A Country Masquerade

by Margaret McGaffey Fisk

  With a shake of his head, Jasper murmured, “You poor, bedeviled man. Surrounded by young, fertile, beautiful women all eager to accept a dance, and you find no conversation to be had.”

  The mischief in his eyes undercut his attempt at sympathy. Instead, he punched Aubrey on the shoulder. “You should be out there dancing, not lingering here with the married men and older women. You’ll not find the lady to match you without taking a step toward them. One might think you afraid the way you cling to the shadows. They’re just girls. Nothing to fear.”

  Aubrey rubbed his arm and gave Jasper a frown with more weight than his friend’s expression had held. “If I fear for anything, it’s for my sanity. You think I came to this position by chance? Point me out this Whitfeld girl your mother thinks would make a good match. I dare you to mark her in this crowd. If she has anything to distinguish her, let that guide you. But once you realize they’re all cut from the same cloth with no distinguishing feature beyond who is bold and frivolous, or shy and frivolous, can you please let it rest. I hear enough of this from my mother and sisters to hold me in good stead. With you, I expect more, though maybe Daphne has drawn the wit from your tongue as much as the cynic from your heart. My coin rests on this girl being the worst of the lot if your mother’s past ventures are any measure of her understanding.”

  This time the serious expression on his friend’s visage held nothing of mockery as he laid a heavy hand on Aubrey’s shoulder. “You’re right. I have no cause to challenge you in your search. You know how little my own efforts had to do with my success better than most. I’m only in London for a short while, and here I’ve dragged you to a debutante party just so I didn’t have to suffer it on my own. What say we head down to White’s instead? There we’ll find your greybeards and likely a conversation or two with more meaning than the words exchanged between movements.”

  “You forget I’d have been here whether you needed the company or not. I can’t very well abandon my sister, and this late in the day, the conversations will be dulled by the spirits already consumed.”

  “Better that than here among the geese as you so carefully described them. Come with me. My mother will be delighted to take over as chaperone, and can send your sister home in state when the last dance has come to a close. I’ll even divert any attempt to introduce you to the Whitfeld girl as my penance. As of this moment, I swear to provide you an environment free of debutantes, especially those who want to bend your ear about fashion and weather.”

  Remembering just how easily Jasper could talk him into trouble, still Aubrey found himself agreeing. Surely The Dowager Lady Pendleton would make a suitable substitute, and if she could steer Isabella toward some compatible gentlemen, maybe the endless round of events would cease. With his other two sisters already married, she remained the last to secure her future.

  The thought held less joy than might have been expected from his sour words earlier, but his mood had little to do with the goal of these events and much to do with his own failure to find a young lady he’d be willing to spend an afternoon with, much less his whole life. Should Isabella choose a suitor, his mother’s full attention would turn to his unhappy bachelor state.

  BARBARA STRUGGLED TO RESTRAIN HERSELF as she fought the need to leap up and tell Aubrey just what she thought of him now.

  Sarah had spoken truly when she called out Barbara’s description of him as fantasy.

  She’d grown tired of the constant rounds and dances, and settled here only moments before when she noticed Aubrey in deep discussion. Never had she imagined they’d be discussing her very own self.

  All this time, Barbara had been so worried she’d come across as tongue-tied when introduced and spoil that delicate first impression. She shouldn’t have worried at all. He didn’t even need to meet her to judge her unworthy.

  Fuming, she glared as two men made their way across the room to speak with their hostess, and the woman who’d birthed this stranger from what Barbara had overheard. She remembered her mother mentioning some manner of upset regarding the man and his marriage bed, but he seemed well enough set up now, unlike her Aubrey.

  No, Barbara thought, not her Aubrey. She had no intention of tying herself to such an arrogant bore. All his talk of the female spirit, and this was how he truly viewed them. His every virtue proved to be little more than a show, and he called her frivolous.

  The glare she sent to his back should have melted the fine-cut jacket if there were any justice in the world. But for that to happen, he had to care for her opinions. He clearly did not. He saw her as nothing more than a goose among a flock of same, with—what had he said?—nothing to distinguish her.

  Rage welled up enough to make the room uncomfortably warm, and she sprang to her feet, unable to sit a moment longer. She scanned the room until she caught the eye of a young viscount she’d been introduced to earlier.

  He flushed at her bold gaze, but it did not deter him from coming over to claim her hand.

  Barbara barely noticed him though, as she saw Aubrey headed for the door. She laughed aloud, though whether the viscount said a word that could have been entertaining, she hadn’t a clue. No, she only wanted Aubrey to see her, to distinguish her from the rest as the most frivolous of all. So he’d judged her, so she would prove to be.

  Though the target of her anger left with barely a glance in the direction of the dancers, anger fueled Barbara through the rest of the night. She smiled, laughed, and danced until her feet ached almost more than her tattered heart.

  How could she have missed the truth in her careful study of the man? How could she not have seen how arrogance overcame wit, how rather than being helpful, he sought only to raise his own importance?

  She had no more answers when her mother called for their carriage than she’d possessed upon her discovery, but the seeds of her anger had blossomed into what could only be hatred.

