A Country Masquerade

by Margaret McGaffey Fisk

  “That I don’t believe. Your sister may struggle to talk with those outside the family, but you’ve never suffered from that weakness. Simply catch her off guard and get your answer before she remembers whatever reason she has for wishing you gone. Perhaps she was caught up in her own thoughts that day and didn’t even notice you coming.”

  “You make it sound so easy.”

  “And you make it all too hard. If you’ve never spoken to this lady, how can the offense be so great? Speak with her and you’ll find it’s nothing. Mystery solved, but perhaps the start of something more.”

  “You think I haven’t tried to see any other reason for her actions myself? There was little question she meant to avoid me and me alone, but that’s not what makes this near impossible.” He tossed back the remainder of his cognac too quickly and began to cough.

  Jasper snatched up the glass and pounded Aubrey hard between the shoulders with his other hand until Aubrey shrugged his friend off.

  “Nothing is impossible, and something’s wrong for you to give up so quickly,” Jasper said as he returned to his seat to observe Aubrey’s struggles.

  Wiping the water from his eyes, Aubrey gave Jasper a bleary look. “You’re so quick to doubt my persistence that you fail to consider the other possibility. The lady in question has left London behind, sent away by her father for any number of reasons if gossip were to be believed, though none match my own observations, or those of my sister.”

  “Isabella is involved in this as well? No wonder you ran from London as fast as your feet could carry you. Next your mother will be making inquiries on your behalf.” Jasper started to laugh then stopped, an odd look on his face. “You say she was sent from London during her season? Aubrey, seems to me this lady is already taken, a mite prematurely.”

  “And now you. There could be any number of causes beyond that she’s carrying some man’s get. I don’t believe it of her.”

  “You don’t believe it of a lady you know only by reputation, having never spoken a word in her presence? Seems to me you found your match as handily as I found mine. Now you must take steps to convince her of that fact, a bit difficult with her gone.”

  “Which lands me here watching the two of you cooing over each other like a pair of doves. I could not face another moment in London with all those eager mothers when the one who had piqued my attention had made herself, or been made, absent. I’d hoped to find distraction here, not more of the same.”

  Jasper braced his chin on steepled fingers as he studied Aubrey once again. “A week or two in the country may be just what you need to clear your head after all. And if you’re right, you may just find your lady love has returned in your absence all the better for whatever sent her away.”

  He stood, waving one arm in a grand gesture. “I make the library and stables available to you, my friend. There’s fields a plenty, forest, and valley to explore should you tire of reading. Unlike you, I have not the luxury of leisure, but will set aside what time I can to spend with you. I seem to recall a certain horse I’d suggested we visit.”

  Aubrey accepted the gracious offer, grateful for the conversation to turn to other pursuits. Talking with Jasper had solved nothing. He remained plagued by a woman who saw fit to disdain him and he’d no hope of uncovering the cause. His best chance of relief lay in focusing on other things, though he held out little hope based on his experience so far.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  As they finished breakfast the next morning, Daphne turned to Jasper. “I think it’s time. I’ve been thinking about it since Aubrey came down, and I’ve decided it is.”

  Aubrey looked between the two of them, wondering what this could possibly be about.

  “If you’re sure.”

  “Your staff has been endlessly willing to let me practice my teaching, but I need to use that practice. And with Aubrey here, you’ll notice my absence less.”

  “Very well, then. Bettie, please send for Willem.”

  “What is this?” Aubrey asked as he lifted his cup to drink the last of his tea.

  “Daphne plans to teach dance to the local girls as I told you when last I came to London. Perhaps someday she’ll open a dance school there as well.”

  The look of pride Jasper bestowed on his wife was something to be seen, but Aubrey worried of the consequences.

  “Won’t your secret be threatened if you go teaching others your arrangements?”

