Beneath the Mask

by Margaret McGaffey Fisk

  Willem shook his head, not in rejection, but in shock. She knew well enough the whole household had heard her father rage at her.

  “I must,” she whispered. “I must just this one last time and you have to help me.”

  He looked uncomfortable, but Daphne knew he would give in. His distance hadn’t lasted past a few days, her unthinking words softened by her efforts to regain his trust. “Oh, my lady, do you even know what you’re chancing in this? You’re engaged now. You must behave with utmost decorum.”

  Daphne laughed at the incongruous words coming from the man who’d helped her perform many a scrape over the years. “I’m not shackled to him yet, Willem. Would you deny me this last moment of freedom?”

  Though she’d concocted the idea for revenge, flaunting her other life before her fiancé if only through the prevalent gossips, it had become so much more than that. The previous time, she’d come to the theater full of hope and expectation only to leave crushed and thrown away as if scraps of garbage.

  This time, she’d dance knowing it to be her last performance. She’d sink her heart into the motions, giving the audience something to talk about for years to come. When approached at parties and asked, had she been there? Had she seen the last performance? she’d be able to smile and nod her head, delighting that she stayed strong in memories usually so fickle.

  Every motion took on new meaning, from the change of dress and securing her mask, to the switch of carriages, the happy goodbye to the hackney driver. A bounce in her step propelled her to the side door much faster than normal, and she offered only smiles to the dancers she passed, giving no pause to acknowledge their shocked faces. Like a ghost returned to familiar haunts, she belonged here just this once.

  Monsieur Henre had other ideas.

  The commotion in the hall drew him from his office, and he froze at the sight of her. Daphne flinched as his fingers wrapped around her upper arm in a match to her fiancé’s bruises, and he jerked her into the small room, his glare boring into her.

  “Are you mad? There is nothing worth the risks you take now that you are engaged formally to none other than our patron. You think I don’t know what happens in your world that you’re so willing to throw away mine?”

  Daphne caught his arm and stared back at him, desire filling hers not for the man in front of her but for the time on stage, music filling her ears and lanterns heating the air around her. “Just one last dance,” she begged. “One last time when I’m not full of confusion and despair. Let me make my final performance and I’ll plague you no longer. I need to close this part of my life so I can begin my new one.”

  Though that hadn’t been her initial purpose, her words resounded with truth and she could see him weakening. “You told Cynthia, but what about your audience?” she added, seeing how closure could be good for him as well. “Do you really want them restless and looking for me every time they arrive? Send runners out, play this up, get yourself a house stuffed to the wings and then make my farewell announcement. If nothing else, I’d think the fanfare would appeal.” She pushed down guilt at how her father would receive the news. Perhaps he’d think Monsieur Henre substituted one masked dancer for another, but somehow she didn’t think so.

  A smile pulled at Monsieur Henre’s mouth, softening his worried expression. “True enough. I’d always thought there was more to you than just a pretty face and some fancy moves. You have a merchant’s head on your shoulders.” He let the smile full out until it split his face. “I’ll do it. I’ll make this a grand extravaganza the like Drury Lane has never seen. Go, go, and get into your costumes. You’ll have to get them out of the closet. I had them put away until a seamstress could alter them for one of the other dancers. Lucky now that I’ve been too busy.”

  He waved her out of the door, still muttering to himself.

  She smiled, moving toward the costume closet with a firm step, happy in the knowledge that he’d make her leave taking just as splendid as she could ever have hoped.

  An arm braced across the passageway brought Daphne up short, just a step away from the closet.

  “And what do you think you’re doing back here?” Cynthia asked, her superior tone grating against Daphne’s nerves.

  “Don’t worry,” Daphne said, holding her smile steady on lips suddenly rigid with tension. “I’ll not steal your place. I only plan for a proper farewell.”

