WHILE AT MACY

It would be such a pity for a lady to not feel a tiny bit of excitement to be at the Macy Ball for there were merely two types of women who would find the most lavish party in Willowfair boring.

The first would be the wallflowers, the women who were such a bore for any of the men to spare even a glance. The spinsters, women on the shelves as most would call them, could also be considered amongst the wallflowers.

The second type would be the closet wenches—the lovers, the mistresses—who were merely there for a tryst with their secret lovers or hunt for richer ones.

Yet there was another type almost forgotten, the ones who were more invisible than the wallflowers themselves: the perfect daughters.

Utterly perfect, they could be found shadowing their equally perfect parents, jumping from one circle to another to meet acquaintances they barely had any interest on. No men would dare ask to be included in their dance cards for they were perfectly hidden behind groups of middle-aged, snore-worthy and impeccably rich and powerful men.

Deana Osegod belonged to the third, unidentified group of women.

And she enjoyed it.

She was the perfect daughter after all.

Her father was the Head of the Town Leaders, the men who ruled the entire Town itself. The Herald mentioned once (merely once for her name never appeared on the paper again) that she was the Town's hidden princess.

For a brief moment she did believe it. But that soon faded into thin air as she learned of the many things she had to sacrifice and was deprived of for such undocumented title.

Deana lived a very sheltered life and she hated every moment of it just as much as she hated the gossipmongers hissing in all corners of the Macy Ball.

"Smile, my dear. Now that the Herald publishes still pictures, we cannot afford to have your scowl printed in history," her father whispered under his breath beside her as they made their way to a group of men and women, none of which close to Deana's age.

She forced a smile and it was enough for her father.

"My Lord!" a man's booming voice said from behind Deana. She turned the same time as her father did. A large man approached them and Deana fought hard to keep her face straight as the smell of cigar engulfed the air. Lord Baldwin gave Deana a short nod when she curtsied by lifting her heavy blue gown, and turned to her father.

As with the others, she was given naught but a mere second of recognition before she was once more veiled by her father's shadow.

She looked around the Macy ball. She knew almost everyone in attendance for it was part of her role as her father's daughter. She read the Herald religiously every morning over tea, learning more about politics and social scandals but never truly applying any of them in any setting whatsoever. No men were comfortable discussing politics with a woman and Deana could never stomach a conversation about gossips and scandals, seemingly the only topic most women of her status could fathom to discuss.

Her eyes scanned the room as her mind drifted from one thought to another. She spotted a familiar figure and she hid a smile. She may not like gossips, but there were a few she was shamefully fond of.

She knew Lady Cressida Haverston the moment she saw her laughing out loud without care for proper etiquette. The woman had once caused quite a storm in Willowfair when she disappeared after she married her husband and continued to do so even until now with her unladylike behavior. One story Deana could never forget was how the woman once commented on Lord Preston's oily face, asking if she ought to kiss it to attain a more natural gloss on her lips. Deana had been too young when she read that on the Herald but it was one of the few articles that brought her secret mirth.

Lady Cressida's companions were also not spared of scandalous gossips as far as Deana could recall. Mary Haverston was the owner of the two largest gentlemen's club in Willowfair. Add the fact that she was married to her husband after a scandalous incident in a parlor and the woman had indeed gained a proper amount of ire from gentry-bred women.

Belinda Haverston had been banished for five years before her sudden return to town. Her return was not welcomed and merely made matters worse for some people in Willowfair, especially for her family.

All three women married the elusive Haverston brothers, much to the dismay of many hopeful maidens and the wrath of the aforementioned maidens' mothers. Some considered the brothers fools for having settled for such disgraceful women, but Deana had always secretly thought the Haverstons were amongst the rare fools who were seemingly happy.

Turning to the other side of the ballroom, she found the wallflowers against their walls. Some of them with longing in their eyes as they watched couples dance the quadrille, some with almost blank voids in theirs, hope apparently no longer of existence.

And at the far side of the room was the refreshment table. Deana moistened her lips and patiently waited for her father's conversation with Lord Baldwin to come to an end. When it did, she said, "Father, I wish to go to the refreshment—" but her father's name was once more called.

With a sigh, Deana wished her mother was with her. Or she wished she was with the woman at that moment, watching over her frail state instead of being here. Throwing her father a glance, she realized she could disappear without notice. If others never noticed her, then perhaps her father would too.

It was proven to be true when she did not hear her name called out when she sauntered away. Without looking over her shoulder, she smiled to herself. She could count in her fingers the times she had ever ventured away from her father during such social events. Now was probably the fifth, but the first that she went without permission.

She walked past the refreshment table, gracefully slipping through lavish gowns and smart suits. She walked past it all, pretending she was walking away from the Macy Ball itself. But she knew that the farthest she could go was an empty drawing room. Even the gardens were out of the question for it was where most scandals were caught and she was in no position to be in such dire situation even with lack of intention.

A footman stepped aside with a bow when she walked past him along the empty corridor. A round of laughter erupted from a closed door and guessing by its volume she figured she was passing by a gaming room.

