Masquerade

by Nancy Moser

  She’d take care of Suzanna Weaver later; that was for certain.

  “Lottie, please. Slow down.”

  “Never.”

  With a glance, Lottie saw that Dora held on for her life, one hand on the edge of the seat and the other on her mobcap. For some reason the sight of that stupid cap incensed her. Dora, all dressed up in the formal uniform of a parlormaid, for a party that was not to be …

  Lottie called above the sound of hooves on the road, “Take that thing off. And your apron too. You’re my lady’s maid, not a parlormaid.”

  Dora pulled the cap free and stuck it in the space between them. Then—using but one hand—she untied the apron in the back and pulled its bib over her head. She began to fold it as best she could without letting go of the seat.

  The act fueled Lottie’s fury, and she grabbed the apron and threw it into the air behind them.

  “What are you—?”

  Lottie added the cap to the wind.

  “What are you doing? I’ll be charged for those,” Dora said.

  Don’t be ridiculous.

  Lottie slowed in order to turn into the Smythes’ drive. And slowed more as they approached the house. Whatever would she say to Ralph? She’d come to chastise him for his absence but also to find answers for whatever Suzanna had been unwilling to tell her. She hoped he would take her in his arms and comfort her. I’m so sorry, Lottie. I should have come. I love you and despise that I’ve upset you. Can you ever forgive me?

  When the house came into view, Lottie handed the reins to Dora.

  “I don’t know anything about driving.”

  “Nothing to know. Just pull on the reins to get them to stop.”

  “But—”

  “Shh!” Lottie realized she’d left the house without a bonnet, and the hair that Dora had so skillfully arranged for the party had escaped its bonds with stray pieces hanging this way and that.

  “Help me fix my hair,” she said.

  Dora shook her head. “I can’t drive and fix your hair.”

  A true point. Sometimes Lottie regretted her impulsive nature. She should have taken the time to put on a bonnet, should have let Derek drive her, and … and what had she been thinking throwing away Dora’s cap and apron?

  “Whoa …” Dora said.

  The horse complied, and a stableboy ran forward to take it by the bit while a footman stepped forward to help the ladies out.

  Lady. Just Lottie. Belatedly, Lottie realized the awkward situation she’d created by bringing Dora along. Dora had no reason to enter the Smythe home.

  “I’ll wait here,” Dora said. “You won’t be long, will you?”

  “Hopefully not.”

  It was awkward leaving Dora in the carriage, but the girl couldn’t very well step down and sit upon the front step.

  The butler greeted Lottie at the door. She tried to tuck in the most offending strands of hair and said, “Good afternoon, Walters. I’d like to see Mr. Smythe, please.”

  “I …”

  “Please, Walters. Is he available?”

  Ralph walked out of the drawing room. “Miss Gleason. Please come in.”

  Miss Gleason? They were a hairsbreadth away from being engaged. They’d even shared a clandestine kiss.

  Lottie entered the drawing room and was surprised when Ralph closed the double doors behind them. Yet she was glad for it, because her anger had returned.

  “Where were you?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  She wagged a finger at him. “Don’t start with me, Ralph. Suzanna showed up long enough to inform me that no one was coming to my party. Not even you.”

  He moved to a safe place behind a chair. “I … I couldn’t come, Lottie.”

  At least he didn’t call me Miss Gleason.

  She sat on the settee where their one and only kiss had occurred and folded her hands in her lap. “I’m waiting.”

  His fingers pulled across the carving at the top of the chair. “Father wouldn’t let me come.”

  “Since when do you do what your father says?”

  “I’m the heir, Lottie. I have a responsibility to listen to the dictates of my parents.”

  “Again I ask, ‘Since when?’ And beyond that, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  A furrow formed on his brow. He hesitated, then with a burst of movement went to a drawer in a bureau. He removed a book that had a ribbon tied around it. “Birthday greetings, Lottie.”

  It was a copy of An Old-Fashioned Girl.

