Double Masquerade

by Lucy Muir

  Catherine had hoped Lord Edgecombe might attach himself to her for the afternoon, but instead he devoted his attention to Miss Louisa Ellsworth. Catherine tried to console herself with the observation that Lord Edgecombe could hardly attach himself to one of the hostesses, but was nonetheless disappointed. Returning from one of her many errands to the house, Catherine was walking slowly back to the stream when she met Lord Woodforde. She had not seen him since the night of the ball, and greeted him rather warily, remembering his disapproval of her behaviour that night.

  “Well met, Miss Trevor,” Woodforde said, falling into step beside her. “I have been wishing to inquire; how is William?”

  “William has been doing excellently well. He has been enjoying discovering which of the garden plants he prefers,” Catherine replied, relieved to find Lord Woodforde his usual cordial self. “I believe the lettuces are his favourite, but he is also very fond of dandelions. I locked the doors to the walled garden today, fearing someone might disturb him,” she explained.

  “Very wise,” Lord Woodforde agreed.

  “Oh, and I had forgotten to inform you,” Catherine continued, mention of the hare reminding her, “I have received a reply from Mr. Cowper. He has agreed to come to our meeting of the Blue Stocking Society and stated that he was flattered to be invited!”

  “Indeed, that is good news,” Lord Woodforde agreed. “I shall look forward to speaking with him.”

  For a moment they walked together in companionable silence. “How are things progressing with your attempt to bring Edgecombe to the point?” Lord Woodforde asked abruptly.

  “Well enough,” Catherine answered shortly, increasing her pace, irritated at her friend for introducing the subject.

  “You must not despair over his apparent preference for Miss Louisa Ellsworth this afternoon; no doubt it is courtesy to you so that he does not take you from your guests,” Woodforde comforted. “Certainly he cannot have failed to see you are the most charming woman here today, nor how well that style of hat becomes you. And if he has not—if despite your best efforts he fails to come up to scratch—you can always accept my oft-repeated offer of marriage.”

  Catherine turned to glare at her companion, angry that he must always tease her about Lord Edgecombe, but did not slacken her pace.

  “Come, Miss Trevor, do not sulk. Let us cry friends. I shall even offer to aid you in your endeavours.”

  “And how would you do that?” Catherine asked, slowing her pace.

  “I observed Edgecombe amongst the guests reclining on the banks of the stream. I propose we join them. You shall flirt with me, and Edgecombe will notice. No doubt his sporting instincts will move him to desire what another appears to hold.”

  “I thought you did not approve my aims. Why should you offer your assistance?” Catherine asked suspiciously.

  “You would do better to accept my offer than question it.”

  Catherine glanced at the group of guests reclining on the grassy banks of the stream, and saw that Lord Edgecombe and Louisa were in fact among them. Louisa, dressed in a red and white shepherdess-style gown, looked very fetching and very pleased with herself. “Very well, I accept,” Catherine agreed.

  Lord Woodforde offered Catherine his arm, and they strolled to the stream together. Woodforde guided her to a spot in clear view of the marquess, and Catherine lowered herself onto the lawn, spreading her full skirts over the grass. Woodforde stretched his long form out beside her, leaning on one arm, and took her hand into his.

  “Look as though you are enjoying my company and smile,” he ordered in a low voice.

  Catherine smiled down at Lord Woodforde. The touch of his fingers upon the inside of her wrist was feather-light, and for a fraction of a moment a tingling sensation raced up her arm.

  “Now laugh and draw away in a playful manner,” Lord Woodforde instructed under his breath.

  Catherine complied and was pleased to see from the corner of her eye that they had indeed caught Lord Edgecombe’s notice. She laughed again and tossed her head. A minute or so later she saw Edgecombe speak to Louisa, after which the two stood and walked in their direction.

  “Miss Trevor, Lord Woodforde,” Lord Edgecombe said with a bow. “Miss Trevor, I believed you promised to show me your rose gardens today. Do you have the leisure to do so?

  “Woodforde, would you keep Miss Louisa Ellsworth entertained until my return?”

