Beneath the Mask

by Margaret McGaffey Fisk

  Jasper gave a half smile as he named the amount he’d pressed on Monsieur Henre, waiting for an outburst worthy of his mother. “And I’ve made no offer.”

  “You’re insane. What did you get for your coin? Did one of the other dancers offer up? Or did you pay so much for the fatherly advice of the manager. If I thought you’d be willing to part with such a stake, I’d have acted the father for you.”

  The heat of Aubrey’s gaze was such Jasper turned to face his friend. “Only if you can put on a performance at the same time. The money went to keeping a theater over their heads, not to buying my dancer. She can’t be bought.”

  Aubrey laughed, some of the tension draining from his face. “I should have expected it. You went in there looking for a tender hand to soothe away your hurts and ended up adopting another failing cause. If you weren’t such an astute businessman and farmer, you’d be in the poorhouse and no family would be willing to tie their name to yours.”

  If anything, Aubrey’s words only soured Jasper’s mood. “It’s not like any to-be-wife eloped or anything just to get away from me and my money, now is it?” he burst out, his tone bitter. “How long do I have to wait before the sister does the same?”

  The coach stopped, a roar of sound from the crowd outside revealing they’d reached their destination. Jasper moved for the door only to stop when Aubrey put out a hand to block him.

  “She’s not her sister,” Aubrey said, holding Jasper captive. “And her sister ran to someone from all accounts, not from you. Someone her family would never have accepted. It had nothing to do with you.”

  Jasper sank back onto the seat, reluctantly letting thoughts of his new fiancée wipe the dancer from his mind. “How can you say that? Did she tell you so herself? I know I’m considered a catch by the mothers, but their daughters seem quick enough to escape me.”

  Aubrey put a hand on Jasper’s knee. “One daughter. Listen to yourself. You’d think elopements trailed after you since you gave up short pants from how you’re going on. Why is this eating at you so?”

  Jasper waved off Aubrey’s question with a laugh, unwilling to share the gut feeling that love had no place in his family. His parents proved that often enough. Why should he be any different?

  “You’re right. I know you are. It’s just that for the first time I’d actually let myself think about marriage. I don’t know, maybe I considered for a moment that my mother knew me well enough to choose someone favorable.”

  Aubrey’s bark of laughter echoed back in the small space loud enough to deafen Jasper. “You think your mother a good judge? Should I turn the coach for a visit to the doctor? She judges your worth by the letters before your surname and the coin jangling in your pockets. The first she finds lacking, the second lush. She found you a bride to fulfill her ambitions and not one to touch your heart. I doubt any who shared your intellectual pursuits would have scampered off to elope with some poor minister. Word has started to spread despite the earl’s efforts. You’re best free of that one.”

  Jasper shook his head, refuting his own misdirected feelings rather than anything Aubrey said. “I suppose I’ve just been listening to too many gossips. I never imagined the paragon of virtue my mother chose would throw me away as if I had as little value as watered-down, one-year-old scotch.” Again, a sense of worthlessness washed over him, and Jasper wished he’d never started the conversation.

  “You met Lady Grace a time or two, didn’t you?” Aubrey asked, waiting for his nod before continuing. “So she seemed perfect? Like the one you wanted to spend your life with?”

  Aubrey’s question made Jasper pause. He forced his mind over those few meetings, an opera once, a ball he’d been forced to endure, a tea. He couldn’t remember a single word the girl had said and could barely draw up a vision of her face, though he knew it had been beautiful. “No,” he said slowly, “If we had anything in common, I certainly couldn’t see it. She seemed a good looking, properly brought up female who would give me children. If she had anything more than that, I certainly didn’t delve deep enough to discover it.”

  “And this is the paragon of virtue you are in the doldrums about? This is the woman who has undermined your practically historic self-confidence? Dash it all, man. Give me an hour and I’ll bring you five like her or more. You can bet against me at White’s, and I’ll rake in your coin as each and every one agrees to be your devoted wife.”