  The other dancer stared at her for a long moment, obviously hearing the implication that Daphne could take the spot if she wanted. Then Cynthia laughed, a full-throated sound that echoed in the tight space. “Fine,” she said. “A passing of the baton like ancient Greeks. You hand over ownership of the stage to me, never to return and haunt these halls again.”

  Daphne stilled at the odd echo of her earlier thought then nodded. As long as she had her moment, why not let both of them excel. “You can tell Monsieur Henre about the idea. It has some merit. He’s planning the performance as we speak.”

  Cynthia hesitated, perhaps having expected condemnation rather than support. “Don’t think your pretty words can fool me,” she bit out. “You’re no better than the rest of us. Probably got caught with your skirts about your ears. The master’s giving you this not as a privilege but only to protect his investment.”

  She stomped off toward the office, choosing not to accept the laurel Daphne had offered. With a shrug, Daphne opened the closet and fished around, seeking the costume she wanted to wear in this, her last performance ever.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Jasper lowered the papers he’d been reading, surprised to see Aubrey entering the library, a place he rarely shared with guests. His friend must have persuaded the butler of some great need, most likely a restless hunger for activity despite how few hours sleep must have claimed. The sun had just begun to sink below the horizon.

  They’d been at his engagement party late into the night, so late dawn had touched the sky before his carriage brought them both home. Satisfaction filled Jasper at the thought of his bride, something he’d never dreamed of experiencing. He closed his eyes, the memory of her lips beneath his making heat rise and pool within him. He couldn’t wait to see her again and had to suppress the need to call on her this very afternoon.

  “I thought as much,” Aubrey said, settling into a chair at his side. “Even politics or farm work can’t keep her from your mind, can they?”

  Jasper smiled. “No, I doubt anything will succeed for long. She’s no further than my thoughts, though our bodies are some distance.”

  Instead of congratulating him, Aubrey frowned. “Giving up your heart is a noble step, but not if it wounds you so deep that you lose the joys of life. I never thought I’d be one to encourage your notion of confining your lady wife to a distant property, but I wonder if it might be better for the two of you if you don’t give up the dancer.”

  Jasper opened his mouth to reveal his delicious secret then shut it again. He could no more share her past with his best friend than offer up Aubrey’s secrets against her soft breast. “I’ve made my decision, and I’ll stand by it,” he said instead, placing the pile of tallies on a side table before pushing to his feet. “Though I enjoy your company, my friend, I have much to do before the wedding. I’m afraid you’ll have to find pleasures on your own for the day at least.”

  Aubrey rose as well, sending Jasper a dubious look. “So you are decided? Nothing can sway you?”

  Aware of things beyond the ken of his friend, Jasper replaced his smile with a serious nod. “Nothing.”

  Turning, Aubrey stepped to the library door where he paused, swiveling back to look at his friend. “Not even the chance to see your dancer perform? To test your resolve and secure your decision?”

  Jasper stared at him, trying to pretend he hadn’t heard what he thought he had. “She’s performing tonight? You know this for sure?” he ground out, ignoring his friend’s look of surprise.

  Aubrey slipped back into the room. “I guess you haven’t quite managed the se
paration you’d hoped for. Runners are out in all the right places calling the news. A grand extravaganza they claim, featuring none other than the one who holds your heart.” He put a hand on Jasper’s arm. “Come with me. What harm can it do that’s not already done? If you can watch her unmoved, then carry on with your plan. If not, better you learn now then become embittered as the years pass and your only chance vanished long ago.”

  Jasper jerked from under the touch, struggling for control when anger whipped through him at her audacity. Did she think he wouldn’t find out? Did she think she could parade herself before the crowds, and he would only sit back and smile? He’d thought they’d found an understanding the night before, but she’d played him the fool. All that maidenly shrinking and embarrassment had covered up a mercenary heart that he’d have to tame.

  “We’re going, all right,” he declared, reaching for his coat. “I’m putting a stop to this once and for all.”

  Pulling Aubrey in his wake, he shouted for the carriage, his gruff tone making his butler frown.

