Timeless Regency Collection: Autumn Masquerade

by Josi S. Kilpack

  Lila could not help herself as she moved forward, looking at what he saw. “What is the benefit of a heavy wagon if it requires additional structure?”

  “Longevity,” Mr. Luthford said, looking up at her. She took a step back, not realizing how close she was to him. He turned back to the wagon and continued to talk about the construction—something Lila would never have guessed to be interesting but somehow was. She’d never thought about nails versus wooden pegs, or the thickness of the rim fit to the wheel itself.

  “I’d have done almost anything for a wagon of this quality when I was in Spain,” he said as his explanation came to an end. “We had little choice but to make the most of broken down conveyances that were often a liability to our entire regiment.” He slapped the side of wagon. “I shall have to ask your uncle where I might find such a wagon.”

  “Will you be in a need of a wagon?” Lila asked.

  “It seems that farming is my future,” Mr. Luthford said with a touch of resolution. “I am determined to do it well.” He met her eyes and lifted one shoulder. “Like you, I prefer to have purpose to my actions, and I believe the purpose left to me is to raise crops and sheep and find my way within such industry.”

  Purpose left to me? What did he mean by that? Instead of asking the question, however, she simply smiled and turned toward the stable. “I assume you rode your own mount and that is why you sent your trunks by hired chaise?”

  “I did,” Mr. Luthford said, hurrying his steps to catch up to her. She reached the corral fence, and her gaze landed on the only unfamiliar animal in the paddock, even though it did not look like anything a gentleman would ride. The horse was thickly built, like a stock horse, with a short neck, dull grey coat, and dark mane. She would expect such an animal to pull a plow.

  A lady should always compliment a man’s horse.

  Insulting his horse would be an easy task to complete.

  “Is that your horse?” she asked, nodding toward the decrepit looking thing.

  “Ah yes,” Mr. Luthford said, a smile in his voice. “That there is Gordon.”

  “Gordon?” she said, turning to look at him with her nose wrinkled.

  He raised his eyebrows as though surprised, but his half smile told her he was not. “You don’t like the name?”

  She focused on the horse again. “Perhaps it fits him,” she said, cocking her head to the side. “A strange name for a very strange horse.”

  She had meant to offend Mr. Luthford, but he laughed instead.

  “Indeed,” he said. “Only, it’s not a him, it’s a her.”

  She looked at him again. “You named a mare Gordon?”

  He shrugged a shoulder. “Everyone has these horses with names like Thunder and Prince and Ragtail’s Promise. I thought the least I could do for an animal I trust with my life every time I throw myself into the saddle is give it a name of respect.”

  “Then why not Elizabeth or Lady Mary for a mare?”

  He scrunched up his face and looked at the horse as though for the first time. “I think she’d have been embarrassed by such a title as that,” he said. “But a name like Gordon, steady and sure, but not flouncy in any way, seemed just the thing for such a nag as her.”

  It was Lila’s turn to laugh. He’d called his own horse a nag! As soon as she realized what she’d done, however, she cut off the laugh and faced forward again. This was going horribly, terribly wrong! She had meant to talk only of herself, and yet he had made her an expert on wagon construction, and now she had intended to insult his horse only to find his response clever. She searched the paddock until she found Neville’s faithful stallion, Wind Runner—a name that suddenly seemed very silly. He was a beautiful chocolate colored gelding with white socks and a star upon his forehead. Wind Runner was a thing of beauty—a grand horse for a great man. The man she was going to marry. The man she must marry.

  “Miss Grange?” Mr. Luthford said after several awkwardly silent seconds. “Is everything all right?”

  “Of course,” she said with polite indifference she hoped he could hear. She was already suffering from the heat of this gown, which perhaps she should be grateful for, as the physical discomfort made it easier for her to be unpleasant. “I only wonder that you rode this animal all the way here. She looks scarce able to make it to the next village over with a man upon her back. Do your feet touch the ground when you’re astride?”

