Beneath the Mask

by Margaret McGaffey Fisk

  He took his outer coat, letting the butler assist in settling the cloth around his shoulders. “She’s got spirit,” he muttered to himself, unable to keep the observation bottled inside any longer.

  “Spirit and a good heart,” the butler said, fixing him with a pointed stare. “It’s not my place to say so, but she needs a gentle hand.”

  Jasper stepped away, wondering at the change in the butler’s demeanor. “Sure enough. It’s not your place,” he said, unwilling to take advice from the enemy’s camp.

  He almost laughed aloud, but at the same time, couldn’t quite escape it. She’d shown her opinion of him quite strongly, especially since they’d never met before. Even had he been inclined to fawn over her, she had already decided to fight him every step of the way.

  With that thought lingering in a not completely unpleasant manner, he strode down the outside steps to where Aubrey waited in his carriage to take them off to the evening’s entertainment.

  “So? What did you think of your future bride?” Aubrey asked the moment the door closed them into the semblance of privacy.

  “It’s obvious enough why she’s been kept to the schoolroom,” he said without thinking. “Her sharp tongue and icy manner would turn aside the most eager suitors and probably send the sponsors into faints.”

  Aubrey laughed. “That passionate? Maybe you’ve met your match after all.”

  In short, succinct sentences, Jasper recounted his visit, sparing neither in his description. His own behavior had been as wrongheaded as hers, a fact that left a sour taste in his mouth, he who was known for his persuasive nature. “As you see, she’s against the match and determined that all will know it. A shrew and nothing more. This is the woman you’re so happy to see me paired with?”

  Even as the words left his mouth, Jasper couldn’t help his growing respect at how she stood up to him. Though his title was no match to hers, her family had to pick among those well-heeled enough to fix the family fortunes. He knew the agreement his mother had made up. He’d not just acquire a wife but pay a hefty bride price. Could his mother really think a title worth so much? And did this mere girl think her family welfare worth so little?

  A different memory rose to wipe out the annoyance still lingering from his meeting with his bride. She’d been so quick to get rid of him but he couldn’t argue her point. He did have a more important engagement, one that engaged his heart as well as his pocketbook.

  His fickle mind flashed back to his bride standing against him and then replaced the figure with his masked dancer. How was it the two women who held claim to his future both found the strength to thwart even his best intentions? A smile crept across Jasper’s face as he remembered how the dancer had stared, her expression masked but her body giving away her interest. Though it take time, he’d have her for his own soon enough.

  Across from him, Aubrey grimaced. “Well I know that expression. I’m a man of my word. I’ll take you to your fancy now that you’ve seen the face of your future wife. I’d had hopes, but sometimes it’s just not to be.”

  The sound of wheels against pavement stilled Aubrey’s hand as another carriage moved into place before them. Curious despite himself, Jasper leaned out the window to see the girl, his fiancée, rush down the steps as if chased by the hounds of Hell, a bag clutched in one hand.

  “Now I wonder where she’s off to in such a hurry,” Aubrey mused, leaning forward as well. “She’s got a nice form for all her tongue has edges.”

  Jasper laughed. “I think gagging is only in style for highwaymen, my friend, so her looks will do little to comfort.” Though he joked with Aubrey, his gaze remained on the girl, her lithe form springing into the carriage ahead of them without even a look to the stairs. Intrigued, he wondered what had her in such a rush.

  As if reading his thoughts, Aubrey commented, “We could follow her. Maybe you’ll learn more than you thought possible about the girl and her family. Maybe you’ve sent her running scared after her sister.”

  Jasper shot him a sharp look and Aubrey had the grace to look ashamed, waving a hand as if to erase his last statement. “Still, it might prove more entertaining than just another performance.”

  Reaching past his friend to slap the wall separating them from the coachman, Jasper called, “To the theater,” his voice unnaturally harsh. Taking a deep breath, he added to Aubrey, “She probably goes to pour out her sorrows to a bosom friend, bemoaning the tired old stiff her family has bound her to.”

