She was sitting on a wooden bench, slightly illuminated by the bright moon. Like him, her mask was also off her face but the rest of her attire was ridiculously designed with roses.
“I assume it is not the boring party that makes you cry?” He said aloud, his way of informing her of his presence. She became alert instantly and reached for her mask.
“Good lord—uh—I deeply apologise. I thought I would be alone out here.” She said, bringing her mask closer to her face, ready to fix it back. Weston could see the sheer horror in her eyes.
“You don't have to wear the mask if you don't want to.” Weston replied. “Like you, mine is not on my face.”
The lady froze, at first unsure.
“Masks are but a mockery of who we are, don't you agree?” Weston asked. He walked towards her, fixing his eyes on hers the whole time. If he noticed the slightest bit of discomfort, he would retreat his steps.
“Where did you get that from? Some old book riddled with dust in some ancient library?” The lady asked, the upset expression on her face slowly fading
“You may say so.” He replied, although she couldn't be further from the truth.
Eliza had said it to him.
Weston reached into his pocket and pulled out a white scarf. “For your tears, my lady.”
“It's Juliet. Juliet Fairmont.” Her voice was soft as she reached for the scarf. “Thank you.”
“Lady Juliet.” Weston said as if feeling the name around his tongue. “Pleased to make your acquaintance. I am Lord Weston Edgeworth.”
Juliet returned the scarf to him after drying her face. “The new Marquess of Estfield. My father might have mentioned you once or twice.”
“With good things, I hope.” Weston asked, lowering himself onto the bench beside Juliet. She never complained. For some reason, he could tell she welcomed him instead.
“You do not want to know.” Juliet replied.
“The whole thing is rather pretentious, don't you think? A masked ball.” Weston asked.
“I am only here because I am being pressured to get married.” Juliet replied.
“As am I” Weston said, excited to find a kindred spirit. “The pressure has gotten even heavier on me now that I've recently come into the title.”
“That must be hard.” Juliet replied. “This is my third season without a husband. The only thing my father hasn't threatened to do to me is consign me to perdition himself.”
“I don't imagine that to be an enjoyable experience.”
“No, it is not.” Juliet replied. “Having the Earl Of Willowbrook as a father takes its toll.”
“My sister Anne is in the ball as well. This is her first year as a member of the elite. I feel responsible for her, hence the reason I'm here.”
“That must be exciting. Having a sister.”
“It can be exhausting at times.” Weston replied. “She enrages me most days, yet I must take care of her.”
“She is your sister. It is her job to enrage you.”
Weston leaned further into the bench. The faint sounds of the crowd murmurs and the loud music could still be heard, but not enough for it to be a disturbance. The garden's serenity and the fragrance of the nearby roses eased him into peace. He felt relaxed out here, with Lady Juliet, rather than in there, with the multitudes of people trying to dance with him. He turned to look at Juliet. Part of her face shone in the moonlight. While there were still dried traces of tears on her face, she couldn't look even more flawless than she did if she tried.
Perhaps she could. He would like to know that.
“What about you? Do you have a sister?” He prodded.
“No. I do have a half-brother, though. Pray, I desire to discover a means to dispatch him and dispose of his remains in the river without drawing undue attention.”
“He annoys you that much?” Weston asked, stifling a chuckle.
