Beneath the Mask

by Margaret McGaffey Fisk

  She managed a strangled laugh. “I don’t.” Her words came out flat and bitter. “But why would one of the most eligible bachelors want to saddle himself with a schoolroom miss? And yet, if he turns me aside, what will we do?” Her voice rose much higher before she regained control, the devastation of her hopes and dreams spread out before her.

  “Well, then your sister must recover. When she returns, he’ll transfer his affections back, and it will all be as if none of this even happened. You’ll be able to dance unimpeded until old age makes you tremble.”

  She took the pat on her hand as the dismissal he’d intended, furtively wiping her eyes before opening the door. If she hadn’t seen the calculation, maybe his reassurances would have meant something. As it was, she knew her time of dancing had almost ended. She would dance hard with her heart out for all to see. If nothing else, she’d have the brilliant rise to remember before she vanished from the public’s mind.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Three days passed without word.

  Daphne kept on dancing as if each night would be her last, but she’d started to hope just a little. Why indeed would a ton leader want to tie himself to an unpolished girl? After all, there must be many girls already out who had a title for sale.

  She skipped down the stairs, for once looking forward to an outing with her mother if it would break the cloud hanging over them. Since talking to Willem, Daphne knew in her heart that Grace was well cared for no matter where she was.

  A frown broke through her determined good mood at the thought of Willem. He still played for her during practice, but he kept his distance, acting the servant more than he ever had. She only realized how much she’d counted on his impertinent words and winks now that he’d become a proper coachman.

  Just this morning, she’d wanted to startle him out of his proper form, to force a reaction. She’d tried so hard, but he kept up his stoic look even when she braced her leg across his knee, pretending to use him as a chair against which she could stretch. He’d tolerated the touch without a word, bringing the pipe up to his lips the moment she moved away.

  “Remember your face,” Lady Scarborough said as she passed Daphne on the stair. “I know it’s hard, dear, but don’t let what you cannot change ruin your life.”

  For a heartbeat, desolation stared out of her mother’s eyes, but then Lady Scarborough blinked and slipped her arm through Daphne’s. “Time we were down to breakfast. I have in mind the perfect bonnet for you to wear to meet your betrothed.”

  Daphne moved down the stair, pulled by her mother’s arm. “Don’t you think we’d have heard by now?” she asked, unable to keep silent. Her heart pounded as she waited for the words to free her from this trap.

  “Nonsense, my dear. It has all been a bit of a shock, but never you worry. Your father will work everything out. He always does. He fixed your sister’s situation didn’t he?”

  They stepped onto the landing and Daphne slipped free, clenching a fist against her skirt as she fought the need to lash back. Disinheriting her sister then lying about why had nothing to do with fixing in Daphne’s mind.

  “Wait, Daphne,” her mother said, putting a hand out to delay her. “I know you’re worried. We’re all worried, but there’s no reason to suppose he’d reject you. You’re beautiful and accomplished. Had we not held you back for Grace, you’d have had your pick of suitors.” She tugged on Daphne’s hair, pulling a strand free. “Given the chance, he’ll love you as much as we do.”

  Daphne mumbled something in response and continued toward the dining room with a determined stride. She didn’t want him to love her. She didn’t want him to agree to take the younger daughter as easily as he had offered for Grace. Her older sister might have been willing to accept this fate, but she wasn’t ready to be married off to the highest bidder. Daphne knew her place, her responsibilities to her family. She only wanted some time to live before falling in line.

  She stomped into the room with none of her usual elegance and threw herself into the chair without even acknowledging the footman who pulled it out for her. Any bit of enjoyment she’d felt when looking forward to the day had vanished.

  After liberally adding salt to her porridge, she stared at it without raising her spoon. Her mother’s words had taken away the hope that time passing meant a rejection and killed what little joy she’d gathered around her.

  Lady Scarborough sent a reproving glance her way, but said nothing except to call for a fresh scone.

