A Lady of Hidden Intent

by Tracie Peterson

  They reached the Arlington house just as the rain lessened to sprinkles. Directing the horse through the narrow wrought-iron gates, Carter wished that this were his home as well. He could only imagine the joy and satisfaction he might have in sharing his accomplishments with Lee’s parents. With a sigh he pulled the carriage to a stop and tipped his hat.

  “There you are, sir. Safe and sound.”

  “Think about what I said, Carter. You are always welcome here.”

  “I appreciate that, Lee. I think the time has come for me to actually consider obtaining my own living quarters.”

  “People will think it strange for an unmarried man to leave his father’s home for another in the same town.”

  Carter laughed. “They’d think it even stranger for that unmarried man to strangle his father. No, I think it would do all of us good for me to leave.”

  Lee gave Carter a nod and opened the carriage door. “If I hear of a small place, I will let you know.”

  “And if I hear of a good woman . . .” Carter smiled and raised his brows before adding, “I’ll probably keep that news to myself. At least until I see if it can prove useful to me.”

  Lee laughed and gathered his books. He’d wrapped them protectively in his coat and now stepped out into the weather.

  “I’d likely do the same.”

  Carter turned the horse and headed for home. He wasn’t looking forward to the chaos, but he figured with any luck at all, his father would have taken himself out for the evening. Contending with his mother and sister would be much easier with Father gone. Sharing supper with Winifred alone would have been even more ideal. He was very close to his sister, who was ten years his junior—an unexpected surprise in the Danby family.

  The rain picked up again and with it Carter’s feelings of despair deepened. Why couldn’t his family be a decent sort? They had wealth and social standing, but the respect given them was a mockery. Those who positioned themselves close to his mother and father only did so for whatever financial gain might be had.

  A groomsman met Carter the moment he stopped the carriage near the front door. Usually he would drive back around to the carriage house, but in the rain the groomsman would expect him to stop at the front and take advantage of an easier, drier access to the house.

  “Evenin’, suh,” the dark-skinned man said as he took the reins.

  “Good evening to you, Joseph. Thank you for taking the carriage.” Joseph was the only black man employed by the Danby family. Carter had found the man half dead on the road between Philadelphia and New York. Joseph had papers showing him to be free, but he had been robbed and left for dead when ruthless highwaymen crossed his path. Carter had brought him home and declared he would see the man restored to health and hired him as his own personal staff. His father had been livid, but Carter held his ground in a kind of private rebellion. Eventually his father had forgotten the matter and now considered Joseph an important part of the Danby work force.

  “How are things today, Joseph?”

  “Right as rain, suh,” the younger man said with a glint in his coal-black eyes.

  Carter smiled. “Well, that is sure to change when I make my way inside. Is my father to home?”

  “No, suh. Left ’bout an hour ago.”

  “Good. Then perhaps things will continue to bode well.”

  Carter dismounted the carriage and made his way quickly inside. He thought it sad that he would have rather spent the evening drinking coffee and teaching Joseph to read than to endure yet another of his mother’s emotional displays.

  “Good evening, Mr. Danby,” the butler announced as he took Carter’s things.

  “Good evening, Wilson.”

  “Oh, Carter. I thought I heard the carriage. I am so glad you are home,” his mother declared as she scurried across the floor.

  “Your father has gone again—to her. I just know it.”

  “Good evening, Mother.” Carter gave her a peck on the cheek and pulled back. “How go your plans for the annual ball?”

  His mother’s expression changed from fretful to excited.

  “Well, I was concerned at first of not getting the proper gown made. Everyone knows that Mrs. Clarkson’s assistant, Catherine Shay, designs the best gowns in town. I, of course, insisted that

  –Winifred and I must have a creation from this woman, but Mrs.

  Clarkson argued that there were other requests ahead of mine. I told her that I could not be cast aside—that I would pay double what anyone else had offered.”