  He laughed and shook his head. “I might appear a bit awkward, but she is as steady a mount as any have ever known.” He moved forward to rest his arms on the top rail of the fence. Gordon saw him and whinnied as she lumbered toward them and then pushed her nose into Mr. Luthford’s hand like a dog might do.

  “No apples today, old girl,” Mr. Luthford said, scratching her behind the ear, to which she nickered once again. He turned to look at Lila with soft eyes. “She saw me through Spain,” he explained. “Wasn’t more than a filly when I first obtained her, and then she followed me around like a loyal puppy, truth be told. When I realized I had to give up my commission, I went to great expense to bring her with me. She’s not the fastest, and she’s certainly not the most beautiful specimen of horseflesh you’ll ever see, but I have never known a horse of greater stamina and loyalty than my Gordon.”

  Lila was touched—but she didn’t want to be. A trickle of sweat moved down her back, making her shiver.

  “Well, I think it a very stupid name for a very ugly horse.” The words came out much harsher than she meant them to. She swallowed and looked away when Mr. Luthford’s head turned toward her. She could feel the hurt and surprise from him, even without seeing the emotions play across his face. She wanted him to not like her, but she hated that he likely thought her horrid. “But I suppose beauty is in the eye of the beholder.”

  “Indeed,” Mr. Luthford said evenly, turning back to his horse and scratching her behind the ears with both hands now. Lila watched him without turning her head, then took a step back toward the house. “Well, I should check on luncheon—we have a small meal around noon. I assume you’ve already seen the cottage?”

  “I believe I passed it on the way up the drive.”

  She should show him the cottage, but then he had already turned back to his horse and she didn’t dare risk further intimacy.

  “Very well,” she said, smiling politely. “I’ll see you at luncheon. Good day, Mr. Luthford.”

  “Good day, Miss Grange,” he said, turning toward her and bowing. “And thank you for the tour and hospitality.”

  There was no edge to his voice, no censure or dismay—though she certainly deserved such things. She swallowed, smiled, and then turned back to the house, moving as quickly as she could. The only consolation she could dig out of the experience—though it did not bring her much joy to note it—was that making herself unattractive was not nearly as hard as she thought it would be.

  Chapter Five

  Lila recounted meeting Mr. Luthford while pacing back and forth in Eloise’s parlor. They were visiting under the guise of tea and putting the finishing touches on the capes they had both made to go with their masquerade costumes. Both cups had gone cold, and each cape remained folded in their sewing baskets. Lila hadn’t even eaten a roly-poly pudding Eloise’s cook had put on the tray. Lila always ate as many roly-poly puddings as she could when they were offered. But she had no appetite today.

  “And then how was luncheon after you said such things to him?” Eloise asked when Lila came to the end of the conversation outside the corral.

  “Fine,” Lila said, turning to her and throwing up her arms in exasperation. “He was polite and told the most fascinating story about a storm his ship was caught in on his very first crossing. It was all I could do not to pepper him with questions about it. How does a ship remain afloat when the masts are broken and it is thrown so severely from side to side that the men have to tie themselves into their hammocks? I did not ask a single question, and it nearly killed me. I ate twice what I would have normally just to keep my
mouth occupied, which I can only hope he noted and was disgusted by. It was one of the aspects in that article, not eating too much.”

  She huffed and continued her pacing.

  “I’m not sure I understand why you are so frustrated,” Eloise said. “It seems that everything is going according to plan. You are not presenting yourself well, just as you planned, and he is not seeking your company, just as you hoped. He could have insisted you show him the cottage, for instance, but he did not argue the point.”

  “Everything is going as planned. Only, it feels wrong.” Wrong? Was that really what she meant? Did it feel wrong?

  “Perhaps you should reconsider your plan. It sounds as though maybe you would like to know him better.”

  “I can’t reconsider,” Lila said, though she did ponder the idea. “He is still fourteen years my senior, he is not handsome—at least not in a dashing kind of way—and most of all he is not Neville.” She stopped and closed her eyes, bringing Neville’s sparkling eyes and chiseled jaw to her mind’s eye to fortify her belief that he was the only man she could ever love. “Surely Mr. Luthford is the very devil come to prevent me from the true man of my dreams. Only, I am not so strong as I thought I was, and he is more interesting than I expected. That is the trouble!”

