by Deb Marlowe
“It sounds horrid,” she whispered.
“I don’t know if I can convey what it feels like, to try and try but to always be labeled a failure. It’s wildly frustrating and then you start to alternate between fury and despair and bleak helplessness. I lashed out—and made things worse. I withdrew—and made things worse. I thought I would go mad, butting up against the brick wall of their united scorn—so one day, I just . . . gave in.”
“What did you do?”
“I did as they said. I agreed with everything they said. My father grew encouraged and took me under his wing. He taught me who was important and who was not. I learned and acted accordingly. I stood at his side and learned to read a room, to pick out the weak parts of a man and exploit them. I learned to skirt the truth, stay on just this side of a lie. I watched him maneuver and plot and revel in his machinations and those of his cronies.”
“I cannot imagine it.”
“I am thankful for that,” he sighed. “The rub of it was, I didn’t feel any better. I didn’t value anything he taught me, couldn’t see any virtue in such a selfish, cold way of life. I was still miserable. And my parents, well, they were satisfied that I wasn’t in open rebellion, but there was still no warmth, no real approval—”
“No love.”
He laughed bitterly. “No.”
“What did you do?”
“I left. My father had been schooled at home, and thought that fine enough for me, but I used what he taught me. I convinced him that going to school would give me contacts and relationships that would be useful for all of my life.”
“And you were right.”
“I was, thank heavens. Somehow, we all found each other. None of us were perfect. We all had problems of our own. But we supported each other. Listened. Helped. Teased unmercifully,” he said with a laugh. “We taught each other how to become men of worth. We are family. Steadfast support. We never wavered, not once. Until now.”
She didn’t argue and he was grateful for it.
A beat of silence stretched out longer.
“It’s why I cannot fail,” he whispered. I can’t let my failure taint the relationships I have with them. I can’t let Tensford down. The thought of it . . .” He swallowed down a surge of nausea.
“I’ve done all I could to help you resolve that,” she said steadily. “You’ve had my support—and everything else that lives between us. And still, you push me away.”
“Yes! Can you not see why?”
“No. I can’t.”
He began to circle the tree. “I’ve never gone back, you see. My father—both of my parents, really—have been furious at my dereliction. He cannot disinherit me, but neither does he have to support me. And so, he does not. I have almost nothing right now. A small allowance. Enough to get by in bachelor’s rooms, with one man of all work, a careful caretaking of my wardrobe and damnably little to spend on anything else.” He threw out his hands. “Shall I ask you to accept such a standard of living?”
“My dowry—”
“No!” He turned away. “I am no fortune hunter. I chose this path. I have to make myself into the man I want to be. I’ve made a start,” he assured her. “But there will have to be much hard work and even then, it’s a gamble. After tonight—”
“Yes, tonight. Sterne—we’ve found my cousin. We must go after him today—before he can slip away.”
He frowned. “Even if you are correct and Lycett did have a hand in the theft—he must have done it at Stillwater’s behest. Either way, we’ll find that fish at the event, tonight.”
“What if we do not?”
“We will! Everything we’ve discovered has pointed that way.”
“Not everything,” she countered.
“We have to find it tonight,” he said urgently. “I need this over with so that I can pursue the opportunities that await me. Only then will I be in a position to honorably offer for you.”
She stepped closer. “That is not true. I’m not asking for perfection. I’m a worker. A fighter. I could work right along by your side, building our life.”
“No. Can’t you see it wouldn’t be safe?”
“Safe?”
“It’s the same risk. The same danger! How could I let such a specter of uncertainty hang over us? What if my climb takes years? How long before you would begin to feel disappointed? Would you begin to resent me? Would I have set myself—and you—up for repeating the same cycle of failure, fury and despair?”
She drew back, horror on her face. “Is that what you think of me? Barrett Sterne, I am not your mother!”
The words struck him like a blow to the chest. He held up against the force of it, only just.