  Jasper shook his head. “You forget. I already have a wife waiting. If you’re right, she’ll still be there when I go before the chaplain so I might as well enjoy my time now.” He pushed up again, this time swinging the door open.

  “As if you will give up keeping mistresses for a lily-white wife. I suspect you’ll be having as much fun after as before, maybe more, without your mother pushing debutantes at you.”

  Laughing aloud at his friend’s statement, Jasper stepped down from the coach, his attention focused on those waiting for the theater doors to open. The crowd seemed to be thinning and urgency set a fire in his veins. Soon, he’d see her again.

  Aubrey swung out of the coach, dropping to the ground in a controlled leap rather than deigning to use the steps. “Or you could give her a chance before you plan your neglect,” he added, straightening his coat. “You never know what you might find. If one sister is the consummate debutante, the other might even be your bluestocking. You have yet to meet her.”

  With a glance toward the rapidly clearing steps before the theater, Jasper nodded, ready to agree to anything if his friend would only hurry. He couldn’t help remembering their first visit when he’d almost been denied an entrance. Though his patronage might have bought him a box, somehow he suspected the front man would still deny him if the curtain rose before they arrived. “I’ll promise to meet with her soon if you only come now.”

  Aubrey resisted the hand placed on his arm and stared at Jasper. “Tomorrow. You’ll meet with her before I return to this place. I’ll take you there myself. Until you deal with this odd notion, you’ll never know if you seek this dancer just to distract or because of true interest. For all I tease, I know this dance theater’s reputation. Those dancers really are virtuous. As nuns in a nunnery, from some comments. You could hurt the girl when your interest moves on.”

  Exasperation filled Jasper as he met his friend’s gaze, his obsession with the dancer momentarily forgotten. “Since when have you been the keeper of any woman’s virtue? You barely manage to keep your youngest sister within the bounds of propriety. I’d not think you had the time to stand guard over performers.”

  “These performers are as much people as my sister, and deserve the same.”

  Jasper laughed out loud, slapping Aubrey on the shoulder. “Never thought to see the day, but you’ve been reading too much. Such thoughts won’t gain you many friends among your fellows, but you’ve got the right of it. I promise should I pursue this dancer further, that more than just the temptation of flesh will drive me.”

  Starting across the street toward the theater, Aubrey murmured, “Perhaps you had more in common with your lost fiancée than you thought.”

  Jasper stopped for a moment, Aubrey’s words finding a deep chord in his heart. A hackney driver who sought to drive past cursed him, but Jasper hardly noticed the offence. Could he really quiz her motives? If she’d fallen for a lowly man, it was not like she could have taken a lover. No wife of his would keep a man on the side.

  His mouth quirked into a smile as he started walking again. A silly chance of fate made her a woman, not a man. For him to keep a mistress would raise no eyebrows, but she had to throw away her family to hold true to her heart.

  By the time he caught up with Aubrey, his good mood had returned. Even the prospect of meeting the simpering fool he’d have to marry couldn’t shake him. The lights lowered, declaring bare heartbeats kept him from the one who captivated him. Whatever marriage held for Jasper, here he’d found his heart.

  DAPHNE PINNED HER HAIR FOR the second time, her hands tense
as she tried to relax. She’d almost lost a battle with her mother tonight, almost had to do an informal coming out. The thought made her breathing accelerate again, and she clenched the side of her dressing table, trying to restore her balance.

  If the argument had only risked her dance, she could have brushed it off, but no, that man’s mother was going to be present. How could Daphne have faced the woman, knowing her son even now sought out a simple performer practically on the eve of their marriage? And what if Lord Pendleton himself arrived, finally wanting to meet the woman he trapped for a lifetime?

  The slap of her brush against the polished walnut jerked her out of the bitter thoughts. Daphne stared at the dresser top, grateful only that her blow had struck wood and not the hand mirror she’d inherited from her grandmother.

  A soft rap called her attention to the door.

  “Yes?”

  “Lady Daphne, you have a caller.”

