A Country Masquerade

by Margaret McGaffey Fisk

  Visions of a ride with Sarah along for company vanished at this description. She could not imagine what they’d find to converse about, nor had Barbara any interest in watching him handle what most likely were a skittish pair through the busy lanes of the garden, but she’d said too much to withdraw with any measure of grace.

  “I’ll not have my daughter going about in some racing equipment, young man,” her father said, leaning in the door. “You will return tomorrow at a reasonable hour and in a sturdy vehicle with space enough for my daughter’s maid. For now, I think our repast is ready and have no interest in a meal gone off warm.”

  The baron apologized all the way to the front door, and Barbara barely restrained the need to hug her father for his rescue.

  “A racing phaeton. Just imagine,” Lord Whitfeld muttered to himself as he escorted her to the breakfast room, clearly having his own reasons for denying the baron his wish.

  For just a heartbeat, she wondered how it would be to have the wind rushing through her hair as they sped down the lane. Convention constrained her from ever finding out, but she’d prefer her own hand on the reins, something so far beyond the pale as to be unimaginable, or should have been.

  “ANOTHER OFFER WAS IT?” HER mother asked as they joined her for the meal. “And so eager. He must not have been as late at the theater the previous night as we were.”

  Barbara let her father explain the early engagement as she gathered a selection from the side table. At least she had a carriage ride to look forward to. She had not been dissembling when she said she’d do better for some fresh air.

  “That’s an impressive list you’ve gathered, my dear,” Lady Whitfeld announced at last, drawing Barbara into the conversation. “A duke, a marquess, a viscount, and a baron or two. Even better, all but one of them is in good standing with the banks.”

  Facing her mother’s eager expression across the table soured what remained of Barbara’s cheer. “And what’s so impressive about them?”

  Her question startled both parents, her mother going so far as to drop the knife she’d been holding. It clattered to the table as she stared at Barbara.

  “Impressive are their titles and social standing. Why, any of the group would ensure your place in society, and that of your children,” her mother said with a pointed look to her own progeny. Having been raised in a tradesman’s house, wealthy or not, Lady Whitfeld’s elevation had been marked, her husband a prime catch.

  “And that they have avoided the layers of debt sinking so many of the peerage is a measure of their acumen, especially at so young an age.”

  “More likely that of their parents or men of business.” Barbara glanced from one parent to the next. “Is it so wrong to want what you have? To measure my life partner by more than the blunt in his pocket and his crest?”

  Her parents exchanged a concerned look, but it was her mother who answered, “We did not come to this marriage with the understanding we have reached. It grew in the course of our lives. You see the result of much hard work and compromise. It’s not something that can be measured in the courting.”

  A laugh came from her lips before she could smother it. “Are you saying Father chose you for practical concerns? I, for one, don’t believe that for a moment. He’s only happy to see those with good management because he’d been one of them and could marry for reasons other than to rescue his own inheritance.”

  “Really, Barbara. Is that any way to speak to your mother?” Lord Whitfeld clearly could not deny the words so chose to question her tone instead.

  She did not understand why they were so determined for her to settle when her father had not.

  “It’s different for the girls,” Lady Whitfeld said as though Barbara had spoken her question aloud, “And where your father weighs in your favor, my own background is much more humble.”

  Barbara lowered her fork to the table, taking a moment to settle it against the fine linen before asking, “Are you saying we cannot secure a second season or even a third?”

  From the flush that rose to color her father’s neck, the question hit too close to the mark, or so she thought until he marshalled a response.

  “I won’t have you spreading rumors about my pockets. We are as well set up as any, and better than most. It’s not a matter of suffering your indecision. It’s how long you have to find a match before you start to look as though you are on the shelf compared to the fresh flowers, or you get a reputation for dangling hope when there is none.”

  Lady Whitfeld leaned across the table to brush Barbara’s hand. “Right now you’re the belle of the ball, my dear. Gentlemen hope to claim a spot on your card while the young ladies look to you for someone to emulate. Such a state cannot last. Soon enough, the gentlemen will sour at being set against each other, and the girls will start to wonder at how you diminish their hopes by collecting all the eligible suitors for yourself. Some might even come to question your breeding, or think you vindictive.”

  Her thoughts flashed to Aubrey, but her parents could not know the cause for her change in state.

  Lord Whitfeld clasped his wife’s hand, smiling at her even as he spoke. “Though you have the right of my feelings, I was not the only one to notice such a beauty. The reasons her parents supported my offer out of the many made had little to do with how well we would suit so many years later.”

  Barbara leaned forward to watch her parents, feeling in awe and much the intruder as she often did. How could they deny her desire for the same connection with her life mate?

  Her mother turned then and met her gaze. “Unlike you, my father had no intention of letting a flighty young girl, in his own words, make so important a decision as to choose her husband, especially not when he hoped to gain a place in society as a result.” She glanced at her husband before continuing, “And I had no way of knowing his interest would deepen from an infatuation to something much stronger. Why, we barely knew each other back then. No more than you know any of those now vying for your hand.”

