Double Masquerade

by Lucy Muir

  “You are also looking very fine,” Catherine returned, admiring the picture her friend presented in her gown of rose silk trimmed in blonde lace, a matching fichu filling the neckline. Sarah’s soft brown hair was unpowdered and simply dressed, and she had chosen to wear a matching set of garnets.

  Sarah attempted to engage her friend in conversation, commenting on the toilettes of the guests, but although Catherine endeavoured to follow the conversation, she found she was unable to concentrate on anything but the knot of anxiety in her stomach. How she wished the minuets would begin! She wanted it to be over with so she could relax and enjoy the rest of the evening. Time seemed to crawl by, but at last Lord Edgecombe took the floor with Miss Ellsworth for the first minuet. Catherine politely faced in their direction, but kept her eyes cast down on the fan she nervously folded and unfolded in her lap, determined not to watch the more skilled couple. The spectators began to make the usual comments upon the performance of the couple on the floor, both admiring and deleterious. Her nervousness increasing, Catherine tried not to listen.

  At last the first minuet ended, and Catherine looked up to see Lord Edgecombe and Miss Ellsworth making their final obeisances before leaving the floor.

  “Miss Trevor.” Woodforde said, rising from his chair by Squire Turner and holding out his gloved hand. It was time. Catherine stripped off the gloves she had on and drew on a pair of fine new ones, knowing that although gloves that were a bit worn were acceptable for other dances, gloves worn for the minuet must be pristine. She handed her fan to Sarah to hold until her return and, taking a deep breath, rose and took Lord Woodforde’s hand. As she and Woodforde advanced to the top of the room. Catherine felt a brief moment of rising panic, but she forced it down by focusing on Lord Woodforde alone and making a blur of everyone else in the room. Following her partner’s lead, she began the series of elaborate steps, bows, curtseys, and other honours that comprised the introduction to the minuet itself.

  Then it was time for the first offering of hands, and as Lord Woodforde raised his right arm to extend his gloved fingers to meet hers, Catherine’s nervousness fell away and she lost herself to the slow, stately, and elegant steps. She and Lord Woodforde moved gracefully down the room in a z-pattern, offered their left hands to one another, stepped through the z pattern again, and ended with their final offering of both hands to each other, remaining in contact this time until the final opening out to the audience. It was over. Catherine experienced a rush of pride, knowing by the appreciative silence of the crowd that they had not disgraced themselves.

  “You did very well,” Lord Woodforde complimented in an undertone as they left the floor.

  “Thank you, I had an excellent dancing master,” Catherine answered demurely. As Lord Woodforde escorted her back to their chairs several guests came forward to compliment them on their skill. After the first flush of her success faded, Catherine was disappointed that the Marquess of Edgecombe had not been among those congratulating them. She searched the floor for his tall figure as she idly fanned her face, having retrieved her fan from Sarah, and finally discovered the marquess no great distance away, surrounded by guests. With so many guests eager to become acquainted with the newest addition to their society, Catherine realized she would have but little chance to speak to Lord Edgecombe that evening, and much of her pleasure in her triumph vanished.

  Two more couples danced the minuet, and then the spirited country dances began. Still nursing a faint hope that the marquess would seek her out, Catherine refused Lord Woodforde’s invitation to dance with a whispered, “Not this set, Lord Edgecombe has not yet chosen a partner.” She was well-punished for her discourtesy when, shortly afterwards, Lord Edgecombe walked to the top of the set with Miss Louisa Ellsworth, and Catherine was approached by Mr. Ellsworth, gloriously attired in a curled wig dusted in yellow powder, gold brocade coat and matching breeches, multi-coloured striped waistcoat, striped silk stockings, and pumps that sparkled with huge paste jewels.

  “Lud! Miss Trevor, I have not seen so fine a presentation of the minuet as yours this night in years. Must do me the honour of partnering me for the first country dance.”

  Caught, Catherine gave her hand to the macaroni and they joined the line just below Lord Edgecombe and Miss Louisa Ellsworth; Lord Woodforde and Mrs. Turner taking the position below them.