  “Of course,” Catherine answered for Lord Woodforde, pleased with the success of the ruse. “You will excuse us, Miss Louisa Ellsworth, Lord Woodforde?”

  Louisa and Woodforde inclined their heads in agreement and Lord Edgecombe held out his hand to help Catherine up from the grass.

  “You seem very much at ease with Lord Woodforde,” the marquess commented as they walked slowly toward the rose gardens. “Have you known him long?”

  “Oh, forever,” Catherine answered lightly. “He is our nearest neighbor and is quite a member of our family.”

  They had reached the edge of the first rose garden, and Catherine turned onto the graveled path that led through it. Many of the rose bushes were five or six feet high, their width extending twice as far, creating more of a shrubbery than a garden. Although many of the bushes were bare of flowers, others were covered with hundreds of blooms and their sweet scent hung heavily in the air.

  “Most of the moss roses, which of course bloom only once of a summer, are past, but many of our other roses are in their second bloom now,” Catherine explained. “But of course you would know that,” she added in acknowledgement of his own expertise.

  They strolled among the bushes, Lord Edgecombe inspecting each bush with the eye of a connoisseur. “You have many fine damasks here at Rosemont,” he commented as they passed several tall bushes covered with a profusion of sweet-scented flowers.

  “Yes, they are mostly what are in bloom now,” Catherine said. “I wish the French roses were not past their bloom. I am certain you would have appreciated our Rosa mundi.”

  “The red and white striped rose of France, yes,” Edgemont agreed. “I have it in my own rose garden and would have liked to compare their blooms. I have observed that a different composition of earth or a different aspect may create a very different-appearing flower.”

  “I have noticed the same,” Catherine agreed. “It makes growing them that much more challenging, trying to discover what earth and what aspect will cause the most spectacular blooms.

  “Now we are coming to our cabbage roses,” Catherine added as they approached a large bush filled with multi-petaled pink roses of exquisite fragrance.

  Lord Edgemont slowed, examining the flowers on each bush, occasionally touching a particularly fine flower with his fingertips, impressing Catherine with his deep appreciation of the roses’ beauty.

  “Ah!” he exclaimed, halting before a lower bush with a few many-petaled white roses. “The White Provence! Miss Trevor, would you allow me a cutting? I do not have this rare variety in my rose garden at Edgecombe.”

  “I shall be pleased to, Lord Edgecombe,” Catherine responded.

  “Thank you, Miss Trevor,” the marquess said fervently. “It shall hold a special place in my collection of rose varieties.

  “You have not shown me your rose, the sport you discovered, Miss Trevor,” he added, reluctantly leaving the small white rose bush as they resumed their tour.

  “It is in a different garden,” Catherine explained, leading her companion out of the main gardens and toward a door in a stone wall. “I have been experimenting with methods of propagation.” Taking a key from her pocket, she inserted it in the lock.

  “It must be rare indeed for you to keep the garden locked,” Lord Edgecombe commented.

  “I believe my rose to be unique, but that is not why the gate is locked,” Catherine explained. “I locked it because I keep my hare in this garden, and wished him to be safe. I feared a guest might inadvertently frighten him or let him out.”

  She pushed the door open, and
as soon as Lord Edgecombe had entered, closed it behind them. There was no sign of the hare, who was most likely frightened by the strange person in his garden. Lord Edgecombe strode at once to the large rose bush that grew against the south wall, covered with a profusion of densely-petaled white roses, the edges of which were tinged with apricot and lavender. “This is exquisite!” he exclaimed with more feeling than Catherine had ever heard him express. “Rare indeed! The finest damask sport I have ever seen! And you say you have had success propagating it both by cutting and by suckers?”

  “Yes,” Catherine answered with some pride.

  Lord Edgecombe directed a look of great admiration in her direction. “You must allow me the honour of taking a cutting! It will be the center of my collection.”

  Catherine was covered in confusion. She should have foreseen this awkward moment! Rarely had she ever shown her rose to anyone, for she guarded it jealously and had never allowed anyone to share its culture. What was she to do? Could she part with a cutting for the sake of the marquess? If she did not would Lord Edgecombe become prejudiced against her? Must she part with her rose in order to have a chance at attaching his interest? Could she?

