Belonging To The Earl

14.

"How do I look?" Jason asked. 

"Exceptionally charming with just a touch of arrogance," Alyssa replied before Jordon could as she descended the staircase. Jason look up slowly, a distasteful look on his face when he saw her smiling wolfishly at him. 

"It’s what the ladies will like," she added, having reached them and snaked her arm through Jordon’s. She leaned heavily into him, and the sight made Jason take a step back. 

"Bless me, I feel like a proud parent," Jordon chortled with a smirk. "The coat fits you nicely. Remington has outdone himself."

Jason was dressed in a dark grey tuxedo, with white trimmings and a dark bow tie. His coat was draped over his forearm, and the mask which he would be wearing for the evening was a black Venetian one which would highlight his cheekbones prominently. His cufflinks were gold, with a black stone which tied in with the rest of his outfit nicely. His hair, normally wild and unruly, was pulled back and parted into a side sweep. It had taken hours of work, with Jason almost feeling like it wouldn’t be worth it in the end. But an inkling of hope remained in him, a wish and a prayer that the red-haired, masked lady from Lady Macklemore’s ball would be present at today’s ball as well. 

She had to be. After all, what respectable lady of society wouldn’t attend a ball of such nature? Evenings such as this were treasured amongst the ton, being so few and far between. It wasn’t at the height of the season, when there was sure to be a social gathering on every other evening. 

Either way, Jason would find out once he was at the ball. He turned to examine his reflection on the floor length mirror one more time before he straightened up. 

"I’ll see you when I return," he said, avoiding Alyssa’s eyes. He knew she was watching him, and he still hadn’t forgotten the slight advances she’d made towards him. 

Oh, but she was smart. She would never show anything openly, and by leaving him guessing, she allowed herself the freedom to do as she pleased. Jason meanwhile would be stuck in the dark, stumbling to find any hint as to her true intentions. He couldn’t risk broaching the topic and facing backlash from her and Jordon. He didn’t want to hurt his brother’s feelings by assuming something that wasn’t there. He would have to be absolutely certain before he spoke to her. And it would only be to dissuade any thoughts she might be having about him. 

"Remember," Jordon called as he walked away, "you might run into Lord Blackwater at the ball. He will want to speak to you about a potential investment opportunity in India, but you have to turn him down."

"Right," Jason said, swiftly heading out of the room so he wouldn’t see Jordon snake his arm around their supposed stepmother’s waist. 

Outside, the evening air was cool, and slightly dreary. A fog had settled over the city, and it was almost too thick to see past a few feet ahead. As Jason climbed into the carriage, he wondered whether it was safe to ride all the way to Lady Gwenevire’s . But the promise of a fabulous evening dispelled whatever doubts were in his mind, and they took off into the night. 

As he was soon to discover however, the evening wasn’t as fabulous as he had imagined. 

Of course, he found the ball interesting enough, with the hall decorated in opulent gold and white. The walls were covered in white tapestries, the furnishings ornate and bejeweled. The ceiling overflowed with splendor, with gold and white ribbons spiraling downward and golden stars dangling from strings. Garlands of lilies wrapped the marble columns, and shining gold place settings spotted the infinitely long table at the far end of the hall, spilling with food and drinks. 

But none of these appealed to Jason. He’d slowly walked around the crowd, smiling and chatting with a few people who, despite his mask, seemed to figure out that it was Lord Brighton. Among them was Lord Blackwater, who Jason had to ditch by ducking behind a column as they walked past. The man had begun rambling about India as soon as he ran into Jason, and the latter was not having any of it. He was here for one thing, and one thing only. 

His obsession with her, weird as it may seem, may have to do with the fact that she has red flaming hair. Just like the woman he was looking for. And, just like Lady Thornton.

Fate must be playing a terrible game with him. Because why else would all the women he had met have red flaming hair?

"There you are, you handsome devil," Lady Gwenevire suddenly exclaimed beside him, materializing as though in a puff of smoke. Behind her she dragged another lady who must have been within the motherly age bracket, and beside them was a young girl who seemed to be more interested in her feet than anything else. 

"I would like you to meet my sister, Rosalinda," Lady Gwenevire said with a smile as she beckoned the woman forward. "And this is her daughter, Diana."

