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Post by evangeline worthington on Nov 15, 2009 3:42:14 GMT -5
Her fingers trailed deftly over the silk bodice of her dress. The smoothness of the fabric was like the touch of her fingertips to ice – slipping over its indefinable surface. She pressed her palms against the sides of her chest and felt the rigid whalebone beneath the soft garment. Letting her hands drop to the waves of midnight blue silk, she looked up at her reflection in the mirror. Her pale, opaline skin was a stark contrast to the deep blues of her gown, not unlike the milky glow of the moon swathed by the indigo night sky. Her chestnut hair was piled softly atop her head, with soft curls that had come loose and fallen down around her face. She detested the look most women wore, with large thick curls that hung down in stiff coils. She knew she would be unfashionable, but it rarely made any difference. She had blended into the background of London society many years ago, and now with her eminent engagement to Henry Craven, her eligibility for suitable matches was of no interest anymore. Her stomach immediately tensed at the thought of her engagement. She suddenly felt the imprint of his heavy hands on her skin and her hand flew to her mouth as she closed her eyes in an attempt to quell her rising revulsion.
”Here are your gloves, dear. Why, are you alright Evangeline?” Her cousin Teresa walked in, wearing a pretty emerald dress, trimmed in black lace, clutching long black gloves. A slight worry pinched at her amiable features, making her appear far too similar to her mother. Evangeline dropped her hand and smoothed out unseen wrinkles in the waist of her gown. ”Oh, Teresa. No, No it is nothing. Forgive me; it is just the corset’s bindings.” She reached for the black gloves her cousin carried and nodded in thanks. Slipping her pale fingers beneath the black satin, she pulled them up to her elbow. ”Oh, I do understand. Why, Evangeline, you look quite beautiful.” She gave Evangeline a soft, honest smile as she reached for their shawls. ”It is too bad Mr. Craven could not be here to see you. His business keeps him tonight?” Taking the shawl, and wrapping it around her shoulders, she nodded as she fixed herself in the mirror. ”Away in Bristol. He won’t return for a fortnight.” Teresa patted Evangeline’s shoulder in comfort at what she thought was sorrow for a missed beloved. How very far from the truth she was.
”Ladies, are you quite ready?” called a deep voice from behind the door. Teresa fussed with a few last strands of her hair before opening the door. Her husband, Robert Bostwick, stood waiting with his mask dangling from his right hand. The Masquerade. Evangeline’s faint heart fluttered lightly at the thought of the promise of the night’s revelries. Tonight was the last moment she would be completely free of Henry Craven. She didn’t want to think of tomorrow. Tonight was all there would be for her. And despite her strong desire against it, she could feel herself falling again into an engulfing despair.
The carriage ride to upper London was silent, besides the clamber of the horses’ hooves against the cobblestones. She stared out the window, her hands folded neatly in her lap, watching as the lamps were lit along the dark street. She stared out into the night and watched as the darkness curled and rippled. It swam up and fell against her. She closed her eyes and felt her breath rush over her lips as she awaited it. Abruptly, light sliced into the darkness of their carriage and life sprung into colors and sound, and the darkness released her.
From the cold, they stepped into the warmth of the dance and tied their masks on. Teresa exchanged looks with Evangeline and giggled as she held onto Robert’s arm. The immense room was a myriad of people – it was as if all of London had appeared. And every one of them wore a disguise – the excitement welled within Evangeline. It was a strange and unknown world, where social connections meant nothing, and emotions were exposed moreso with the visible masks they wore. A server passed, wearing a black and white mask, and offered them punch. They sipped steadily from their crystal glasses as they watched the dance floor, entranced. Teresa tugged gently on Robert’s arm, wishing to join the next dance. ”We must find a dance partner for you Evangeline! There must be someone here we know…” Although Evangeline protested, saying she would just take the next dance with Robert, Teresa continued scanning the crowd. ”There!” she pointed out to crowd. ”That’s John Dorington, Robert’s cousin, I’m sure of it. Isn’t it Robert?” Robert squinted out to where Teresa had pointed. ”The tall gentleman dancing with the young lady in yellow? It does seem to be…” Evangeline looked out – she had met John Dorington once, a frightfully dull accountant. ”Yes, that is him,” Teresa declared, tugging Robert along towards the floor with Evangeline following in suite. The social rules were tangled amidst the enigmatic affection of the night. She soon found herself standing across from the so-proclaimed John Dorington, with no formal introduction or invitation. And then the music began.
