by Lucy Muir
“Are you aware you will most likely share those rights with other women as well?”
“I am not unaware that many gentlemen choose to keep a mistress,” Catherine responded, her embarrassment heightening unbearably, for Woodforde seemed to know precisely where her thoughts about him had strayed the night he had come to take supper with Mr. Cowper.
“Not all men do so,” he said, still retaining her hand. “You say you are certain Edgecombe is near making you an offer. I ask that for once you consider my offer of marriage in all seriousness and reflect before you put your welfare in the keeping of a man of whom you know so little. With me, at least, there would be no surprises; you know my character, my home, my habits, my child, and I shall tell you straight out that I keep no mistresses and therefore do not put my wife at risk for the pox. These are issues you should consider, Miss Trevor, when thinking of accepting a gentleman’s hand in marriage.”
Catherine, stunned by the turn the conversation had taken and deeply mortified by parts of Lord Woodforde’s speech to her, gave her hand a final desperate tug. Finding herself released, she rushed from the library without saying a word in response, wondering, as she ran down the steps to the hall and out of the house, how she would ever face Lord Woodforde with composure again.
Shaken by her unexpected confrontation with Lord Woodforde, Catherine once again sought sanctuary in the walled garden when she reached Rosemont. She needed quiet and solitude to think over what had happened, and knew she would have little time to herself once Judith knew she had returned. She knelt on the ground as had become her custom, and within a few moments William hopped forward. He sat a few inches before Catherine and tipped his head as though to say “Where is my treat?”
“I am sorry William, I do not have anything for you this afternoon,” Catherine apologized. William, seeing no treat was to be forthcoming, settled down to rest not far from Catherine’s knees. Drawing strength from the hare’s quiet presence, Catherine relaxed and thought about her unsettling meeting with Lord Woodforde.
Why had Lord Woodforde made the offer as he had? Was it a friend’s concern over her plans to bring a man of whom she knew so little to an offer of marriage? Or had Lord Woodforde come to see, as she had herself but days ago, that if either he or she married, the close and easy friendship they had shared all these years must cease to exist and he sought to prevent that by marrying her himself? Or did Woodforde simply see a woman he had chosen as a possible mother for Anne slipping away?
Most likely, Catherine knew, Woodforde’s reason for making the offer today had been a mixture of all three. But what she had most noticed, Catherine realized, was what Woodforde had not said or done: he had not spoken of love, and he had not attempted to kiss her. She knew that love was not necessary to marriage; certainly most marriages were made for reasons other than romantic love. She had to admit that her own reasons for desiring to bring Lord Edgecombe to an offer had nothing to do with love. So what was the difference? The difference, she understood suddenly, was that of hope. She might yet hope that a romantic attachment could develop between herself and Lord Edgecombe. But a marriage to Woodforde—they knew each other too well. He did not offer love, but safety and companionship.
Why had Woodforde spoken! Why destroy the friendship and ease they had enjoyed so many years and valued so much? How would they meet now, after what had passed? Catherine doubted they could ever again regain their naturalness with one another.
“Oh William,” she sighed, “what shall I do?” The hare touched his nose to her knee as though to comfort her, and Catherine knew that if William could but speak he would give her the answer she sought.
Chapter Eight
“I do think, sister, that you might have informed me of the masquerade ball before we arrived. Now I have no costume to wear, and less than a week to obtain one,” Judith Trevor complained to her sister-in-law at a late breakfast of cakes and chocolate the next morning.
“I am sorry, I forgot,” Catherine replied mendaciously, for she had intentionally not told her brother and sister-in-law of the ball, hoping they would not arrive at Rosemont until it was past. “I am certain the dressmaker in Moreton will be able to accommodate you in time if you go today.”
“I shall tell John Coachman to take you to Moreton this morning, Judith,” Lord Trevor placated his daughter-in-law. “There is yet time to obtain a costume. Catherine, you will accompany your sister.”
“Where is John this morning?” Catherine asked, hoping to persuade her brother to accompany his wife to town instead. Still unsettled by her conversation with Lord Woodforde the previous afternoon, Catherine had been hoping for more time to herself in which to recover her badly-shaken composure. “He will need to order a costume as well.”
“John has gone to shoot birds at Ellsworth Hall,” her father replied.