  “Oh Jasper, you weren’t?”

  A wry smile pulled at Jasper’s cheek as he nodded. “I suppose I was. No doubt there have been worse first meetings in all of history, but only a few in all truth. I’d think that half the cause of her sharp tongue if she hadn’t lashed me with it before I spoke. Maybe the dance manager was right. Some are best appreciated from a distance. Only it’s not my dancer from whom I need to stand separate, but my soon-to-be wife.”

  Aubrey only shook his head in response, falling silent as the carriage took them on a well-worn path to the theater.

  DAPHNE THOUGHT HER MAD SCRAMBLE to change clothes, switch to the hackney, race to the theater, and change again into her costume would have been enough to wipe all memory of that infuriating man from her mind. Then, reflected in the dressing table mirror, she saw her finger lingering on the spot where he’d touched her cheek as if trying to recapture the caress. Even under the black satin of her mask, she could see the unfamiliar desire reflected in her eyes.

  “He’s no more than a rogue,” she spat out, shoving back from the dressing table hard enough that her chair scraped against the wood floor.

  Cynthia drifted by, waving a fan constructed of huge feathers, part of a new costume the dancer hoped to foist on Monsieur Henre. “A rogue? That certainly sounds interesting. I hear you had a visitor last night. A gentleman caller?”

  The other dancers all turned to listen and Daphne found herself facing numerous curious looks. “What?” she stammered. “I had no visitor.”

  Even as the words left her lips, her eyes narrowed on Cynthia’s smirk. Daphne pursed her lips and pretended to think. “Unless you mean Monsieur Henre’s new sponsor,” she bit out, emphasizing each word. “I guess our master knows you well enough to wait until you’d left for home before giving the man the tour. He came for the art and might have withdrawn his funding if you threw yourself at his feet.”

  Daphne stood with her pronouncement still hanging on the air, only grateful she’d been dressed before the confrontation.

  “Well, I never,” Cynthia said, advancing on Daphne.

  Daphne ducked past the woman, heading for the door. Her hand on the doorknob, she echoed something she’d heard one of the other women use when Cynthia wasn’t listening. “For one who hasn’t, you sure act like it.”

  Cynthia gave a half-strangled yell and Daphne quickly stepped outside, closing the door behind her. A smile teased at her lips. Despite her sheltered upbringing, she understood enough to know she’d scored against the other dancer.

  Exuberance at her victory gave an extra bounce to her step.

  “You sure look excited. Found a new beau?”

  Daphne stopped, turning to stare at one of the stagehands, a young man who she’d always thought of as friendly. She tried to smile, but the expression soured. She’d only found the courage to talk back to Cynthia because she’d been charged with energy from her run-in with her future husband. He’d mixed her up with anger and something that made her body both warm and shivery at the same time.

  The bell rang, freeing her from the need to respond. She managed a twist of her mouth that he could interpret as a smile, and headed for the short stairs up to the wings.

  Somehow, dancing seemed more important than ever tonight with her thoughts in a tangle. She wanted to lose herself in the perfection of the music, let her body take over and push aside the question of her husband to be, her future, and especially whether she’d be able to keep her passion.

  The music started wi
th her intro piece and she slipped between the curtains, crossing the stage in a quick, graceful stride. Already, she could feel her heart matching the beat, slow at first then increasing in tempo until her feet demanded to move and her arms rose above her head.

  Her eyes drifted closed and her body started to sway, moving almost of its own accord through the motions. As always, she poured her frustration, her attraction, her whole being into the music, speaking with her body words she’d never had the gumption to speak on her own.

  When the last note echoed across the suddenly quiet stage, Daphne collapsed, her pounding heart audible for a bare moment before thunderous applause drew her attention to the darkness beyond. She’d always known they were there, men and women staring at her, watching her, living through her, but tonight they seemed intrusive somehow, as if they wanted to strip bare her emotions and steal them from her.