  “It’s by Louisa May Alcott. It’s about a country girl who goes to the city and—”

  Lottie liked the gift very much, and yet … “Why didn’t you bring it yourself? And why didn’t you send word you weren’t coming? Why did I hear it from—?”

  “I did send word. I sent a note of regret.”

  “It was never received.”

  His face revealed an inner conflict that seemed so genuine she knew he had sent a note.

  Suddenly an image from that morning came to her. That of a stack of letters in her mother’s possession, her mother opening a single note and dismissing the rest. Had others sent their regrets as well?

  “You know why I couldn’t come, Lottie. Don’t make me say it.”

  But I don’t know! She felt like throwing the book at him. Instead, she set the book beside her on the settee and laid a hand upon it, staking claim. “I’m afraid you have no choice, Ralph. I’m not leaving until I hear the truth, whatever it may be.”

  He retreated to his place behind the chair. “For one, your family’s financial situation has become an issue.”

  She was shocked for but a moment. Snippets said by her parents that very morning—and before—came back to her, hints and innuendosabout something amiss. Whatever the “situation” was, Ralph wasn’t making it up. “Tell me what you mean.”

  He looked confused. “Surely you know as much as I do.”

  “I know nothing! Just tell me. Now.”

  His face revealed his reluctance—which gave her some comfort. At least he wasn’t taking pleasure in it. “My parents and the other families in the county have heard talk of fiscal impropriety on your father’s part. I don’t know the details, but the fact remains that society will not condone such indiscretions.”

  What has Father done? “I have nothing to do with the financial interests of the estate, nor do I have any knowledge of them,” she said.

  “I know you share no guilt, Lottie.”

  She suddenly remembered something else Ralph had said. “What do you mean by ‘for one’? Is there some other sin you’re holding against me?”

  Ralph blushed, and with this involuntary act, Lottie guessed the essence of the other sin. If people around Wiltshire knew of Mrs. Lancashire …

  But even so … Lottie had heard gossip about more than one of the gentry set. Although she found such indiscretions repulsive, it should not be the cause of—

  “Your father is being named in a divorce suit.”

  “Named?”

  “By the husband of the adulterous wife.”

  “I …” She didn’t know what to say, how to respond.

  “People have their dalliances, but to be named is a scandal, and that, added to the financial issues …” His face softened. “I am surprised your parents haven’t told you something about it, if for no other reason than to warn you of forthcoming repercussions. I feel bad you’re the one having to suffer.”

  Her thoughts rushed from the unfathomable news to the intense desire to find comfort in his arms. “Then don’t make me suffer a moment longer, Ralph.” She stood and went to him. “I care for you, and you care for me. We—”

  Suddenly, through the French doors, Lottie caught sight of a woman in the garden beside the house. Lottie rushed to the glass and pointed. “What is Edith Whitcomb doing in your garden?”

  “She just stopped by and—”

  Edith saw Lottie and scurried behind a rhododendron. Friends who just dropped by didn�
�t scurry.

  Lottie whipped open the doors and entered the garden. “Olly olly oxen free.”

  Edith stepped into the open, her eyes seeking Ralph’s direction.

  “Well, well, well. Who do we have here?” But even as Lottie said the words she wanted to retreat and unsay them all. She couldn’t stand to hear more unpleasant truths. If only she’d never seen Edith, if only she’d pretended she hadn’t seen Edith.

  Edith’s face revealed her panic, and she ran to the safety of Ralph’s arms.

  “There, there,” he told her, stroking her hair.

  And there it was. As painful as a slap to Lottie’s face.

  She felt the life drain out of her. With a simple breeze she would dissolve into a puddle of empty clothes. She didn’t even have the strength to voice a question.

  And perhaps there were no questions to voice. The situation was abundantly clear: on this day, on her birthday, her life had been forever changed.

  She heard herself speak in barely a whisper. “I have to go now.”

