Beneath the Mask

by Margaret McGaffey Fisk

  Daphne twisted one of the colored ribbons between her fingers, finding both his comment and his regard uncomfortable.

  The young man smiled, softening his expression until he seemed almost approachable. “No need to undo the careful curls in that ribbon. I won’t bite back. I like a woman with a little spice to her sweetness.”

  Dropping her hand away, Daphne looked to the others, only to find them focused on different conversations. Penelope hadn’t returned from her errand, leaving Daphne to fend for herself.

  “You’re so young,” the man said, suddenly seeming other than those gathered around Penelope’s sister. “You don’t really understand men at all, do you?”

  He paused, but she said nothing, unsure what she could say.

  “Never mind. Let’s choose a safe conversation, shall we? You can practice your wiles and I can get a break from dissecting the latest gossip. Did I detect an interest in Lord Pendleton?”

  Daphne blushed, shaking her head in silence.

  “Now that’s a pity. He’s managed to capture the heart of one not even offered on the marriage mart and he’s already claimed.” The man raised his monocle again and looked her over most intently. “What could have piqued your interest, I wonder. It couldn’t be the bluestockings. After all, as young as you are, I wonder if you can even read, much less so much that you worry about things well beyond your ken.”

  “I read what I please,” Daphne muttered, suddenly tired of being examined as if a bug under a lens, especially when he seemed to take her for a child.

  He smiled. “And what does please one such as you?”

  Daphne’s thoughts flew to her dancer’s book, now tucked safely under her pillow, but she suppressed the memory. “Plato and Homer,” she said instead, her tone defiant. Her father had let them read whatever they wanted to from his personal library, though none had captured her attention as thoroughly as the dancer’s life.

  A crow of laughter shook her out of her musing. The man stood up, pulling her with him. “Behold, I have Pendleton’s bluestocking. A self-professed reader of Plato, she’s pleasing enough to the eye and has a cutting tongue to keep him on his toes.”

  Daphne pulled away, heat suffusing her face. She wished herself anywhere but here, among those who thought such nasty games a sign of sophistication.

  “Oh, Bernard,” Penelope’s sister said reprovingly. “Leave my sister’s little friend alone. She probably read the names off books on her father’s desk. You are so gullible at times. Besides, he has his own debutante already and probably gets more from the deal than any bluestocking could offer.”

  Bernard laughed again. “It’s all just in fun, you know. No harm intended. She’ll have to develop a thicker skin if she’s planning to hang about here.”

  Daphne watched as he strode across the room toward another knot of people, grateful to see him leave. She couldn’t imagine Lord Pendleton being such a brute. Maybe if she had to marry, he’d be able to find someone of like mind. She couldn’t imagine being thrust in among ones like these for the rest of her life. At the very least, she’d want a husband she could talk to.

  Shaking her head at how quickly she’d been turned from her true path by all this talk of coming out, Daphne pushed to her feet. She didn’t want a husband, and she did not want to stay here any longer.

  At just that moment, Penelope reentered the room, leading a seemingly endless stream of servants bearing tea and small sandwiches for them to share. She stopped suddenly when she saw Daphne on her feet, almost bringing the whole parade to a crashing halt.

  Penelope cut across the room, giving no thought to the chaos she’d caused, and approached Daphne. “You’re not leaving so soon?” she asked, her worried gaze scanning the two ladies who had shared the sofa with Daphne. “Can’t you stay at least for tea now that it’s here?”

  Daphne opened her mouth to deny the request, but something in the other girl’s eyes made her change her mind. If she’d felt out of sorts in this company, who’s to say how Penelope had been treated.

  Another flood of details from Penelope, ranging from the list of acceptable balls for first introductions to the possibility of small, private gatherings before, soon undermined her good intentions. When the butler came to announce the arrival of her carriage, Daphne felt a wave of gratitude toward Willem for the rescue. She said her goodbyes as quickly as she could and escaped before any additional arrangements could be made.