  Aubrey stopped in the front hall, jerking Jasper as well. “Put a stop to what? Your heart? And it’s early yet. Let’s have a civilized meal or we’ll be at the door well before it opens.”

  Jasper turned to stare at his friend for a long moment then realized he could offer no explanation, no reason for his need to capture the dancer before she set foot on the stage. Running a hand through his hair in frustration, he signaled his agreement with a tight nod.

  She’d won this round. He had no way to prevent her performance without creating just the stir he had to avoid at all costs. No matter what she’d been in the past, he refused to give up his heart twice. No breath of scandal would touch her name. His mother would not have the slightest reason to cancel their wedding. He meant to have this woman and none other if he had to lock her in a cage to make it happen. Not that he planned to keep her in one any longer than it took to overcome her stubborn nature.

  THE THEATER SEEMED UNUSUALLY CROWDED when they arrived a few long hours later. Jasper swung down from the carriage, a heavy frown pulling at his cheeks as he contemplated the mix of society matrons, young bucks, and the scattering of tradesfolk all waiting for the doors to open. He couldn’t help but think they’d come to see his bride, come to ogle what no properly brought up young woman would ever display.

  “And more the fool I, who hopes to get through this without a whisper of gossip that could threaten the ties to bind her to my side,” he muttered to himself.

  “What was that?” Aubrey asked, speaking louder than usual over the crowd.

  Jasper only shook his head, moving forward with the rest as they surged through the now open doors. At least the effort to move without crushing this young lady or tromping on that man’s toes kept his mind from dwelling on what they sought so eagerly.

  He breathed a sigh of relief when he was able to peel away from the crowd and enter the relative quiet of his box, but before he could even settle into his seat, the questions began again, and not those dissecting her motives. Was it this part of her that he’d come to love? He planned to take it from her, confine her to the limitations society imposed on one of her status to protect her family and his own. Would she wilt, or would she thrive? Was he the one to crush her soul in the name of propriety? Could he give her enough to make up for losing the adoration of so many?

  The thrill of notes from flutes followed by a heavy drum strike pulled Jasper from his thoughts. He leaned on the balcony, no less eager for the first sight of her than the randy bachelors lining the other boxes.

  Men he’d named friend not so long ago now irritated him as they stared down at his fiancée, undressing her with their eyes, feasting on her form and lusting after her. His stomach churned with anger and an odd envy for their easy emotions. Fingers clenched on the balcony rail, Jasper forced his attention to stay on her, trying to find something soothing in her motions where he knew a glance around would only send flaming heat through his body.

  Instead of relaxation, a different heat rose to fill him, and Jasper vowed she’d still dance for him at least. He could not take the movements from her, the clear expression of her deepest emotions. Still, he planned to shield her from other eyes if he had to lock her in a tower to which only he held the key. Again, anger pushed away everything else, feeding on his desire and returning a deep rage that had him fighting the need to challenge each and every one of the men watching her perform.

  Finally the curtain sank to the stage from each side and the lights came up, revealing an intermission after a much longer than usual routine.

  Jasper shoved to his feet.

  “Bring me something?” Aubrey asked.

  Jasper only shook his head, knowing he needed to step outside and cool his head.

  Aubrey rose to come with him, pausing at the door to whisper, “You’re not planning trouble with her again?”

  Jasper gave him a grim smile. “Stay and enjoy the rest. I’m planning to avoid what trouble would erupt if I were to stay here even a moment longer. The chill air should do much to cool my temper.”

  His friend stepped aside to let Jasper pass, giving him an odd look, but said nothing further.

  Jasper struggled with his temper as every group he passed offered up yet another comment doomed to inflame his blood.

  “She’s a ripe one,” a young dandy offered to his crowd.

  “I’d not mind one like her to bury my sorrows,” from an older man.