Aimlessly walking further away, the music from the ballroom started to fade and the eerie yet calming silence of the corridor greeted her. The experience prettily summed up her life's greatest desire.

When she met the end of the corridor, Deana stopped and turned to her right where another corridor led to more rooms. She started toward it but stopped.

No, she was not courageous enough to risk the chance of getting lost in the Macy Ball. It could cause a scandal on the Herald. She could already picture the title of the article and it made her shiver with derision.

Lady Deana Osegod, a Princess Lost in the Macy Maze! Give the Poor Lass a Compass!

Turning to her left, she found a door. She went closer and pressed her ear against it. Realizing it was empty, she pushed it open.

Before she changed her mind, Deana stepped inside and closed the door behind her with a triumphant smile.

But froze when she realized she was not alone after all.

There was not merely one other person in the room, but a couple. And they were bloody naked.

"Oh," Deana said as the two froze in their act. The room was quite dark, dimly lit for the couple's tryst.

The woman, Deana realized, was not completely naked. Her gown was pulled down her shoulders with her stays unlaced.

"What the bloody—" the man started but the woman striding his lap jumped off him with a gasp, saying, "Goodness gracious!"

Deana knew she ought to walk out and pretend that she did not see a thing, but her feet were frozen and she could not seem to keep her eyes away from the woman as she struggled to put herself to right. The man, hidden in the shadows, seemed to be in either great despair or fury for he was now rubbing his face with his hands, not caring that his chest and hips were bare.

Deana swallowed and blinked, realizing she ought to do something. She could not very well open the door now and risk the two lovers a scandal. Her father would not like it should her name be mentioned on the Herald's gossip section.

Lady Deana Osegod Caught on a Tryst! But They Were Three?

And so, without even thinking, she stepped forward and said, "Would you like my help?" she offered the woman.

The woman was stupefied in shock, looking at her with eyes wide in disbelief.

"We must hurry." Deana approached the woman. "Turn around," she ordered. The woman did, probably because she could not fathom why Deana did not appear as scandalized as she ought to be. Working on the woman's stays, Deana ignored the grunting man in the chaise who was busy pulling at his breeches, dressing himself as well. At the very least, he knows how to follow a lead, Deana wryly thought.

After a few minutes of tugging and tying, Deana turned the stunned woman around and said, "I am afraid I am not an expert on donning hair. You would have to find someone to help you with it."

Finally, the woman let out a scoff of disbelief and fury erupted in her eyes before she turned to the man on the chaise, saying, "Who is this woman, my lord?"

The man paused in the act of tying his cravat around his neck. "How the bloody hell—"

"He does not know me. And I have no desire to know him," Deana explained. "This is merely an awkward, if not odd, chance encounter."

But the woman apparently did not believe Deana as she continued to glare at the man in the chaise with intense wrath. "Is she the woman you plan to replace me with? Do not deny it, my lord, I have known of your plans to dispose of me!"

"What?" Deana asked in disbelief. Some people could still surprise her with their narrow and insane ideas after all! "I am not—" Deana started but the rest of her words were cut off as the man answered, "Yes, she is."

The woman's gasp was louder than Deana's and before she could even deny the man's words, Deana felt a stinging slap against her cheek, causing her head to snap to the right.

"I would not do that if I were you, Ashley," the man uttered coldly, his voice sending a chill up Deana's spine.

"I suggest you do not do it again, my lady," she uttered to the woman, straightening her head, her hands balled into fists. "I do not condone second attacks."

"Go to hell!" the woman screamed at her before pushing her aside. "The both of you!"

Deana flinched as the door slammed closed, the sound echoing around the dimly lit drawing room before it died down.

She counted until she thought she was calm enough to turn and glare at the man in the chaise. "How dare you." Her voice shook with anger as she spoke.

"I do apologize for the blow, my lady," he uttered, voice calm and almost amused. "But I suppose it was not too strong. Ashley is rather weak—physically and mentally speaking."

Deana's mouth fell open in disbelief. "I am furious that you misled her to believe that I am—"

"My lover?" he finished with a low chuckle. "No, I refuse to apologize for it. You saved me the trouble of gently ending the boring liaison."

"You—" She stopped when he slowly stood and walked toward her, revealing his face.

Deana caught her breath as she stared at a handsome devil. Dark hair, dark eyes and an evil smile. There was nothing beguiling about him, nor there a way could she consider him enchanting.

But he was definitely, alarmingly a dangerous beauty.

"I do render women speechless," he said, "and that I am also willing to apologize for."

Deana's face contorted with fury and contempt, the short amazement dispersing fast as she glared at him. "You are one conceited bastard, my lord."

His brows arched high as if he was challenging her to justify her statement. When Deana could not speak further, he turned and went to the liquor cabinet. "Would you like a drink?"

"I would like a brandy but only after you leave," she haughtily uttered.

He clucked his tongue and shook his head. "I was here first. Go find yourself another drawing room."

