Star's Crossing

59: Every Ocean She Had Not Crossed

Mare moved through the masquerade as though through a dream; spirited, each mask a mirage, the music delicate as burnt sugar. She'd never seen the hall so done, not even upon the boys' return. Fall had no doubt played the muse: amber ribbon wove through the rafters, wreathes of gold-leaf laurel pinned above the windows and doors; autumn foliage had been collected and strung along shimmering thread, looped like garlands along banisters.

A feast of decadent treats lay upon set tables, flanked by long-stemmed crystal flutes which glittered, full-up with champagne. Every arched windows was visible, crimson drapes drawn with marigold ropes. In the spangled skies the splendor of the masquerade was reflected.

Mare had expected apprehension upon her arrival. Many boys from Almagest would visit home for the Thanksgiving festivities, and though Mare had heard no word from any of her men, she imagined she'd encounter them here. For one, she had prepared. For the others she had not a clue.

Mare clung to Lilith as they grazed; if they were recognized, none made any attempt to approach. Strangely, the effect of the masks was rather convincing. Mare had trouble assigning identities to nearly all of the revelers. Buoyed by her anonymity, Mare straightened her spine and lifted her chin, loosening her grip on Lilith's arm.

She found herself seeking him. Teddy had not replied in any way to Mare's sonnet in the Gazette; then, she'd not asked him to do so. It was strange. She'd thought her mind would linger on him in the days following hers and Mathilde's plan. And though she'd thought of Teddy, of course, Mare had been preoccupied with other plans.

For she'd come to a decision today. The idea had been blooming steadily within her for some time, since Philadelphia or perhaps in that dusty, sunlit corridor, her men before her made liars; somehow, outstretching the olive branch to Theodore Bridge had only proved further Mare's decision was sound. Destined, perhaps.

Mathilde's business play had made Mare's hopes possible. Not merely concerning Teddy, but herself and Lilith and Alison as well. After they'd posted the sonnet, Mathilde had uncovered one final secret.

"I've set aside a share for you," she'd said during breakfast at the kitchen table. She'd spoken over the paper, not even glancing at Mare, as though the pronouncement was no more interesting than cream brought for the coffee. "Antony and I would like to buy it back." A long moment passed, during which Mare might have wondered what the meaning of this was. Mathilde did not keep her in suspense. "The sum would be substantial."

Mare blinked. "You're the mind for business, sister. In layman's terms?"

"In layman's terms," Mathilde snapped the paper with some impatience, eyes still scanning headlines as she spoke. "You've got yourself a dowry."

Mare straightened, then sighed. "Ah, but I haven't a beau."

"If you wish it so, that soon will change, little sister." Mathilde finally looked at Mare, her dark eyes shrewd and bemused. "But I find one's financial autonomy makes for a more passionate love affair than marriage these days."

Now Mare's mind snagged on those words, though she meant to be in unblemished attendance of the masquerade. Money. Mare's own money. It was unthinkable. She'd immediately attempted to sell the shares to her father, but Mathilde was quick on the score.

"He's got plenty of his own through Antony and I," she'd scoffed. "And besides, it's what he's always wanted to give us girls. In a way, he has. Be grateful, and use it wisely."

Not only did Mare now have financial freedom, she had a ruined reputation. Never had she imagined she'd be grateful for such a thing. How odd, that her fall from grace might be her escape. No, it was not escape—she was not running.