  The stagehands slipped out and doused the light, leaving Daphne to stumble off, drained more than she’d ever been. She couldn’t even find the strength to react when Cynthia shot her an angry glare, their battle of wills a mere speck on Daphne’s consciousness.

  She made it to the dressing room, closing herself in, away from the prying eyes, but when she settled at her table, her hand tingled and the room seemed more dynamic, as if his presence still filled it. Daphne heaved a sigh that almost became a sob as she rested her head on her arms, giving in to the exhaustion pulling at her spirit.

  In what felt like no time at all, the chime sounded a warning. Daphne jerked up, staring at her pale face and mussed hair as if the mirror condemned her. With a deep breath, she settled herself and started working on her hair. She managed to tame the wild mass and stripped quickly, having learned to be efficient. By the time the second bell rang, she was waiting, ready, in the wings.

  The other dancers brushed past her, making little impression as she tried to find the mindset where the music took over.

  “He’s out there, you know. You may have fooled the others, but you’re just a slut like the rest of us. Only your fellow has enough to get a box to watch from. He’s out there tonight. I asked.”

  Daphne turned to stare after Cynthia as the other dancer swept away, not sparing Daphne another glance.

  The music started, but Daphne barely heard it. He had come to the theater after all. He was watching her pour out her heart, pour out the emotions raised by his visit. Hadn’t he done enough?

  “You missed your cue,” one of the stagehands whispered.

  Daphne jerked and turned to stare out at the stage with her stomach churning.

  The music stopped at the end of the measure, an uncomfortable silence replacing it for a heartbeat until the audience sounds reached her, shuffled papers, adjusted chairs, a cough, a sneeze.

  The music started again, the same piece but with a more robust sound, bringing in the heavier instruments as though demanding she put foot on the stage, as though asking her if she really wanted to let that man take even this from her.

  Daphne heard the message, felt it pounding through her feet as the stage vibrated with the drums. Her spine straightened and her arms went up over her head.

  Returned for a moment to the ballroom when she studied purely for the joy of it, Daphne spun onto the stage, her pirouettes timed to turn her to face the darkness with every heavy beat. This time, she worked for her dance, unable to let the music in over the chaos in her mind. She thought through every move and, as the music reached a crescendo, sprang into the air, performing a complex leap as an offering, a request for forgiveness since she couldn’t offer her soul, not knowing he was watching.

  Her hands shot forward, intended for balance and grace, but she brushed against her cheek at the same spot he had touched, marked with his caress.

  She stumbled, all thoughts of the landing lost in a bittersweet moment, hearing the echo of his voice.

  Ice, he’d called her. If only he knew.

  Daphne felt the bad landing even before she lurched out of position. Straightening, she tried to recover, but a sharp pain made her crumple. She twisted her knee as she fell.

  The music stopped in a clatter of sound as if each musician stumbled with her, shock making the cymbals clash against each other, fingers drop to random keys on the pianoforte, and gasps setting the wind instruments to squeal for a heartbeat before they too dropped to silence.

  She clutched her leg, wanting to tell them to keep playing, wanting to climb back up as if nothing had happened, but she couldn’t move.

  The curtain dropped down, only partially blocking out the sudden eruption of noises from the audience.

  Daphne suffered the whispered questions, only half heard, the scrape of chairs and the heavy, pounding footsteps as people left the dance hall, disappointed.

  One of the stagehands came and pulled her to her feet. “Are you all right?”

  Daphne pulled free as soon as she could balance, sucking in a breath at the pain. “I’m fine.” Her words came out harsher than she’d intended. She gave him a tight smile and limped off to the dressing room, trying to mask the injury even as fiery agony tore through her with each movement.

  Once again, Cynthia was quick to step into Daphne’s place, pushing by hard enough to knock Daphne against the wing support.

  She stared after the other dancer and blinked back tears, unsure whether frustration or pain brought them to her eyes. Moving even slower, Daphne eased her way down the stairs and to the dressing room, pausing to pant when she reached the door before stumbling across the room to slump at her dressing table.

