A Lady in Disguise

by Cynthia Bailey Pratt

  “I should be delighted to watch over Addy,” Lillian said.

  Looking up, she saw the little girl swinging down the steps hand in hand with her father. Thorpe grinned at something Addy said, and Lillian felt as though her heart suddenly reared up and then galloped off like a runaway horse. Her color came and went. She knew Lady Genevieve noticed. Lillian raised her chin and gave him a polite smile that she hoped revealed nothing further.

  “Ah, Miss Cole!” Thorpe said, approaching. “This little temptress of mine has lured me away from estate business with talk of a venture into Danbury. Dare you to join us?”

  “Miss Cole,” his grandmother said, “is coming along to look after Addy.”

  The girl raised her eyes to Lillian. “You’re coming too?” she asked in a tone that left no doubt her pleasure was now spoilt.

  “Yes,” Lillian answered evenly. “I too have some shopping.”

  “Oh, yes,” said Thorpe. “The tiny valise and the wetting of yesterday! Have you anything at all left to wear?”

  “Only one more dress, in addition to this one.” She pinched her skirt with thumb and forefinger and smiled into his eyes of spring leaf green.

  “A disaster of the wardrobe,” he said. “It must be remedied at once! The whole economy of the nation depends on ladies buying more dresses, you know.”

  “If Miss Cole will deign to find her cloak and hat, we shall be away,” Lady Genevieve said. “Come, Addy. Come, Thorpe. We shall await her pleasure in the carriage.”

  Lillian rushed away, sternly admonishing herself not to respond to Thorpe Everard’s charm. It was only the prospect of shopping, a thing she’d not expected to do during these ten days of exile from her true self, that elated her. Thorpe Everard’s presence or absence must not be allowed to influence her emotions. Yet, when she approached the carriage and found she was to sit beside him during the journey, the rate of her pulse increased measurably.

  “I still maintain Miss Cole should sit on the box beside Evans,” Lady Genevieve said as they drove away. “She may not like driving backward. I know it makes me bilious and Addy ill. Don’t you feel the motion more particularly sitting with your back to the driver, Miss Cole?”

  This solicitousness, Lillian thought, sounded oddly like jealousy. “I am not troubled by it, Lady Genevieve.”

  “How kind you are, Grandmother.” Thorpe winked at Lillian as though to say he’d known Lady Genevieve would take to her in time.

  Unlike the town where Lillian had left the post yesterday, Danbury rejoiced in the possession of several inns, fine shops, and more than one street. As the carriage halted at the end of the street where the best of the shops hung out their signs, Thorpe opened the low door. Clapping his hat on his head, he stepped out and, turning, held up his arms for his daughter. Addy flung herself into them, squealing with pleasure as Thorpe swung her around in a complete circle before letting her down.

  “Do it again, Papa,” she pleaded, though she must hold on to his leg to keep from swaying where she stood.

  “Great-grandmother next,” he teased, holding out his hand to Lady Genevieve.

  “If you dare get up to such monkey tricks with me—” the lady began breathlessly. But her grandson guided her down the several carriage steps with gentle care. Shaded by the brim of his hat, Thorpe’s sparkling eyes lifted past the short woman’s head to fix on Lillian’s face. One black eyebrow slid up.

  She, leaning forward to wait her turn to exit, caught his gaze and shook her head sternly. Her body, however, remembered what it had been like to feel his hands about her waist, first when he’d helped her down from his curricle in front of the castle, and again in the water of the lake.

  “Do it again,” Addy said, tugging at the smooth blue material of her father’s coat. With difficulty, Lillian managed not to echo the child’s request.

  “Never a free moment,” he said to the air. With a grin, he lifted the child up, his hands under her arms, and swung her around, his boots sending up puffs of dust. Addy laughed and laughed, as her bonnet slipped off the pale hair to hang by its ribbon about her neck.

  “Whew, enough,” Thorpe said, revolving to a slow stop and putting Addy’s feet on the ground. “I’m dizzy. How the street whirls! Come, Miss Cole, your arm or I shall bump into a wall.”