  “Must say I do not remember you dancing so fine a minuet before, Miss Trevor,” Mr. Ellsworth said conversationally when the figures of the country dance allowed for speech. “Did you hire a dancing master at Rosemont? Must give me his name.”

  Catherine looked uneasily to her right, hoping Lord Edgecombe had not overheard the remark. “No, Mr. Ellsworth,” she replied with a second furtive glance at Lord Woodforde and his partner on her left, “it must have been the fine musicians Lord Ellsworth hired for the night that inspired me to perform at a higher level.”

  “No,” Mr. Ellsworth insisted, “I am quite certain there was something more to it than that. Forgive me, Miss Trevor, but although your skill at a country dance is unlikely to be surpassed, your minuets have never before been quite so polished.”

  Catherine again glanced at the couples to each side, hoping their conversation was not being overheard. She caught a smile on Lord Woodforde’s face, although Lord Edgecombe appeared not to have overheard Mr. Ellsworth’s comments, being engrossed in conversation with his partner.

  “That is a fine waistcoat you are wearing this evening, Mr. Ellsworth,” Catherine essayed, desperate to change the topic. “What is the name of that particular shade of yellow in the stripes?”

  Catherine’s ploy was successful, and the remainder of her conversation with Mr. Ellsworth focused upon various points of fashion.

  When the set ended, Mr. Ellsworth escorted Catherine back to Lady Manning and once again Catherine searched the floor for Lord Edgecombe, certain he would seek her out after being reminded of her existence by sharing the last country dance set. Again she spied him no great distance away, still surrounded by guests, one of whom was obviously being presented as a desirable dance partner. Catherine sighed in frustration. Would she never have a chance to partner Lord Edgecombe? Had all her practicing and her new wardrobe been for naught?

  “Since it appears you will not be having the partner you desire for this next set either, would you care to partner me?” Lord Woodforde asked in a low voice as Lord Edgecombe led Miss Stillington-Fyfe onto the floor.

  “Thank you, Lord Woodforde,” Catherine consented, holding out her hand. Although she was disappointed not to have the opportunity to dance with Lord Edgecombe herself, she could not help but be pleased to see the marquess was dancing with the shy Miss Stillington-Fyfe, who appeared at her best in a full-skirted white gown trimmed in rose, a rose-coloured silk fan at her wrist, and the real flowers in her hair. Perhaps the notice from the marquess would bring the awkward young girl attention from other gentlemen as well, Catherine hoped.

  A half-hour later, after the second vigorous set of country dances had ended, Catherine once again rejoined her family and the Turners. Irritated with the way the evening was turning out, she tapped her folded fan on her knees in frustration.

  “It appears Lord Edgecombe is never going to be free long enough to speak to me this evening,” she confided to Sarah, who was also resting between sets.

  “That is only because it is the first large hunt ball,” her friend comforted Catherine. “Surely at future entertainments, when his presence is no longer a novelty, you will have more opportunity.”

  Catherine glanced toward Lord Edgecombe again, and was startled to catch him looking directly at her. Their eyes met, and, holding her gaze, the marquess lifted his fan and slowly spread it open before his face. Catherine’s heart began to race. Could he be signaling to her? That gesture might be intended to convey “I am interested in you.” Catherine opened her own fan before her face to show reciprocal interest, and Lord Edgecombe touched his finger to the edge of his fan: “I must speak to you.
”

  Casually, Catherine closed her fan and touched it to her right cheek, “Yes.” His fan held in his right hand, Lord Edgecombe fanned his face: “Follow me.” A few moments later, Catherine observed the marquess bow to his companions and leave the room, exiting by the door that led to the shrubbery. Catherine glanced over at her father and Lady Manning, who were occupied speaking to other guests. Lord Woodforde was in conversation with Miss Ellsworth. Feeling certain of not being overheard, Catherine whispered “Did you see, Sarah, the marquess wishes to speak to me!”

  Sarah did not appear equally excited. “Are you certain you should meet him alone outdoors? What if you are observed?”