  Ralph relinquished Edith to herself. “I’ll see you out.”

  “No!” With a rush Lottie found herself again. “I don’t need your help or your pity. Good day, Mr. Smythe. Miss Whitcomb.”

  She strode back into the drawing room, detoured to claim her book, then with great drama flung open the double doors. Walters had to scramble to open the front door for her.

  She barely let the footman help her ascend the carriage, took her place beside Dora, and thrust the book into her care.

  Lottie shook the reins and the carriage jerked into motion, taking them home.

  Her parents had some heavy explaining to do.

  Chapter Two

  The journey home from the Smythes’ was accomplished in silence. Dora had a thousand questions, but by the look on Lottie’s face, now was not the time to ask—or offer condolences. Whatever had transpired with Ralph had not been good.

  The return trip was made at the same speed as the trip away, but this time Lottie surrendered her hair to the wind and pulled it completely loose, letting it flow in odd hanks behind her. Dora had the feeling if Lottie could have removed all her clothing and flung the pieces to the wind, she would have. Whatever had happened had shut a door—and locked it.

  When they reached the Gleasons’ home, Lottie got out first and uttered her first words. “Meet me upstairs.”

  Mr. Davies helped Dora to the ground, but instead of asking after Lottie, he appraised Dora’s attire. “Where is your cap and apron?”

  An explanation would take too long and would not be understood. “Flung to the wind in a fit of freedom,” she said.

  “Excuse me?”

  She strode to the door. “No, excuse me. Miss Charlotte is waiting.”

  Mr. Davies called after her. “You’ll have to pay for those.”

  As Dora headed upstairs to Lottie’s room she heard a commotion coming from the drawing room.

  “I demand an explanation!” Lottie shouted.

  Dora paused on the steps, wanting to hear. But when Lady Gleason closed the doors, Dora continued up the steps. She’d hear the details soon enough.

  “Do calm yourself, daughter,” her father said. “We shan’t talk to you when you’re in such a state.”

  “I’m in such a state because of you.”

  “Watch yourself …”

  It was good advice. Lottie knew her parents and knew the way to handle them was through gentle persuasion, not outright confrontation. While moving to a chair, she caught sight of herself in the mirror above the fireplace. She looked like a crazed hag escaped from some asylum. She patted her hair for hairpins, but finding only one intact, secured just one hank of hair. It was a single bandage on a gaping wound.

  She let the hair be and sat down. With great effort she calmed her breathing and the beating of her heart. “No one came to my party.”

  Her mother raised a finger. “Didn’t Suzanna—?”

  “Oh yes. Suzanna came—for a moment. I understand there were other regrets? Notes received?”

  Her mother pulled at the lace on her handkerchief. “A few.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me? Why did you continue with the preparations and let me anticipate and wait?”

  “I …”

  Her father took over. “Check your tone, daughter. Your mother meant well.”

  Mother nodded. “I hoped some would still come and—”

  “And you didn’t want to face the reason why they weren’t coming,” Lottie said.

  “Fickle rumors,” her father said.

  A sliver of hope split open the rock of her worry. “So the rumors are false? My friends are mistaken?” she asked.

  He walked to the fireplace and hit the bowl of his pipe against its stones, emptying it. “It’s true we have suffered a series of financial setbacks.”

  “Ralph implied there was some …” How could she say it? Should she say it? “Some impropriety?”

  Lottie watched her father’s face redden. “I assure you I meant no harm. The deal seemed legitimate and …” He fiddled with his pipe, then retreated to his favorite chair.

  He focused only on the financial. Was he choosing this lesser evil over the other, more lurid, sin? Yet Lottie couldn’t bring it up in a blatant manner—for her mother’s sake. “Ralph mentioned something else, another more personal issue.”

  Her father avoided her gaze—and that of his wife. “I don’t know what to say. I—”

  Her mother moved to her usual place behind her husband’s chair. “Do you see why it’s so important you marry well—marry Conrad Tremaine?”