  Lillian wanted very much to take his warm hand. If they’d been alone, perhaps she would have surrendered to this impulse. However, as Lady Genevieve’s wrinkled lips had pursed, as Addy’s childish giggles had subsided, and as idlers stood staring from open doors, Lillian said, “I’m certain Lady Genevieve would be happy to help you, sir.”

  Bending low, she untied the ribbons and lifted off Addy’s bonnet. “Do you need help walking?” she whispered.

  Addy shook her head and ran in giggling circles around her father. Tucking his grandmother’s hand into the crook of his arm, Thorpe pretended to lean heavily on her. “You’ve such a level head, my lady,” he said, “and I feel as though I’ve been drinking steadily half the night.”

  “You’ve never been a toper,” she replied.

  “Ah, one’s relations don’t know everything! There were some nights at Cambridge ... shall I whisper?” Lady Genevieve gave him a sharp push, though her fondness shone clearly in her eyes.

  Lillian carried Addy’s small bonnet and Lady Genevieve’s shawl, enjoying the banter. Was there a soul on earth to whom Thorpe Everard would not show unrelenting kindness? Certainly, no one on the street was exempt.

  Addy sighed and hung on her father’s hand, as it seemed every second gentleman and every single lady stopped to greet Thorpe. She rolled her eyes up to heaven as lady after lady made an excuse to loiter in her father’s presence.

  “And, as I said, such a thing never should happen in a really well-regulated household! I know Phrylidia had something particular to say to him. Didn’t you, dearest?”

  The middle-aged lady poked her tall, thin daughter in the ribs. The girl straightened up and snapped her mouth closed. Her hazel eyes, however, lingered on Thorpe, winding dreams mistily about him. “Quite, Mama.”

  “Most interesting, most interesting,” Lady Genevieve said. “Now, Mrs. Winter, I know you’ll forgive us ...” Allowing her words to trail off, she urged Thorpe forward. Yet, even as she smiled at Mrs. Winter, Lady Genevieve’s eyes fixed on Lillian as though to challenge her with this vulgar display of calf love.

  “Good day, ladies,” Thorpe said, touching the brim of his hat with two fingers. Lillian, coming along in his wake, clearly heard Phrylidia give a sigh that seemed to rise from the depths of her neat brown shoes. Even the girl’s mother seemed to forget for a moment that it was her daughter’s interest she pursued and not her own as she stared after Thorpe.

  At last, the party from the castle reached the emporium Lady Genevieve wished to patronize. As was the custom, long banners of different fabrics covered the entrance, displaying the drape and pattern of the material as it would be shown in a gown, though one for an immensely tall woman. Addy enjoyed passing beneath this curtain, so much so that she repeated her entrance half a dozen times before Lady Genevieve called her to her side.

  Looking up, the elderly lady said, “You will most likely not find anything to suit you here, Miss Cole. This shop will be too far above your touch.”

  “No doubt.” The small bag that dangled from Lillian’s wrist contained some five sovereigns, more than sufficient for her wants during this expedition. At the castle, buried among her linen, another twenty-five coins were cached in her bureau drawer. While attiring herself in cloak and hat, Lillian had at first poured all her money into her reticule. But the way it bulged and jingled, she decided, looked most suspicious for a governess who made, ostensibly, no more than thirty pounds per year. However, she could and did smile, thinking of what reaction Lady Genevieve would have to those coins.

  “A chair for my lady,” called the proprietor, placing a wooden chair before the counter. He bowed low to hear Addy’s whisper. Of course. Miss Everard
. We have a box in the rear.”

  “Babies,” Thorpe said in a low voice.

  Lillian jumped. Without the new-style plate glass windows coming into fashion in London, the interior of the shop was as gloomy as a church on a rainy Monday. Hearing his murmuring voice out of this half light created unseemly disorder within her. “I—I beg your pardon?”

  “Fashion babies. My grandmother looks at them to find out the latest mode, and then my daughter plays with them. They both enjoy themselves enormously.” He lowered his voice further, and Lillian held her breath as his warm whisper slipped along the shell-curve of her ear. “Mr. Fenniman’s wife makes up dresses. If I were you, Miss Cole, I don’t know if I’d trust the maids at the castle to perform adequately on my new clothes.”