  “Sorry I’m so late, my lady,” Willem said as he bowed her into the carriage. “Your mother would not hear of me returning so soon and so sent me on numerous errands I had to complete before coming for you.”

  Daphne looked up at the sky, surprised to find that dark had fallen, though in summer the sun sank quite late. “I guess she saw no bother in me staying out so long,” Daphne murmured to herself, letting her shoulders slump as reaction to the crowded room and deliberate teasing swept over her. “And why should she? This is what all girls my age want to be doing.”

  The bitterness in her tone surprised even Daphne. How could girls stomach such gatherings where the sole purpose seemed to be to tear people apart, both those poor victims present and those who did not grace the proceedings? At least her sister’s betrothed did not seem the type to participate.

  Daphne’s head slumped against the seat cushion, and she fell asleep, her mind drawing pictures of an exceedingly handsome man, arm curled around her back as they spoke of the arts and philosophy.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Lady Pendleton reached out and tapped Jasper on the arm before pouring more tea into his tepid drink. “She’s beautiful, darling. Clearly one of the cream. And her lineage is wonderful. You’ll love her.”

  Jasper curved his mouth into a sardonic smile. “Will I, Mother? Will I love her?”

  Undisturbed by her son’s attitude, his mother smiled back. “Just drink your tea and try some of these ginger sandwiches. They’re becoming the rage. A little jolt to prepare you for the long evening.”

  He took a cautious bite into the delicacy and choked, only just managing to avoid spewing the contents of his mouth out on their Persian carpet as the ginger burned his tongue. He took a quick gulp of tea, forgetting she’d just replaced the cooled liquid. Gasping, Jasper tried to regain control to the sound of his mother’s laughter.

  “Surely it’s not as bad as all that,” she said as soon as he stopped choking. “Cook came up with the idea when I was so drowsy the other day.”

  Jasper put his now mangled sandwich back onto the plate, shaking the crumbs from his fingers. “And how many of your guests have you tested this new rage out on?” he asked, swallowing hard and blinking to clear the liquid from his eyes.

  “So far only you. What do you think?”

  Glancing from her untouched sandwich to the suppressed laughter in her face, Jasper frowned. “If you need to ask, you need a pair of those spectacles I heard about to wear at events.”

  Lady Pendleton shrank back, her tiny hand pressed to the front of her dress. “Never,” she declared. “I’ll stumble blind through the room before that day comes.”

  This time laughter came from Jasper’s lips. “I can just see you bumbling through the debutantes, squinting at their faces in the hopes of finding one with the right countenance.”

  She gave him a repressing look. “I won’t have to go seeking among the debutantes. I already found you your bride. She’s quiet, polite, and a rare find. You’ll suit each other very nicely, I think.”

  “Mother, you make her sound about as interesting as a loaf of bread. It too as a form of beauty, is quiet, never says a wrong word, and suits me rightly after a long night. Only I would never consider sitting across the table from a slice of bread every morning.

  His mother leaned forward and gave him a hard stare at odds with her fairy-like appearance. “As if that matters. Don’t try to kid me on this. I know full well you plan to install her in one of the outlying mansions and only see her to do your duty. You’d better get used t
o those ginger sandwiches. I’ll be ruling this roost for a long while the way your plans are going.”

  Jasper frowned. “You know you’ll be welcome wherever I install my wife,” he said. “You don’t have to worry that I’ll let her cast you out.”

  Lady Pendleton shook her head. “I don’t worry about that. You’d be hard pressed to lever me out of here.” She reached out a hand to grip his arm lightly. “It’s you I’m worried about. A wife is so much more than an inconvenience to tuck away in a corner. What will you do if she doesn’t fall in with your plans? She could make a mockery of you.”

  Surprise filled him as Jasper caught a look of true concern. His mother never made any bones about her lack of affection for his father. They barely managed to treat each other civilly back when his father was still alive. He’d never expected her to bring emotion into the discussion.

  “Having second thoughts, Mother? You want me to go out and woo some of these pale beauties to see if any can spark my hardened heart?”