  Daphne felt her stomach curdle and could barely face the thought of food much less the reality. She pushed her bowl away, taking a deep gulp of water instead.

  “You have to eat, Daphne. It’s hard to be graceful on an empty stomach.”

  She didn’t look up when her mother spoke, but the offending porridge vanished and a scone already spread with jam appeared in its place. Daphne raised the bread to her lips and took a tiny nibble, more to appease than out of hunger. Her body, however, wanted sustenance after the hard dance practice in the morning, harder than it should have been as she’d tried to spark a reaction from Willem.

  Soon, she found herself brushing the crumbs from her fingers and waving for another.

  “That’s my girl,” her father said, sweeping into the room with a smile on his face. “You never were one to let circumstances keep you down. Don’t you worry. I have here the answer to all our troubles.”

  Daphne eyed the thick sheet of paper in his hands with horror, remembering the last missive he’d brought to the table. She cringed, knowing whatever it might contain, she’d like it no more than the letter that had stolen her sister forever from her life.

  “Well don’t hold us in suspense, dear.”

  Smothering a protest at her mother’s words, Daphne crumbled her scone into tiny fragments, her gaze on the table. She had too good an idea of what the paper held to wish his information any speed.

  Her father crossed the room to stand next to Lady Scarborough. “When I saw it came from Lady Pendleton, I brought the missive straight in. We can all read it together.”

  Daphne glanced up quick enough to catch the worried look her mother gave him. She tensed, thinking maybe, just maybe, this letter held her freedom not the loss of same.

  The thick paper rustled as he opened the missive.

  She couldn’t help watching him, his lips moving as he scanned each word. She reached for a drink of water and almost sent the glass tumbling across the table.

  A footman leapt forward with a cloth to clean up what drops had splashed at the same time as her mother lashed out, “Do be careful, Daphne.”

  Knowing her mother shared her tension if for different reasons provided little comfort and suddenly she too wanted the contents known. “What does it say, Father?” Though she’d meant to keep her peace, the indulgent smile from her mother almost made up for it.

  Lord Scarborough cleared his throat then read the letter in a loud, clear tone. When he reached the end, he winked at Daphne and bestowed a smile on her mother.

  The words echoed in Daphne’s mind, unwilling to settle down so she could comprehend them. The Pendletons had agreed. She’d been sold off with little thought to her own wishes and no care to her sister’s feelings.

  Daphne managed a tight smile, holding back her tears with all her might. How could Lord Pendleton have done something so callous? Had he no care for the woman to share his table?

  “Oh dear, just look at poor Daphne. She’s overwrought. She’s been under such strain these past days that I can’t imagine what relief she must feel.”

  Daphne struggled to suppress her churning stomach, her mother’s words only increasing the violent swirl surrounding the scones she’d eaten. Pushing away from her place, she managed a quick, “I need to go lie down,” and rushed from the table.

  “Don’t worry, dear. We can go out shopping some other day,” Lady Scarborough called after her.

  Throwing herself down on her bed, Daphne reached under her pillow and pulled out the dan
cer’s story that she still had not returned. A tear fell down to mark the cover, and she wiped it away, opening to one of her favorite passages, a description of the dancer’s first night on the stage.

  “I’m done,” she whispered to the page. “It’s all over now. I’m to be the wife of some uncaring brute, never to set foot on the stage again.”

  The dancer in the book seemed to mock her, asking if Daphne had ever had the heart for the dance if something as simple as a betrothal could make her give up. She stared down at the book for a moment longer before pushing up off the bed. Scrubbing a hand across her face, Daphne crossed to her mirror.

  “I won’t give up,” she told her image. “Not for this. I’ll manage somehow. It’s not like he’ll want to spend much time with me anyway. He wants my pedigree, not my person. Our wedding is soon enough for us to meet.”

  Her determined glare looked back at her. Daphne did nothing to prevent the smile pulling at the corner of her mouth. If she’d managed around her parents for this long, why not around her betrothed. They probably had little in common anyway. He’d go his way and she hers.

