Beneath the Mask

by Margaret McGaffey Fisk

  “You have so little understanding of the world out there, my girl. If we didn’t make sure you had a good match, you’d be thrown to the wolves with every title hunter ready to claim the prize. Do you think you could find a good match on your own? Do you think your sister will not sour on love when her hands are rubbed raw and smell of lye? I’d do anything to protect you from that life, even if it means casting aside Grace and pasting a smile on my features while the world laughs behind my back. Life is sacrifice, sacrifice for your family, for your husband, for your child. You make do with the choices offered and you work to better them. That’s what a proper person does in this life.”

  Daphne stared at her mother, the shock she’d given delivered back four-fold. Though she could contest her mother’s belief about her knowledge, she could not contest the devotion and care her mother showed no matter how misguided. Would she be happy, Daphne asked herself, living on what little pay Monsieur Henre scrounged for his dancers? She’d never really had to think that aspect through but knew she’d never manage the life shown by the dancer in her book.

  She stood up and crossed to her mother’s side, kneeling on the carpet with a contrite expression on her face. “I’m sorry, Mother. I know I’m not Grace. I know I have little patience for these things, but I do understand what you’re doing and why. It’s just hard sometimes when I gave everything up for this, something none of us intended for me or prepared me for.” Only she knew the true meaning of her words, but Daphne felt them sincerely.

  Lady Scarborough’s face relaxed back into its normal, unlined state as she pressed a hand to the top of Daphne’s head. “I know, my dear. We kept you in the schoolroom long past when we should, filling your head with nonsense like that dancing foolery instead of preparing you for the life all good young women desire. It has made this road a hard one for you to walk. I’m only grateful you found such a true friend in Penelope. Life is made bearable by those you share the journey with.”

  Daphne forced a smile on her features, but inside the knife of guilt dug deep.

  “And I suppose I should have expected some sort of outburst,” Lady Scarborough continued. “After sharing every moment together, you’ve not had the opportunity to see your friend for days. There’s no need to distress yourself and end up tense and unhappy for your engagement. Why don’t you go over to Penelope’s tonight? Take a rest from all the planning and come back rejuvenated.”

  Staring at her mother, Daphne struggled to keep the frown from her face. In offering her greatest desire, Lady Scarborough had only twisted the knife of guilt in Daphne’s breast. “Thank you, Mother,” she whispered breathily. “It will be good to have a rest.”

  Lady Scarborough smiled indulgently. “Well? Why waste a moment? You can tell her all about the grand ball we’re planning. A masquerade. You can thank Lady Pendleton for the idea. This late in the season, we’d be lucky to gather any of the ton to our door, but with a masquerade, who can resist?”

  Nodding to her mother as she pushed to her feet, Daphne suppressed her true reaction. A masquerade. Somehow, it didn’t hold as much pleasure as it once had. Now, her whole life had turned into a masquerade, and she only hoped it wouldn’t become a morality play before she exchanged one existence for another.

  MONSIEUR HENRE’S EYEBROWS ROSE WHEN she slipped into his office much earlier than she’d ever come before, but then his mouth quirked into a smile. “Somehow I wasn’t expecting you for this evening’s performance,” he said, waving her into the chair on the other side of his desk.

  Daphne lowered herself onto the cushioned surface and raised a hand to check that her mask was in place for the hundredth time since putting it on. “Is that a problem?” She’d meant her voice to sound arrogant, but even she could hear the touch of desperation in her tone.

  He shook his head, still smiling. “No, not at all. I’ll have to rearrange the schedule a bit, tell Cynthia to take a rest, but you’re still the dandy of our audience. They’ve missed you, some more than others.”

  His words swallowed her up and threw her into the memory of her future husband pressed against her, whispering promises of jewels and clothing not to her, but to a body he’d only seen at a distance. Somehow, she had difficulty equating the passionate beau with the boorish snob who’d intruded on her home only hours before.

  “Mistress Daphne? Are you sure you’re ready to go on tonight?”

