Snippet #8653

Amelia watched the tiny bubbles in the flute of champagne bead on the glass then rise swiftly to the surface, expiring at the meniscus in a flash.

She'd been to many balls but only a few masquerades. There was a fashion for them these days and they were becoming more popular. Amelia was glad of this; she liked to watch the masked people around her, trying to guess their personalities from their choice of disguise. But more than that, it meant that she and her family were more difficult to identify; there were fewer simpering would-be business associates trying to garner favour from her father and less of the gossiping attention from her mother's unbearably snobbish friends.

This evening, Amelia's own features were partially obscured by a translucent mask of dove grey lace which lay softly on her creamy skin. She might even have passed for pretty, she thought, with her plainness blurred by the ornate lace. Her dress, of course, must have been one of the finest and most expensive in the room. Her mother would have hardly allowed otherwise. Grey chiffon silk, beaded with grey and lilac glass beads overlaid an under-dress in pale coral pink. A long string of pearls hung down over the angle of her collar bones and the modest curve of her breasts.

"Amelia! I do apologise, she has an unfortunate tendency to daydream..."

The sound of her mother's voice snapped her out of her reverie and she raised her gaze. A large, matronly woman wearing a huge powdered wig in the style of the last century (no doubt she fancied herself to be dressed as some ancestor or historical figure Amelia had never heard of) and a flamboyant golden mask was looking at her expectantly.

Her mother frowned, her arched eyebrows dipping below the border of her black mask.

"This is Lady Amberley. Sir Richard's cousin, of course," she said sharply.

Amelia obediently took the woman's hand, smiled at all the usual compliments and gave a few of her own. Once these niceties were over, she knew her mother would draw her friend into their own conversation in which Amelia needed not play a part. She turned her gaze back to the parquet dance floor which was filling up rapidly. A string quartet were adjusting sheet music on silver stands at the head of the room.

"I hope Mr Rembrant makes an appearance soon..." Lady Amberley was saying, in between thirsty sips of her champagne. "I love to see the young people dancing; it reminds me of before I was married to Lord Amberley. I only tell you this because it is the truth and I am a truthful sort of person, but many a man would beg me for first dance..."

"Really?" said Amelia's mother sceptically.

"Oh yes, indeed! What of your daughter, I wonder who will ask her?"

"Baron Becker; no doubt he will ask her as soon as he arrives. They were betrothed, as you must know."

"Of course... And such a match- see she looks for him now- she will suit him perfectly, I am sure," said Lady Amberley, casting a piggy eye to Amelia.

"Amelia would suit anyone," said her mother, also turning her hard brown eyes on her daughter.

Amelia pretended not to hear their exchange and continued to survey the crowd. A few days ago, being forced to listen to that would have sent a sickening dread through into the pit of her stomach, wiped her mind blank with despair. But now... She was filled only with a fluttering nervousness and a cautious elation at the thought of her future. For it was not her fiancé who she looked for, but River. Her Visitor and the one who had promised to help her escape her betrothal and vanish into the depths of the city. He was here tonight and they could begin to put their plan into action.