lenders debts the size of a small country.
The man next to her looked pensive, as if some great debate was raging inside him.
‘I should be getting back,’ she said.
‘No.’ He caught her hand, holding it softly. ‘I’m sorry, I should not have pried.’
‘Will you remove your mask?’ she asked, peering up at him.
‘I don’t think you really want me to.’
‘Of course I do, I feel as though I know you...’
‘Wouldn’t it be better to have this one mystery, this one little bit of magic?’ He looked down at her with dark eyes and she had the overwhelming urge to ask him to hold her. She thought there might be something rather comforting about having those strong arms wrapped around her.
He was still holding her hand, she realised, and his thumb was tracing lazy circles across the satin of her glove. She wondered if he could feel the places the material had thinned and almost frayed—it had been a very long time since she’d had money to spend on new clothes.
‘Can you hear the music?’ he asked.
With her head tilted a little to one side she listened. Coming from the open doors of the ballroom on the other side of the house were the first soft notes of a waltz.
‘Lady Somersham, will you grant me this dance?’
Placing her hand in his, she felt her body tremble as he pulled her in closer and began to dance. He was a natural, guiding her expertly around the small space with just the pressure of his hand in the small of her back. As the music swelled Francesca felt her worries begin to melt away until it was just her, her mysterious companion and the waltz.
After a minute she glanced up at him and found him gazing down at her. Again she felt that bubble of recognition, this time deeper inside. She felt at ease with this man, she realised, as if they had been lifelong friends.
‘I feel as though I know you, Ben,’ she said, seeing the easy way he smiled and wondering if she was being foolish. Surely there was no way he could be the Ben of her childhood, the boy she had loved and lost all those years ago. He’d been transported to Australia, all because of her father’s actions, and he probably hadn’t even survived, let alone made his way back here eighteen years later.
He spun her, pulling her in closer at the same time, and for a moment they were chest to chest. She could feel his heart beating through his jacket. And then the music moved on, he relaxed his grip and they were a more decorous few inches apart again.
‘Perhaps you do,’ he said. ‘Or perhaps I just remind you of someone.’
‘Ben...’ she said quietly, all the time looking up into his eyes for some sort of confirmation.
He smiled at her, but his expression gave nothing else away and she sighed. She was probably just being fanciful. For so many years she’d longed to see her friend again, longed to hear that he’d survived, that he’d thrived despite what her father had done to him.
As the music slowed Francesca wished this moment could last for ever. While she was dancing there was no Lord Huntley pushing for marriage, no debts, no family falling apart under the strain. It was just her, the strong arms around her waist and the music. Soon it would be back to reality, back to everything she wished to escape.
‘Thank you, Lady Somersham,’ her companion said, bowing and placing a kiss on her gloved hand. ‘It has been a pleasure to make your acquaintance tonight.’
It was over. The fantasy was shattering and soon it would be as if this moment had been nothing but a dream.
‘Your mask?’ she asked, already knowing he would refuse.
He hesitated and she saw the internal debate raging as a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. ‘Best not. Best to have one little mystery in life,’ he said.
She didn’t protest. Maybe he was right. Maybe it was better not knowing who he was, that way she could make up her own story.
He raised his hand as if he was going to stroke her cheek, but his fingers paused less than an inch from her face. Instead he smiled sadly.
‘Goodbye, Frannie,’ he said and then he was gone.
Francesca felt the air being sucked from her lungs as her whole world tilted. Frannie—only one person had ever called her that.
‘Ben,’ she called out, but already he had gone. Disappeared into the darkness like a phantom.
‘Why the long face?’ Sam Robertson asked as he came and sat down in one of the comfortable armchairs in Lady Winston’s drawing room alongside Ben and George Fitzgerald. Lady Winston was Fitzgerald’s aunt and their hostess for their time in London. She’d been kind to them, accepting Ben and Sam as if they were her relatives alongside Fitzgerald.
Up until recently Ben had been staying at her town house alongside his two friends, but he’d craved a little privacy to conduct his affairs and had rented a set of rooms nearby. He did, however, drop in most days for at least one meal, or to partake in the particularly delicious mid-afternoon snack Lady Winston insisted on serving. The platter of cakes, scones and biscuits was enough to keep ten men going for an entire day, but between the three of them they often devoured it completely.
‘Do you remember when we were on the transport ship together,’ Ben said after loading his plate up with biscuits and cakes, ‘I told you about the girl I used to be friends with? The one whose father falsely accused me of stealing the family jewellery.’
‘Of course. Francesca, wasn’t it?’
He nodded. ‘I saw her last night. I talked to her.’
‘Did she remember who you were?’ Robertson asked.
‘It was at the masquerade. I was wearing a mask.’
‘The lady in violet,’ Fitzgerald said, understanding dawning in his eyes, ‘The one you asked me to escort to the library.’
‘Did you want her to remember you?’ Robertson asked.
Ben shrugged, trying to act nonchalant. Of course he’d wanted her to remember him. For so long she’d haunted his dreams and, if he was completely honest, she was one of the main reasons prompting his return to England. He had needed to see she was happy, that her father hadn’t completely ruined her life as well.
Now he had set eyes on her again, his feelings were even more complicated. As they’d danced on the terrace the night before he had seen the recognition slowly dawning in Francesca’s eyes and he’d been all ready to reveal his identity to her, but then an unfamiliar stab of uncertainty had stopped him. She was a lady, the daughter of a viscount. He might be a wealthy landowner now, but his origins still
