Beneath the Mask

by Margaret McGaffey Fisk

  “I should have known better than to take on one like you. I thought I saw the heart of a dancer, but really you are only a spoiled noblewoman who thinks to amuse herself at my expense. You’re no dancer. Go.” He pointed at the open door. “Get out of my sight. I have no need to be your dalliance.”

  His shoulders slumped and he looked not at her, but down at his folded hands. Until that last moment, anger had fomented in Daphne’s breast, but suddenly sympathy replaced it.

  She rose and moved forward, wrapping her hands around his. “You were not wrong,” she whispered. “I do have the heart of a dancer. This,”—she waved toward the stage—“was all to protect that heart and protect you. I wasn’t off at parties; I was keeping my mother happy in the belief I spend all my time preparing for my coming out. She practically demanded I spend the day shopping with her. If I hadn’t, she would’ve questioned why I spend so much time at Penelope’s. Neither of us can afford for my parents to start an investigation into my time.”

  Her words ran out, and Daphne stood there, waiting on a response, hope and despair fighting for ownership of her heart.

  Finally, Monsieur Henre looked up, shaking his head back and forth. “Why should I trust you?” he asked. “And even if I do, allowing you to continue in this only endangers everything I’ve worked for. Why should I let you stay?”

  The last question came out as if he begged her for an answer. Daphne could think of none but that which drove her to this dance hall in the first place. “Because I have to dance,” she murmured.

  He laughed, a sound full of bitterness. “Ah, therein lies my problem. I do feel the dance pounding through your veins, feel it and see it on all other nights reaching out to capture the audience, leaving them rapt with attention to your every move. They feel your soul as they watch you. I’ve heard them talk. I’m too much of a dance instructor to let such skill, such heart, go to waste locked up on a country estate and rolled out only in the orchestrated dances allowed the nobility.”

  She sank back into her chair, relief filling her as his face twisted into a half-smile.

  “You were always my best student and desperation has added something to your skill that I cannot quite describe. I’m a fool to take the risks you offer me, and I’d be a bigger fool to throw them away.” He pushed up from his desk, once again her instructor as the bitter manager vanished beneath renewed faith. “Go,” he said again. “Go get washed up. You’ve still got one more performance to manage tonight and you’d better dig deeper to find the strength.” He paused, one hand upraised. “Unless you’d like me to give away the set. I won’t make my performance hall into nothing more than a street fair if I can help it, but I may have no other choice. Only say the word and I’ll tell Cynthia to perform once again. Let the audience laugh at her antics tonight. Tomorrow, you’d better provide me some art.”

  Daphne leapt to her feet, his faith giving her a rush of energy. “No, not tomorrow. I’ll give them back the real dance, the art you so want them to see. I swear I can do this.”

  Monsieur Henre smiled then his expression hardened as he glanced behind her. “You do that. Go change your costume and ready yourself. There isn’t much time before you’re due on.” He put his hand on her shoulder, drawing her gaze to his. “I know you can do this. Don’t disappoint me.”

  Unsure how to respond to his intensity, Daphne dropped into a curtsy, a smile curving her lips. “I won’t. I promise I won’t,” she said before turning away.

  Her eyes met a fierce stare full of more hatred than she’d ever seen before. Cynthia stood in the doorway, listening to their conversation. Fear twisted Daphne’s gut as she reviewed their words for any hint that their secret was out, but relaxed when she realized they’d named no names or even spoke of anything more than generalities. She could be the youngest daughter of some recent-made knight for all the other dancer knew, not an earl’s daughter with much to lose.

  Daphne brushed past her, trying to recapture the confidence she’d felt only moments before. She had to prove herself all over again, and this time she wouldn’t fail her teacher or herself.

  “He’s got his eye on you now, girl.”

  The nasty words made Daphne stumble a bit. She hadn’t realized Cynthia followed her to the now empty dressing room.

  “One more error, and no amount of sweet talk will buy back his loyalty. I don’t know what hold you have over the man, but he wouldn’t have made it this far without being able to handle what problems come his way.”