  From the hallway below, the chimes of the longcase clock sounded the hour.

  Daphne pushed to her feet in a panic. “I’ll be right down,” she said, grabbing her things. She needed to leave for the theater soon, but with both Father and Mother gone, she couldn’t fob the visitor off on anyone. Besides, the caller was probably Penelope, the only girl Daphne had the remotest acquaintance with, so her parents’ absence was probably for the best.

  After pulling a cloak off the hook, Daphne raced down the steps, remembering only at the last moment to drop her satchel and cloak at the foot of the stairs. No matter what the urgency, her mother would never forgive her if she were so rude.

  Pausing before the parlor door, Daphne pulled in a steadying breath. She pushed the handle, realizing only as the door swung open that she should have had the butler introduce her. With a slight shrug, she stepped into the room, unsure if she should stand on ceremony with one of her own status.

  “Hello, Penelope,” she called out, “I wasn’t expecting to see you here.” Daphne let the door swing closed behind her, leaving the servants to pass her greeting on to her mother, a greeting that left the impression they’d visited often.

  A deep cough jerked her attention to her father’s chair.

  “I’m afraid you’re mistaken. I am not Penelope.”

  Daphne could only stare at the man relaxing in apparent comfort in the parlor, the same man who’d acted the rogue not so many nights before. Steam rose from the cup of tea at his elbow. She thought he’d probably prefer something stiffer but ruthlessly pushed the idea of offering anything aside. She wanted him gone.

  Calling on all the training her mother had drummed into her over the years, Daphne gave him a haughty glance. “I’m afraid the maid failed to tell me the identity of my caller.” She stepped back toward the door. “It’s unseemly to have a gentleman visit without a chaperone, and I’m sorry to say my parents are out for the evening.

  Pulling the door open, she stood by it, indicating he should leave.

  Lord Pendleton frowned and pushed to his feet, strolling toward her with an easy grace that struck her as almost menacing. The impression strengthened when he took the door from her hand and pushed it firmly closed.

  “Any gentleman maybe, Lady Daphne, but not this one. Though you do not know me, I’m the man soon to be your husband. I thought we should learn a bit about each other.”

  He reached for her hand, but Daphne jerked it away, feeling the pressure of his frown as she crossed the room to settle in an uninviting, high-backed chair.

  “I can’t imagine my mother would approve, Lord Pendleton,” she said, her tone cool.

  “And I can’t imagine she’d disagree. Unless she hopes to hide your flaws, that is. Is that why you’ve yet to come out?” He tossed himself casually back into his chair, tipping the cup in a salute before taking a sip.

  Daphne fumed underneath but struggled to keep her demeanor bland. “There’s no secret to my coming out. It’s scheduled for the next season. It’s your interest in one not even formally presented that is out of order.” She almost gasped as the words slipped from her mouth, the cut biting.

  Instead of anger, her comment provoked a laugh. The man leaned forward, bracing his arms on his knees as he studied her with sudden intensity.

  Daphne tried harder to project disinterest, but his attention made her uncomfortable.

  “And here my mother told me your parents seemed quite relieved to get her note. Are you saying you don’t share their sentiment?” He stared pointedly at the dress she wore, a new one she’d chosen to appease her mother.

  Daphne blushed at both the subtle accusation and the hint about their circumstances. Confused, she almost missed the mention of his mother. “So you didn’t send the letter?” she asked before she could stop herself. She’d seen him as the master of his fate, but what if he was only a fellow sufferer?

  “It went with my full knowledge,” he said. “Does it matter so much whose hand penned it? Are you now going to languish in misery, your hopes dashed?”

  Daphne straightened in the seat, tucking her feet under her skirts as all fellow feeling vanished with his mocking tone. Though he’d misunderstood her intention, she understood his image of her all too well. “Lord Pendleton, I’m not planning to languish over you or any other man,” she bit out, each word colder than the previous.