  She jerked her gaze to Monsieur Henre, a flush heating her cheeks. “Yes. Yes, I’m sure. You said Cynthia had been taking my spot?” She’d started the last only to prove that she’d been listening, but all it showed was that she hadn’t been, considering how long had passed since he mentioned the fact. Daphne shivered, wondering how the other dancer would take being pushed aside.

  “Well enough then. You should go get ready. There’s only a little time before the curtain rises.”

  Relieved to have gotten through the conversation without condemnation or a lecture on commitment, Daphne rose and left, pausing at the doorway to wave goodbye.

  She took a longer route through the behind stage areas, savoring the sound of instruments tuning and the scramble of those responsible for the scenery she never noticed once the dance began. How many times more would she have a place back here? How long could she keep her parents in the dark and would she ever be able to escape the clutches of her new husband?

  Breathing in the scent of sawdust and stage floor oils, tears pricked at her eyes. This could be her last dance, or close to it. Daphne frowned, determined to make the most of this chance. Just as her mother had said, they were given only so many choices and must work hard to succeed at them.

  The dressing room, when she finally reached it, was already a bustle of activity. She moved toward the table she’d come to think of as hers then stopped. It had unfamiliar rouge pots and headdresses strewn all over it.

  Daphne crossed the rest of the way, suddenly aware of the silence that had fallen as the dancers noticed her presence.

  “You shouldn’t touch those,” one of the younger girls called out. “That’s Cynthia’s things.”

  Glancing around the room for Cynthia, Daphne tensed, waiting for the outpouring of venom she normally experienced when talking to the other dancer.

  “She’s talking with the master,” another dancer chimed in. “Just sent for her.”

  Relief washed over Daphne as she realized her trip to capture memories had saved her from a vicious encounter in the hall. Still, the other dancer would return shortly and doubtless in a mood.

  Her costumes had kept their place, though they’d been all piled together, and Daphne quickly changed into her favorite one. If she had to get all the enjoyment she could from this and a few other dances, she’d make it happen.

  The noise returned slowly, helped by her lack of reaction to the status change. Daphne didn’t really care about her standing; she only wanted the chance to perform. Somehow, others like Cynthia either never had or had lost that pure focus. A twist of pity made its way through Daphne, surprising her.

  The other dancer had done nothing but cause trouble and yet, they shared something in common. Both had seen their dreams shattered, torn from between their grasping hands by fates beyond their control.

  Daphne’s mouth curled up into a mocking smile. At least the other girl was on the road to attaining her dreams now. Daphne had no such rosy ending before her. She’d gain nothing and lose everything tied to a man who despised her true self while entertaining randy thoughts about her masquerade persona.

  She shuddered, suddenly wondering what would have happened if he’d succeeded in removing her mask. What would he do if he managed to expose her before the wedding? Would he destroy her family in retribution? And what if he discovered her after the wedding? How would he react then?

  So caught up in her own fearful thoughts, Daphne didn’t notice the silence that had taken over the room once again until a single dancer loudly cleared her throat.

  Daphne tensed, unprepared in t
he aftermath of her worries to face Cynthia. She longed to stay behind the changing screen, but knew her delay would only make the retribution worse.

  Squaring her shoulders, she pasted a gentle smile on her face and rounded the curtain as if she’d just finished changing, rather than lingering in the meager shelter, tortured by her thoughts.

  Cynthia met Daphne’s gaze with a smile of her own, startling Daphne and causing restless motions among the other dancers. Her smile growing, Cynthia turned and swept the room with her pointed stare. “I’ve just come from the master. As you probably guessed, he wanted to inform me that she would be dancing tonight.”

  Daphne saw her own tension mirrored in the faces of the others and wondered for a quick moment if Cynthia could be dangerous.

  The other dancer winked, as if aware of Daphne’s reaction, before continuing, “Though I’d prefer not to muddy the waters, the audience can build up a craving when denied. After this one does her guest appearance tonight, the center stage will be mine.”