  Daphne stared at the other woman for a long moment before reaching for her laces. “What’s between Monsieur Henre and myself is none of your concern, Cynthia,” she said, keeping her voice even with effort.

  The other dancer smiled, an expression that failed to reach her eyes. “Just don’t make another mistake is all I’m saying. A friendly reminder.”

  Turning away, Daphne closed her eyes and reached for strength to make it through this night. She didn’t relax until she heard the door open then close, signaling Cynthia’s exit. “If she’s a friend, I’m as much of a clown as she made herself into,” Daphne muttered to herself, unable to still the unease creeping up her spine.

  For the first time since she’d snuck her way into this hall, Daphne couldn’t wait for the night to be over. She wanted to curl up on her bed and cry out her exhaustion and tension, both from the near loss of her dream and from the other dancer’s vicious behavior.

  Instead, she straightened her shoulders, finished the costume change, and focused on her next dance. The bell echoed through the room, giving her enough warning to slip into the wings before the other dancers left the stage. There was no empty stage when her music started this time. She gave the audience what it wanted—her heart and soul.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Daphne collapsed into a sweating, clumsy lump, her legs shaking and her head aching.

  Willem stopped mid-note and came up beside her. “Maybe you should stop for the morning, my lady. You’re working yourself to death over this.”

  She raised her head to blink at him, her eyes squinting in pain as they found one of the lanterns. Daphne braced her head on one arm, too tired to rise. “You don’t understand. Monsieur Henre still doesn’t trust me. He checks every night that I’ve arrived on time and I can feel his stare as I perform. If I don’t do something different, something spectacular, he’ll decide I’m not worth the trouble. I’m sure of it.”

  Willem put his hands under her arms, a touch she should have resisted, but he’d helped her up often enough now that she barely noticed as he maneuvered her over to a chair to sit down. “Why would he give you up? I’ve heard tell you’re something special on that stage. It’s been all I could do to keep your secret and not blurt out that I know you.”

  That brought Daphne’s head up as she stared at the man in horror. “You wouldn’t.” she said, her voice a harsh whisper.

  He laughed, a casual, calm sound. “Of course not, Lady Daphne. I wouldn’t betray you for anything. Certainly not to bring more attention on my shoulders. I’ve got enough vying for my time.”

  Willem looked at her intently for a long while, but Daphne couldn’t tell what he sought from her. She shrugged, accepting his assurance. “I’m sorry. It’s just that this seems so much more difficult now than it was. Two days ago, I had to deny my sister a moment of my company for fear I’d be gone too long. I hardly see her at all anymore and keeping secrets from her burns me.”

  “So tell her,” Willem said, this time not looking at her. “It would do you good to share the secret with one of your own.”

  Daphne laughed, but her noise held little humor. “Grace isn’t the girl she used to be, Willem. If I were lucky, she’d urge me to speak with Father, to confess. If not, she’d march me before the two of them and force a confession. Heaven forbid the slightest hint of scandal mar her chances with that baron.”

  For a heartbeat, she remembered the day at Penelope’s house and how she felt a surge of interest as they described
her sister’s future husband. If she could find someone like that, would she give up dancing? Could she find happiness in tending hearth and home?

  She shook off such unlikely and dangerous thoughts, vigorously rubbing her knee to loosen a knot.

  “Let me.” Willem put his warm hands over hers.

  Daphne pulled back a bit, but then relaxed into his soothing touch. “It’s not proper,” she whispered.

  He smiled up at her. “None of this is, my lady. And you can be sure I’d never do anything to hurt you. Never.”

  She looked down into his sincere gaze and recognized that which she’d never seen before. Stretching out a hand to touch his cheek, she frowned. “You love me.” The words came from her as if driven by something other than her will. “You love me and that’s why you risk so much.”

  This time she did pull away, scrambling up off the chair and backing to where she’d left her clothing. Suddenly, he’d become more than just an invisible servant and she felt naked under his regard.

