Eliza’s Epiphany
Jaimey Grant
The night before her wedding, Miss Eliza Whitney had an epiphany.
Masquerade balls were scandalous, her friend Melody told her in an excited whisper. That was where she could have her little rebellion, where she could experience a taste of life without the stifling glare of her mother, Melody's mother, and the other dragons of Society.
They'd gone to all the trouble of securing costumes—swearing their maids to silence in order to accomplish the task without their mothers discovering their activities—giggling like schoolgirls over the intricacy, the stitches, the beaded bodices, and how they would charm every gentleman there. Eliza's shepherdess costume fell slightly off her shoulders, revealing a generous amount of bosom. The heavenly creation showed far more skin than her mother would ever allow, but that didn't matter. With her little beaded mask she was unrecognizable.
Or so Melody assured her.
Then Melody grew scared, deciding not to attend with Eliza. Bribing her maid to accompany her instead proved no hardship but some of the evening's excitement palled without her friend's vivacious presence at her side.
Despite missing her friend, Eliza soon found herself caught up in the excitement of a ball wherein she could behave with complete abandon. She could dance, gossip, and flirt to her heart's content, never worrying about flirting too much or being thought fast. No one could know who she was, no one could know Miss Eliza Whitney was the shepherdess with the beaded mask.
And then she saw him. A tall, broad-shouldered highwayman with fair hair and a ready smile for the lady with whom he danced. He was the very instrument of her rebellion, the very man she could use to see what life could have offered her had she not been betrothed from childhood. Her smile widened as she made her way across the ballroom, intent on making his acquaintance.
When Melody said guests at a masquerade behaved in a shocking manner, she exaggerated, but only a trifle.
In the moment that Eliza's epiphany happened, the moment her heart constricted and her mind became clear, she realized her mistake. One should never kiss a strange man at a masquerade ball when one was marrying another man the very next day. It simply wasn't done.
And now she knew why.
While her husband initiated her in the mysteries of the marriage bed, Eliza would be recalling another man's embrace, another man's hands, lips, and breath. With every intimate caress from her husband, Eliza would relive this dark stranger's fingers gliding over her bare shoulder and into her hair while his kiss drained all the strength from her limbs.
It was only when he attempted to remove her mask that Eliza remembered herself. She couldn't let him see her face, not entirely. Heavens, he could be a guest at her wedding tomorrow!
Her hands shot up to stop him before he could untie the velvet ribbons of her mask.
“No, don't!” Her low voice penetrated the desire she saw burning in his eyes.
A deep chuckle answered her, the sound rumbling through his body and into hers. “Why not?”
Eliza shivered. His question whispered across her lips. So powerful was his effect on her that she released his fingers, intent on exploring his lips just once more. If allowing him to see her whole face was the price....
Dredging up every spare ounce of willpower, Eliza stepped away, pushing his hands away from her mask. Again. And he chuckled. Again.
“Angel, does it matter so much that I not see your face?” He moved in closer, drawing her body flush with his. His warm breath fanned her ear as he added, “Do you believe I won't know you, always?”
Eliza shivered, the promise and the threat in his voice enough to make her weak in the knees. She didn't even know who this man was yet she seemed to have no control over her reactions to his voice, his touch, his nearness.
This had to stop. In less than one day, she would marry another man, a man she'd been betrothed to forever. A man who'd endured her childhood antics, protected her, would never hurt her, and had never done anything to deserve what she was doing to him now.
A man who'd never affected her the way this man did.
A sigh from the deepest recesses of her soul emerged. All around them Society went about their business, dancing, gossiping, sneaking behind greenery or into the gardens for a stolen kiss, making merry while Eliza felt the world shift under her feet. Life was unfair when love—or attraction—made itself felt only when it was too late. The feeling of rightness that pervaded her being could not be unrequited. If only her betrothed hadn't honored the betrothal.
Life was full of 'if onlys' and Eliza had experienced more than one in her eighteen years.