“I shall order John’s costume as well as mine,” Judith said. “What costume will you wear?” Judith asked her father-in-law. “Perhaps we should all wear similar costumes.”
“I shall go as a Roman patrician, in toga and sandals. And a mask, of course.”
“And you, Catherine?”
“My costume is a secret,” Catherine replied shortly.
“Daughter, you may share with your sister,” Lord Trevor ordered with a glance of disapprobation at his daughter.
“I shall attend as a Cavalier’s lady,” Catherine said ungraciously, thinking that now most likely the entire neighborhood as well as every inhabitant of Moreton would know what her costume was to be, for her brother’s wife had no discretion and loved to gossip.
“Oh. If everyone is going as something different, perhaps I shall attend as Queen Elizabeth,” Judith suggested.
“An excellent choice,” Catherine agreed, thinking that although Judith had most likely chosen the costume believing the elaborate dress of a queen would outshine her own, she herself found it apropos for her sister-in-law due to the less sterling qualities of the fabled ruler.
Seeing she was not to escape the excursion with her sister-in-law, Catherine returned to her chamber to put on a gown acceptable for town attire and then rejoined Judith. There was but one dressmaker in Moreton, and Judith spent the entire ride to town lamenting that fact to her sister-in-law. By the time they reached the dressmaker’s establishment Catherine felt she could cheerfully have leaped from the landau and instructed the coachman to drive on to London with her sister-in-law and leave her there.
When they entered the shop Catherine was relieved to see an acquaintance already in Mrs. Spencer’s dressmaking establishment, hoping her presence would prevent Judith’s complaints from continuing. “Good morning Miss Amy Applequist,” she greeted the fair-haired plump woman who sat at the table looking over a stack of fashion drawings.
“Good morning, Mrs. Trevor, Miss Trevor,” the young woman returned the greeting. “Have you come to order a costume for the masquerade? I have been unable to find any I believe would suit my figure. If I cannot decide ere long, Mrs. Spencer will be unable to accommodate me in time. What do you plan to wear, Miss Trevor?”
“My sister plans to attend as a Lady Cavalier,” Judith replied before Catherine could inform her she preferred to keep her costume a secret. “That is a style that might suit you as well,” she added, viewing the plump woman with a critical eye.
“Do you think so?” Miss Amy Applequist asked dubiously, as Catherine heroically restrained herself from aiming a kick at her sister-in-law’s shins.
“I would suggest a milkmaid,” Catherine offered. “Country fashions are considered most stylish, and the costume would take little time to prepare. I feel quite certain Mrs. Spencer would have it ready in time.”
Miss Amy Applequist brightened at the suggestion, and, Mrs. Spencer adding her approbation of the choice, Catherine turned her attention to Judith.
“Do you still think to attend as Queen Elisabeth?” she asked, “or would you prefer a simpler costume that would take less time to prepare?”
/> “I see no reason to alter my choice,” Judith said haughtily. “I am certain Mrs. Spencer will make every effort to have it completed in time for the masquerade.”
“Naturally I shall do all I can to accommodate you, Mrs. Trevor,” the dressmaker assured her customer.
Mrs. Spencer ushered Judith into the fitting room to have her measurements taken while Catherine remained in the outer room with Miss Amy Applequist.
“Thank you for your suggestion, Miss Trevor,” the younger woman said with gratitude. “It is so very difficult to appear fashionable when one has a figure such as mine. How I wish I might wear a disguise such as the one Miss Louisa Ellsworth has ordered! I have heard she plans to appear as a sultana with full gauze drawers and bright silk sashes about her waist. Even with the tightest lacing of my stays I do not have a waist.”
Catherine assured her acquaintance that the dress of a milkmaid was not one that required a slim figure, while reflecting that it was unlikely many costumes would remain a secret by the time of the masquerade, her own included. She briefly debated the possibility of changing her plans and ordering a new one, but immediately discarded the idea given the short time until the masked ball and the trouble it would entail for the dressmaker.
“Are you ready to go on to the haberdasher’s, sister?” Judith asked, coming out of the fitting room. “Mrs. Spencer assures me my costume will be ready within three days, and I wish to purchase some new ribbons for one of my hats before we return to Rosemont.”
Bidding Miss Amy Applequist good-day, they exited onto the street; Catherine resigned to losing the rest of her morning to accompanying her sister-in-law on various errands.