  He surged from his seat, towering over her before she could draw a breath. “You will not have any other man,” he said, his voice every bit as icy as her own tone. “Whatever you may think, I’m not one to be taken advantage of. You may have a higher title, but you will honor me as your husband if I must lock you up to ensure it.”

  She stared at him, his eyes dark with passion and conviction. A chill ran up her spine. No, he wouldn’t be easy to deceive.

  Lord Pendleton grimaced and pushed away from her chair, shoving a hand through his carefully arranged locks. The movement disordered them into an almost boyish look she found appealing even as she pushed the thought away.

  With his back to her, he muttered, “My apologies. I did not mean to speak so harshly.”

  A spark of hope started in her chest as she let her gaze roam over his tightly muscled back and legs, a spike of sheer feminine interest racing through her body. When he turned back to face her, his expression seemed more relaxed and much kinder.

  Then, as if noticing her attention, he swept her body as well, pausing at places no gentleman would have dared to skim. He bowed, nothing like his stiffness earlier.

  “Call me Jasper,” Lord Pendleton said as he reached for her hand. “My given name seems more appropriate considering our lives will soon be joined. And I shall call you Daphne.”

  Instead of offering her hand as he clearly expected, Daphne gave a regal nod, agreeing though he had no right to claim her first name without permission. His gesture had brought back the night before, and she knew him to be a cad. Who was he to question her faithfulness when he went through the streets courting ladies of the night?

  Into the silence, the mantle clock’s chime sounded overly loud as it counted out the half hour, the quarter having passed unnoticed in the heat of their discussion. Fearful, Daphne darted a look at the clock face, confirming the time though she knew she’d heard correctly.

  He followed her gaze, a frown cutting into his elegant features. “Do you have a more pressing engagement?” he asked, the mocking tone back in response to her rejection of his gesture.

  “As a matter of fact, I do,” she said, standing. “You’ll have to be going now. Next time, maybe you could send a card ahead?” She felt one eyebrow rise in an expression she’d seen on her mother’s face before but never managed to emulate successfully.

  From the anger gathering in Lord Pendleton’s features, she’d succeeded this time. His stride forceful, he walked to the door, jerking it open and waiting for her to pass outside first.

  Daphne swept past him, calling for the butler to show him out. She had no intention of giving him the chance to see her leave.

  He caught her arm,
jerking her against his side. “Your behavior does not become you. If you cannot learn manners at your mother’s side, be sure they will be taught at mine.”

  She stared at him, stunned for a moment, unable to believe his audacity. “Do you purport to be my mother, my father, or my husband? I doubt you have the substance to be them all,” she said, her voice savage. “Look to your own manners before thinking to tutor mine.”

  He stared down at her, his expression going from angry to something she couldn’t quite place. Then his eyes twinkled and his mouth quirked into a smile. “You’re not much like your sister, are you?” he asked, shaking his head when she didn’t—couldn’t—respond. He ran one finger down her cheek, stopping just before the corner of her mouth. “I could melt that ice,” he murmured.

  This time, Daphne could find no words to answer him, though her chest heaved with tangled emotions. As if to support his statement, a fire started burning inside her with such strength she feared it would consume her.

  “Lady Daphne. You called?”

  The butler’s haughty tones broke through the thread holding Daphne trapped, and for once, she felt grateful for his manner. Stepping away, she kept her eyes pointed over Lord Pendleton’s shoulder, unwilling for him to see how shaken she felt.

  “Yes, Thomas,” she replied, her tone just as condescending. “Could you show Lord Pendleton to his carriage? I’m sure he has more important engagements to attend to.” Against her better judgment, she glanced at the man who would claim her, her expression showing just how little importance she attached to his schedule. A flicker of annoyance tweaked her as she realized he probably went to visit his latest mistress, or even worse, came to see her dance.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Jasper watched her march away toward the back of the house, something about her angry strides absorbing his attention. A discrete cough from the butler had him shaking his head. She did have a fiery center, that one. If nothing else, he wouldn’t have to worry about facing a shrinking violet across the table on mornings to come. It might even make the meal a bit more interesting.