  Carter headed for the warmth of the smallest of the Danby sitting rooms. There he found a fire already blazing. He pulled up a large wing chair and settled in to hear his mother’s tirade.

  “I would like very much if you would accompany us tomorrow,” his mother said, standing directly in front of him. Overdressed as usual in a gown more suited for an outing than a quiet dinner at home, Lillian Danby struck quite a picture. She was not a great beauty, but neither was she unpleasant to look at. Carter could not understand why his father had taken a mistress, throwing away his chance at true happiness with the woman he married.

  His father had taken his first mistress some fifteen or sixteen years earlier, when Carter’s mother had been considered quite lovely. She had also been far happier and less given to bouts of nerves and bitter musings. His father’s dalliances with other women had aged her before her time.

  “Did you hear me?”

  Carter realized he hadn’t been listening. “I am sorry, Mother.

  It’s been a long day. A good one, but long. I received the final approval from Mr. Montgomery. He is commissioning me to design his estate.”

  “Oh, the Montgomery family is a thorn in my flesh,” his mother said, offering no praise for her son’s accomplishment.

  “Mrs. Montgomery believes herself well above the rest of us. She has declined my invitation year after year. I can only imagine she’ll do so again this year, and what will that say to the rest of our friends?”

  Carter gave only a hint of a smile. “That she doesn’t like parties?”

  “Oh, were that only true. But no. She will be seen at the homes of the Wellingtons and Duffs. Why, she was definitely present at the summer soiree that the Stanleys held. She even brought her nephew, who is a duke or some such thing. It was the talk of the town.”

  “Now, Mother. Those were all summer parties. Perhaps she fears the winter night air will be harmful to her health.”

  His mother gave a sniff and sank into a black-and-white striped chair. “I hardly believe that credible, but you are good to try to comfort my nerves. As I said before, I would like very much for you to escort your sister and me to Mrs. Clarkson’s tomorrow. We are to talk to Catherine Shay herself.”

  “And what will this Catherine Shay do for you?”

  “Why, she will design the gowns we are to wear to the masquerade. It’s all very secretive, you know. It hardly does any good to have a masquerade if everyone already knows what gown you will wear.”

  Carter considered that for only a fraction of a second. “Of course.”

  “Well, your father is having a meeting here—something about the mills. I’m certain you will not mind being absent from the house.”

  Carter hadn’t realized a meeting had been planned, but his mother was right. He had no desire to be anywhere around. “I can accompany you and Winifred.”

  “What about me?” Winifred asked as she swept into the room. Petite and sharing the same dark hair and eyes as Carter, she offered a sweet smile that seemed to brighten the entire room.

  “I promised our mother that I would drive you both to the dressmaker tomorrow.”

  “That is kind,” she said, kissing him on the top of his head.

  “Too bad Mrs. Clarkson’s shop designs clothes only for women.

  You could use a new suit or two.”

  Their mother frowned. “Oh, it’s true. You need new clothes, Carter. You must take yourself to the tailor as soon as possible.
I won’t have my friends looking down upon me because you’re running about Philadelphia in threadbare, out-of-date clothing.”

  Carter laughed heartily at this. “I am hardly threadbare, Mother.”

  “Well, promise me you will go, nevertheless. If you do not go,” she said, exaggerating the situation by waving her arms and fluttering her hands, “I am certain to hear about it. I only wish to keep the family from such negative gossip. Oh, it never fails to amaze me how innocent people can find themselves the focus of such twisted affairs.”

  Carter found it amazing the way his mother never seemed to draw air. She was like a little hummingbird flapping her wings furiously to stay in one place. The way her voice raised an octave when she was truly upset was even more birdlike.

  To their surprise the front door crashed open, and they heard the muttered curses of the master. Elger Danby stormed into the house and entered the sitting room, as if knowing he’d find everyone assembled there. The butler hurried after him to take the hat and gloves he’d just thrown onto a nearby table.