She met her dance partner in the middle of the floor, where they clasped hands and began to blur the room around them. He held her with experience, and led her in lithe step. He was quiet as he whisked her throughout the swell of gowns and suits. When he pressed his hands around her waist and lifted her, she felt her breath catch where his hands held her. She stared up at him more closely. He had strong, broad shoulders that fitted slender beneath his jacket. His sharp jaw line, brushed with the stubble of facial hair, was accentuated by the light that caught along the edge. Although his identity was hidden by the slim dark mask that ran across his eyes, the bright blue of his gaze overwhelmed her. She stumbled slightly in her dance step, but he quickly followed through and hid the fact that she had tripped. She gripped his arm, feeling the solidity of muscle beneath the soft fabric. The punch she had drunk had already begun to numb her lips, but the way she was being held now was even more potent. With the room still wavering around her, they stopped as the chords of the music came to an end.
She was still holding onto his arm when she looked up to him and whispered within a breath, “You are not John Dorington.”
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Post by reverend thomas bristow on Jan 4, 2010 20:14:54 GMT -5
Thomas peered back at the reflection of a stranger.
[/size] His hair, typically an unruly tangle of curls had been tamed with water, though the result had not been what he intended. Each curl was distinct against his scalp in a fashion that wasn’t keeping with the more affluent members of his congregation. But Thomas couldn’t be bothered to follow suit with London society and, if he were truthful, he thought the pompous styles looked ridiculous. His fingers trailed across the contours of his face, along the uneven stubble to the smooth black satin mask that concealed his identity. The cerulean eyes that stared back at him were tinged with knowledge. Gone was the carefree dreamer of his youth. He had been replaced with a man that understood loss and the disillusionment of unrealized dreams. Those that attended service at his small church mistook such shadows for wisdom but Thomas knew different – he only wished that others would see past his vocation to know the truth. But now of that mattered, he wasn’t going to the masque tonight to flirt and garner attention but to disappear. For one night he wanted to be no one. He didn’t belong in this world but there was nothing remaining for him in the one he had left behind. He was a drifter now and he longed to be tethered by familiar comfort once more.
His gaze drifted toward his worn Bible - one of the few possessions he had taken from his father’s farm. The pages were yellowed, the black leather cover creased and curling. While it had once been a reminder of where he had come from, it was now the chain that held him in place. His fingers itched to hold the familiar weight in his hand once more, to lose himself in the preparation of a sermon and feign righteousness for another week. He wondered what they would think if they knew he would be in their midst tonight. They would fall into the same contrived behavior they always did around him – as though his opinion could carry sway with God. An amused smile curved its way into the corner of his mouth. What, he wondered, would they think if they knew their pastor questioned God’s existence.
None of that mattered. Tonight he would not be Reverend Thomas Bristow but merely another man in pursuit of carnal pleasures. Tonight he would reclaim a piece of himself.
- - - - -
There was nothing about his appearance that would distinguish him from the other guests. His black tails lent him an air of distinction that allowed him to blend seamlessly into the crowd. Sequins and beading glittered within the warm glow of a thousand candles. A bright array of satins and silks spun across the dance floor. A hundred masked identities with infinite stories. As Thomas watched them enjoy the evening he knew that he would be the only one who would walk away with their identity still hidden. The mask he wore was branded upon his identity and he no longer knew how to separate himself from it.
Reaching into the front pocket of his jacket, he retrieved a tarnished copper flask. It had been his fathers, a gift to mark his entrance into manhood. The pad of his thumb absently traced the initials engraved onto the surface. There was nothing about who he was now that was worthy of celebration. Raising the flask to his lips, Thomas prepared to lose himself for the evening.
“I don’t know why I bother with these affairs, Celia,” came a soft voice from behind him. Despondent sorrow was laced through her velvet-soft voice. “It is always the same. I sit here and watch everyone else enjoy themselves. I remain invisible.”