  The rattle of teacups against their saucers gave voice to the force with which Barbara propelled herself up from the table. “So your grand advice is what? Go down to White’s and toss a few cards to choose among them? Or maybe head to the docks and roll dice? If there’s no way to judge my future from what I can see, where’s the point in a choice at all?”

  “Now, Barbara, don’t agitate yourself.” Her father half rose to stop her. “We’re not saying there’s no choice to be made, just that you do not have the ability to see into the future. The aspects you might consider important now could prove to be so much less so. This is why parents judge based on title and wealth. If you suit at all, there’s a chance you’ll grow to have more of a connection as you face life together.”

  “A chance. A hope. These are not words to measure my future against. None of these gentlemen give me the least expectation of their regard deepening, nor do I have even a passing fancy for them.”

  This time both her parents thrust to their feet, albeit with more grace so the table didn’t shift.

  “Barbara, if you are incapable of taking this task, then we will have to choose for you,” her father announced even as her mother said, “No need to be so frivolous.”

  The last struck harder, measuring as it did against Aubrey’s plain speaking where he thought he would not be overheard, but Barbara ignored the twinge to glare at her father. “You promised I could make the choice, and you’ll not be changing that. I will make a decision, but I will not be hasty, and it will not be now. Now, I’m going for a ride to clear my head.”

  As she left the room, she heard her mother exclaim, “I knew no good would come of giving our daughter her way in this.”

  She did not hear her father’s reply, but didn’t need to. She had enough to fuel her angry march through the house in how her father tried to go back on his word and her mother saw frivolity in a diminishing hope for happiness.

  “Sarah,” she called out as soon as she reached her rooms, k
nowing her friend would be busy arranging the next of her outfits. “Where are you, Sarah? I’m going for a ride, and you’ll be my chaperone.”

  Her friend glanced up from the outfit she’d been repairing. “Now?”

  “Yes, right now.”

  Whether picking up on her tone, or just as eager to leave the confines of their town house, Barbara could not complain about the maid’s speed. Still, it seemed an age before they quit the residence.

  If only she had a field to bolt across like she had when visiting her uncle as a child. Here she had only tidy streets and a garden where any hint of wildness would set the gossips spinning.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Barbara handled her palfrey with ease, Sarah having no difficulty either. They’d both ridden many a more challenging beast at Uncle Ferrier’s stables, and on more difficult terrain, but there they could flaunt convention, hitch up their skirts, and sit astride. In Hyde Park, though, where they could encounter all manner of elegant members of society, Barbara had to keep her disposition, and position, within the bounds of convention.

  “It’s so unfair, Sarah,” she burst out as they ambled along the bridle path. “For every moment there is a rule, or a half dozen, and horrors if you slip up even once. The gossips will dine on your story until nothing is left of your reputation to salvage. Look at us, competent and able, yet confined to perch on unstable equipage, while if our horses dare stretch their legs, we must rein them in tight enough to put a permanent curl in their necks.”

  Sarah glanced at the path quickly filling with others enjoying the cool breezes in early summer. “Would you rather give them their heads and trample all those before you? Sometimes convention serves the people as in this case.”

  The image rose before Barbara’s eyes and she stifled a laugh at the thought. “You understand me well enough. I have the need to run, but there’s no place I can do so, on horseback or on foot, without bringing the eyes of the ton onto my head and provoking my mother to wrath.”

  “Your mother could manage at best an icy tone, as well you know. She indulges you almost as much as your father does, much to their current regret.”

  Barbara twisted in her saddle at that, threatening to loosen the whole and send her flying to the ground. “You are on their side then? You think I should be grateful for my offers, and choose one among them with the hope affection might grow?”

  “It is how most find their way to a comfortable existence. Another effective convention with the years behind it as proof.”

  Barbara’s fidgeting set the horse to sidle, and she barely managed not to crash into a young man passing them.

  “Good day, ladies,” he said, touching the brim of his rather impressive top hat.

  “Good day,” they murmured in response, Sarah making no attempt to correct the impression she belonged with Barbara by station as well as affection. Dressed in one of Barbara’s cast-off riding habits, she had the mark of a lady if not the bloodline.

  Barbara held her tongue long enough for him to move out of earshot before returning to their conversation. “Take that young gentleman. He sees the two of us following all the strict rules governing a ride in London from our dresses to the sideways perch. He judges us based on those same rules, just as all the gentlemen who sought after me have done. They see not the person but how well the person conforms to the rules. If I were to demand they see me as I am, I’d break the rules enough that none would want to be seen in my vicinity, much less to tie their lives to mine.”

  “The way you go on about them, sometimes I wonder if you wouldn’t find value in such an event.” The sparkle in her eyes gave away Sarah’s teasing more than her words, but to a degree, they properly described the situation.

  “Would a spinster’s life be so bad? You would no longer have to worry about fitting into a new household. We could stay with the familiar. My father’s estate will pass into my charge so we’d not want for money, and my mother may encourage me to find a match, but you know she dreads the loss of female companionship.”