  She resumed her pacing.

  “I think you like him,” Eloise said.

  “I do not like him,” Lila said with complete sincerity, though something prickled in her chest that only served to annoy her further. “I had envisioned a certain smoothness in my own actions that is lacking, as well as a sense of accomplishment I simply do not feel. I insulted his horse for heaven’s sake, yet at luncheon he was as polite as he’d been when we were first introduced.”

  “Well, you are not used to being unkind, even if it is for a very good reason. That is surely why you feel so unsettled.”

  Lila finally sat down. “Yes, that is true. Being unkind goes against my character. I am used to behaving much better than this.”

  “And you do love to talk to interesting people.”

  Lila sighed. “And he may have some of the most interesting stories I have ever heard.”

  “But you cannot forget that the reason he has so many stories is because he is very old.”

  “So old,” Lila confirmed, keeping to herself that he didn’t look very old.

  “And you are in love with Neville.”

  Lila closed her eyes and raised her hands to her temples. Surely she was developing a headache from all this anxiety. “So help me, I am.” Beautiful Neville. Wonderful Neville.

  “Giving in to your curiosity about Mr. Luthford’s experiences and risking his increased interest in you would pose significant difficulty in the reunion with Neville, which will take place in less than two weeks.”

  “Significant difficulty.”

  “Then there is nothing more to do but stay the course,” Eloise said. She put down her cold cup and saucer and looked strongly at Lila. “You have always been a woman of strength who does not back down in the face of adversity. This may very well be exactly what you said, a test of your love for Neville, and therefore you must triumph. Remember that you are not being unkind—though perhaps the commentary about his horse was overzealous—but you are instead helping Mr. Luthford. The sooner he determines you are not the woman he wants to base a future around, the sooner he will look at other women who are better suited for him.” She scooted forward on her chair. “You must not give up, Lila, and you must see this through.”

  Lila’s confidence was improved with Eloise’s encouragement. “You’re right,” she said. “I must hold firm.” She stood.

  Eloise stood and made a fist of solidarity. “Hold firm!”

  “I shall not give up,” Lila said, straightening and lifting her chin.

  “Not give up!” Eloise repeated. She smiled.

  Lila smiled back.

  Eloise stopped smiling. “I do have one further question, though?”

  Lila lifted her eyebrows expectantly.

  “Why are you wearing that horrible dress?”

  Lila looked down at the smashed pumpkin dress—a morning dress that she was wearing well into the afternoon and not even within the walls of her own home. She had, at least, worn the straw chip for the walk to Eloise’s rather than the purple velvet. “I was trying to look unattractive.” She raised a hand to her hair. “I tried to do the same with my hair.”

  “Oh, the hair is fantastic,” Eloise said admiringly. “It sets your face off very well, indeed. But the dress.” She frowned. “I don’t think you need to try so hard to look poorly. Someone else may have seen you in that dress, you know. Remember your ambitions and stay the course without too many differences someone else might notice.”

  Lila was relieved by the sound advice. “Tomorrow I shall wear the sprig muslin then, but will offset it with talk of politics, a foul stomach, and perhaps I shall drink some brandy in his presence.”

  “Have you ever drunk brandy—or any strong drink for that matter? Perhaps start with something like elderberry wine or ratafia.”

  “Only, will a lady’s drink put him off enough?”

  “Coupled with talk of politics and foul stomachs, I think you could drink lemonade and still make progress toward your goals.”

  Lila nodded. “Very good. I am renewed and prepared to face Mr. Luthford at the dinner table tonight.”

  “Only, change out of the dress before you do,” Eloise reminded. “It really is quite hideous.”

  Chapter Six

  Dinner, like lunch, was filled with even more fascinating stories of India, France, and Spain. At first Lila had to keep her mouth full of food again to keep from barraging Mr. Luthford with questions. Eventually she found her plate empty, but by then she was content to simply listen to him talk. He had a way with words and had so many remarkable experiences that, although she would have liked to ask questions, she realized she did not really need to.