  “No one will notice,” Catherine assured her, standing, “and this may be my only opportunity to speak to him tonight.” Walking slowly, as though she simply needed a breath of fresh air after the vigorous dances, Catherine made her way outside.

  “Miss Trevor, I knew you would understand me,” the marquess greeted her, stepping forward from the shadows as she exited into the night. “It is demmed difficult to have a moment of privacy. Shall we walk?” he asked, offering his arm.

  “I wished to tell you how much I admired your minuet with Lord Woodforde,” the marquess continued as Catherine took his arm and they strolled into the shrubbery. “Seldom have I seen one performed with such assurance, grace, and elegance. I had no thought what a delight your turned ankle prevented last week at the assembly. Your performance was exquisite. I hope you will honour me by partnering me for the minuet at the assembly this sen’night hence?”

  “Thank you, Lord Edgecombe,” Catherine said with a demure smile, although her heart gave a sudden leap at the thought of being his partner for the whole evening, for that is what the invitation would entail. “I shall be honoured.”

  They passed through boxwood shrubs and into rosebushes, which perfumed the night air with the remnants of their odour. “There is nothing to compare to the sweet scent of roses,” Catherine commented. “All others must pale before it.”

  “I am of course aware of the fame of Rosemont’s gardens, Miss Trevor,” Lord Edgecombe replied. “I shall hope to see them, for I am very much intrigued by the culture of that queen of flowers.”

  “I also,” Catherine responded, happy that for once one of the marquess’ interests truly matched hers and that she would not have to prevaricate. “And I have heard of the fame of your own collection of roses at Edgecombe Place. I am sure ours will not compare, but I shall be very pleased to show you Rosemont’s varieties, including my own.”

  “Your own?” Lord Edgecombe queried with an interested look.

  “I discovered an unusual-looking rose growing in one of our gardens,” Catherine explained. “A sport which I have had some success propagating by both cuttings and suckers.”

  “Have you indeed?” Lord Edgecombe exclaimed, his eyes lighting with the gleam of the collector. “I should be most interested to see it.”

  “We are planning a dinner at Rosemont next week. I trust you will accompany the Ellsworths, and I shall show it to you then,” Catherine promised.

  An attractive bench next to a pedestal supporting a statue of Apollo attracted their attention, and Lord Edgecombe released Catherine’s arm that she might sit. Although she normally paid little attention to such niceties of attitude, Catherine remembered her lessons in deportment and was careful to seat herself with her elbow resting on the pedestal, leaning back in a half-reclining position, thereby presenting her figure in the admired S-curve she knew would look well given the simple lines of her gown.

  “Miss Trevor,” Lord Edgecombe said as he sat next to her, his glance traveling over her figure in its shining satin gown, “you are a demmed beautiful woman.”

  A shiver ran down her back as Catherine looked into his eyes. There was something about the Marquess of Edgecombe, something that spoke of challenge and daring and caused her breath to quicken.

  Slowly and deliberately the marquess held his folded fan to his lips. He wanted to kiss her! Catherine, overjoyed at how quickly she seemed to be achieving her ends, allowed a seductive smile to touch her lips as she raised her fan. But, she thought, she must not be too easy a conquest or the marquess would not find her worth the chase. Slowly, she tapped her folded fan to her left cheek instead of the right, indicating “No,” but followed the gesture with an intentionally provocative glance. The marquess looked her over with an equally bold glance, his eyes sweeping her from head to foot, then returning to and lingering at her mouth and breasts. Suddenly Catherine felt very naked and exposed. What would have happened had they remained alone, Catherine would never know, for at that moment the crunch of gravel and the murmured sounds of conversation announced the approach of another couple taking a walk in the night air.

  “My father will miss me and wonder where I have gone,” Catherine said, rising as the footsteps drew near, fearing to be discovered in a compromising position. “I had best return to the ballroom.”

  Lord Edgecombe rose also and, once again taking her arm, they strolled back in the direction of the house. They entered the ballroom just as guests were beginning to line up for another set. “Might I have the honour of your hand for this country dance?” the marquess asked.