  “Barbara, my dear, I’d never have thought it of you, but tonight you were the belle of the ball. Take care not to crowd out all the other girls, but it warms my heart to see you taking a true interest in your coming out. Here I thought you scornful of the whole event. Beyond the readings, you seemed more interested in talking politics with your father.” She gave a delicate shudder. “And yet you proved me wrong. Lady Pendleton knows how to provide a ball for the society papers, and you’re sure to have a mention or two. Why, I wouldn’t be surprised if the Viscount Charleston doesn’t send round for permission, and he’s not the only one.”

  Pressing a hand to her temples, Barbara stared into the inky darkness beyond the carriage window. She couldn’t remember which of the many gentlemen to share her dance card had been Charleston, but it didn’t matter much. None of them had distinguished themselves any more than Aubrey saw among the young ladies.

  “Just remember you promised the choice would be mine to make,” Barbara said, cutting through another enthusiastic accounting.

  “Yes, yes. Though why we agreed still baffles me. Your father ought to know well enough by now the risks of giving you your head. Still, with your beauty to counter how you overthink every blessed thing, perhaps it’s best to hold out for the most promising offer. It’s not as though you’ll be limited to the one, what with how engaging you were this night.”

  She reached out to stroke a hand down one of the curls Sarah had left free when tending to Barbara’s hair, as though beauty held more value than any other feature. And perhaps in this lifetime, she had the right of it, for surely no one judged Barbara for her words.

  Just yesterday evening, this conversation would have amused Barbara to no end, having already chosen the one offer she’d accept no matter who else came calling. Now she had little reason to hold her parents to their word, a promise extracted after she’d heard Aubrey speak out against the dismissal of all female persons.

  He’d been mocked by his fellows as having been raised in a female-infested environment, but he’d held firm. She could only wonder at his purpose now that she knew his t
rue nature. Had he known she sat listening? And if he had, it seemed brutally clear he’d seen only the curls her mother loved so much and not the person hidden beneath them.

  Barbara straightened her spine and forced her gaze to where her mother sat at her side. “I suspect I’ve begun anew, Mother. No more will I seek after those who show false wit and modesty. Why confine myself when there are so many willing to court my pleasant features? The season has just begun for me, though it’s already half over.”

  Her mother had the foresight to look a little perturbed at Barbara’s announcement, but then how could she protest when this had been what she’d wanted from the start? She had no need to know what motivated Barbara’s change, nor would she ever find out. Not a single person would know of the burning ache having taken up residence in Barbara’s chest, an ache born not of action but of lost chances and false appearances. The man she’d thought Aubrey to be had clearly never existed anywhere beyond her very own head.

  She would neither settle for someone of lesser stature, nor sit on the sidelines as she waited for this paragon to appear. Sarah had been right all along. Had she studied less and procured an introduction sooner, she would have learned his true nature before he weaseled his way into her heart. She would not make that mistake again. Perhaps the gentlemen she’d danced with this night had little to distinguish themselves, but unlike Aubrey, she had no intention of judging them unfairly. She would make a point of speaking to every single one of them before she decided who would have the pleasure—nay, privilege—of joining his life to her own.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Barbara let her gaze wander around the room, trying not to look for the one man she hoped never to see again.

  The drawing room had been made over into a small theater, rows of chairs facing a dais where select members would read poetry and perhaps the hostess would convince her daughter to play a tune on the pianoforte.

  Just a few days earlier, Barbara would have looked forward to such an event, hoping to learn of a poet she had yet to encounter, yes, but also on the off chance she could let Aubrey’s deep tones pull her into the world of imagination.

  Now, though she would not admit this to anyone—not even Sarah—she grew tired of the round of parties, balls, poetry readings, and the like. Everyone seemed too lively, and her the worst of all as she played for an audience that had yet to make an appearance.

  “It’s so easy for you,” the girl seated to her right said, placing a hand on Barbara’s arm. “With such rich curls and smooth skin, why you have every gentleman in London at your feet without even trying.”

  Barbara gave the girl a faint smile, knowing any attempt to explain how her beauty offered more obstacle than support would fail. She wracked her memory for the girl’s name along with a topic her mother would consider appropriate.

  As much as she hated to admit it, she’d had the same disparaging thoughts about the other debutantes as Aubrey proclaimed, but having felt the pain of them, she was determined never to fall into such a trap again. She would not put herself above these poor girls who most likely had no chance to learn better. Not every father allowed his female children into the library, and often even then, they’d be steered to books of less consequence as their mothers were sure to command what would be acceptable for their young minds.

  She forgot herself enough to let out a sigh, recognizing the offense too late to repair it.

  Hannah—Barbara finally remembered—visibly withdrew into herself, her pasty complexion blooming with a red that would have been attractive had it not grown in unsightly patches.

  “I didn’t mean to presume,” Hannah muttered, turning away and twisting her hands together.

  “Oh, please, it’s I who must apologize. I fear I’ve had too little sleep of late to be much company. My mother is determined to make the most of the season, and I find it wearying.”