  Daphne’s fear melted into stunned horror. Though she’d known this could be her last, she never expected Monsieur Henre to cut the ties. Somehow, she’d thought she had some say in her performances, that her wishes had the weight of command. This, more than any other instruction, showed Monsieur Henre had left the position of teacher behind long ago.

  Even as pain twisted her gut, a ringing started in her ears and Daphne grabbed for the nearest table, thinking she was going to faint.

  Cynthia’s smirk filled her whole vision as the other dancer moved close enough to push her shoulder. “Now run along, girl. You wouldn’t want to miss your very last curtain.”

  Daphne stared at her without comprehension for a long while before she equated the bell sound with the call. Grimly, she grabbed her headdress, attached it with hard thrusts of the pins, and half-ran all the way to the stage. If this was to be her last dance, she’d make the most of it.

  “LOOKS LIKE YOUR PERSISTENCE IS finally paying off,” Aubrey said, slapping a hand on Jasper’s shoulder to draw his attention to the stage. “They don’t usually bring out the flutes for the new girl.”

  Jasper hesitated, wanting to look but fearing disappointment yet again. The whisper of her touch warmed his lips just as the musicians began a style of music so different from the tumbler who had replaced his dancer. Unable to resist the slow, erotic beat, he raised his head just as the curtain lifted and spread to expose a bare stage with only some props setting the mood in the back.

  His heartbeat sped up, recognizing the slim body kneeling on the floor even before she raised her arms above her head and rose as if pulled upright from above. Her grace struck him as it always had. She’d be his no matter what her foolish protestations. He didn’t care much for dissembling, and her reactions showed she desired him, but if any other infatuation, he would have moved on long ago. She flowed in his very blood, infected his every thought. He could no more walk away than separate his right arm from his body.

  For once, her dance failed to absorb him though he watched every move. It left his mind free to plan his next step, to manipulate and twist the circumstances until she had no choice but to turn to him. Part of Jasper found his machinations disturbing, but the rest could not be swayed from the goal, willing to risk anything, to do anything, just to hold her in his arms once again.

  The rustle of paper from a neighboring box brought Jasper back from his thoughts. The unexpected sound was overly loud in the silence that had always greeted her motions. It appeared others found her dance less compelling on this night as well.

  With an odd reluctance, he forced his attention back to the stage. Any lust in his thoughts or loins curdled in the face of her frantic energy.

  Instead of inspiring desire, her motions brought to mind the struggles of a pigeon clasped firmly in the claws of a hawk. What drove her so? What took from her the soul that normally filled her dance?

  Though he kept his gaze pinned on the dancer, all enjoyment had fled, leaving behind a concern so deep that it soured his stomach. He couldn’t quite restrain the thought that he might have caused some of her frenzy. He’d learned well enough this night what lengths he’d go to pressure her to become his mistress. He’d even planned to use his sponsorship against her. Had he caused this change? Had he torn her from the wild? Did she now batter herself against cage bars of his making?

  The curtain fell down and Jasper pushed to his feet, needing to escape from his demons.

  “What are you doing?” Aubrey asked, amazement in his voice.

  He didn’t know what he muttered in reply, so caught up in the urgent desire to leave that he would have said anything. Perhaps his friend thought him off to make another attempt to catch the dancer, but Jasper finally felt the truth of Aubrey’s warnings. His dancer, still unknown and with her face barred to him, had laid claim to that small bit of property he’d thought unclaimable. His heart burned with the thought that his affections had harmed her in any way.

  Both his heart and honor demanded he offer her something in apology, something more than the affair she’d thrown in his face, but he had no intention of following the steps of his first fiancée. Maybe the best he could do would be to stay out of her life, give her the chance to find another who was free to give his affections. Jasper grimaced at the thought, jealousy knotting his stomach.

  He glanced around, surprised to find himself already outside of the performance hall. With a forceful wave of his hand, he called a coach over, unsure where he wanted to go or what could relieve his tangled feelings.

