Free Once Upon a Masquerade by Tamara Hughes Page A

cared. She’d been without her own for too long.
    “This will be their fourth grandchild?” Mrs. Breckenridge asked, adjusting to a more comfortable position in her seat.
    “With Evelyn’s brood of three it will be, although you wouldn’t guess that was the case,” he added with mock annoyance. “While they’re excited about another grandchild to spoil, they are impatient for more.”
    Mrs. Breckenridge chuckled. “I take it you’ve been getting some pressure to provide these additional children?”
    “The topic does surface in any conversation I have with them these days.”
    Rebecca had never thought of Mr. Black as an uncle, much less a father. She studied his chiseled profile and broad, capable shoulders, and something soft inside her melted into a puddle. He’d make a great father, protective and strong.
    Mrs. Breckenridge turned to her with a sly wink and a mischievous grin. “Any prospective mothers?”
    Rebecca’s cheeks burned as Mr. Black regarded her thoughtfully before returning a good-natured smile. “Perhaps.”
    Mrs. Breckenridge lifted a pair of spectacles dangling from a jeweled chain. “Now who do you have with you this evening?”
    “Pardon me for neglecting my duties,” he said. “May I introduce Miss Rebecca Bailey? Miss Bailey, this is Mrs. Amelia Breckenridge.”
    Rebecca curtsied to the woman. “So nice to see you again. We met briefly last evening.”
    “Oh, yes. I remember you. Bailey…Bailey,” she repeated. “I recall some time ago a Richard and Frances Bailey. Are you related in some way?”
    Rebecca froze. She would never have expected anyone to remember her parents. What should she do? If she acknowledged them, would Mrs. Breckenridge also know of her father’s tragic decline? Even so, she loved them so much, to deny knowing them seemed wrong. “Yes, I’m their daughter,” she admitted, praying nothing more would come of it.
    Mrs. Breckenridge smiled kindly. “Your mother was quite lovely, a descendent of the Waterfords of England, I believe.”
    With a weak smile she agreed, “That’s correct.”
    “Hmm, don’t see them much anymore. Whatever happened to…?”
    Her heart thundered in her chest, and her thoughts whirled. In her head, she tested potential responses to the dreaded question when a booming voice announced the end of intermission. That bit of incredible luck ended all conversation as audience members began to migrate back toward the auditorium.
    “May I assist you to your seat, Mrs. Breckenridge?” Mr. Black offered, already helping the woman to rise from the chair.
    “That would be nice. Thank you.”
    “Miss Bailey?” he asked, proposing she join them.
    “I can make my way back.”
    He hesitated a moment, as if debating what to do, then nodded his agreement.
    She joined the crowd as they ascended the stairs. When she reached the door to their balcony, she had no wish to go back inside where thoughts of her father haunted her and Mr. Black’s nearness disturbed her. Exhausted, she wished this evening would come to an end.
    No destination in mind, she climbed higher until she reached the top of the carpeted stairs leading to the deserted rooftop gardens. Colored lights illuminated lush greenery. Wandering to a quiet corner, she brushed her fingertips over smooth, glossy leaves. Her gaze skimmed over the spectacular view of the city below.
    Rebecca sank down onto a low bench with a groan. Tonight had been a disappointing mess. She’d had difficulty answering questions no matter how simple, and everyone had been filled with curiosity. She’d had no idea who the blasted dressmaker was, even though it appeared to be common knowledge to everyone else. Between shooting her utensils through the air and accusing Mr. Black of marrying his cousin—his cousin!—she’d made an utter fool of herself.
    Her shoulders slumped. Spending any more time with Mr. Westerly would be torture, and she had no doubt he felt the same. Her insides squeezed tight.