  She wanted to forget the moment she fell, but she couldn’t any more than she could push away the cause.

  Him.

  The mirror showed her pale face, strain visible around her mask and a sheen of sweat making her skin glow. She didn’t look like herself, nor like the confident dancer. She didn’t know who she was right then, but could not be happy with the results.

  Forcing herself back to her feet, Daphne jerked the costume off and pulled her dress on, gasping as she leaned on her sore leg. None of the other dancers waiting their turn on the stage approached her, as though they feared her injury catching.

  She had to get out of there before Monsieur Henre came to give her one of his speeches about professional dancers working through the pain or lambast her for trying such a difficult step when she hadn’t been ready. Maybe he’d even give her a flash of sympathy, but she didn’t want that either.

  Daphne snatched her satchel and walked out, hearing the echo of what should have been her music as she moved down the corridor. No one tried to stop her, a fact that made her grateful even though the eerie quiet sent tension creeping up her spine.

  “The walk will stretch my muscle,” she muttered to herself, trying not to think about the difficulty in finding a hire coach in the dark. Usually, Monsieur Henre sent one of the stagehands or went himself to get her one. She didn’t want to wait, nor to ask for any favors.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Jasper stared blindly at the stage as another woman crossed the wooden floor, her gaudy movements a mockery of his dancer. How could she have fallen? She’d never stumbled in all the time he’d watched her. How could she fail him on this of all nights?

  He clenched his fingers against the railing, shifting it in his anger.

  Aubrey brushed the top of his knuckles, leaning over to whisper, “Go gentle on that banister if you don’t want to spill down on those below.”

  Grimacing, Jasper forced his hands to release their hold on the wood, coiling them into fists in his lap. He tried to focus on the pageant in front of him, but the sight of his dancer falling repeated behind his eyes until he almost cried out with pain for her.

  “I need some air,” he said, standing up.

  One of the four friends who had met them at the theater muttered for him to sit. Instead, Jasper bowed in their direction and swept out of the box. The stairs slowed him, pitch black in the unlit audience area, but he eventually made his way down to the
bottom, no less distracted than he had been above.

  An empty chair in the orchestra seats caught his attention, revealed by the stage glow. For a moment, he considered slipping into it and watching the rest of the show, seeing in his actions the obsession Aubrey had at first teased and now quietly questioned him about.

  The sound of many footfalls made him glance toward the stage, a group of dancers replacing the stand-in, their movements more along the lines of what he’d come to expect. Still, he watched them with a jaundiced eye, feeling none of the surging emotions that drew him to this place night after night.

  He blew out his breath in exasperation and got an annoyed look from the matron seated in front of where he stood. What he needed this theater could no longer provide this night. He might as well make good on his word and go for a stroll, maybe even take himself off to White’s before the regular visitors forgot his face.

  Though dissatisfied with this answer, he could provide no better one and so made his way toward the door, pushing it open by brute force.

  “Here now, you can’t be coming and going as you please. There ain’t no readmits.”

  Jasper turned a twisted smile on the man responsible for corralling the customers and nodded. “I have no plans to return tonight,” he said, keeping his voice soft and empty of anger. This man couldn’t know what had occurred within. He’d been at his post the whole time.

  “Would you like me to get you a coach then, sir? I can have one right quick.”

  Shaking his head, Jasper strode to the door. “No, my thanks, but I think the night air will do me some good,” he said, not even turning to look at the man.

  “Well enough, sir. Be careful out there. Not alls here for a fashionable evening you know.”

  Jasper raised one hand in acknowledgement as he shoved the door open, stepping into the chilly night air. There he paused, sucking in a deep breath and trying to push aside the strain he’d been under. It seemed all the women in his life were determined to disappoint him. His mother tied him first to a flighty girl who eloped and then to a shrew just released from the schoolroom. Even his dancer chose tonight to let slip her grace in favor of a clumsy tumble.