  “Thank you,” Catherine replied, and they took their places at the top of the line. Catherine enjoyed having the chance to call the dance, and did so with confidence, knowing she was at her best in the lively and energetic country dances she loved. When Lord Edgecombe finally returned her to Lady Manning and the rest of her party, Catherine was flushed with her success. She looked for Sarah, wishing to share her triumph with her friend, but Sarah had gone to partake of the refreshments with her husband, and Lord Woodforde had taken the chair Mrs. Turner had previously occupied.

  “Fans are useful items, are they not?” Lord Woodforde inquired in a low voice as Catherine settled into her chair, taking his own fan and tapping it rapidly on his knee in a sign of disapprobation.

  Catherine pretended not to hear his comments or understand the fan gesture, but felt her cheeks redden in a betraying blush as she realized Woodforde knew where she had been and with whom.

  “Your plan seems to be going forward very quickly Miss Trevor,” Lord Woodforde continued. “However, as a friend, I must not fail to caution you of two things.”

  Although irritated with him for his bluntness, Catherine could not help inquiring, “And they are?”

  “First,” Woodforde stated, “is that it is my impression of Lord Edgecombe that he is a person who obtains what he desires and does not care to be thwarted. Second, I would remind you of the saying that one should take care what one wishes lest one finds oneself has obtained it.”

  After her undoubted success in interesting Lord Edgecombe at the Ellsworth’s ball, Catherine chose to retreat, not wishing to appear too eager for the company of the marquess. She would place her hopes of forwarding her acquaintance with the marquess in the dinner to be held at Rosemont. Lady Manning had suggested serving the dinner outdoors in order to promote ease in viewing the roses, and, Catherine agreeing, the invitations were sent out so specifying. Catherine was the more persuaded to the choice because she knew that no fashion suited her looks quite as well as the country style of a wide-brimmed shepherdess hat worn with a gown of close-fitting bodice and full skirts, a style it was not appropriate to wear to more formal dinners and entertainments.

  Catherine and Lady Manning selected a spot between the stream and the rose gardens for the servants to place the large trestle tables upon which the plate and crystal would be set. The weather promised to be perfection: mostly sun but enough puffy white clouds to keep the guests from becoming too hot, and a gentle breeze to stir the grass and cool those guests who might choose to walk among the roses.

  While the servants set out chairs and prepared other arrangements for the guests’ comfort, Catherine went in to dress. She had selected one of her favorite gowns; a full-skirted muslin of blue and ivory. The tight-fitting b
odice emphasized her figure, which was tastefully hidden with an ivory lace fichu, and matching ivory lace cascaded from the tight elbow-length sleeves, falling gracefully over her wrists. A low-crowned, wide brimmed shepherdess hat sat on her simply dressed fair hair at an angle, tied under her chin with a wide blue ribbon.

  “You look ever so fine, miss,” Flora admired, turning the cheval glass that her mistress might see her likeness better. Satisfied with her appearance, Catherine descended the stairs to be ready to welcome the company.

  Guests began arriving shortly after two, all clad in fashionable country style, the men in riding dress and the women in hats and gowns similar to Catherine’s. A little before three o’clock, the servants began to place the food on for the first course on the tables, and by the hour the tables were laden with covered dishes of roast chicken, duck, mutton, pork, and vegetables. Sausages, pork and mutton pies, breads, savouries, cheeses, preserved fruits, and apple pies would be brought out for the second course, and Lady Manning had ordered an elaborate dessert prepared of large sugar roses which would serve as the final centerpiece, although the tables would also have an assortment of dried sweetmeats and fruit creams.

  It was immediately evident that the guests enjoyed the casual and almost abandoned feeling that dining outdoors gave the occasion, and there was much ribaldry and laughter as the dinner progressed and the guests downed quantities of the fine wines from Lord Trevor’s excellent cellar. When they had eaten their fill, the guests began wandering about the grounds of Rosemont, some making their way to the famed rose gardens, and others retiring to the inviting grassy banks of the stream where they daringly but carefully arranged themselves on the lawn, the women spreading their full skirts out over the grass, the men stretching out beside them, leaning on their elbows in idyllic idleness.