“There he is,” her father whispered, elbowing Arabella in the ribs. “I am sure he has just been announced.”

Frowning, Arabella shook her head to herself, catching sight of the tall, handsome gentleman who walked into the room. He had a black and white chequered mask covering his eyes and forehead, but his mouth was smiling slightly. "I do not believe they said the Duke, papa." There had been such a long string of names mentioned, that Arabella had struggled to hear them all clearly.

"Nonsense, girl," he hissed, his hand snaking around her upper arm. "Now, you know what you are to do. I expect to see you dance with him at least once, Arabella. The family's honor lies on your shoulders."

With those harsh words, he gave her a slight shove in the Duke’s direction, which made Arabella almost trip over her own feet. Righting herself, Arabella straightened her own mask, which was made up of some bird feathers and sequins. She had thought it gaudy, embarrassed to be wearing such a creation, but her father had forced the issue, telling her not to be so particular.

Walking towards the man her father thought was the Duke, Arabella could feel her father's eyes boring into her back. However, what was she to do? It was not the done thing to introduce oneself to the Duke, for that would be most improper. On the other hand, Arabella did not know anyone else here – and, even if she did, she would struggle to recognize them. Perhaps the masquerade ball would work to her advantage.

“Your Grace,” she mumbled, curtsying beautifully. “How lovely to see you again.” It was a complete and utter lie, given that she had never seen the man before, but the flash of surprise in his eyes disappeared almost the moment she straightened.

"I must confess, you have the better of me, my lady," came the reply. "For, of course, that mask hides a great deal of your beauty."

Arabella tried to smile, ignoring the rolling ball of tension in her stomach. “You are too kind, Your Grace. Of course, no one could mistake your identity here.”

“Is that so?” The Duke sounded amused and Arabella wondered whether or not she had identified entirely the wrong man. Was that what made him sound as though he were laughing at her?

“You are the Duke of Elenford, are you not?” she asked, bluntly. Time was not on her side, and she would not waste her time on a man who was not her quarry. Given her father’s demands, she simply did not have time for propriety.

He chuckled again. “Let us say that, for this evening, I am. I am the Duke of Elenford.”

Still quite unsure as to what the man meant, Arabella frowned.

"I can see your dance card is quite empty," the Duke said, reaching for the card dangling from her wrist. "How could such an enchanting creature such as yourself be without suitors?"

“Perhaps I have been saving my card for you, Your Grace,” Arabella replied at once, glad that her mask covered her heated cheeks. “So that you may have the first pick.”

He held her gaze for a moment, his dark eyes flashing from behind his mask. “Very good, my dear,” he murmured, catching her wrist and picking up the dance card. “What a shame this does not bear your name, for I am still struggling to work out who you are, on account of the feathers!”

Arabella blushed to the roots of her hair, aware that he'd just commented on her feather-laden mask, which she herself found quite embarrassing.

"Perhaps I shall just have to spend some more time in your company so that I might be able to identify you," he murmured, writing his name into two of her blank spaces, one of which included a waltz. "You intrigue me greatly."

“Thank you, Your Grace,” Arabella stammered, stepping back slightly the moment he touched her hand. “I shall look forward to our dance.”

“Ah!”

Spinning on her heel, Arabella widened her eyes as she saw her father approaching, evidently eager to ensure his daughter was doing exactly as he’d asked.

“Your Grace,” he continued, bowing quickly. “I see you have found yourself in the company of my daughter.”

“Indeed,” the Duke murmured, glancing from Arabella to the man in front of him and back again.

“Oh, forgive me. Lord Marley, at your service, your grace. Alas, these confounded masks make things more than difficult for those of us who wish to speak openly with one another!”

“I do believe that is the point,” the Duke replied, dryly. For a moment, Arabella thought he might remove his name from her dance card, now that he was aware of who she was but, to her relief, he simply bowed and smiled. “And now you must excuse me. Miss Marley, I look forward to our first dance together.”

Arabella let out a long breath, her smile a little wavering. “Thank you, Your Grace,” she mumbled, practically stumbling over her curtsy as the Duke took his leave.

“Very good, my girl, very good,” her father whispered in delight, his eyes gleaming. “You have done very well indeed.”

“I will not be doing anything improper, father,” she warned, wrenching her arm from his grip.

He glared at her, the delight suddenly gone from his eyes. “Then how do you intend – ”

“Father,” Arabella whispered loudly, cutting him off. “I will work towards what you have asked in my own way, please do not push me into ruination simply over the Marley necklace!” For a moment, she thought her father was going to tell she absolutely had no other choice but, instead, he rolled his eyes, turned on his heel and left her alone.

Sagging with relief, Arabella found a quiet corner of the room and leaned heavily against it. She was quite sure that, unless she found the Marley necklace soon, her father would have no hesitation in encouraging her – even forcing her – to do whatever she needed to, in order to restore it to him, which could quite easily mean a ruined reputation. “Not that I have that many suitors,” she murmured, picking up her dance card and looking at it. At least now the Duke’s name was written there, which was better than it being completely blank. Sighing heavily to herself, Arabella wished to goodness she had not been given such an odious father. Perhaps then she might be sailing around the ballroom, with a great many suitors vying for her hand.

“To be loved,” she whispered, feeling completely miserable. “Can I even dream of such a thing?”