“You are most certainly not invisible!” another voice, far shriller and less pleasing, assured her. “These boys are merely blind to your beauty.” Curious, Thomas angled himself so that he could view the young ladies beside him. A petulant frown pulled down the corners of a thin-lipped mouth. Her face was perfectly round, plumped cheeks a soft blush. She had chosen a frothy pink gown for the evening – with enough lace and sequins to render it garish. Her mask twirled slightly in her gloved hand, denoting her annoyance, small tufts of pink feathers twirling to the ground as a result. She stood in stark contrast to the svelte, less ostentatious girls in attendance – girls who drew the eye simply by their loveliness and nothing more. Still, as he listened to her complaints he felt his heart soften. It was not her fault she did not look like the other ladies in attendance; that her choice of an appropriate husband was limited to those who were willing to overlook her physical shortcomings. His dreams may have been destroyed but he knew how to keep her hope alive. Turning, he made his way toward the whispering pair. “I must beg your pardon,” he said in a low voice. “I know we’ve not been properly introduced, I believe it is my duty to ask such a lovely young lady to dance. Though I fear I am being most presumptuous to believe that you would even accept my invitation.”
“Oh! It is not presumptuous at all!” she cried, her eyes bright with excitement. “I would be most delighted…” It was a night where protocols were excused beneath the guise of masked identities. She slipped her gloved hand into his as he led her to the floor.
Dancing was not a past time Thomas had ever enjoyed. The dances that he had frequented in his youth lacked the rigid formality of those in London and it was on occasions such as this that he missed the simplistic pleasures of country life. They had all been wrong in Dorset – though they strove to emulate life in London they were too warm, too caring. He prayed they would never change. But they would just as he had. Life coursed forward, and while some viewed it as progression, Thomas saw it for the loss it truly was. ‘
The dance ended with a customary bow and curtsey, and as the young girl rushed away, he felt a small ounce of pride unfurl within him. In that instant he had made the smallest of impacts on the life of another – not through the part he played but by truly being himself. Perhaps he would be able to survive this new life without losing himself entirely after all.
A wry smile curled itself into the corners of his lips as the music started once more. And though he’d had every intention to sit this dance out, the young lady standing before him demanded that he remain. Silence spoke where words could not exist. His hand reached for hers. Fingers trailed along stiff satin; the rigid boning of a corset a stark contrast to the delicate femininity that coursed from her every movement. Before he could think better, he drew her closer, lifting her slender frame from the ground to suspend her just as an angelic being should be. His eyes travelled over the soft camber of her jaw, the rosebud lips that parted with surprise as he pressed his hand firmly against her. In this moment, suspended between reality and fantasy, Thomas prayed he could forever remain. While he knew he risked offending the young lady who had found him, he didn’t care. This dance was their beginning and their end. She could never learn of his identity and so, here he would remain, with her hand in his, floating in a dream.
All too soon the music ended. Thomas blinked at the enchanting young woman before him, willing his mind to find the words to formulate an apology. “You are not John Dorington,” she breathed.
A laugh resonated deep within his throat as he smiled down at her. “And you do not seem to mind.”[/blockquote][/blockquote] |
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Post by evangeline worthington on Mar 6, 2010 19:53:29 GMT -5
The smooth tenor of his voice threaded a quiver through the expanse of her body. She kept her eyes locked with his – her heart beating heavier as each second fell away. Social propriety had left her thoughts, and she was held fixated by the cerulean blaze of his eyes. He looked back with the same curiosity, the same intensity. Both their identities masked, decorum had been lifted for a precious interlude of time. But quickly, the fog had lifted and she found her cheeks warming as she began to realize the impropriety of the situation. She tucked her chin towards her sternum and away from his penetrating gaze. From the corner of her eye, she saw her cousin and her cousin's husband wave. As she waved back, she watched them start to move through the crowd towards them. Panic gripping her, she flashed a gaze up to her dance partner and back at her nearing cousin. This man, whoever he was, although passed for John Dorington from a distance, could not convince anyone up close. He was far too intriguing. ”But they would,” she remarked, inclining her head towards her cousins. Quickly, Evangeline grabbed his hand and pulled him in the opposite direction. She did not want to let go of him. He, whose hands had lifted her so effortlessly up from her weighted sorrow.