  As if hearing her thought, he turned away, his tense back facing her. “I never meant for you to know,” he said in a low voice, “but it changes nothing. I am beneath your regard and always will be. It is enough to serve you.”

  Daphne jerked her overdress on, pulling it into place as quickly as she could manage. Finally dressed, she walked around to face him, her heart beating a little faster as she considered the implications.

  When she came to a halt, he stared at the floor, waiting for her to speak.

  Daphne twisted her hands together, not wanting to meet his gaze any more than he sought hers. “I can’t let you do this,” she muttered, staring at the frayed cloth of her slipper. “It’s not right. There’s no way.”

  He put a hand under her chin and raised it until she looked him in the eye. “Do you think I don’t know this? Even if you felt the same, I know it wouldn’t happen. You may deny your family for the dance, but you’d never love enough to deny them for me.”

  “Then why?” she burst out, tears collecting in her eyes from exhaustion and strain. “Why do you torture yourself?”

  This time he offered up a genuine smile. “Because this way I get even a small piece of yourself for me. Don’t worry, Lady Daphne. I’ll find someone willing to share my life. I have no plans to spend it moping over you. But for now, let me have what I can take without an obligation. Let me help you in this.”

  Daphne pulled away from his touch, giving him a helpless shrug as she forced her tired mind to consider his words. A part of her felt disappointed that he could so easily dismiss her while the rest could only be relieved.

  “If you’re sure?” she said, her tone questioning his choice. She found it odd how she looked to a servant for direction, but she’d learned more about the other world since breaking free of her own, enough to know it was full of people not much different than herself and her family. “Without you, none of this would have been possible.” Daphne swept the room with her arm, taking in the pipe he’d left abandoned by his chair, the mirrors where she studied her every movement and finally settling on the two of them. She sighed, her shoulders heaving with the motion. “I cannot refuse your help, not and still live out my dream no matter how much of a burden it is becoming. Only promise you’ll tell me when it becomes too much.”

  She looked at him willingly for the first time since she’d heard his argument. Viewed through opened eyes, she could see why the girls must flock after him, but though he was a handsome man, he did not make her heart beat faster. Only the dance held that power, and for it, she’d make any sacrifice she had to. She just wished the sacrifice wasn’t someone else’s heart.

  DAPHNE RETURNED TO HER ROOM only moments before the maid her mother had assigned to dress her knocked gently on the door. It took no dissembling for Daphne to look the part of someone who’d just woken up. She yawned as she called out, “Come in,” grateful only that she’d already stripped off the dress she’d worn down to the ballroom.

  The maid, a young woman hardly older than Daphne, clucked under her breath as she opened the windows. “The master’s in a right mood this morning, Lady Daphne. You should take the time to look nice and make him happy. Even our Lady Scarborough is looking strained.”

  Daphne’s heart rose into her throat. They’d found out. Somehow, even with all her caution, they’d discovered where she went each night.

  Light crossed her bed, making Daphne blink, blinded. With the brilliance came a realization that she’d be summoned down to face her parents if ever they discovered her. Whatever had set Father on edge, it had little to do with her.

  “Oh, my lady, you look so pale and there are dark shadows under your eyes. That won’t do.”

  She let the maid putter around, dabbing at her face with powders and selecting a white dress trimmed in peacock blue.

  “It will bring out your eyes, my lady. You’ll see,” the maid assured her.

  Standing up when instructed, Daphne let the maid dress her like a life-sized doll. She felt the pinch of a real corset before she remembered to tell the maid to use her corded one.

  “Now let out your breath and I’ll get just a wee bit more.”

  Daphne pulled away. “That’s enough. Just help me into my dress.” Meeting the woman’s gaze, she saw how the maid fought down her emotions. Did Willem feel the same way every time he saw her? Guilt made her let the maid finish dressing her hair without complaint, not that she wanted to rush down and meet her father’s temper anyway.