  Anger and tension emanated almost visibly from his form, but Carter knew better than to question his father’s angry spirit. His mother, however, seemed to thrive on tormenting the man.

  “What could possibly be wrong, my dear?” his mother asked in a sugary voice. “Was she not to home?”

  Carter’s father, a tall, broad-shouldered man, took a threatening step toward his wife, then stopped. “My affairs remain just that. Mine and no one else’s. When is supper to be served?”

  “Momentarily, sir,” the butler said as he helped Mr. Danby from his coat.

  “It seems nothing is ordered properly today.”

  “We hadn’t expected that you would join us for supper,” Carter’s mother said sarcastically. “In fact, we are never certain when to expect that you might grace us with your company.”

  “Silence, woman! I will not be berated in my own home.”

  Winifred had taken a seat on the settee by this time and looked at Carter with such pleading that he couldn’t help but feel sorry for her. She had never known a time when their parents had treated each other with respect and kindness.

  “I have good news,” Carter offered as his father ordered the butler to bring brandy.

  “Oh, and what might that be?” his father asked out of obligation, not sounding as though he cared much for the answer.

  “I have been commissioned to design the Montgomery estate.

  The new house will be over fifteen thousand square feet.”

  “Braggart,” his father muttered.

  Carter wasn’t entirely sure to whom the comment was directed— himself or Mr. Montgomery. It wasn’t until the butler had returned with the drink and his father had downed it that Elger Danby clarified his remark.

  “The Montgomerys believe it necessary to build larger estates and more extensive grounds in order to prove their worth. It is hardly something I would want you involved in. I do hope when you tire of such play you will give yourself over to a decent living.”

  “I am hardly at play in my work, Father. You have even supported my desires in the past. You very kindly paid for my tours of Europe in order that I might more formally study architecture.”

  His father shook his head and said exactly what Carter had always suspected. “It seemed easier to send you on your way than to have your interference here.”

  Carter got to his feet, anger coursing through his veins. “I had hoped my news would be pleasing to you. I should have known better.”

  He stormed from the room, not waiting for a reply. There was no pleasing Elger Danby. Not if you were his youngest son, who had no intention of going into the family textile empire. Not if you weren’t willing to act in as degenerate a manner as the man himself.

  “Carter!” Winifred called after him. She hurried to catch up as he turned on the stairs. “Please don’t leave. I need you at supper.” Her voice was low and pleading.

  Carter drew a deep breath and shook his head. “I’m sorry for the way I acted, Winnie. I fear if I remain in that man’s presence for much longer, I shall become just like him.”

  Winifred smiled and extended her hand. “There is no chance of that, brother. You have a good and loving heart. You will not allow it to harden with disappointment and frustration.”

  Carter walked back down the steps and took hold of his sister’s hand. “It wouldn’t be that difficult to do,” he said sadly.

  “Perhaps, but then, I’ve never known you to settle for what is easy.” She smiled at him, and he felt the last vestiges of anger slip away.

  “Very well. Have it your way. I shall be your companion at dinner, but please do not expect me to be talkative.”

  Winifred laughed lightly. “You needn’t worry. No doubt Mama will give everyone an earful.”

  CHAPTER 3

  And here is Miss Shay,” Mrs. Clarkson announced as Catherine entered the parlor. “She will interview you and determine the style of gown you desire. Catherine, this is Mrs. Danby and her daughter, Miss Winifred Danby.”

  Catherine observed the two women. Both were quite petite. It would be easy to design complementary gowns for these women.

  “Good afternoon, ladies.” Catherine gave a brief curtsy.

  “And this is Mrs. Danby’s son, Mr. Carter Danby.”

  The name struck an immediate memory in Catherine’s mind as she turned to face the man. If he recognized her, all hope was gone. She would have to leave immediately or be found out.