Slipping through the tangled weave of people, they eventually found themselves on the opposite side of the hall – a sea of people distancing themselves from her cousins. She laughed freely, the sensation strange on her lips. ”Well, that was diverting,” she mused as a waiter carrying a silver platter of champagne flutes offered them a drink. As the man beside her took a glass, she followed suit. Resting the thin glass against the cusp of her lower lip, she tilted back the golden liquor and felt the sweet burn as it slid down her throat.
For these blissful moments in time, she was unconstrained and free of the burden of her memories. All the while she couldn’t stop thinking, this is how it should be. Both of them finished their drinks rather hastily, making their lips sweet of its nectar. She allowed a smile to smooth across her full mouth. It came quite natural and of ease, despite its infrequent use. He smiled back, a row of dazzling white teeth making her stomach flutter. She didn’t know his name, and she found that she didn’t care.
Another song had struck up, and she felt a hand ensnared around her waist. They twisted and whirled, the people around them diminishing to a fog. All Evangeline knew was the weight of his hands, the crush of her to him in the fleeting moments. The alcohol on her empty stomach was beginning to make her feel lighter than the silk swathed around her figure. When he touched her, the tenderness with which he held her made her bones ache. She was forgetting where she was, and who she was – and she wanted it to keep that way. The song died, but her heart continued to beat. They breathed a little faster than normal. ”Do you do this often? Dancing with strangers?” she asked, peering up with a smirk tucked into the corner of her mouth.
She felt a gentle squeeze around her palm as he smiled back, her insides trembling as she let bliss embrace her. She glanced down and saw her slender, bare hand still interwoven with his – their fingers twined together in a perfect fit. She knew this would be the last of her fleeting happiness. She wanted never to let go.
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Post by reverend thomas bristow on May 5, 2010 4:57:24 GMT -5
The thin wail of the violin
[/size] broke through the stillness of the night, wavering upon a note of melancholy before switching to a more festive tone. A bemused smile curved upon Thomas’s lips as he stared across the field, watching the ethereal dance of fireflies between the wild grasses. Theirs was a dance he understood; one that would expect nothing of him and his clumsy steps. His hands, weathered from farm work, gripped the thin wooden railing along the Parks’ terrace. It was still as smooth as the day he had helped install it with his father and brother – still showed the craftsmanship of his family. His father had always taught him that it was important to get things right the first time for only the wealthy could afford mistakes. Thomas knew what course his life would take and though his thoughts would stray to other possibilities, he was content with his lot.
“There you are.” Adelaide’s soft voice broke through his thoughts. She set her glass along the ledge and peered up at him with bright eyes. “I was hoping we might share a dance.” A soft pink blossomed across her cheeks with her bold admission. Decorum lessened in the country, slipping through the grasp of familiarity. Adelaide slipped more often than most of the girls he knew and he had often heard the gossipmongers discuss her wild spirit whenever he ran errands for his mother in town. The very qualities they admonished he found himself loving about her and praying would never change. She wouldn’t be Adelaide if she worried about the rules of conduct or the stain on her glove. He would never change her. Even the slightest alteration would cause her to cease being.
“You know I cannot dance,” he murmured shyly, keeping his eyes fixed on the haphazard gardens that spilled onto the narrow pathways circling the property. As a boy he had thought Mrs. Parks garden to be a magical place where the rainbow had been trapped within the thick tangles of plants. Once his sister had remarked on how unkempt they appeared. Order, he had decided then, only served to detract from the magic of a situation and he had vowed to never distract him.
Adelaide’s hand pressed against his, warm and hesitant. “Come, I’ll teach you.”
- - - - -
Her hand fit perfectly within his. This was the thought that repeated through Thomas’s mind as he allowed the young woman to lead him from the dance floor. She wove expertly through the crowd, her hand never leaving his. It felt as though he held the sun within his palm – all of the heat radiated from her touch and sparked fire within his veins. It was the first time in years that he had felt any warmth in the touch of another and Thomas was desperate to not allow it to escape. Her cerulean eyes darted back to the crowd with concern as she lifted a slender champagne flute and pressed it thoughtfully against the soft petal of her lower lip. He watched her in silence, quickly downing the drink without thought in order to calm his nerves. There was something about the girl before him that made him feel raw and exposed – as though she could see the truth of him without him needing to utter a word.