  “Lord Edgecombe,” Catherine said, searching for words that would not insult him, “I have not yet allowed anyone to take a cane of my rose. It is pride in my discovery, I daresay. Perhaps in the future I may be willing to do so, but I must ask your indulgence as I nurse my discovery to myself a while longer.”

  A strange look came over Lord Edgecombe’s face, passing so quickly Catherine was not sure it had even been there. But “I shall hope you will reconsider someday,” was his mild response. “Such a rose should be shared with those who truly appreciate its exceptional rarity and beauty. It would also help one guard against its loss should disease or weather or insects destroy the bushes in your possession.”

  “I have no doubt of the truth of your observation, but must beg your indulgence at this time nonetheless,” Catherine replied.

  They exited the garden, Catherine carefully relocking the door, and strolled back toward the main rose gardens. As they again neared the cabbage roses, Miss Louisa Ellsworth appeared around a turn on the graveled path, followed by Lord Woodforde. “Lord Edgecombe,” she called, “I have been searching for you this age. Mama wishes me to ask if you would return to Ellsworth Hall with her now or prefer to return later with Papa.”

  “I shall be glad to escort Lady Ellsworth home now, Miss Louisa Ellsworth,” Edgecombe said courteously. “I believe Miss Trevor has finished showing me the roses. It appears that Miss Trevor is quite an accomplished horticulturist.”

  Louisa looked at Catherine with irritation, plainly disliking the older woman to receive any praise. “Oh, Miss Trevor always involved in one improving endeavor or another,” she said in a dismissive tone as the four turned and walked toward the stream together. “She is even a member of the Blue Stocking Society.”

  “Are you indeed Miss Trevor?” Lord Edgecombe asked in an interested tone of voice. “Walpole says that the society has as its members the cream of our English women and that most of the Society’s ladies are of great beauty. Certainly you have borne out the truth of his statement.”

  Catherine, who knew Louisa had brought up the society hoping Lord Edgecombe would be one of those men who disapproved of it, gave an inaudible sigh of relief that the ploy had failed.

  “Miss Trevor also keeps hares in her parlour,” Louisa added, clearly frustrated by her first failure to present Miss Trevor in a bad light. “She is a woman of many unusual interests.”

  “You keep hares in your drawing room in addition to your garden, Miss Trevor?” the marquess inquired.

  “It is the same hare,” Catherine explained. “I kept him in the parlour only a short time, and then moved him to the garden.”

  Lord Edgecombe shrugged disinterestedly. “I confess I would rather hunt a hare with my hounds than entertain them in my parlour or allow them to ravage my garden. I have a pack of beagles that is unmatched in my county.”

  Louisa laughed. “I told Miss Trevor that hares belonged in the kitchen pot, not in her parlour.”

  They had now reached the stream banks and Catherine’s attention was demanded by Lady Ellsworth and several other guests who were preparing to leave and wished to give Lady Manning and Catherine their compliments before departing. By the time she had a moment to herself again, Lady Ellsworth, Miss Louisa Ellsworth, and Lord Edgecombe had gone.

  Two hours later, when the grounds of Rosemont were once again empty of company and the servants had removed the tables and food, Catherine reflected that the day had gone, if not quite as well as the last time she had seen Lord Edgecombe, at least passably well except for the matter of her hare. Well, she thought philosophically as she went upstairs for a well-deserved rest, she could not expect everyone to understand about her hare. If that was the only area in which Lord Edgecombe’s and her interests did not meet it would be of little significance.

  Chapter Six

  Catherine knelt on the ground holding out a grape Lord Woodforde had brought from his conservatory the previous day. “William, William!” she called her hare softly.

  After a moment, the hare’s wriggling nose poked out from behind his favorite hollyhocks, and when more wiggling verified it was indeed grape he smelled, he hopped over to Catherine, stretched out his neck, grabbed the grape, and retreated halfway before stopping to eat it. She was making some progress, Catherine reflected, at least he was no longer running away to eat it behind the hollyhocks.

  A knock sounded on the garden door. “Enter,” Catherine called, and Lord Woodforde came in, shutting the door behind him.