He returned with two glasses of brandy. He offered her one which she reluctantly took and drowned down her throat. Wincing at the burning sensation caused by the spirit, Deana walked away from the man to place the glass on the table beside the chaise.

"Are you certain you are not leaving?" the man asked, voice etched with amusement.

"What made you believe I am staying?" she snapped.

"You are considering sitting on the chaise."

She gritted her teeth. She had suddenly felt dizzy after the brandy and a good chair might just be needed. "I would rather sprawl on the carpet than sit on the chaise where you..." She shook her head with disgust, trying to erase the picture of the man and his lover, Ashley, on the chaise.

"And you think that the carpet is far more a virgin than the chaise?" he asked. "Good God, woman, you do not know what truly happens in a dark drawing room, do you?"

Deana whirled to shoot him a look of disdain.

"You are an innocent after all, are you not, Lady Deana?"

Deana stiffened. Alarm crept in.

"You are Osegod's daughter, are you not? You have your father's dark hair and although I cannot clearly see, you also acquired his dark blue eyes. But such trivial similarities are not what gave you away, my lady," he said, stepping closer as he studied her face, "it is the brooch."

She looked down and saw the same gold brooch she had always worn, the one that bore the Osegod family crest. She sighed and wryly stared at the man. "I am afraid I cannot identify you, my lord, as you seem to be lacking some articles of clothing." His lips twitched. She arched a brow and circled around him. "Your cravat is askew, by the way."

When she started for the door, the man said, "You are not going to ask who I am?"

"No, but I know you are a Trilby."

"The dark hair? The dark eyes?"

"No, the arrogance."

He chuckled and Deana gasped when he suddenly appeared before her, blocking her path to the door.

"Move aside," she ordered. He simply stepped back until he was leaning against the door and he crossed his arms over his chest, gazing at her with amusement.

"Your family and mine are friends," he said.

"Your family and my father are friends," she corrected. "Move aside, my lord."

"My father is George Trilby, the Lord of Caddington."

"Felicitations. You shall soon be the next Lord of Caddington," she sarcastically retorted. "Now, if you please, I wish to—"

"My eldest brother shall inherit the title, but I am the Lord of Henley."

"I am sorry, it must be a very small estate. I have not heard of it."

"It is near the village of Kaylock, the same village where Benedict Everard's wife came from. You must have heard of it. The Herald spoke of it for months on end."

"I have heard of Kaylock and I have heard of the Everards. But I have not heard of Henley and I have no intent to delve into it further. Geography is no interest to me." She tried to reach for the door handle but he moved to block it out of reach. Deana let out a slow breath and calmly said, "Lord Henley, if you would be so kind to step aside and let me pass. You have done me enough damage tonight."

"Not enough if you truly ask me."

"My cheek stings still as evidence. Would you like a sample?" she gritted out.

"Of the stinging?"

"Of a higher degree, yes."

His shoulders shook as laugher rumbled in his chest. "You are not a boring companion, Lady Deana. I have always wondered why the Herald has never taken notice of you."

Deana frowned. He had always wondered? Had he taken notice of her before? "I am not as petty and shallow as most women who appear on the paper, my lord. I am far too refined to grace its pages."

"Of course you are. You are the only daughter of the Head of the Town Leaders. You are an Osegod. You are the most refined, are you not, princess?"

"Would you wish for me to give you time to polish a medal to hang around my neck?"

"You deserve a tiara, not a medal."

Deana sighed. "Your mocking is not appreciated. Please, my lord, I wish to return to the ballroom."

"Why did you leave it in the first place?"

"I needed to—I don't have to explain myself. Move. Now. Please."

"My family will be thoroughly fond of you. Your father ought to bring you to one of our Trilby dinners."

"Such an honor, but I will have to decline."

"It is a Trilby dinner."

"I know."

"You are not curious what transpires during a Trilby dinner?"

"You mean to say that the rumors are true?" she asked, feigning surprise. "That you serve human stews and puddings on silver platters?"

His eyes narrowed down at her but the smile remained on his lips. "You do not have any idea, do you?"

"Of what?"

"What your father is up to."

Deana went cold.

"By your expression, I must conclude that you don't."

"Step aside now, my lord," Deana coldly ordered.

The smile on his face vanished. His expression was almost menacing that it nearly caused Deana to shiver. He leaned closer and whispered, "I suggest you brace yourself for a far stronger blow, Lady Deana for it shall cause more than a sting."

The hairs at the back of her neck rose in alarm and fear. "Whatever do you mean?"

His hand lifted and she shivered as the back of his forefinger traced the side of her cheek. "Simply brace yourself."

"What—"

He stepped aside suddenly and opened the door. With an exaggerated wave of his arm, he said, "Your freedom, my lady."

Fear forced Deana out of the door and into the corridor.

"My name is Ezra," he said behind her. "Remember it, Lady Deana, for we shall see more of each other soon."

Deana dared not look back. Her feet strode down the corridor.

She had to find her father. She ought to warn him. But for what? What was to come?