  Daphne laughed, waving a hand for patience as she got it out of her system. “I’m not teaching performance dance, Aubrey. I’m not the fool you think me. No, I’ll teach them the proper steps, and maybe a little grace. Wait a season or two and you may find the ballroom floor transformed.”

  “Now that would be a sight.”

  “You called for me, mistress?”

  Annoyance swept Daphne’s face, though Aubrey suspected the address not the interruption as its cause. From what Jasper had told him, this young man had been raised practically alongside Daphne from an early age, only taking on a servant’s place once her father brought the two girls to London. With Willem’s involvement in Daphne’s schemes, Aubrey suspected the formality something no less recent than her wedding.

  “Yes, I did. I need you to go down to the village and speak to the landholders. Ask them if their daughters would be interested in formal dance training. Whether a season in London or country dances, a little grace can go quite far.”

  “Very well.”

  He turned to go without further comment, but Jasper caught his arm. “Could you go to the Ferrier household? If I recall correctly, he has some four daughters for my lady’s purposes, but I would ask you to carry another request as well. Ask when it would be a good time for me to bring Aubrey down to see that new yearling put through his paces.”

  “Very well, my lord.”

  Daphne sighed as he left the room. “He’s grown so formal.”

  Jasper gave her a look that spoke of previous discussions. “You asked if it would pain him. He said no. He is only trying to find his proper station in the household.”

  She shoved her plate away. “And I’d thought he’d have found it by now.”

  Aubrey heard the layers of meaning in the words though he lacked the context to comprehend them.

  Jasper caught her hand. “It’s not so easy to redirect a heart, especially when there’s not one to give it to. Give him time, and perhaps your friendship will renew. But perhaps not. If it pains you, I can have him return to your father’s household. Lord Scarborough was sad to lose him.”

  Daphne pulled free with a quick jerk, only to restore the touch a moment later. “I would not send him away just because his discomfort vexes me. If he feels the need, I expect him to come forward. I just miss our friendship.”

  Aubrey shook his head, thinking on the complexity of life. Clearly Willem had more than friendly feelings toward Daphne, and had for some time from the sound of it. He might bemoan his lonely state, but how much worse must it be to watch the bliss the woman he loved had found with another. Station had little to do with the heart.

  Jasper rose from the table, putting an end to the discussion of Willem and his fate. “So, Aubrey, what’s it to be on this bright day? Care to come with me on a tour of my holdings? There are some fences in need of consideration, or so my men tell me.”

  “I’d be happy to.” Learning the extent of the land and getting his bearings could only serve him well should Aubrey choose to escape this company for a ride. Besides, he suspected Jasper would give them the chance for something more exhilarating than a simple amble. The confines of London offered little for those in need of a run without bringing censure down on their heads.

  “ARE YOU SURE YOU DON’t need a hand with that bucket?” Sarah asked Barbara.

  Though the metal bit into her palms, Barbara kept going, head down so she could have warning of potential splashes. “I milked it. I’ll bring it in.”

  From the corner of her eye, she saw Sarah shake her head as she too
carried a bucket, though a much lighter one.

  “If you’d stopped when told, it wouldn’t be so heavy.”

  “And would you have expected me to,” Barbara teased as she slowed her step so the thick milk wouldn’t spill over and be wasted.

  Sarah stopped all together, putting her bucket down in the yard as she started to laugh. With as much effort as she put into the merriment, even her more reasonable level would have been threatened.

  “Excuse me, young misses.”

  They turned toward the unfamiliar voice to see a good-looking young man dressed much the same as they were, though his clothing showed none of the wear on the cast-offs her cousins had lent Barbara.

  Her mother would have been horrified for Barbara to be mistaken for a commoner. She’d worked far too hard raising her daughter as a lady despite her own background. But in that moment, the mistake seemed delightful.

  Barbara offered a quick curtsy.

  A heartbeat later, Sarah followed the gesture without giving Barbara away.

  The young man, though, had eyes for Sarah alone for all he tried to include both of them in his greeting.