“Miss? Miss Munroe?”
The hiss came from beyond the shrubbery.
They stared at each other.
“Miss Munroe? The countess is asking for you!”
She shook her head. “I have to go.” With one last hurt and withering glance, she whirled and darted away.
Chapter 16
“Are you well?” Hope turned away from her mirror and stood, staring.
Penelope nodded. “Yes. Sorry for the delay. I was in the garden.”
“Are you sure? The countess watched her closely. “What is it, Penelope?”
She put her hands over her flushed cheeks. She didn’t want to tell. If she spoke of it, she would break down. Tears threatened just thinking of it, so she pushed it all away. Down. She would pull it out and fall apart later, after everything was done. “I dashed back, that’s all. Are you all right? The maid said you needed me.”
“Oh, yes. If you’re sure.” Hope still frowned, but she sank back into her chair. “Yes. I was hoping you could help Lizzie with my headpiece. We had it figured out this morning.”
“Oh, yes. Of course.” Penelope stepped close and helped the maid in securing the tricky piece. “There,” she said at last. “Now you will be the prettiest ammonite Tensford has ever seen.”
“I should hope so,” her friend said with a laugh. “But I don’t think that bar is very high. Now, you go and see to yourself.” She made shooing motions with her hands. “Lizzie can get me into the gown easily enough and I can’t wait to see you in your gorgeous outfit.”
Penelope obeyed. The maid who had been assigned to her for her stay oohed and aahed over the rich colors and beaded accessories of the peacock gown. With careful strokes and more color, she painted her eyes so they would look mysterious when she lifted her feathered mask to her face, and when she did not.
They’d just finished when a knock sounded at the door. The girl opened it to admit Mrs. Caradec, who came in cloaked and carrying a covered basket.
“May I take your wrap, ma’am? Or your basket?”
“No thank you. I won’t be but a moment.” She raised a brow in Penelope’s direction.
“You may leave us, Mary. Thank you for all of your hard work. I’ll ring if we need anything else.”
“Very good, Miss.”
The girl left and Mrs. Caradec stepped all the way around Penelope, admiring as she went. “You look divine. Madame outdid herself. It should fit me. Though it may be a little short, no one should notice.” She looked up, smiling. “Now, where is the other?”
Penelope retrieved the second costume and bundled it into the basket. “I should write Hope a note.” She did so, leaving it on the vanity table. Standing, she nodded. “I’m ready.”
Mrs. Caradec stepped close and patted her clutched hands. “You can do this. You will be fine. Whiddon knows where to meet us?”
“He does. And I’m fine, it’s just nerves.”
“I would be nervous, if you were not.” The other woman smiled in reassurance. “Everything is ready. My people are set. All will be well.”
“Let’s go, then,” Hope said, before she lost her courage.
They went downstairs, where a footman waited with her cloak. Another stood ready at the door. Several maids peered from the parlor and she thought she recognized a
kitchen girl peeking from behind the green baize door.
“Will you show us your mask?” one of the maids requested.
She held it up and every one of them smiled in pride and delight.
“You look lovely, Miss,” the bold maid breathed.
“I’ve left a note for the countess,” she told them all. “Please tell her, when she comes down. And tell her that we shall see her at the Rowlands.”
It was only half a lie, but she still felt guilty as she followed Mrs. Caradec out to the purposefully unlit front of the house.
They stepped to the side, staying in the shadows of the portico. From the other side, a figure emerged. Penelope watched the cloaked figure step down the walk to the waiting coach. In the dim light, she could see only the cloak and the feathers of the mask, bouncing slightly as she walked. The figure climbed into the coach and it set off.
She and Mrs. Caradec waited, not moving. It took several minutes for the vehicle to reach the end of the square and move out into traffic. They waited. A smaller, dark coach pulled from a lit-up walkway, several houses up. They hurried out to it as it paused and were inside in a flash as it continued on.