  A matron raised her spectacles to peer toward the stage even though the dancer had long left. “Some randy lord’ll snap her right up, leaving broken hearts in his wake, I’d wager,” she offered to her friend, apparently unaware of his presence as he sought to pass them.

  The comments continued, both appreciative and bawdry, but none that served to calm him. By the time he burst through the door into the cool night air, he almost panted with aggravation. He wanted to march back in and press a knife to first one throat and then another, discovering a violent streak in himself where before he’d been the first to mock those who chose duels as any form of a solution. They could not know how they offended, nor could he tell them.

  He turned at the corner and paced down to the doorway he knew she’d use to leave once the performance ended. Another minute inside with her admirers, and he could not be held responsible for the destruction he would wreck in his haste to protect her virtue. Better he shiver here and wait her out, letting the cold calm him where her motions within would only inflame.

  After pacing the length of the alley once, twice, and then again, his speed finally slowed along with his thoughts until all he cared was that it end here and now. She had to listen. Whatever she hoped to gain in this display, he’d convince her, somehow, to see it brought only risk and danger of ruin.

  ONCE EVERYONE RETURNED TO THEIR seats and the lights came down, Daphne handed over the baton, passing her life to another as Cynthia had planned. The audience reacted to the moment with a variety of dismayed sounds, but no anger. As she’d hoped, they only wanted a grand farewell.

  Turning to face them for the last time, she made an elegant curtsy, ignoring shouted requests to unmask and reveal the mystery. She pressed both hands to her cheeks and shook her head in mock horror, drawing spontaneous laughter from many of the vague shadows hovering beyond the stage lights.

  A gut-wrenching pain filled her as she stared out at those faces she could see no more than they could see hers. She’d miss these moments with the audience holding her in its palm, following her emotions along with her movements.

  Almost against her will, she looked toward the boxes. Was he up there in the shadows? She forgot her attempt to lash back and wanted only for him to have enjoyed her final performance. If a hint of understanding crept in for what she’d have to give up, she wouldn’t complain.

  Her body moved automatically through the familiar steps of changing out of her costume and restoring the low-level maid she pretended to be when traveling. If her hand lin
gered on the costume or her fingers trailed along the screen, no one said anything, the other dancers all busy preparing for their last sets of the night. She envied them this life even though she’d guess any one of them would happily switch places if given the choice.

  Finally ready, Daphne moved to leave the room only to stop when Cynthia blocked her way, sweat shining on her cheeks and forehead. Daphne flinched, waiting for the latest spew of vile hate. This was one part of her hidden life she would never miss. As much as she longed for female companionship, she had not found it here.

  “Thanks for that,” Cynthia said, breaking through her thoughts. “After all done between us, you didn’t owe me anything. Still, you acted right fine.”

  Daphne stared at her in shock then smiled. “Make Monsieur Henre proud, Cynthia. And love every minute that you’re on the stage. Love it enough for the both of us.”

  The other dancer smiled back, her expression growing slowly until it covered her face. “I will. Never fear I don’t know exactly what I’ve won in this. The center stage gets in your heart and…I guess you know all about that.”

  Daphne nodded, her gaze pinned to the floor because she could not face the desire and joy in the other woman’s eyes. Without another word, she turned away, leaving the changing room, and soon the performance hall, for the last time. She’d never come here as part of the audience. The change in position would tear her apart.

  Natural enthusiasm struggled with her morose mood all the way down the corridor, and by the time she reached the end of the passage, her thoughts dwelled not on the final moments but on her dynamic performance before then. She’d danced with more energy, more heart, than ever before, outstripping herself by a wide margin.

  “They’ll think of me,” she whispered to the dark hall. “They’ll think of me long after I’ve become no more than one of the matrons who gather in my mother’s parlor to discuss the failings of the latest run of girls coming out.”

  The energy of her performance and a grand sense of moving on to another life, one filled with new experiences, made her feel like she floated along. She laughed as she stepped through the open door, tugging her mask off for the final time.