  Sarah shook her head, the picture clearly too daunting to imagine. “You do not have it in you to become the retiring spinster, and you’d lack widowhood to bestow a cloak of respectability. Besides, with as many suitors as you have collected already, should you try to withdraw from the field, I’m sure one amongst them would take it upon himself to throw you over his horse and race you up to Gretna Green before you could settle into a spinster state. I suspect your father wouldn’t contest the action either.” She laughed at the thought before continuing, “It’s not the life for you, nor would you be happy to fall to it. You’ve always been one for choices, and you’re lucky in this to have many.”

  Barbara waited for a woman with three young children to cross their path then said with as much force as the patience had created, “A choice between nothings is still nothing. Not a one of them has any idea who I am. How am I to trust that they are choosing me and not some image built up from layer upon layer of convention?”

  Her voice having risen louder than she’d intended, Barbara gave a quick glance ahead to see whether she could have been overheard.

  Had she been walking, she would have stumbled.

  As it was, a blush heated her cheeks at the sight of just who approached on the cross path. She would suffer a hundred deaths if she were to learn he’d overheard her pained exclamation.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Sarah give her an odd look, but she couldn’t shift her gaze from the man coming ever closer, propelled by his own horse and hers, both keeping to the steady gait prescribed by the very convention she’d scorned.

  A quickly indrawn breath showed her friend had just noticed what captured Barbara’s attention, but it made no difference. Barbara had no time to relax her features before Aubrey glanced toward her, his look of concentration fading as he became aware of their presence.

  His face transformed with a smile that set Barbara’s heart to pounding, a response induced by the reminder of his cutting comments, or so she told herself.

  “Good da—”

  Barbara didn’t give him the chance to finish his greeting.

  She pressed her spur into the side of her palfrey with a little more force than intended.

  The horse leapt forward, almost making her humiliation complete, but she managed to throw her weight to the right enough to keep her saddle in place, an effort that denied her more than a blurred impression of his smile turning to confusion before she’d gone far enough to lose him behind her. Had she fallen, he’d be obliged to come to her aid, another way convention would serve to harm her, but as it was, for him to charge after in hopes of an explanation would violate those very conventions she had broken.

  Sarah came up on her side, a frown gracing her features. “That was not kind,” she chided. “You claim you want people to know your true nature, but if this is what you meant, perhaps your hopes of a future are better served by staying within the rules.”

  Barbara said nothing, waiting for her pulse to settle from the strain of the chance meeting with one she’d hoped to avoid. It seemed God sought to punish her for every last transgression by taunting her with her mistakes. Had Aubrey but been the man she’d thought him, she’d have delighted in the chance to join her way to his and share insights.

  As it was, she could not stand a moment in his presence without his cutting words resounding in her ears and making her aware every thought he conveyed served only to mask the rot that formed his center. No matter how pretty the dressing, if the meat beneath had spoiled, the illness to follow made any enjoyment lose its value.

  AUBREY REINED IN HIS GELDING and stared after the two ladies, his muddled thoughts unable to absorb what had just occurred.

  He could not fathom what the dark-haired beauty had against him, the same woman Isabella held in such high regard if he had not been mistaken, but neither could he imagine the charge from his presence an accident, not when she’d shown such skill in righting herself.

  H
aving grown up surrounded by girls, he’d once tried his seat on one of the saddles meant for women. He could safely state they required either miracle or great skill to manage at anything faster than a sedate walk.

  She’d mastered the ungainly object without even a yelp of fear, a trait unexpected in one of the young ladies in London. She must have spent some time in the country to have such a talented seat.

  The observation struck him as funny, but he had no one with which to share it since Jasper had returned to the country, leaving London that much more barren a place.

  Aubrey gave a half salute to the rapidly departing ladies, the Whitfeld daughter having won him one favor at least.

  He’d set out on this ride firmly aware of the solitude, and not having sought it out. While he appreciated the fresh air and activity, he felt much more conscious of the slim company he now kept.

  In one quick encounter, she’d wiped the sorry state from his mind for long enough to get a glimpse of a lovely countenance despite the shade of her bonnet.

  However, instead of discovering if more lay behind her pleasant features than a vapid emptiness as Isabella had promised, she’d offered up a curiosity, a mystery even, and one he might just have to solve at the next chance.

  Aubrey shook his head with a laugh. Her response most likely was rooted in his failure to join the crowd around her at every event. Yet despite that realization, he continued on his way in a much lighter mood. Perhaps he’d been a little too hasty in her case, missing the quarry in the blur of sameness offered by the other debutantes.

  He’d planned to beg off the night’s dance since his mother felt well enough to attend, but something told him better sport would be found on the dance floor than at White’s.

  If nothing else, he could ensure Isabella had the opportunity to engage in conversation with the one she considered worth emulating. Far better that than let his mother take hand in the situation and push Isabella too fast and too far until she had been reduced to a shadow of her lively self and all potential suitors overlooked her value.