  By the time she headed for the main staircase, Daphne looked as fancily presented as her sister always seemed to be, but on Daphne, it felt awkward and fake. Still, she managed a half smile for the footman waiting at the bottom of the stairs.

  Her smile froze into place when she saw Willem also in the corridor, heading out to ready the carriage from the sight of his livery.

  He gave her a solemn nod before continuing on his way.

  Daphne’s hand clenched on the banister. She’d never planned to marry, but neither did she want to abandon the possibility of love. How could she ask Willem to do the same? After all he’d done for her, could she torment him like this?

  “Daphne Louise? Just what do you think you’re doing standing out there? You think we have nothing better to do than look you over?”

  She jerked her hand off the railing and almost ran down the last steps, driven by her mother’s unusually sharp tone. Stumbling to a halt before the entryway to the breakfast room, Daphne reached out to take her mother’s hand. “Is anything wrong,” she asked, her mind scrambling for what could have set both her parents on edge. Again, her fears rose, but she pushed them back.

  “Just go sit,” Lady Scarborough said, pulling her hand away.

  Daphne took one slow step after another, grateful for the maid’s efforts. At least her appearance wouldn’t spark criticism, but somehow she knew it would not be a pleasant breakfast.

  Her father stood at the mantel, staring into the fire with a frown cutting deep on his forehead. Grace had yet to come to the table.

  He didn’t turn as Daphne slipped into her place and accepted a piece of warm toast with her porridge. The longcase clock struck noon, much later than she’d expected, making Daphne’s hand shake. She almost dropped her toast, but at the last moment she regained control, sparing herself a reprimand.

  “Do you know what your sister’s been up to?”

  Daphne did drop the toast this time, startled by her father’s harsh tone. She watched it fall to the table, scattering crumbs across the polished wood surface. A small chip rolled across to land right where Grace should have had her place.

  Tense, she waited for the rebuke, but none came. Instead, her father marched up next to Daphne and thrust a paper into her face.

  “Where has she gone?” he demanded, crumpling the paper in his hand. “This is no childhood prank. Your mother always said I was too lenient, but this is too much. Does she have no regard for the family’s name? Does she want us disgraced?”
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br />   Daphne shook her head, bewildered. “Grace would never do such a thing, Father. I’m sure she’ll come down soon enough. She’s never done anything to besmirch the family name.” She couldn’t say the same, but her secrets had stayed that way. “What happened?”

  Lord Scarborough paced to the head of the table and sank into his seat, holding his head between both hands. “What will we do now?” he asked his wife, ignoring Daphne. “How could she do this to us?”

  Staring from one parent to the other, Daphne couldn’t imagine Grace—proper, sweet, obliging Grace—doing anything to cause such distress.

  Some of her feelings must have shown on her face because her mother stood up so quickly that the heavy wood chair scraped against the floor loud enough to make Daphne wince.

  “You better not be hiding anything, Daphne Louise. No matter how innocent you might think this, we could be ruined. At the least, we’ll be laughing stocks unable to show our faces in London again.” Lady Scarborough marched toward her husband and grabbed the crumpled paper from his hand.

  He didn’t even look up.

  Lady Scarborough rounded the table with such a determined look on her face that Daphne shrank back.

  “This. This is what we’re talking about.”

  Daphne tried to focus on the crinkled paper her mother waved before her, but could not see anything besides that it contained writing. Carefully, she took the letter from her mother’s hand, shoved her bowl out of the way, and smoothed it out on the table.

  “Read it,” Lady Scarborough said, poking a rough finger against the paper. “Read what your sister has done to us.”

  Beloved Mother and Father,

  It hurts me more that I can say to have disappointed you, but I cannot go on pretending any longer. I know you want me to marry the man you have chosen for me, but my heart has found another. If you ever had the opportunity to meet him, I feel sure you would love him as I do. I cannot face a life without him. Against his best wishes, we have decided to elope. I hope you can find it in your thoughts to forgive me. I love you both, and Daphne as well, but I must do this for my own heart.