The champagne tickled his nose with unfamiliarity and he fought the urge to sneeze. Its sweetly bitter tang coated his throat and made him smile. Even as they consumed the drinks hastily, her hand did not leave his. Their fingers entwined discreetly, hidden by the angle of their bodies. As they stood in silence, Thomas wondered if perhaps he had been wrong the first time when he had thought he knew what he wanted in another.
No longer thinking, Thomas relied upon instinct, slipping his hand to her waist as a second song began. He knew the dangers of his actions to her reputation and his should they discover the truth but he didn’t care. All that mattered was that he didn’t allow her to slip from his grasp. The girl before him was not Adelaide but she was cast from the same dream and as they whirled in perfect tandem about the dance floor, Thomas found that was all that mattered. The music faded away. The others in attendance blended together until their faces were no longer distinguishable. All that mattered was the two of them and Thomas never wanted the moment to end.
The song ended, the applause of the other dancers breaking the spell she had cast over him. He smiled down at her, afraid to speak and have her recognize his voice. If she knew everything would change. “Do you do this often? Dancing with strangers?” she asked. He squeezed her hand in response, moving from the dance floor and toward the shadows. His thumb grazed the exposed flesh of her wrist and he could feel the frantic heartbeat trapped there. He paused, turning to face her. “You don’t feel like a stranger.”
[/blockquote][/blockquote] |
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Post by evangeline worthington on Aug 7, 2010 1:59:41 GMT -5
She was a young girl again. The awe and wonder over minute occurrences she had so often longed for, was wrapping its loving arms around and pulling her in. Her nerves were sent aflame as the soft flesh of his thumb trailed over her bare skin. A shiver ran throughout her frame, as the feel of that gentle brush seeped into her whole body. Her throat thickened as she felt a burn near her sternum. Without intending to, her thoughts rushed to the night Henry Craven had found her. The brusqueness, and sickening feel of violation – there had not been a part of her body that he did not touch with clambering hands. And then she thought of this stranger, whose small touch felt as if he had entwined his entire body within her own.
She felt a warmth rise to her cheeks as she blushed. She stared at the spot he had touched her, aching for him to do so again. She looked up, despite her trembling bones and gazed to him from behind her dark mask.”Neither do you.” She shifted her weight as to move closer but suddenly a waiter appeared, carrying another tray of champagne flutes. ”Monsieur? Madame? Champagne?” She took the half-step back from her dancing partner, and took a champagne glass with her free hand. Quietly they sipped from their golden drinks, as she felt his heart pulse against her palm.
The warmth of alcohol that had begun to numb her lips and her senses made her unaware as she quickly emptied her glass. She twirled the glass between her gloved fingers, focusing all her attention on her intertwined clasp with his hand. Who was he? She subtly looked up to him, her eyes tracing the sharp line of his jaw line and defined bone structure that wasn’t hidden beneath his mask. But it was the way he held himself that peaked her curiosity. He held his shoulders back, as if confident of himself and his place in the world. Yet, there was a weight burdened onto him, prevalent in the space between moments. The perceived confidence was nothing but a ruse – it was not something he often carried with him. She lifted her gaze from his figure upwards. Quickly, he turned his azure gaze and connected it with hers. His bright blue eyes on her, she felt her breath escape from parted lips. She would have held on longer had she not seen her cousin out of the corner of her eye. Quickly, she pulled him deeper into their shadowed corner and around.
”Come with me,” she said, once again pulling him along, to a small staircase the servants used. They stood at the base of it, soft lights from candelabras glowing gold on their skin. ”My cousin,” Evangeline’s gaze flitted behind them and back to her stranger. ”If she ever saw –“ A soft smile brushed against her lips as she looked up once again to the man she had begun to spend her night with.