  Hannah turned back with a shy smile. “Don’t let anyone else hear you say that or people will start to question your stamina, though how they could with the way you take command of the dance floor, I know not. Some of the girls thought a duel would break out over the last spot on your card the other night.”

  Barbara ducked her head even as she remembered the contest of words that almost had her hand the card over for them to share so she could just go home.

  She laughed; she danced; she made pretty conversation.

  Her mother had been nothing but encouraging and delighted to see Barbara making an effort at last. Talk around the table tossed out titles as though they were nothing less than diamonds. Word had it a duke had expressed interest even. That information made her ever more grateful for the promise she’d extracted. He was sixty if a day, and gout kept him from the dance floor or any other activity beyond gossiping about his fellows, but apparently she’d caught his eye from the sidelines.

  There’d been a time when the attention might have lightened her spirits, though better if she felt any of them saw beyond the pretty wrapping to the person below. But the marriage mart offered little chance for a true meeting of minds. The lucky girls were able to present their accomplishments in gatherings such as these, but accomplishments had little to do with thought. Stitching, music, dance. These were the signs of a proper upbringing, not reading or considerations of politics and law.

  She barely managed to suppress another offending sigh when Hannah grabbed her arm with a grip strong enough to bruise.

  “Look. There he is. I do so hope he’ll be reading tonight. His voice makes a shiver run down my spine.”

  Barbara knew in her gut just whom she’d see when she turned, but no matter how much she told herself not to look, her gaze fell on none other than Aubrey St. Vincent, resplendent in his coat and trousers. Her heart gave a jump before she remembered just how little the man thought of her, or rather that he thought her to be so little.

  She shifted in her seat so he would not be within her vision and sought another topic of conversation, but Hannah would not be persuaded to turn aside.

  “There goes young Emily. She’s much too precocious by half. She pretends to like his sister, Isabella, but she hardly gave the girl a nod when her mother was escorting her about. We’re not fooled, are we, Barbara? She’s set her cap for Lord Aubrey St. Vincent and will do whatever she can to catch his attention. It’s deplorable.”

  Barbara needed neither to agree nor disagree. The words were clearly quoted from someone, most likely Hannah’s mother, or perhaps her older sister with the lack of the title. The young girl’s expression held more of longing than contempt.

  “He’s not worth your consideration.”

  That got Hannah’s attention if only for a quick glance. “How can you say that? To claim he’s kind on the eyes is understating the truth, his voice is a dream, and I’ve heard tell he even spoke on letting women into Oxford. Imagine that. Not something I would ever aspire to, but it certainly offers proof of his preferential gaze on the female sort, don’t you think? Not to mention he’s heir to the Earl.”

  Not wanting to explain how she’d come by her reluctance, Barbara gave a slight shrug. “It would appear so. It’s not always the case that appearances are truth is all I meant. And you want to be cautious.”

  Hannah turned to her then with a frown. “Not all of us have so many vying for our least attention that we can afford to be cautious as you say. Besides, it does no harm at all to dream. I have as little chance as Lady Emily even were I to mirror her actions and throw myself at his feet.”

  The fierce words gave Barbara pause, showing as they did a much deeper consideration than any conversation they’d exchanged so far. “Don’t be so quick to measure yourself wanting, Hannah. There is someone out there for you who will look askance at all others only to settle his gaze upon you and never turn away.”

  As though the serious moment had never occurred, Hannah colored once again. “You truly think so?”

  Ignoring her own predicament, Barbara gave a firm nod. “I truly think so.”

>   And thinking so had gotten her into this trouble in the first place. She’d been so sure Aubrey held that place only to discover him a wolf in sheep’s clothing. He’d seemed so serious and constrained, but he had only been so for lack of a companion. Married or not, Lord Pendleton seemed just as happy to spend his time wasting coin at the card tables and drinking himself into a stupor with Aubrey at his side. He’d said so himself.

  “What is it? You look so cross.”

  Barbara hadn’t realized how easily her gaze sought out the source of her thoughts. Not Lord Pendleton rather, but Aubrey St. Vincent. The man had taught her how little she could trust the male half of the species to be what it seemed. She should be grateful for the education, but her aching heart left little room for gratitude.

  “It’s nothing. Something I remembered from earlier.” She dismissed the moment with a wave of her hand, but could not wipe it from her mind as easily as she had from Hannah’s.

  The others gathered round and settled into chairs, a hush falling over the room as the first reader stepped to the front.

  Despite herself, Barbara couldn’t help comparing his stance to that of Aubrey, how his shoulders seemed less broad, his leg less toned, but worst of all was the nasal quality to his voice that made the most eloquent of lines seem overdone. The man who followed him had a deep enough voice, but the wind whistled through his teeth with every fourth word, turning the poem into a hissing contest between snakes until she wanted to beg him to choose something less ridden with any letter sending his tongue to curl against his side teeth.

  Her head started to ache before the third reader, and though she knew herself to be less than fair to any of them, she could not stop how her thoughts measured each against the one performance she had grown to look forward to. The situation only worsened when Aubrey himself took the raised step with a bound and gave the gathered members of the ton a smile sure to melt the hearts of any woman old enough to care and not yet in her grave.