"How do you do?" Jason bowed respectfully, while Rosalinda and her daughter curtsied before him. 

"Delighted to make your acquaintance, your Grace," she said, still not quite risen from her curtsy. "As my sister said, this is my daughter, Diana. She has been away in France for the winter, and only just recently returned to the city."

"And how did you find France, My Lady?" Jason asked, keeping his accent in check. 

"It was fine," Diana replied, still not looking up at him. 

And then he spotted her, weaving between two large blokes who were chortling in the middle of the hall. There was no mistaking that flaming red hair, and Jason suddenly felt his mood lift up as soon as he caught sight of her. 

She was wearing a flowing green dress which draped her like the earth blanketed the world, pulled across one shoulder and cinched at her waist. Topaz and rubies hung from her throat, with rows of matching bands and bracelets on her arms and a black mask covering her face. She was easily the most beautiful woman in attendance, and the sight of her was like a revelation. 

"Excuse me," he muttered, brushing past the two women. His eyes were dead-set on the masked lady, and he didn’t mind knocking a few people along the way as he walked. Quite a few of them needed some sense knocked into them after all. 

When he caught up to her however, he found that she was already occupied with another man in a dark, charcoal grey dinner jacket. Jason felt a sliver of anger bubbling up in his mind, and he had to resist the urge to march up to them and shove the unruly man away. He had no right to talk to her; absolutely no right. 

But then, as though it were a sign from above, the man sulked away, and Jason saw his opening. He proceeded immediately before some other gentleman would try to encroach on his territory. 

"Evening," he greeted, stepping in front of her. "Charming weather, isn’t it?"

She paused, blinking at him confusedly. But then she seemed to remember herself, and she bowed carefully before him. 

"Charming weather indeed," she replied. "I’ve always found fog a very fascinating and uplifting change from the excessive heat and dryness of London."

That caused him to laugh. And it was that laugh that revealed his identity to her. 

"Haven’t we met before?" she asked. "At a previous ball?"

"Indeed," he replied. "I specifically remember having to fight off dozens of men for your sake, to retrieve some eclairs."

At the mention of that evening, her eyes darkened. She recognized him then, and Jason felt the change in the air as she took a step back. 

"Ah, if it isn't the charming Lord with fake promises," her voice was light, yet, he could detect the hurt in them.

"I know what you’re about to say," he offered immediately before she could say anything else. "And it probably has to do with our expected meeting in Greenpark."

"I waited for you," she said, and he heard the hurt in her voice. It pained him to know that he’d hurt her. 

"And I waited for you as well," he replied. 

"I don’t believe that," she chortled, folding her arms across her chest. Jason felt a prick of irritation as well, and it was like a slap on the face for being called a liar. 

"I beg your pardon, but I specifically remember waiting for you at Green park for hours," he argued. "You never came."

"And I waited for you as well," she interjected. "Maybe you got lost along the way, but I’m certain you were never there. And if you were, then it must have been a different park entirely."

"Are you calling me a liar?" he tilted his head, but that didn’t seem to intimidate her even a little bit. 

"All I’m saying is that you weren't at the place where we were supposed to meet," she said. "And if you claim you were, then that’s the only logical explanation I can come up with. If you only knew the troubles I went through just to get there," she sighed, turning to look away from his face.

"What’s to stop me from calling you one as well?" he asked. 

"Absolutely nothing," she seethed. "But the fact remains that I was at Green park for about three hours, waiting for you. And yet you never came. I shouldn’t have to mention how insulting that is to a lady, to be stood up by a gentleman whom she’s specifically invited to meet with her. Oh, need I remind you just how utterly disapproving that is for a lady of the noble?"

Jason gritted his teeth in annoyance. In all his wild imagination, he hadn’t thought that this was how they would be speaking when he eventually found her. But the anger in her eyes was evident, and he couldn’t think of a single way to even try and convince her. 

"I have no way of convincing you," he pressed, "but the fact remains that I was present at Green park for about an hour or two. And if you claim that you were there, then maybe it was you who got lost along the way."

She took a step back, clearly hurt by his words. And it was as soon as he said them that he instantly felt bad. 

"Forgive me…" he began to say, but she cut him off with a wave of her hand. 

"Excuse me," she said before slipping away in the crowd, leaving him standing there with a confused look on his face. 

"Damn it!" he muttered.