  “Indeed? You are most kind to warn me.” She tilted her head to look up at him, her eyes wide. A sudden insane impulse took her. She wanted to ask him exactly what Baroness Pritchard meant to him. Only her private vow to find out nothing about him kept her from asking, though her lips parted before she could stop them.

  Lifting his hand, Thorpe briefly pressed his finger to her lips. “Don’t say I told you.”

  As she struggled to recover sense enough to say anything, he drifted away to the other end of the counter. Taking up a newspaper, he went to the doorway, parting the fabric with his shoulder so that the daylight might fall across the page. The light picked out the richness in his dark hair beneath the brim of his hat, and his shadow filled half the floor.

  Lillian was glad of the darkness in the rest of the shop, though she feared the brilliance of her cheeks must light the gloom like a candle. Unconsciously, she licked her lips as though she could still taste his touch. Shocked by her own reactions, she marched up to Lady Genevieve and said, “I saw many fine clothes when I was governess to the Garnets. May I tell you about them?”

  “The clothes young girls wear would hardly be suitable for me, Miss Cole. I have my own way of dressing which I prefer.”

  Snubbed again, Lillian thought, yet persevered. “And an excellent sense it is. Lady Genevieve. Yet, it is always pleasant to discover what the dernier cri may be even if we have no intention of wearing it ourselves.”

  Without further preliminary, Lillian began to describe a gown she had purchased only three weeks ago and had not as yet had the chance to wear. At first, Lady Genevieve feigned no interest in anything as frivolous as a pomona green morning dress, but then she said, touching the slightly wattled underside of her chin, “Fluted ruffs?”

  “Yes, very small and tight to the throat. Only for day wear, of course, but many ladies refuse to have a single costume made without one. Mrs. Garnet, for example.”

  “Mr. Fenniman, come and hear what Miss Cole has to say.”

  Nothing would content Lady Genevieve but that Lillian give the minutest account of every gown she’d seen within the last month. At least twice, Lillian made a slip of the tongue and said “my” or “I.” No one, however, seemed to notice, not even the dimly glimpsed figure of Mrs. Fenniman, listening behind the storeroom door and stealing peeks at Thorpe. He’d moved from the doorway, putting aside the newspaper, and now wandered about the store, handling the merchandise.

  Soon after Lillian’s brain had been wrung dry, the important choosing of material began. Addy looked up from her dolls as Mr. Fenniman pulled down the free ends of bolts of cloth, bringing them across the counter from on high in great falling sweeps, like candy-colored cataracts. Not a single bolt escaped the nearest examination that eye or touch could devise.

  ‘That merino crepe might do for you, Miss Cole,” Lady Genevieve said, after almost two hours. “It is not terribly dear, only four shillings the yard.”

  “Yes,” Mr. Fenniman said. “Most suitable. Mrs. Fitz-Joy’s governess purchased some only last autumn.”

  Lillian smiled to herself. None of the proprietors who enjoyed Miss Canfield’s custom ever showed her a bolt more than a week in the shop, knowing a lady of the ton could never appear the remotest bit passé. “It’s very fine,” she said, “but a trifle warm, perhaps. The weather is so temperate in June.”

  “It rains frequently,” Lady Genevieve said. “And there are draughts.”

  “Nevertheless...”

  Unhappy, Mr. Fenniman looked between his regular, well-paying customer and the young lady. “It’s a fine, light fabric, miss. Hardly warm at all.”

  “Then Mrs. Fitz-Joy’s governess must have been most uncomfortable this winter. Something else, I think, if you would be so good.”

  From somewhere in the depths of the shop came a double knock. Though Lady Genevieve positively jumped, and Lillian was startled, the proprietor did not turn his head. Thorpe looked up from the floor, where he was listening to Addy tell some involved tale about the elaborately costumed dolls. When the knock repeated, Thorpe asked, “Is your shop haunted?”

  “Excuse me, Mr. Everard. My lady.” The proprietor scuttled away. Returning after a whispered consultation with his wife, he said grandly, “I am reminded that my staff has recently received an inventory of ready-made dresses direct from London. If Miss Cole would consider them ...” His worried glance darted between Lady Genevieve and Lillian.

  “The very thing,” Lillian said. “If you can alter them before we leave Danbury this afternoon?”

  The double knock came as though in answer. “Very good, Miss Cole,” Mr. Fenniman said, breathing heavily and wiping beads of perspiration from his broad brow.