  “How is William doing?” he asked, slowly squatting on the ground that his height might not frighten the hare.

  “Today he only ran halfway back with his grape before eating it,” Catherine reported her progress with a laugh.

  “You have done well for him to trust you as much as he does in so short a time,” Woodforde assured her, “especially given his injuries.”

  “I suppose that is true, but I am impatient for him to be sitting on my lap and pulling on my clothes for treats, as Mr. Cowper described his hares doing,” Catherine admitted.

  “It is Mr. Cowper’s visit that I came to discuss,” Woodforde said, slowly standing. “I am on my way to my home farm and cannot tarry, but I wished to inform you that if your brother and his family should chance to plan to arrive at Rosemont before the meeting, Mr. Cowper would be welcome to stay at Woodforde Park.”

  “Thank you, but Papa has but just received a letter from John, and he plans to arrive with his family the week after our meeting, so all is well,” Catherine assured her neighbor. “Had John planned to arrive sooner, I would have accepted your offer, for I am not certain how comfortable Mr. Cowper would have been with Judith and her children in residence.” Catherine sighed at the very thought of her brother’s family, for the uncontrolled behavior of the children and the constant complaints and demands of their mother did little to make for pleasant days when they stayed at Rosemont.

  William, finished with his grape, retreated behind his hollyhocks and Catherine stood up. “I suppose I had best go attend to my household duties,” she said with a sigh. “Lady Manning and my father find me deficient in their performance since the advent of William. With some justice, I must confess.”

  “Is it the advent of William or the advent of Lord Edgecombe that takes you from your duties?” Lord Woodforde asked as he rose, brushing dried grass from his breeches.

  “How fares your pursuit of Lord Edgecombe?” Woodforde continued as he and Catherine exited the garden. “Has he called upon you since the dinner here at Rosemont?”

  Catherine flushed, disliking Lord Woodforde’s choice of phrase, although she had to admit that in truth she was pursuing the marquess. “I believe it progresses well enough. I have not seen him since the dinner here, but I am certain Lord Edgecombe will be in attendance at the squire’s
musical evening tonight.”

  “Where you, I have no doubt, will astound him with your skill upon the harp.”

  “It is, at least, a skill you cannot accuse me of learning to please the marquess,” Catherine noted defensively.

  “So it is,” Woodforde admitted. “And I have no doubt he will indeed be impressed with your playing, for you are without question an accomplished harpist.

  “But speaking of those skills you have learned for the marquess’ benefit, have you yet had an opportunity to display your knowledge of vingt-un?” the marquess asked as Catherine walked him to the stables where he had left his horse.

  “No, I have not, although I hope for such an opportunity this week at the assembly rooms.

  “Lord Woodforde,” Catherine said abruptly, wishing to put her neighbor in the uncomfortable position he seemed to take pleasure in placing her, “it pleases you to tease me about my desire to bring Lord Edgecombe to an offer. But you have yourself admitted to me that you sometimes think of finding a mother for Anne. If that is so, why do you not look among the many unmarried ladies of Moreton? I had always thought the reason for your single state was occasioned by your excessive devotion to your lady wife, but if you seek a mother for Anne that can no longer be an obstacle.”

  “One might wonder why you ask that,” Woodforde replied, “given the many offers I have made to you.”

  “You offered, but you always knew I would not accept. We know each other too well,” Catherine said as they reached the stables.

  “Did I?” Woodforde said with an enigmatic expression upon his face. “And yet perhaps I did know that,” he added in a thoughtful tone. “There is something in what you say,” Woodforde continued. “What young woman would you suggest as a possible wife for me, Miss Trevor?”

  “I…” Catherine began, but did not name anyone. She had been thinking of suggesting either Miss Stillington-Fyfe or Miss Amy Applequist, believing the excessive shyness of the first young woman or the plumpness of the second would make them unlikely to hold his interest. The realization she had been about to name women she did not truly believe would suit him stilled her tongue. The image of Miss Louisa Ellsworth, who might indeed be an acceptable wife for Lord Woodforde, came into her mind, but Catherine could not bring herself to name her.