Dearest Josephine

over his head and followed Sebastian from the coach. He peered through the crudely sliced holes at the front lawn, its overgrown flower beds, and torch-lit walkways.
“No, I fibbed. My parents don’t anticipate our arrival until tomorrow,” Sebastian said with a snicker. He led Elias to a bonfire located behind the main house. There, dozens of young aristocrats gathered, each person donning an ornate mask. They crowded buffet tables and danced to music played by a solo violinist.
“Who hosts the party?” Elias asked.
“Mr. Doyle owns the estate, but he only visits twice a year. His eldest son throws parties for those of us caught in the tethers of fine living. We do this in secret, so I ask you not to mention the event at breakfast tomorrow.” Sebastian narrowed his eyes, perhaps to hint at a threat. “Stay here while I fetch us some pints.”
“No, wait—” Elias groaned when Sebastian charged into the commotion. Of course his cousin had to be an unpredictable dandy with a penchant for alcohol. He couldn’t have been related to a clergyman or someone civil.
Elias scratched his face, the burlap like nettles against his cheeks. He watched partiers mill around him. They stared at his apparel, and rightly so. No other gentleman wore a feed sack.
Granted, no other gentleman would’ve agreed to wear a feed sack.
“Sir, is your head too large for normal masks, or do you just appreciate the artistry of burlap?” A girl appeared beside him, clothed in a ruby-red gown with golden bumblebees trailing up her torso. She lowered her mask, exposing plump lips and slate-blue eyes set above a button nose. Her expression beamed a warmth that caused him to perspire.
“I’m quite shy,” Elias said in jest, a flutter stirring within him as he watched the girl sway to the music. He towered over her, yet she didn’t seem petite. On the contrary, she held herself with a confidence that added a meter to her height.
“Ah, I see.” She laughed, her face scrunching to make space for a grand smile. “You need not feel shy around me, though. I’ll be enough not shy for the both of us.”
“You’re too generous.” Elias smiled beneath his shroud.
Their conversation defied etiquette. Without a mutual friend to introduce them, strangers were required to remain strangers. At least such was the rule taught to Elias. He had learned to maintain distance from all persons not in his realm of acquaintance.
“Or perhaps foolish. My father says I talk too much. He swears I could befriend a rock.” The girl curtsied and raised her mask. “Enjoy the party, Bag Head. I advise you stay away from men like . . . Mr. Darling over there. He’ll get you into heaps of troubles.”
Elias snorted. “That’s my cousin.”
“Really? Oh dear.” The girl tucked a chestnut-brown curl behind her ear. “I shall leave you before I further embarrass myself.”
Her rose perfume tingled Elias’s nostrils as she waltzed toward the bonfire.
“I like when people talk,” he called after her. “Very much so.”
She twirled to confront him, her curved figure a spectacle beneath its satin gown. “Then you must ask me to dance later. I shall tell you all sorts of silly things.”
Elias gave a bow, his skin tingling with a strange warmth. He’d met ladies during his stint at Eton, but none of them spoke like the girl in the bumblebee dress. There seemed a lightness about her. She belonged upstairs . . .
And yet she reminded him of downstairs.
“Cousin, your lessons begin now.” Sebastian pranced from the buffet table with a pair of pints. He slurped from their rims to keep ale from spilling, his cravat already soaked with the amber beverage. “Drink one of these. You best learn the art of irresponsibility.”
“Do you know that girl?” Elias asked when Sebastian forced a cup into his hand. He gestured to the girl in the bumblebee dress, who now stood with a cluster of ladies.
“Josephine De Clare? Indeed. Her parents keep company with mine.” Sebastian guzzled his drink, then flung the empty cup over his shoulder. “Heed my advice, Elias. Stay away from Miss De Clare. The girl reads too many books.”
“You dislike books?”
“They do not offend me,” Sebastian said. “But I consider their effect on women most damaging. A well-read lady believes herself far too capable, daresay superior. Just look at Miss De Clare. The girl does not faint nor withhold her opinions. She denies the fragility of her sex—a treacherous violation of etiquette. I blame literature for her behaviour. A lady who reads too many words eventually feels the need to voice some of her own.”
Sebastian gasped when a boy stumbled onto the dance floor and whirled with his arms outstretched. “Come, Elias. You must play spin-the-sot. I insist.”
Before Elias could protest or drink his ale, Sebastian jerked him into the sea of dancers. Partiers formed a rotating circle around the drunk while he twirled. The game seemed juvenile, but Elias played along. He galloped in his place, his legs wobbling.
People orbited the intoxicated boy until he spun himself sick. His body collapsed with a thump, and he sprawled like clock hands, his arms pointing at opposite ends of the circle.
“Our sot chose his lovers,” a girl yelled. “Now, they must kiss.”
Fateful moments are few and far between, those life-altering instances where anything can happen—and anything does. Some call the occurrences destiny, coincidences, luck. Others joke about the turn of events because they seem predictable.
Elias processed all opinions when he noticed a finger aimed at him and another pointed at the girl called Josephine De Clare. He couldn’t breathe. None of it seemed real. Perhaps he was drunk or dreaming. Perhaps the universe was playing a trick on him.
Josephine walked to him as the crowd applauded and begged for a kiss. Her eyes shimmered with firelight, and her hair swayed with the night’s breeze—a sight that turned Elias to stone. “Let me kiss you, Bag Head,” she said with a laugh. “Don’t be shy.”
He inched closer, his heart racing. No girl had ever kissed him. Throughout