Bliss – was what she later called what she felt that night. It devoured her body and ensnared her senses. She did not know this emotion could exist within someone – within herself. The raw and unabashedly euphoria was equivalent to none. The closest anything came to be were memories she had of her mother, of her childhood. They were warm, happy ones that comforted her on cold nights. But this – it was as if something was trying to crack open her ribs and leap out of her chest.
”Who are you?” Not allowing him to answer, she closed the space between them, all the while her heart beating a furious drumbeat against her delicate bones. She raised herself up on her tiptoes, her fingertips dancing along the length of his hand at her side. Her eyes fluttered closed as her lips were achingly near to his. But then she paused and opened her eyes. Resting back on the soles of her shoes, she looked up at him. ”Wait - don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.” She smiled - attempting to drink in every last moment, as she knew it would be the last. She let go of his hand, and reached up to untie her mask. It loosened easily, falling into her hand as she dropped it to her side. She gazed up at him again, all of her masks lifted.
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Post by reverend thomas bristow on Jan 13, 2011 2:29:18 GMT -5
The invitation promised an evening of magic and intrigue.
[/size] Scrawling black lettering had detailed the required dress, times and location. When Thomas had discovered the invitation tucked between the mildewed-yellow pages of the hymnal he intended to dispose of it immediately. A single phrase had stayed him; had brought him here tonight. An evening of dreams. The line had awakened something inside him. The remaining embers of who he had been readily lapped at the idea, rekindling a flame Thomas had been certain would never come to life again.
A lifetime had passed since he had last allowed himself to dream or hope. He had foolishly pinned them all on someone else. Adelaide had been the embodiment of everything he had wanted for the future, but she had chosen to walk away from all the dreams they had shared. She had walked away from him; the bitterness of her rejection still caused the ragged edges of his heart to ache. She was the reason he remained awake at night, the reason he buried himself in his work. It was only in those rare, quiet moments that memories of what had been returned. All of his dreams had turned to nightmares.
Until tonight.
“Come with me.” Her voice enveloped him, eradicating the numbness with warmth. It drew him back to the moment, to the dream he didn’t want to end. Everything was focussed on the slight pressure of her hand within his own. Who was she? His eyes traced the gentle curve of her shoulders, the errant curls tickling her collarbone, the light dusting of freckles upon her cheeks and nose. There was a shadow trapped in her eyes and smile, something that the warmth of her smile could not penetrate. Despite this there was a strength to her that intrigued him. She was strong in ways that he was not; in ways Thomas wished he could be. He allowed her to lead him through the crowd, slipping silently through the shadows along the fringe until they were concealed within the relative safety of the servants’ staircase.
Thomas released her hand and leaned against the wall. What am I doing here? he wondered, dragging a hand over his hair. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. Tonight was alive with contradictions. He felt alive and numb, awake and dreaming. Perhaps it was the champagne that had brought him here, but Thomas sensed that it was something more – something that was locked in the shadowed gaze of the young woman before him. Thomas could remain in this place forever, on the precipice of desire. If they remained this way there would be nothing to tilt the scales against them. Together they could rest within the safety of this dream and not have it tainted by reality.
“Who are you?” she breathed, her gaze connecting with his. Thomas lowered his gaze, focussing on a long crack across a tile. He was a lie – the largest contradiction present. Taking a deep breath he prepared to answer her only to have her delicate voice draw his attention from his own thoughts. “Wait – don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.” Then, without another word, she reached up and removed her mask.
The simplicity of her action left him speechless. She was able to expose herself in a way that he no longer knew how. He longed to ask her who she was, but remained silent instead. His only reply was to reach up and remove the mask that concealed his identity. As it fell silently to the floor he knew the mask that concealed his heart was still firmly in place. “Are you real?” he asked her softly. He took a step toward her and reclaimed her hands in his once more. There was a comfort in her touch that he had not felt in years. It was like coming home; as though he had always known her. Despite his vocation, Thomas was not a praying man, but he now found himself praying that the night would never end.
