A Season of Masks and Masquerades

Chapter 1: The New Duke Of Dales

The early nineteenth century was indeed a time of great drama and romance. However, nothing marked the onset of an epic story more finely than the unannounced arrival of the most eligible bachelor in the romantic town of London. And when the erstwhile arrival belonged to the newly crowned Duke of Dales, of France, there was less chance of it sustaining the status of being 'unannounced'.

Edward David Montague, the infamous Duke of Dales, had lived and loved a life brimming with scandals at all times, and being the talk of the town was something he was rather fond of. He was more than delighted to have the details of his arrival on all papers and lips around the streets of London, hence when his sister, the married Lady Eleanor Richcomb proposed a ball to be held at her place in the honor of his advent, he had no choice but to cherish the opportunity.

"I have but one condition," He had stated after accepting the proposal. "it shall be a masquerade."

"A masquerade?" Lady Richcomb had all but echoed, "but brother, masks are certainly not in fashion, not in London. Not at present." To which Edward had only shrugged nonchalantly with a smirk shining in his emerald blue eyes declaring the presence of a rather unpleasant conspiracy behind them. She could detect it but she couldn't question him.

After all, she was no less.

After the death of their father, the former Duke of Dales about six months ago, Edward had spent almost every day struggling to get together the affairs of the dukedom. In contrast to her concerns about his unbothered temper and boyish attitude, he proved himself quite worthy and laudable in his father's stead.

Although, with passing time, Eleanor's concerns over one subject grew consecutively.

Six months into the role of the Duke, her brother had still not uttered a word on the subject of marriage. However, the dukedom must have a dutchess to complete it, hence, she began conspiring. The first step was, of course, inviting him to London during the marriage season.

The ball was the next.

By the close of this marriage season, she was certain she would have him married.

"Your costumes for the evening, Your Grace." Men carried attires and accessories following her and stood by his bed one after the other.

Edward raked them with his sharp blue eyes for a moment, a moment that was enough to make them all sick on their insides. "Leave them all on the bed." He ordered in a straight tone. He did not prefer servants or anyone at all violating his personal space, despite the tradition.

"The masks are there too, as you requested." Eleanor smiled brightly, causing her blushed cheeks to rise at the perfect angles, striking a sharp contrast against her night-black hair, as she waved a hand towards the bed. Edward beamed lightly in response and then went back to the papers he was studying.

She sighed at the scarcity of his excitement but tried not to make it obvious. "Lawrence! Your costumes have been delivered to your room as well."

Lawrence Benjamin was one of the oldest and the most trustworthy friends of the Duke for as long as they could remember.

"Thank you, Lady Richcomb." Lawrence bowed his head with a tease in his gaze while still standing next to Edward with a thick file of commercial papers in his hand. Eleanor rolled her eyes at his excessive use of honorifics despite her reprimanding him on it multiple times.

Lawrence Benjamin, Eleanor Montague (now Eleanor Richcomb), and Edward David Montague were three names that were often taken together.

Every person who knew of them was surely aware of their epic friendship. Even though Eleanor was 4 years older than the boys, ever since they met each other, they have been practically inseparable. Education, tradition, and various business affairs made Eleanor walk on a separate path from the two boys however, every time they gathered, they were again back to their old selves.