  The quality of the ready-made clothing was not as high as Lillian would have liked. After careful thought, she chose three in the medium price range, thinking that Paulina’s groom’s wife would appreciate the gift. Lillian wished she’d brought more of her money as there was one sarcenet gown, rather finer than the others, of midnight blue woven through with faint silver stripes, that would have shown off her hair and complexion to a nicety. However, she foresaw no need for such a dress during her stay at the castle, though she did make a mental memorandum to have her modiste look for a similar fabric upon her return to London.

  Lillian emerged from the rear of the shop to pay for her purchases. The proprietor, after further whispered conversation with his wife, handed Thorpe a narrow screed. Laying it on the counter, Thorpe relaxed one knee, bringing his height down to a comfortable level. With the pen and ink Mr. Fenniman provided, he signed his name.

  “Come along, my lovelies. I’m famished after all this desperately hard work.”

  “I’m famished,” Addy echoed.

  “My accounting, if you please, Mr. Fenniman,” Lillian said.

  “Er,” the shopkeeper answered, darting a glance at Thorpe.

  “All taken care of, Miss Cole,” that gentleman said airily, tenderly wrapping his grandmother up in her large shawl. He began to usher Lady Genevieve and Addy toward the door.

  “I cannot allow you to pay for my clothing, Mr. Everard,” Lillian announced, standing quite still.

  “My goodness,” Lady Genevieve said, looking over her shoulder. “Can you afford such pride, Miss Cole? My grandson has done a generous thing; you should thank him, not stand there pokering up.”

  Lillian’s grasp on her temper began to slip. Shaking her reticule so that the sovereigns within resounded against one another, she said, “I have entirely sufficient funds to pay for my wants, Lady Genevieve. It is not for Thor—Mr. Everard to pay my personal expenses.” Her tongue’s fault warned her. She silenced herself and repeated in her mind the psalm that had saved her from making a fool of herself on so many occasions. “It’s not that I am ungrateful,” she began.

  “You sound it to me,” Lady Genevieve answered.

  “Consider these things as an advance on your salary,” Thorpe said, forestalling any further answer from his grandmother. “It’s not worth fussing over, is it?”

  “Thank you, Mr. Everard,” Lillian said, glad at last to be addressing him and not Lady Genevieve. “But I prefer to spend my salary in my own way. I have enough money; Mrs. Garnet gave me a
present when I parted from her.” She brought out this tale easily enough, her chin rising as she finished by saying, “I wish to spend it now, here, if Mr. Fenniman will tell me what I owe.”

  “Come now,” Thorpe said, leaving his family to approach her. “Your little items are lost in this interminable catalog. I daresay half the things in the shop are written there. I’m too hungry to go through it now.”

  “Then I shall do it for you,” Lillian answered, looking him full in the eyes. That was an error of judgment. She could feel her resolve disappearing in their sea depths. “I am your employee, not your dependent,” she said, struggling to maintain her indignation and self-respect.

  “Papa,” Addy whined, “I’m so hungry. Can’t we eat now?”

  Thorpe’s smile brightened his eyes, as though the sun had emerged to bring out the golden sparkle of the ocean. “You see how my daughter makes demands of me,” he said. “Won’t you take a lesson from her and allow me the pleasure of purchasing these few things for you?”

  “I can only repeat what I have already said.” Lillian’s voice softened against her will.

  “You’ll accept nothing from my hands?” Thorpe asked, his voice no louder now than her own. “You want nothing of me but a salary? How cold you are, Miss Cole.”

  “I pay for myself,” she said, trying to remember whose daughter she was, holding on to this one idea, amid the rising flood of emotions that threatened to swamp her. If she gave way to him, how could she hope to continue to resist the powerful lure of his charm and sympathy? Making a great effort, Lillian turned her eyes from his gaze.

  “Mr. Fenniman, pray give me the total of what I have purchased. I shall pay Mr. Everard and all will be even.”

  Thorpe’s broad shoulders lifted. “Very well. Miss Cole, I’m beaten. May I at the least offer you luncheon?”

  “I should be pleased, Mr. Everard.” She smiled at him, wondering if many women could claim to have won a point over him.