  Barbara didn’t blame him.

  With Sarah lost to laughter when he first came upon them, she’d have shone with good humor. Even now, a blush lingered on her cheeks and her eyes glittered in the morning light.

  “You have a message?” Barbara prompted when it seemed the two of them would do nothing but stare. She’d have to remind Sarah of proper comportment when they were once again alone, as ironic as that might be considering the roles were all too often reversed.

  The young man blinked as though returning to awareness all of a sudden. “Yes, of course. I’m Willem Anderson from the Pendleton Manor. My mistress sent me here to speak to the mistress of this house, and I’m to meet with the master as well.”

  Barbara tensed at the name, but had no cause to deny him. “The mistress is Charlotte, I suppose. She’s off in the milking barn. I don’t know where my—the master is, but we can find him for you.”

  If he’d caught her slip, he made no mention of it. His gaze had turned upon Sarah once again.

  Barbara glanced around the yard.

  Cook stood within earshot, and one of the stable hands bathed a horse nearby. As chaperones they would have to do.

  “Why don’t you wait here with Sarah as I go fetch Charlotte?”

  Sarah flushed a deep crimson. “I could not.”

  With a quick nod to the others in the yard, Barbara pointed at the buckets they’d been carrying. “I can’t very well carry my milk pail back the way it came, not with any speed. Someone must watch over them. Surely you don’t expect Willem to take on the task. Or perhaps he’d be willing to carry mine the rest of the way so you can get him a glass of water. It must have been a long walk from the manor.”

  “Not as long as all that,” Willem assured her, “But a drink wouldn’t go amiss. I’d be happy to lend Miss Sarah a hand.”

  Barbara sent her friend a wink as she turned toward the barn. “Just make sure you don’t spill any,” she called over her shoulder only to hear Sarah’s warning of the same.

  “She overfilled the bucket so take care. You wouldn’t want milk to sour on your trousers.”

  Barbara went after Charlotte with measured steps, wanting to give the two of them a chance to talk. No harm could come of it when they’d be here such a short time, and why shouldn’t Sarah have some fun. After all, she had not been the one to get them cast out of London, nor had she suffered to learn the object of her affections had the manners of an oaf.

  “PERHAPS SHE’S PLANNING TO hold grand balls and wants us all to make a good showing,” Jane said later that night, hands smoothing her skirt after sitting down to the meal.

  “She could bring gentlemen from London and it would be just like coming out.” Marian got a dreamy look on her face.

  “Or perhaps she’s just seeking a diversion, and nothing will ever come of it,” Barbara said, her mind on the discovery of who lived in the manor. Remembering just whom they had invited down from London, she hoped that when he finally availed himself of their request, she’d be long gone from here.

  “Really, Cousin Barbara.”

  Marian’s censure shook Barbara from her dwelling on Aubrey long enough to be embarrassed. “I’m sorry,” she said, “but don’t you find it the least bit odd for the lady of the manor to be offering to teach any comer the polite dances?”

  “Are we so far beneath you, then?” Georgiana lashed out.

  “I didn’t mean it that way.”

  “Girls, I haven’t even decided if any of you will be allowed to go,” Charlotte said, her voice sharp. “Can we at least have a meal in peace?”

  That drew the attention off Barbara but without bringing the hoped for peace as Jane jumped on her older sister with, “Why should you be the one to decide. You had a season proper in London before Mother died. Who are you to deny us the shadow of that when it comes calling?”

  “Perhaps Lady Whitfeld will send for one of us to return with Barbara and have a season of our own,” Marian said, her good humor restored quickly as it always did.

  “Perhaps you should spend less time dreaming and more on your chores. A season, in London or elsewhere, is not the glamorous round of balls and events you might think it. It’s confusing and complicated, and can haunt you for a lifetime.”