  “Take me to where an honest man can drown his sorrows,” he told the coachman. “Double your normal fare if you’ll vouch for me.”

  “Aye, gov’ner, I’ll set you right up.”

  The driver snapped the reins in the air above his horse and the coach started forward with a lurch. Jasper stared out the window, watching her performance hall dwindle in the distance, knowing he’d never return. If he couldn’t have her, he’d deny himself the torturous pleasure of watching her dance as well. He had to learn both to accept and live his new life, no matter how he found his wife. He could not suffer the torment of seeing his dancer’s movements transformed by another when she found love and fulfillment at last.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  A bitter night of tossing and turning between bouts of tears made Daphne none so happy to greet the late morning sun now pouring in her windows. She groaned, cursing the helpful maid who had drawn the drapes. She dragged the coverlet over her head and tried to fall back asleep.

  The distant chime of the longcase clock in the hall marked stroke after stroke, revealing the day well into the eleventh hour. Daphne groaned again and pushed her covers down, blinking in the sunlight. If she didn’t rise soon, she’d hear no end of concerned statements. She barely found the strength to care.

  If her mother chose to keep her back for her own health, what did it matter? She had no place to go.

  Despair swept over her again, and she clutched the dancer’s story to her chest, wondering if the other woman’s sordid life was any worse than her own though she knew it to have been. To come so far and lose it all. To know Cynthia would stand in her place night after night. It burned Daphne, but what choice did she have?

  Tears welled up in her eyes once again, but she forced them back, tucking the book away under her mattress. She rose and crossed to her mirror, hoping her fitful night didn’t show on her face.

  The expression that greeted her held little joy, but at least her eyes weren’t red and puffy. She dampened her washcloth and pressed cold water against her cheeks and eyes, determined to meet her fate head on. She’d had her moment of joy on the stage. That time had passed. She had the rest of her life to find comfort and satisfaction, if not in her husband, then in her children.

  A wisp of memory teased her, the heat of his body pressed against hers, his lips shedding their warmth onto her own. A delicious shiver shook her body and brought a curious spark to the eyes looking b
ack at her from the reflection. The smile that curved her lips held a womanly knowing she lacked.

  Maybe, she thought, maybe it wouldn’t be so horrible.

  Buoyed by this hope, and a return to her natural exuberance, Daphne rang the bell for a maid to help her dress. She’d make her mother happy and wear one of the more elaborate dresses and a normal corset, maybe even let the maid dress her hair in a fancy hairstyle as they always seemed to want to.

  The sound of panting gave her warning even before the door opened after a short knock.

  “My lady, you’re finally awake. Your lady mother has arranged something special for you and was worried you’d be too late.”

  “Could you help with my dress and hair then, Betsy?”

  Even before she spoke, the maid crossed the room and flipped through Daphne’s gowns, finally pulling out one of the newer ones. “This will look right fine,” she said with a grin. “And I’ll get your hair set up too.”

  Daphne let the maid direct her through the motions, feeling like some kind of a manikin rather than a living, breathing person. Her heart thumped slow and heavy as she pondered what her mother would consider an appropriate surprise. None of the things her mind could offer provided any interest. How could her mother succeed when the woman knew nothing about her youngest daughter?

  Again, depression threatened to overtake her, but Daphne would have none of that. She refused to spend the rest of her life moping. Maybe, in what little time she had left, she would try to cultivate Penelope’s friendship in truth. If nothing else, they now had much more in common than before, both destined to become nothing more than vassals chained to husbands who had more desire for their mistresses than interest in the wives they’d left at home.

  “There you go now, my lady. Don’t you look a pretty penny,” Betsy said, patting Daphne’s hair one last time.

  Jolted out of her thoughts, Daphne glanced at the mirror and paused, hardly recognizing the cultured woman portrayed there. Was this whom she would become? Would she lose all sense of herself in this marriage? She forced a smile onto her lips and turned away, trying to banish the image from her mind. “It looks lovely,” she managed.