  His mockery brought a frown to her features. “Just because your father and I never found affection doesn’t mean such a thing doesn’t exist. But you have to give it a chance to grow.”

  Jasper pushed to his feet, glowering down at his mother. “I doubt any of those girls has enough in her feather head to interest me. They’re all cut from the same cloth, interested only in clothes, titles, and money. I should be grateful I have the last to offer them, but I can’t find it in my heart to actually like any of the little schemers. As long as she goes her way and I go mine, I’ll be happy. She tries to touch my name or that of my children, and she’ll find the Tower a pleasant dwelling compared to what she’ll get from me.”

  Not giving his mother an opportunity to add to the dark cloud hanging over his head, Jasper slammed out of the parlor, scaring the downstairs maid on his way to the stables. He only hoped a long ride would cut through this bad mood and let him put the idea of his mindless wife-to-be from his thoughts.

  DAPHNE ACCEPTED A TOWEL FROM Willem and turned away before dabbing at the sweat marking her brow and dripping down the front of her body. She’d practiced hard, bringing together the most difficult steps she knew, and every single one came fluidly.

  When she looked at Willem, he had a grin pasted over his face. “You did right well, my lady,” he said, taking the soiled towel from her. “Better than ever before.”

  She accepted the praise with a nod, knowing he spoke truly even though he had no way to judge. “I think good enough to do something about it,” she declared. “I’m ready to find Monsieur Henre and offer my services.” She swept into a deep curtsy, imagining the applause rising to the high beams of the ceiling and filling the theater in her mind.

  “You can’t be serious,” Willem gasped out, any attempt at a respectful tone lost in his distress. “Master will never allow it.”

  Daphne put a gentle hand on his cheek and smiled at the man. “That’s why my father is never to know.” She spun away, her mind filled with plans she’d held to her heart ever since reading that book. “With your help, he’ll think I’m off visiting friends.” She turned back to Willem, pleading with her eyes.

  He took a step back until he pressed against the wood paneling. “Lady Daphne, he won’t believe that. You never go visiting. You haven’t since Lord Scarborough brought you and your sister up from the country estate.”

  Daphne frowned, recognizing the flaw in her plan even though she didn’t want to. She wanted to be able to slip away and see her teacher. How could things be so difficult?

  The sharp sound of her dance slipper hitting the hardwood floor shocked Daphne. She jerked her gaze to Willem, embarrassed by the childish gesture. “I have to do this. I have to come up with something.” Tears gathered in her eyes as she stared at him, scrambling for anything her father would believe.

  “Och, don’t cry now.” Willem put out the towel before pulling it back with a shake of his head. “Do you have to go and try to find this man? Isn’t it enough what you do here? Maybe if you spoke to Lord Scarborough he’d let you perform for his guests.”

  Daphne slapped her clenched fists against her sides and glared at him. “You don’t understand. You don’t understand anything. You think I practice so hard to be a party treat?” She stomped over to where she’d left her overdress, having given up on dancing in the heavy cloth in favor of her shift. Suddenly, she felt naked in front of Willem as she never had before.

  Clutching the overdress to her chest, she glared at the coachman. “Was that what all this was? You offered to play for me so you could watch me prance around pretending to be someone?”

  Willem twisted the towel between his hands. “No, my lady. You are very good. It’s not your skill, but your father I worry about.”

  Daphne stepped close and shoved Willem in the chest. “I wouldn’t have to worry about my father if you’d only help me,” she charged. “He’d never question where you brought me. I could get a hire coach back and he’d never know.”

  Willem shook his head slowly back and forth. “You think your father a fool,” he said. “He’ll question me, and when I can’t give an address, he’ll suspect something right off.”

  She could feel the truth in his words as her chest tightened in fear. “You’re right,” she said, shoulders slumping. “I can’t risk your job and my father’s displeasure without a better story. I only wanted to prove I really am as good as Monsieur Henre always said.” The last Daphne whispered, tears clouding her vision once more.