  The men lingered only a short while over their port and joined Lila in the drawing room where she crocheted by the fire. After only a few minutes Mr. Luthford begged off; he was worn out from his travel this morning and getting settled once his trunks arrived in the afternoon. Tomorrow Uncle Peter would be giving him a tour of the village.

  “Why don’t you join us, Lila?” Uncle Peter said.

  “Oh, I do believe I have an... uh, obligation with Eloise tomorrow.”

  “Surely it can wait. How often do we have a guest unfamiliar with our wonderful hamlet?”

  “If Miss Grange is otherwise engaged—” Mr. Luthford said.

  “Nonsense,” Uncle Peter said, waving away any resistance. “She sees Eloise nearly every day; she can make arrangements.” He gave Lila a strong look, and Lila finally smiled politely and nodded her agreement.

  “Eleven o’clock,” Uncle Peter said, pushing up from his chair. “We’ll meet in the foyer and make an afternoon of it. Perhaps we will take lunch at Burns & Patter so that he might see what High Ercall used to be. I’ll send them a note to reserve a table.”

  The next morning Lila came down the stairs at five to eleven, having spent the morning making up for yesterday’s dowdiness by putting extra attention to today’s toilet. She was not trying to impress Mr. Luthford, but she was secretly relieved not to have to work at being unattractive today. With Uncle there she couldn’t behave in the contrary way she might if it were only she and Mr. Luthford. The most she could do was not be too interested in Mr. Luthford’s stories. If only thoughts of his dinner narrations had not left her yearning for a few clarifications. Why were there only cats to eat in northern Spain that winter, and how, exactly, did one cook a cat?

  Not asking was as hard to do as not putting her best self forward, but all must be endured in the name of Neville.

  Lila was reminding herself of all these things when Wilhite, the butler, came upon her and reached a paper toward her. “A note from Master Franklyn, miss.”

  She took the note and unfolded it.
>
  Lila,

  My deepest regrets for being unable to join today’s escort, but there was a dispute between two tenants and I’ve been called in to help resolve the matter. Please give Luthford my apologies. I have made arrangements for the two of you to take lunch at Burns & Patter. They are expecting you at 12:15.

  Additionally, Mrs. Mason sent round a note accepting the invitation to dinner I believe you extended without appraising me. Please be so good as to keep me informed of such things in the future. I have issued a further invitation to Mr. And Mrs. Marchett to extend the numbers.

  Have a lovely afternoon,

  Uncle P

  Lila couldn’t believe that for the second time in two days her uncle was fairly throwing her into the arms of a man she barely knew! A carriage ride with him alone? It would have to be an open carriage for matters of respectability, of course, but then the whole village would see her and Mr. Luthford together. What would they think when Neville returned in just over a week and she rode in an open carriage with him? She expected more from her uncle and would find a way to tell him as much... just as soon as she figured out how she would handle the next two hours with Mr. Luthford.

  “I believe the carriage is ready,” Wilhite said.

  “I need a moment,” Lila said, turning to hurry back up the stairs.

  She could not let the chance to be alone with Mr. Luthford go to waste. Once in her room she went to her desk and removed the list so she might review it.

  “Politics,” she muttered under her breath. “Foul stomach.” Was there anything else?

  Gentlemen prefer the smell of roses to lavender. Consider such when you shall be close enough in proximity for him to catch a gentle whiff of your perfume.

  Lila had already splashed rose water upon her neck, as she did every morning. But that was playing directly into the theory of the article rather than opposing it. So she must remedy the inadvertent mistake with lavender. After a moment’s consideration she hurried toward her wardrobe. For Christmas two years earlier Eloise had given Lila a bottle of lavender oil and a small pillow. Every few months Lila would put a few drops of the oil on the pillow, then place the pillow in her wardrobe to keep the moths away and the fabrics smelling fresh. The oil was far more concentrated than perfume.