If only her soon-to-be husband hadn't disappeared for years, she thought as her masked lover stroked his fingers over her neck.
If only she hadn't been so young when he'd left, she thought as her companion's lips left a trail of butterfly kisses on the sensitive skin of her throat.
If only she'd not felt this overwhelming need to rebel against the path chosen for her, she thought as the gentleman in her arms pulled her impossibly close, his lips returning to hers.
If only she hadn't decided to attend this masquerade ball where ladies and gentlemen forgot themselves and behaved with far more license than was their wont, she thought as her lover's fingers blazed a path of fire across the tops of her breasts.
“If only,” she whispered.
The great clock in the ballroom chimed midnight. Time for the unmasking. Eliza panicked, jerking against her companion's arms. Her abrupt movement surprised him enough that he released her. The last thing Eliza saw before escaping through the French doors was the face of her would-be lover. In the light of branch after branch of candles, servants traversing the room to light even more, Eliza saw more clearly the man she had to force herself to leave.
He'd yet to remove his mask but it only covered his eyes. His dark, soulful eyes, eyes that she knew she'd never forget. Hair, guinea gold, cut in one of the shorter styles, high brow, square jaw, firm lips. Tall, broad-shouldered, dressed to perfection as a highwayman all in black complete with a hat that he'd removed before kissing her.
Eliza sighed again. He claimed he'd always know her and she began to wonder if it would be the same for her.
He lifted his hand. Whether in farewell or to untie his mask, Eliza didn't know. Nor did she wait to find out. A brief detour to collect her less-than-conscientious maid and she was on her way home.
Miss Eliza Whitney entered the church in Hanover Square on her father's arm. She was everything a radiant bride should be on that beautiful spring day. Her pale yellow gown shimmered like the sun, the high-waisted bodice encrusted with gold thread and seed pearls, larger pearls and topazes around her slender white throat. Her dark hair was piled high on her head, more pearls and tiny diamonds threaded throughout. She smiled all around, eliciting smiles from those who gathered to witness the nuptials.
David Huntley waited at the altar, a smile tipping the corners of his lips. He'd waited for this day forever it seemed, waited for Eliza to grow up into the woman he'd always known she'd become. After today, she'd be his forever, finalizing an agreement made between their fathers more than a decade prior.
He'd admired her as long as he could remember. As a child, she'd been precocious, curious, and unfailingly sweet. Tagging long behind him at every opportunity, he'd found her endearing in an irritating sort of way. As she grew older, he came to admire her in a different manner, coming to fully accept that she'd be his wife one day.
Then he went off to fight Napoleon and returned years later, injured but whole. Upon his return, Eliza's father paid a call, wondering if David intended to honor the betrothal agreement.
Suddenly, everything seemed right. The horror of war, the bloodshed and death, all faded to a distant memory. He could have a new life, a new start, and the family he'd always dreamed of.
David settled all with Mr. Whitney and the arrangements were made. Mrs. Whitney proposed the couple not see each
other until the wedding. It was romantic, she'd claimed, though David now wished he'd protested.
Last night, he'd experienced his one and only moment of doubt. It was a momentary doubt, passing with the light—and sanity—of a new day. This marriage was the key to his future happiness.
His smile grew as Eliza approached. Her beauty was unsurpassed, her smile as radiant as the sun. If she felt any qualms about marrying him, she did not show it.
Then she stood by his side, the scent of roses wafting up to tantalize his senses, lingering on her skin and hair. That smell, the way she gazed up at him with complete trust, her dark eyes widening just a fraction as he grasped her tiny, delicate hand—it all caused a thread of recollection, a tiny fragment of his deepest desire called to life in the recognition he saw reflected in her gaze.
Relief surged through him. He pulled her close, tempted to laugh but settling for a wide smile instead.
As the wedding service began, he leaned down.
“I told you I would know you, Angel. Always.”