  “Mr. Danby,” she murmured with another brief curtsy. She forced her gaze to meet his. A thousand thoughts rushed through her mind. It had been five years since that evening in Bath. She was only a child then—a mere seventeen. She had changed a great deal in that time and, given her present station in life, couldn’t possibly represent the wealthy shipper’s daughter she’d been back then.

  Mr. Danby smiled and gave a bow. There didn’t appear to be any immediate recognition. For a moment he seemed to study her, as if knowing there was something he should remember, but just as easily he appeared to dismiss it.

  “Miss Shay, I understand you are the much-sought-after authority on ladies’ clothing.” There was a hint of amusement in his tone, as though he were somehow mocking her.

  “Our Catherine is indeed much sought after,” Mrs. Clarkson replied before Catherine could. “And because of that, I must keep her on schedule. Mr. Danby, if you will come with me, I shall have you more comfortably arranged in one of the other sitting rooms. There, one of my girls will bring you refreshments. You will also find a good deal of reading material, including the newspaper.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Clarkson. That sounds very comfortable.”

  Catherine breathed a sigh of relief as her employer led Mr. Danby away and closed the door behind them. It was obvious that he didn’t recognize her and for now her secret remained safe. But the nagging thought that discovery could occur at any moment would not leave Catherine’s mind.

  “We are ever so grateful,” Mrs. Danby began, “that you could work us into your schedule. I have heard nothing but high praise from my friends regarding your creations. I was hesitant at first, you understand. I was used to having my clothes made by only the best designers—mostly French, of course.”

  The woman continued to prattle while Catherine arranged her sketch pad and pencils, her thoughts still on Carter Danby. There definitely seemed to be something in his expression that suggested he might know her.

  He’s trying to remember where he’s seen me. Of this Catherine was certain. The look in his eyes clearly indicated that there was something familiar about her. Oh, I must let Selma and Dugan know. They’ll have a better idea of what must be done.

  “And then we were most disappointed when that talented young man passed on,” Mrs. Danby was saying.

  Having no idea what Mrs. Danby was speaking about, Catherine turned to the mother and daughter duo and began to size them up in more intimate detail. “Let us discuss the ty
pe of dresses you would like to have made.”

  “Well, as you must know,” Mrs. Danby began, “we host an annual masquerade ball. Not one of those annoying masquerades where everyone must wear a costume that they will never again wear, but instead one with magnificent ball gowns. We have held this ball for nearly twenty years. We are one of the only homes in town with its own ballroom, and because of this we find ourselves obliged to host at least two balls a year, and the Christmas ball is always a masquerade. Every year more impressive than the one before it.”

  She barely drew a breath before continuing with a frown. “Well, there was one year when a terrible yellow fever epidemic was followed by an equally bad one of influenza. That year the ball was much altered. It was all very sad.” She halted, as if in respect for the sorrow of that time.

  Her pause was all the time Catherine needed to regain the situation. “I have appointments throughout the day, so we would be wise to have you ladies measured. I’d like to take some notes as to the type of gown you would like. While one is fitted for measurements, the other can describe your likes and dislikes.”

  “I believe Winifred should have something quite low-cut. The bodice should show off her . . . assets,” Mrs. Danby declared. “She is now twenty and must find a husband soon.”

  “And if she does not?” Catherine asked, rather annoyed that the woman would impose such a thing on the obviously shy young woman. Poor Winifred Danby had spent most of the time so far looking at the carpeted floor.

  “If she does not, her father will surely arrange a marriage for her. My own marriage was arranged for the benefit of the family, and my husband will do no less for his own daughter. Winifred must look her best for the ball in order that the available young men who also attend can see what a good wife she might make.”

  “And they will tell this by the cut of her neckline?” Catherine asked, knowing her sarcasm was uncalled for. However, she didn’t miss the slight giggle that came from Miss Danby.

  “They will tell that she is . . . well . . . that is to say that her charms are many,” Mrs. Danby replied. She seemed torn between rebuking Catherine for her comment and remaining in her new dressmaker’s good graces.