Page 45 of Unmasking the Silver Heiress
"I am very much looking forward to the winter masquerade," Nate had commented with polite enthusiasm. "It is, I understand, an exclusive affair."
"Oh," Lord Dempierre said, his focus seeming to wander to studying the wallpaper. "It is entirely my wife's doing. Women love such things, you know."
It was a relief when they were able to rejoin the women, for even if he hadn't been eager to gather his bride and return to Meridian, there was little of interest to be found amongst the men.
In her red and white dress, Nell was easy to spot in a crowd. She was among a trio of young ladies and had the flush of color on her cheeks that bode a cheery mood and much laughter. The gems in her wedding ring winked against the light as she raised her hand to brush away an errant strand of her hair and then reached forward to touch the gloved wrist of one of the other women, as though the other woman had just said something truly endearing.
She was such a curious creature. He leaned against a cocktail table, sipping his brandy, and simply watched her for a while as she endeared herself to an array of girls who were so very different from her.
In the autumn, when they'd been at Somerton together, Nell had kept the company of all of the young ladies in attendance. Despite her bookishness and unfashionable clothes, she seemed a treasured friend to the beauties of Society, to the prickly and independent Lady Heloise, and to the silly and frivolous daughters of Lord Benton.
Did she do it apurpose? Had she learned how to charm and win over all manner of other girls during her time at that finishing school? Or was it something that came naturally? From watching her, he would never have suspected calculation behind her motions, nor doubted the sincerity of her tinkling laugh.
He had never even bothered to take serious note of her until it was clear he was going to have to marry her, and even then, it was with little more than idle amusement. She was the perfect spy, he realized—utterly convincing and natural.
"Your wife is very beautiful," said a man with the faintest touch of an accent and a style about him of jaunty and deliberate disarray. "You are a lucky man."
"I agree," Nate replied, turning to the stranger with a little smile and an extension of his hand. "Pleasure to meet you. I am Nathaniel Atlas."
"Oh, I know," the man replied with a little chuckle, accepting the offer of a handshake. "We have heard of little else here at La Falaise for the last several weeks. Hark! The Atlas boy, at long last is returned and nobly restoring his ancestral manor. I did not know exactly what to expect of you from the fantastical descriptions. My mother is prone to exaggerate when excited."
"You are a Dempierre, then?" Now that he'd said it, it was obvious. If his flaxen coloring hadn't given him away, the distinctively high cheekbones he shared with his mother and sister would have. His eyes were his father’s, however, a light amber brown and (unlike his father’s) engaged and focused upon Nate.
He gave a little bow, as though the honor of his name was a somewhat dubious one. "I am Mathias Dempierre, heir to the ghost of a title abroad and this precarious house on a rock. Pleasure to meet you."
"Likewise," Nathaniel responded. "Were you not seated with your family at dinner? I was across from the ladies and did not see you."
"Oh, I missed the dinner entirely," Mathias said with a careless shrug. "Mother will whinge, but I find these things intolerable. I must confess, however, to having my interest piqued for once at one of these gatherings. Your lovely bride caught my eye the instant I saw her.”
Nathaniel smirked. “She would be flattered to hear it, but alas, she is no longer on the marriage mart.”
“To everyone’s utter devastation, of course.” Mathias chuckled. “Tell me, Nathaniel, does your pretty bride know the meaning of wearing that red ribbon 'round her neck in French company?"
"Likely not," Nathaniel replied, glancing over his shoulder at Nell, who was still engaged in animated conversation, the bright red ribbon stark against her pale throat. "For if she did, she likely would have shared it with me."
Mathias grinned, his smile curling up at the corners of his lips in the same feline shape as his sister’s. He clearly enjoyed having information that others did not. He ran an absent hand over his hair, mussing it further from any semblance of style, and leaned closer, to speak at a lower volume.
"My parents used to throw and attend many survivor's balls, remnants of their lost empire,” he explained in a dramatic whisper. “These balls served as a balm for the tragedy, for what pain isn’t cured by a graceful dance and a good glass of port, hm?”
“I am passingly familiar,” Nathaniel said. “But I’ve never attended, nor heard tell of red necklaces.”
“Well,” Mathias continued, “these balls were exclusive, of course, to exiles of the elite. And like any good exclusion, there was a code of conduct. Anyone who had lost a family member to the guillotine wore a red ribbon around their throat, to signify, so others might know how much they’d lost and admire them most tragically.”
Mathias let a beat of silence land and then leaned back, returning to his normal volume and flippancy. “From what I understand, it became rather fashionable to wear one, so many scrambled to find a family connection to someone who'd lost their head, just for the prestige of the ribbon."
"Ah," Nathaniel replied, inclining his head. "How delightfully morbid."
"Mais c'est très français, non?"Mathias replied,with a little wave of his hand. "I imagine her choice in adornment has caused some outraged clucking amongst the hens tonight. After all, they are the only ones old enough to remember such things. I personally enjoy both its unintended connotation and its effect on that lovely complexion."
"As do I," Nathaniel said pleasantly, sipping at his drink. The ease in his demeanor sent a clear message, in his estimation. He was not concerned about Nell being tempted away from him, especially by a man like Mathias Dempierre. She was his.
It seemed Dempierre was as delighted by Nathaniel's non-concern as he likely would have been by a jealous quip in reaction to his observation of Nell’s allure. He clapped his hands together and laughed, utterly without care of raising eyebrows.
Nathaniel found his obvious disregard for the opinions of others intriguing if not somewhat enviable. He decided that he liked the man, all intrigue around his family aside, and found himself laughing along with Mathias, albeit in a more reserved manner.
The shared amusement sent a clear message. They understood one another. There was no animosity between them, simply an establishment of the verbal parrying and riposte that was the foundation of male friendship.
How very different it was to Nell’s charm with the ladies.