  How could Mother be so forgiving? Her husband’s infidelity had been revealed for all the world to gawk at and whisper over. Where was her pride? Her dignity?

  And yet, seeing her parents united in spite of everything … Suddenly the world fell into place and one plus one equaled two. If her parents could marry Lottie off to a rich American, it would give the appearance that the Gleasons were still a well-respected family. It would also help hide their financial difficulties.

  “We didn’t seek this arrangement for you, daughter,” Father said. “But when this current downturn began, and then the murmurings of this other situation began to brew, it coincided with your uncle George’s return from New York City after meeting the Tremaines. He was the one who brought forward the idea of uniting our two families. We appreciate the financial stability of the Tremaines’ rising fortunes, and they are enamored with the thought of their son marrying the daughter of a knighted Englishman with a vast estate. It’s quite puzzling, really. Even though the Americans are proud of their independence from the motherland, they still yearn for many of its accoutrements.” He suffered a sigh. “All that being said, the timing is right. We need … we want you to find stability, for if things go badly, in the future there might not be the usual inher—”

  Lottie finished the sentence for him. “The usual inheritance?”

  Father slipped the pipe into the pocket of his tweed jacket, and Mother coughed into her handkerchief. “We currently have a dowry set aside for you, but circumstances may force us to dip into that income in order to …”

  Survive? Fight a lawsuit? Pay your way out of the scandal?

  Another notion came to her. “Why didn’t you tell me what was going on?”

  “You had no wish to know, dear,” her mother said.

  “Of course I wished to know. I am not a child.”

  “Perhaps not,” Father said. “But you see the world as a child. As far as the financial issues, didn’t you notice the closure of the north wing? Or how we’ve been forced to let half the staff go?”

  Oh. That. “Of course I noticed.”

  “Didn’t you ever once wonder why?”

  Lottie felt the fool. How stupid to have the signs set before her, yet pass them off as inconsequential.

  Lottie’s mother relinquished her place, sat beside Lottie, and cupped her daughter’s chin in her hand. “Now is not
the time for delay, Charlotte. The Tremaines wish to meet you and me. We must accept their invitation in order to cement the match. For your sake. And our own.”

  Lottie had a realization. “The Tremaines are unaware of our troubles?”

  Father cleared his throat. “What the Tremaines don’t know won’t hurt them.”

  Mother shook her head slightly. “The Tremaines are unaware—as yet. But again, dear, time …”

  Time would wait for no man.

  Or woman.

  The clock was ticking.

  J Dora paced the floor in Lottie’s bedroom from bed to window and back again. What was happening downstairs? What was taking so long? What had transpired between Lottie and Ralph?

  Without warning the door opened and Lottie stormed into the room. Dora ran to her. “What happened? What did they say?”

  Lottie flung herself on the bed. “It’s over. My life is over.”

  Dora had witnessed other tantrums for reasons as inconsequential as not getting a new dress or Lottie having to finish her lessons before going riding. Yet she knew that this time, on this day, there was the potential for true torment.

  She climbed upon the bed beside Lottie and moved the hair from her face. “Tell me. Perhaps I can help.”

  Lottie shook her head. “No one can help. Father is ruined; our family has no money. Ralph has shunned me for Edith Whitcomb, and I have to go to America and marry Conrad Tremaine before they find out I’m not an English heiress but a pauper—with a father who’s being named in a divorce.”

  “What?” Dora knew about the financial situation, and Lottie had told her about Mrs. Lancashire, but she hadn’t heard anything about a lawsuit. This was bad. Horrible.

  Lottie stared at the ceiling. “Apparently a man can be unfaithful as much as he wants and society looks the other way. But when the woman’s husband asks for a divorce and cites the guilty man by name, it’s unacceptable and grounds for scandal.”

  The list of crises was nearly too much for Dora to grasp. Each one deserved its own tantrum, much less the swell of them together. “I don’t know what to say.”