“Did you see that figure slip out of the garden and follow the first coach?” Mrs. Caradec asked. “That was a good notion.”
“No. I couldn’t see a thing.”
“Well, it rid of you of at least one follower.” She grinned. “And now you see why I said you must wear the costume out of the house,” the other woman said wisely. “The household always wants to catch a glimpse of you if you are going to a special event.”
“I never would have thought of it,” Penelope admitted. “I’m so grateful for your help.”
“Yes, I’m afraid I’ve had a dab hand at subterfuge for quite a long time,” Mrs. Caradec said cheerfully. “But you are not so bad at it, yourself. And do not doubt it, you are doing the right thing. Someone needs to look into that cousin of yours, and I would feel the same weight of responsibility. But you shall not do it alone, never fear. And in any case, this is a refreshing first for me. I’ve dressed as a ragamuffin ever so many times, but never a young lady disguised as a peacock!”
They laughed and the drive went quickly, as they were not going far. Penelope recognized the modiste’s shop as they drove by, but was surprised when they circled around and entered the alley at the back.
“The Madame knows we are here?” she asked as Mrs. Caradec climbed down and approached the back door with a set of keys.
“She does. She was a bit hesitant, but she doesn’t wish to lose the Countess of Tensford as a client.” The woman gave Penelope a grin as she opened the door and indicated that she should go through. “Even less does she wish to disappoint Hestia Wright, or her assistants.”
A couple of low candles were burning. Mrs. Caradec shed her cloak, then helped Penelope out of the peacock costume and into the extra.
“A bee?” she asked as she slid the pale, yellow silk underdress over Penelope’s head. “What made you choose this?”
“Something a friend once said,” she told her. “About a queen bee, who takes what she wants from her males, then leaves them behind, to return to rule the hive.”
“To rule the hive alone,” Mrs. Caradec corrected, as she tied a black and yellow striped extra layer over the back of her skirt. “For she has no equals, and all the others are workers, who live only to serve her, isn’t that right?” She sighed and reached for the light wings that attached to the sleeves. “For all that it does sound tempting sometimes, most of us are not meant to live our lives alone.”
“Some of us seem determined to do so,” she said bitterly.
Mrs. Caradec handed her the mask, complete with blackened eyes, a honeycomb texture and antennae. “Tuck this inside your cloak pocket and no one will be able to tell you are in a costume at all.” She put her hands on her hips and Penelope shrank a little at her direct look. “Now,” she said. “I will tell you some things, as Whiddon isn’t here yet. I’ve heard that you and Sterne are dancing around each other. I’ve seen a bit of it, myself, as well.”
She held up a hand when Penelope would have objected. “Sterne is a man of character, but a man, nonetheless. That means he’s more than a bit stubborn.”
“Lady Tensford did say something similar,” she admitted.
“Believe me, I know it feels as if you are pounding your head against a wall, at times. Caradec gave me fits before he came around.” She laughed. “Of course, I gave him a few, as well. I recommend it, as a course of action. Give as good as you get.” She narrowed her gaze. “But don’t bite your own head off, just to spite your face.”
Penelope blinked. “I’m sorry?”
“I just mean to say that Sterne has his own devils. Give him time to work through them. Men like that require patience. Once you’ve decided he’s worth the trouble—then hang on. For I’ll tell you one thing—you might go off in a snit, back to Gloucestershire, to rule your hive alone, but men are not so quick to imagine themselves alone. Sterne will triumph over his demons one day. He wants you—any fool can see it. He just has to talk himself into it. Eventually, he’ll come around to the idea of marrying, and if you’ve refused him, he’ll settle on someone else. Perhaps not right away. But he will. And how will you feel about that?”
A tight vise of dark emotion clutched at her chest.
“That’s what I thought,” Mrs. Caradec said knowingly. “So, don’t give in to hasty defeat. Reach for patience. And fight for what you want.”