  Charlotte pressed both hands to her lips as though to catch the words that had already escaped, her normal calm shattered. A deep sorrow showed in her eyes before she closed them and drew a shaky breath as she struggled for control.

  “Girls, you will listen to your sister in this,” their father broke in from where he examined the paper come down from London on the stage. “Be happy with your lot in life. Looking for something beyond you means only grief in the end.”

  What followed Charlotte’s outburst and his words could only be termed a somber meal.

  Barbara did not know what had happened during Charlotte’s season to produce such an aversion, but she couldn’t very well plead that hers had been all lightness and joy, though she’d brought her banishment upon herself.

  Still, what harm could there be in letting the girls dream a bit. Or in learning proper dance. Her studies in art and dance had held more joy than those in comportment for all poetry and politics held her attention the most. If her mother wouldn’t have fainted dead away at the thought, she’d have sought out some bluestockings to further her understanding.

  Barbara vowed to speak to Charlotte on this topic alone.

  Without the complaints and dreams of her sisters battering her ears, surely she’d see no harm in the training. Not that Barbara planned to set foot in the manor herself, but once she’d returned to London, it would provide a lovely diversion in a life that centered around chores.

  And should her mother decide to bring one of the cousins out as she had Charlotte when Barbara had been too young to care, at least they’d have a chance at making a good showing. Perhaps that had been at the root of Charlotte’s disappointment. If she’d stood out too much as a country girl, the London gentlemen might just have thought her too simple to take on a life in society.

  Happy in the decision, Barbara snagged her uncle’s paper once he’d finished with it and set it aside to peruse later in her room. She had chores for now, helping the others clear the table and set the kitchen to rights for the early baking.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  The next morning, Barbara and Sarah lined up with the rest of the girls for Charlotte to list out their chores. This life had little in common with Barbara’s London existence. While she missed the poetry and discussing politics with her father, there was peace to be found in a world where one’s worth was measured not in how others saw her but in her own actions.

  Though Uncle Ferrier rebuffed any attempts to engage him in discussion of what she studied in his paper, even regarding farm economics, she’d learned many skills so far that might just someday come
to use when she had a manor of her own to tend, her father’s or that of the man she deemed worthy to marry.

  Charlotte handed out wicker baskets, each of the cousins grinning as she reached for hers. Though the baskets had some meaning, Barbara and Sarah shared confused glances. They had to wait for the explanation to understand.

  “The farmhands reported a raspberry bramble gone ripe early. We’ll have to be quick to get there before the birds, but if we manage enough, Cook will make us a pie.”

  “And tarts,” Georgiana added to Charlotte’s pronouncement with a smack of her lips. “You’ve not tasted anything until you’ve had one of Cook’s tarts fresh out of the oven.

  “If you manage to taste anything with your mouth all burnt to a crisp.” Jane caught Barbara’s sleeve. “Don’t listen to her. Wait until the tarts are cooled a bit.”

  “If there’s any left by then,” Marian added with her eyebrows arched and a nod toward the youngest of the four.

  Charlotte pushed Georgiana then the rest of them toward the farm gate. “Don’t count the number of tarts until we’ve gathered the berries. And don’t any of you snack on more than four, no six. One for each of us.” She leaned toward Barbara, her mouth twitching to counter her stern tone. “If I set no limits, we’ll come home with berry-stained hands and reddened lips, but empty baskets and no hope of even one tart. The worst of it, though, is explaining to my father how we spent the whole day out in the fields and he gets not even a single berry.”

  She managed a passable imitation of Uncle Ferrier with the last, and they all laughed their way out into the countryside.

  They found the bushes the farmhands had seen soon enough. Though the birds had collected the outer layer, Marian took Barbara in hand, showing her how to bump the branches apart with a fold of her skirt and find the ripe berries hidden deeper inside where thorns protected them.

  Barbara pinched the first one as Marian had shown her only to have it squish between her fingers.

  “That’s one,” Jane called out as Barbara licked the juice from her fingers.