“You are beautiful,” he murmured, closing the space between them. His gaze travelled the soft camber of her jaw, the delicate blush of her cheeks. This time, as their eyes met once more, Thomas could barely breathe. As his lips claimed her own, Thomas hoped he would never wake. [/blockquote][/blockquote] |
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Post by evangeline worthington on Jun 9, 2011 18:10:25 GMT -5
She awoke to him. The angles of his body rose and fell with each deep breath of sleep. His skin, and hers, bare to the late evening. The room was foreign to her – the furniture covered by white sheets, except for the swaths of deep emerald that embraced them. Their masks untied far earlier in the evening, the smooth planes of his handsome face indelible. The glow of alcohol had left her as she savored the last moments of this strange, and wondrous dream. She pushed a dark curl of his hair off his forehead, calling the image to stay imprinted in her memory. It wasn’t reason that got her out of that bed, to slip back on her clothes. Reason would have kept her safe.
She closed the door behind her, a soft click in the empty hallway. She walked slowly down the sweep of stairs, her hand gliding along the banister as she tried to lengthen the minutes. She had been unable to tie her corset as tight as her aunt would of – she breathed in deeply. The air burned her lungs.
She passed an ornate clock as she tiptoed through dimly lit rooms. It was past midnight. She was alone in these corridors, and it comforted her. There was a faint murmur in the heaviness of the silent hallway. She pushed open a door and came upon the dwindlings of the night’s ball. The dancing had stopped, and almost everyone’s masks were off. Their spines were rigid once again.
Across the room she saw her cousin, Teresa, talking feverishly to her husband, her hand pressed against her mouth. Evangeline stood quiet, the moment held suspended in the yawning space between them. And then her cousin saw her.
“Evangeline!” She rushed forward, taking Evangeline by the hands, ”This daft party – everyone wearing masks, I couldn’t find you! Where have you been? I didn’t know what I was going to do, return to Mamma and Mr. Craven without you! Where were you?” Evangeline stared down at her hands held so tightly by her cousin’s. Their hold gripping her back.
”I…I…I fell asleep.” she replied in a soft tone. ”Fell asleep?” Her cousin’s husband asked incredulous. ”Robert, leave her alone.” Teresa chided him. He grimaced slightly. ”Well, it was a good thing no one saw her. Your mother would have had me by the neck.” Teresa rolled her eyes and looked back at Evangeline, patting her hands. ”I’m just glad we found you, lets take you back home?” Evangeline nodded as Teresa released Evangeline and took the arm of her husband, Evangeline trailing behind.
They climbed into their carriage -- the night sky freckled with stars. Teresa and Robert sat across from her, Teresa’s head resting on Robert’s shoulder. Evangeline pressed her forehead alongside the window and stared out.
- - - - -
The heavy weight of his hands on her waist. There was no pushing – only a pull. Her skin ached as he brushed his hands up her arm. A light sweep, as if he was memorizing the curve of her. She leaned back into the door, and it opened with a soft click from a loose lock. It was a room filled of ghosts. Furniture draped in white sheets, an unused room in the expanse of the mansion. The moon stained even the floorboards a pale glow.
He pulled her closer, his fingers aligning to the camber of her neck. She stiffened. She gripped his sleeve.
But he rubbed gentle circles against her soft hair on the back of her neck. She closed her eyes and breathed in the scent of him. There wasn’t the reek of smoke, or the heavy slick of hair oil. It was clean linen, and the breathy scent of champagne that stained both their mouths. And somehow the light scent of flour clung to his skin. But maybe more like a memory. Of early mornings and dough beneath palms.
She opened her eyes and saw him staring back. Blue. She hadn’t wanted to remember their color, somehow the detail too real. But his eyes had been the constant of the evening, and she kept their color locked away in her memory.
She rose on her toes, and pressed her lips against his. He pulled her in, enclosing her within the space they had left behind.
- - - - -
They were rounding the corner to the home of her aunt and uncle. All too soon this night would collapse in on itself, like a dying flame. She had left him – the man who had held her so close – without a word, for fear of regrets passed, or laments spoken. It was not reason that made her move, it was a foolishness to believe that she could keep that night everlastingly in her thoughts.
Her memory of that night, of him, would stay untouched, and lasting. All she had now were her memories. Embers to keep her warm.
The night was calm as she closed her eyes. Feeling the darkness against her eyes, she dreamed.
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