  “How about that girl, my lady. The one your mother wanted you to meet with?”

  Daphne looked up, trying not to hope. “What?” she asked, her tone faint. “What did you say?”

  Willem smiled, as if finally finding some connection with her plan. “I think you called her Penelope?”

  “Penelope?” Daphne echoed the name without comprehension, but then memory sparked of the scatter-brained girl mixed in with a crowd much too sophisticated for either of them. “Penelope.” This time, the name had a level of consideration. “My mother suggested I visit her. No one said a word when I stayed out so late.” Daphne nodded. “She’d calm any worries my father might have, thinking I’m only preparing for my coming out. That’s perfect.”

  Overcome with enthusiasm, Daphne pulled Willem into a tight hug.

  Willem jerked back, his features painted red. “Glad to be of service, Lady Daphne,” he muttered, turning away from her.

  Daphne shook her head before reaching out a hand to brush his shoulder. “I am sorry, Willem. I didn’t mean to embarrass you. I was a little carried away. Your idea is perfect.”

  He cleared his throat and spoke in a gruff voice, making him sound much older than Daphne though he had less than five years on her. “I still think this plan isn’t wise, my lady. Your mother will be crushed and what will your father do?”

  Smiling, she dismissed his worries. “I can handle my parents. It’s just easier this way. No one will be hurt.”

  “And what about when your name comes back to them? You don’t see hurt coming from a father hearing his daughter’s shown her underdress to everyone? Those dance halls are places nice ladies don’t frequent even to watch the dancing.”

  Daphne laughed, tapping his chest. “You’re starting to sound as old as a grandfather, Willem. No one would mistake you for a young man with those tones. Monsieur Henre doesn’t direct in one of those places. You’ll see. His dance hall is frequented by all of the ton, men and women.”

  Willem frowned. “And that’s better? Everyone knows what kind of woman exposes herself on the stage.”

  She wanted to dismiss his concerns, but she couldn’t help thinking her mother and father would not appreciate becoming the butt of the gossip for whatever reason. “I’ll need a disguise,” she said, without thinking. Only after the words left her mouth did she hear the truth in them.

  “A disguise?” Willem echoed. At first, his frown stayed as fierce as ever, then the boy who’d helped her through
so many scrapes before found his way through the demeanor of the man grown. “Like a masked ball,” he said, excitement filling his voice. “No one would recognize you with your face covered. They’d never think to see you there.”

  Daphne grinned, covering her lower face and peering at her reflection. “It would have to be something simple, something I could wear with any costume and that wouldn’t interfere with my dancing.”

  Willem laughed. “You dance with your eyes closed half the time. Anything not stretching out from your head would work.”

  She cupped her hands around her eyes, a frown of concentration puckering her forehead. “A simple mask. Black and just to cloak the eyes. Anything more and it would hint at my class. Don’t we have some from the last ball? The ones my mother provided for unprepared guests?”

  With a slow nod, Willem agreed. “I’ll have to be careful, but I think I can get you one by the end of the day.”

  “Perfect,” she said again. “We can go to visit ‘Penelope’ tonight then. Monsieur Henre should be there.”

  “And if he’s not?” Willem asked, concern taking the place of his earlier excitement.

  Daphne shook her head. “Don’t worry. If he’s not, I’ll come right back and you can take me to Penelope’s for real. It’s little enough to suffer for my art.” She thought of the worn leather cover enclosing another dancer’s challenges. She had little to give up in comparison. And once she made a name for herself, maybe her parents would delight in knowing their daughter’s prowess.

  JASPER SLOWED HIS HORSE TO a walk, knowing he’d hear about his unrestrained canter through the gardens, but he’d needed the release. The gelding panted in rhythm with each step, not exhausted, but easily tired by the effort.

  “Don’t worry, old boy. I’ll cool you down with a long walk before putting you back into the stables,” he promised the horse, still feeling the twist of energy in his gut. “We’ll just wander down and see the few folks up early to shop.”