  “SHE SENT THE LETTER,” JASPER told Aubrey, finally breaking his silence on the issue as the curtain fell. “It’s done. My future happiness is in the hands of a girl just out of the schoolroom.”

  Aubrey tapped him on the shoulder. “Don’t look so glum. It’s not like you’d planned to give your future wife much say, anyhow. Why should the sister be any different?”

  Jasper continued to stare at the curtain, wishing the masked dancer would return for one more encore and distract him. “A mature woman would know the score,” he muttered. “This chit probably looks at the world with stars in her eyes. I’ll go from being respected to condemned for my treatment of an innocent, naive girl.”

  Aubrey laughed. “What makes you think she’s an innocent? Pure, she better be, but with her sister?”

  “Hsst,” Jasper said. “Her sister fell ill, terminally ill, remember.”

  “Sure enough. Don’t worry. I’m just saying she may not be the horror you expect.”

  With a frown, Jasper pushed to his feet and waved Aubrey out of the box. “I can tell enough that she won’t be the masked dancer, and that’s the only female who has caught my interest at the moment.”

  Aubrey strode down the stairs and Jasper followed, feeling the disapproving stare from the man who kept the audience orderly. When they stepped outside, the absence of other people showed just how much time he’d wasted fantasizing about the dancer.

  “If you want her so much, why don’t you try for her?”

  His friend’s laughing comment made Jasper aware he’d spoken aloud. “I did,” he muttered, remembering his humiliation when the same man whose eyes still bore holes in their backs had blocked his every path.

  “Not like you to give up so easily,” Aubrey said, waving to call his driver over. “Used to be you’d scale walls and bribe brothers to get at whatever fluff caught your eye. You, my friend, are getting old. Maybe settling down is just what you need. Are you worried she’s going to wear you out, this new wife? Want one with more years under her belt so she has a mite bit less energy?”

  Anger rose up in him and Jasper almost lashed out at his friend, just barely managing to control his temper. “I’ll show you just how old I’ve grown. Don’t wait for me because I’ll be a while. As you said before, it’s easy enough to find a hire cart in these ways.”

  “Are you sure?” All humor had vanished from Aubrey’s face. “I didn’t mean to challenge you, and I don’t know about the neighborhood this late. Once the hall closes, there’s no cause for hackneys to be here.”

  Jasper summoned up a smile, finding the effort less tiresome than expected. The thought of catching his graceful lady had restored his good humor and a sharp excitement now raced through his veins. “I’m a big boy, Aubrey. I can take care of myself. You just worry about how you will be begging my forgiveness when I show up with my dancer on my arm.”

  Aubrey laughed again. “Just make sure it’s a masquerade or I’ll have to question her identity. I only know her with her features covered.” He put up his hands to cover his eyes in a mockery of her mask.

  “There’s ways enough to know her without needing so much as a glimpse at her face, but you’ll not know them if I have anything to say about it. Go on now. I see no need for you to wait for me like a nursemaid. I outgrew my keepers long ago.”

  Jasper stood still, waiting until Aubrey swung up into his carriage before crossing to the building’s far side. No need to reveal his secrets to anyone. He knew this one was a prize he’d hate to lose even to his best friend.

  The alleyway emphasized the late hour, its sheltering darkness almost complete when he stepped around the corner. The building blocked what little light still spilled from the hall. Jasper paused to get his bearings and let his eyes adjust before heading toward the door he’d only glimpsed once.

  The door swung open, a rectangle of brightness almost blinding him. He pressed close to the wall, watching first one then two other women step through. For a heartbeat, he thought she might be one of them, but as they turned away, heading the opposite direction, he found nothing to match his knowledge of her step.

  Jasper grimaced, wondering what he’d have done if they’d passed him on their way to the street. How would they react to a man lurking in the shadows?

