That didn’t stop me from feeling so horribly nervous that I wanted to be sick as I went downstairs. Music was spilling out of the ballroom and couples were already dancing to a lively two-step. At the ballroom doorway I stopped short, alarmed. Great spiderwebs were strung from one chandelier to the next. Skeletons and ghosts and hanged men dangled from the ceiling. A strange cauldron bubbled in one corner. Smoke curled across the floor. The whole room was bathed in red light so that the masks on the dancers glowed in an unearthly fashion. It was a strange sight to watch witches and vampires and other creatures dancing and chatting happily and I hesitated at the door, scared to go in.
When Frankenstein’s monster lumbered up to me and grabbed my hand I had to stifle a scream. But he said in a perfectly ordinary voice, “Don’t worry. I’m your host Lord Merriman and I was instructed by my wife to look out for you. Care for a spin around the dance floor?”
And so I started to fox-trot with a monster who chatted to me pleasantly about how my season had gone, whether I’d done much shooting yet this year, while I couldn’t take my eyes off the bolt sticking out of his neck. Such a bizarre feeling. At the end of the dance Lord Merriman escorted me to a seat and had a footman bring a jug of punch to my table. New guests arrived in a noisy group and he went off to greet them, leaving me sitting alone. The ball went on and the ballroom filled with couples. Before this I had only been to debutants’ balls, which were severely chaperoned. I had never seen people behaving with such familiarity in public. There were hands on derrieres, couples dancing so closely together that there was no space between them and even couples slinking off together, heading for the stairs, presumably to find a bedroom. And they all seemed to know one another, even though they were masked. I wondered which one was the Prince of Wales and whether he and Mrs. Simpson were dancing together.
I sat observing from my seat in the shadows, feeling in one way like a wallflower, but in another relieved that I didn’t have to fight off wandering hands or improper suggestions. Then a Paul Jones was suggested and I was dragged from the safety of my chair to join. For those of you who have no idea what a Paul Jones is, it’s only a method of selecting random partners to dance with. The ladies formed an inner circle, the men an outer. The music started and the men circled to the right, ladies to the left, until the music stopped. I found myself opposite a large troll.
“Jolly party, what?” he said as we stomped off to a quickstep. “The Merrimans certainly know how to go overboard. Of course she’s not British. Doesn’t quite know what’s proper, what?”
Unfortunately he danced like a troll and trod on my toes about every other step. I was glad when the music summoned us back to our circles again. Off we went until the music stopped and I found myself facing a vampire.
“Ah. A young maiden. How delightful. What a lovely white neck,” he said as he drew me to him. I suppose part of me resisted, and, I realized later, the punch I had thought to be harmless was already beginning to take effect. As he pulled at me I staggered backward and bumped into somebody.
“I’m sorry,” I said. I tried to move but for some reason I could not step forward. I heard a woman’s voice behind me saying, “What are you doing? Let go.”
I tried to turn around and saw that one of my wings had hooked itself onto a frill at the back of a green sprite’s costume. As I tried to extricate myself the frill started to unravel to my horror. I was frozen in utter confusion and mortification. I could not reach behind myself to free my wing and I couldn’t turn without unraveling more of the woman’s costume.
“Oh, for God’s sake,” the woman sounded really angry now. “You’re wrecking my costume. You’ll have me naked in a minute.”
“That wouldn’t be so bad, sweetie. In fact I’d rather enjoy it,” said her partner.
Suddenly help arrived. “Here, let me,” said a deep voice. In a second my wing came free and I catapulted into rescuing arms.
“Thank you,” I gasped. “That was so embarrassing. I’m sorry,” I looked back at the water sprite, who was now smoothing out her damaged dignity. Then I turned to my rescuer. It was the devil himself.
He was tall and slim. That was really all I could see of him. He wore a tight-fitting black outfit and a long black cape lined with red. His hair was hidden by a black cap that sprouted neat little red horns, and his eyes were behind a slim red mask. He was smiling at me revealing a strong jaw and a mouth of perfect teeth. He looked quite dashing and very scary.
“We meet at last,” he said in a low voice.
“It was kind of you to come to my rescue,” I stammered.
“We inhabitants of the nether regions have to stick together,” he said. “I take it you are a fallen angel? But you really have to learn to control those wings or you’ll be hopeless at flying.”
The music changed to a slow waltz. “Shall we?” he asked.
His hand that slid onto my bare back was firm and strong and elicited an unexpected shiver as he drew me close to him.
“I’m not supposed to know who you are, but I do,” he said. He spoke with a refined English accent, but so properly that I sensed he was working hard at it.
“I think I know who you are too, sir,” I said.
He laughed then. He had a wonderful laugh, rich, genuine. “Do you? I wonder.”
We danced. He glided me effortlessly across the floor. I felt as if I were floating. I couldn’t believe it was happening to me. At the end of the dance he stayed at my side and escorted me to my seat. Then he pulled up a chair beside me. “Is this your first visit to the Merrimans’?” he asked.
“It is. I don’t know them at all,” I said.
“Neither do I.” He laughed again. “In fact I’ll let you into a secret if you promise not to tell. I’m a complete gate-crasher.”
I laughed now. “No you are not.”
“Oh, but I am,” he said. “I make a practice of it. How else would I dine and wine well?”
“You’re making fun of me,” I said.
“I assure you I’m not,” he said. “During this time of depression it makes so much sense to eat someone else’s food and drink someone else’s wine, don’t you think? Especially when the ‘someone else’ is as rich as the Merrimans.”
A hag with long white hair and a white mask came up to us. “So you’ve got together. Splendid,” said Lady Merriman’s voice. “I’m going to have them send over some champagne for you.”
“That would be most appropriate,” my companion said. I saw dark eyes flash beneath that mask as he looked back at me.
Champagne arrived in a silver bucket and was opened with a satisfying pop. Two glasses were poured and my companion held up his glass to me. “To the future. May it be everything you dream of,” he said and our glasses clinked together. As I took a sip my heart was beating very fast. He was tall and from what I could see he was handsome. He had a lovely voice and a terrific smile and a wonderful sense of humor. He seemed to be considerate. Oh, and he was a prince. What more could I want in a man?
The music began again and he held out his hand to me. He held me very tight as we danced and I could feel his heart beating against my chest. During the balls of my season I had danced with a variety of chaps, but mostly they had been clodhopping and awkward, stepping on my toes and trying to make stilted conversation about hunting and shooting—the only subjects they knew. With this man there was nothing awkward at all. It felt as if we belonged together. I had never been close to a man before, conscious of his body against mine, the warmth of his breath on my cheek, two hearts beating as one. It was heady and exciting and I couldn’t believe it was happening to me.