Penelope wiped away tears. “Thank you,” she whispered.
The other woman patted her hand. “Thank me with an invitation to the wedding. I’ve never spent any amount of time in Gloucestershire.” She began to fold up the peacock costume and place the pieces in the basket.
“Wait! Aren’t you going to wear that to the masquerade?”
“I am.” The older woman pulled out a modest, white collar to attach to her plain, black dress. “But first I am going in as a maid. I’ll arrive early. The house is likely hiring extra staff for the event. I’ll just blend in and scout about into every nook and cranny I can get into.” She grinned. “Then I shall change into the peacock and have a merry time staying away from your Mr. Sterne.”
Penelope bit back a grin at the thought.
A knock sounded at the door and Whiddon poked his head in. “Are you ready, Miss Munroe? The Pelican awaits!”
“So does one of my girls,” Mrs. Caradec replied wryly. “She’ll go along with the pair of you to keep everything above board.” She raised a brow at Penelope. “You’ll be able to say you had a companion with you, when you went along with this scoundrel.”
“Are you trying to spoil our fun, Mrs. Caradec?” Whiddon said, laughing.
“Only yours, you devil.” She turned and gripped Penelope’s arms. “Take care. Use your head. And take a bit of your temper out on that cousin of yours.”
“Now that is advice I will gladly follow.” Penelope nodded and moved toward the door. “Let’s go see what he has to say.”
* * *
* * *
* * *
Sterne wandered around the crowded ballroom, waiting impatiently for Tensford and the rest of his party to appear. Rowland’s event was a crush. Half of London had tried to squeeze into the house, or so it felt like.
And Rowland had not disappointed. Nor spared any expense, that Sterne could tell. Chandeliers had been added to the room as well as tall, candle filled torchiers covered in gilt. Mirrors lined each wall, framed by thick, scarlet draperies. Flowers were everywhere, rich red blooms accented by white roses and gold brushed fronds.
Spirits were high. Raucous laughter threatened to drown out the music, but few people were dancing. Everyone wanted to see and be seen and try to guess who hid behind which mask.
A few were easy to recognize. Sheffield had come as Charles II and his wife as Catherine of Braganza. Sterne figured he wasn’t the only one wondering if their marriage was as rocky as the one
they were imitating. He suspected that the bishop in the corner was a royal duke and he rather thought the princess laughing with a group of admirers was Miss Nichols. He knew for sure that the black cat with the jeweled mask and silver whiskers and adornments was Lady Lowell.
He didn’t speak to any of them. He could not settle. He could not think. Only two thoughts held fast in his mind. The idea that tonight, their search would be over. And the echo of her voice. Barrett Sterne, I am not your mother.
An utterly unjust accusation. Of course, he did not equate her with his mother. She was everything his mother was not. Warm and generous and funny and accepting and eager to learn about new things. All he wanted was the chance to tell her she was wrong.
He groaned. Of course, that was not all he wanted. He wanted her. He wanted to imagine that it could be as she described—the two of them working together to create their own, unique future. He curled his hands into fists. He wanted to find that damned fossil so that they could begin to sort it all out.
But the room where the ‘unveiling’ was to happen was locked. No one could enter until after the unmasking, at midnight.
Hours to go . . . and where were his friends?
He wandered, always keeping the door to the locked room in sight. He tried to discern if Stillwater was here. Perhaps he was the prawn on the other side of the room? It seemed the right sort of costume for a stooped, older man. Or perhaps he was the spindly-legged Father Time.
He was still scanning the room when he heard his name. Steeling himself not to react, he kept looking.
“Sterne?” He looked down to find Lady Lowell tugging at his sleeve. She didn’t even bother to hold her mask up. “Sterne? I know it is you. Who else would think to dress as a badger?”
He only gave her a shrug for an answer.
“Don’t play games,” she ordered. “I want to know if Tensford has arrived? I haven’t seen anyone I thought might be him.”