  Dispelling the image of the watch dragging him away, Jasper strode toward the door now that its location was known. He didn’t give a moment’s thought to how he would get inside until his hand closed around the doorknob, feeling the resistance of a lock.

  Jasper frowned as he raised his hand to knock. His purpose, while not entirely respectable, would certainly offer her a better life than this. Whoever answered his knock should be grateful of his interest.

  The door swung open again before he could put fist to wood. He flattened his palm to stop it from slamming into his face.

  “What?” a deep, feminine voice exclaimed in reaction to his resistance.

  Jasper stepped around the door with a smile, half expecting his dancer. He pushed aside his disappointment when he found a nicely proportioned but taller woman in the doorway. Sweeping into a short bow, he smiled at her. “Jasper Pendleton at your service,” he announced himself, leaving off the lord because he wanted success not fawning.

  She put out a hand for him to clasp or kiss, a throaty laugh caressing him. “Cynthia,” she replied. “Always welcome the attention of a man as handsome as yourself.”

  He squeezed her fingers lightly, not missing the frown that came and went on her full lips. “Perhaps you could help me then, Cynthia.” Jasper smiled but kept his expression neutral.

  Reaching out to brush against his cheek, she smiled back, her expression full of lust. “How could I refuse to help you? Anything you want, governor.” She leaned forward, her breasts lifted by her costume so they created sizeable curves.

  “I want to step inside.”

  She stared at him, her eyes narrowed. “And why would you want that?” she finally said, her expression unattractive.

  “I…want to speak with the mystery dancer.” He barely swallowed back the word he’d almost spoken: desire.

  His intentions must have shown on his face because she frowned. He could almost see the calculation in her face and wondered if he should have revealed his rank, or handed her some currency.

  “So you want to see her, then?” the woman said, her smile not reaching her eyes. “You’ve got a proposition for her?”

  Jasper hesitated, something about this woman making him alert.

  “Well?”

  Her prompting matched his thought that he had no choice. If he shoved past her, he’d only get dragged outside, but with an invitation? “Yes. A proposition I hope will be welcomed.” He kept his words short, keeping his own counsel as best he could.

  “Hmm.”

  Jasper reached for his purse, the universal solution. He didn’t mean to
buy the dancer, well not really, but it seemed he’d have to buy his way in.

  She stared at the coins in his hand for a long moment before shaking her head. “No, I don’t want your payment. Only be clear just what you want from her.”

  With that odd statement, the woman stepped away from the door, moving back inside.

  Jasper stared after her, unsure what he should do.

  “Well? Are you coming or not?” she called over her shoulder.

  The words convinced him and Jasper stepped over the threshold, letting the door bang shut behind him. He stretched his legs to catch up with her, passing through silent corridors with several doors.

  “Wait in here,” she said, jerking a door open and pushing his shoulder until he moved inside. “I’ll bring her to you.”

  Jasper turned the wick up on the only oil lamp in the room, the light revealing a small office complete with papers on the desk. He smiled, surprised to find a dance hall office not much different from where he did the work of directing his stewards to manage the various lands for which he now held title.

  At first, he felt reluctant to pry beyond a quick glance, but as the minutes passed and his dancer did not arrive, Jasper couldn’t restrain his curiosity. He wanted to see just how similar his life as a wealthy landowner was to the artistic pursuit of producing beautiful motions set to music.

  The first paper covered a project for replacing part of the stage floor where apparently boards had started to weaken. Jasper imagined the disaster if the floor gave way under the heavy pounding of feet and winced. He pushed that paper aside to read the next, a bill for costumes covering both the fabric and seamstress work. It cost almost as much as Lady Pendleton’s gowns.

  Page after page listed the costs until Jasper wondered how the doors stayed open. Using the financial acumen that had turned his family’s modest fortune into a sizable one, Jasper estimated the number of customers and the price. He frowned, shaking his head at the cost to earnings. He’d sell any land with such a poor ratio.