Somehow Catherine managed to survive a week in the company of her brother’s family, and the day of the Ellsworth’s masquerade ball arrived at last. Three hours before the time they were to depart for the ball Catherine laid her costume out over her bed and summoned her maid to help her dress. An hour and a half later, Catherine stood ready and examined her reflection in the mirror. The white satin skirts of the gown hung full to the ground from a slightly raised waistline, accentuating Catherine’s slim and graceful form. The tight bodice hugged her figure, and the three-quarter length sleeves, slashed to expose dark blue satin beneath, tied below her elbows with matching blue ribbons. Blue satin rosettes adorned both her waist and slippers. She lacked only the mask.
“Help me put on the mask now, Flora, I wish to see whether it will disguise my identity.”
The maid carefully placed the large blue satin mask over her mistress’ face and Catherine looked critically at her reflection. Someone would have to know her very well to recognize her, for the slanted eye slits of the masque changed the character of her face, and the curving lower edge of the mask exposed only her mouth and chin. Unless, of course, Miss Amy Applequist and Judith had been busy gossiping, which no doubt they had.
When all the Trevors gathered in the entrance hall an hour later, ready to depart for the Ellsworth’s, an expression of envy covered Judith’s face when she saw her sister-in-law, for although her Elizabethan costume was far more elaborate and of finer materials, there was no doubt Catherine appeared far more beautiful in her guise as a lady cavalier.
“Lud! sister,” her brother John was moved to exclaim, “you are very fine tonight.”
“So are you, brother,” Catherine responded, admiring the figure her brother presented as Henry VIII. Perhaps his choice of costume showed an unconscious desire to find a new wife, Catherine mused as she turned to view Lady Manning and her father as they entered the hall. Lord Trevor looked very dignified as a Roman noble, as did her aunt, who had chosen to complement her brother’s costume and dress as a Roman matron. Judith, in her guise of Queen Elisabeth, appeared royal but stiff in a red wig and long-waisted brocade gown complete with farthingales.
When their party arrived at Ellsworth Hall Catherine saw that the Ellsworths had stinted nothing in their preparations for their visitors. All the rooms on the ground floor had been opened so the guests could wander at will from the ballroom to the drawing rooms, supper room, and card room. Potted plants had been placed about in profusion, hundreds of candles blazed brightly from candelabras, and lamps of coloured glass cast muted shades on the guests. Catherine noticed that the Ellsworths had also placed dozens of lamps along the walks outdoors, and guessed it was most likely in an attempt to curb the licentiousness that had a tendency to develop at masquerade balls.
Laughter and conversation already filled the rooms as guests wandered about inspecting the costumes of others, doing their best to discover who was behind the masks. Masquerade etiquette forbade addressing anyone by their real name however, even if a person were certain they knew who was behind a costume, at least not until the unmasking. The men would unmask at supper; the women at midnight.
The Trevors joined the throng, amusing themselves for some time by strolling through the rooms and observing the other guests’ costumes. Catherine noticed several guests had simply worn dominos with masks rather than appear in costume, but there were many in costume as well, including a brightly gowned gypsy, a Highland laird with his lady, a rather hefty chimney sweep who Catherine was quite certain was Squire Turner, a Greek noble with his wife and slaves, who Catherine suspected were the Stillington-Fyfes and their children, a quite gorgeous sultana in a multi-coloured, multi-sashed costume whom Catherine knew must be Miss Louisa Ellsworth, and a sultan, complete with scimitar, looked suspiciously like Mr. Ellsworth, complete with rouged cheeks. She was also pleased to notice a buxom milkmaid, who looked quite attractive in her pastoral attire, in animated conversation with a gentleman dressed as an Eastern prince.
“Look at that person dressed as a page in livery,” Judith said in shocked tones. “I do believe it is a woman. How disgusting, appearing in male garb!”
“Perhaps it might be had she a less shapely form,” Lord Trevor commented as his glance followed his daughter-in-law’s.
Catherine could not but agree with her father, and searched the crowd for more interesting disguises as their party mingled with the other guests.
“Well, I am for a game of whist,” John Trevor announced after they had circled through all the rooms. “Mrs. Trevor?”
“I believe I shall remain with Catherine and Lady Manning and dance,” Judith answered, disappointing Catherine, who had hoped her sister-in-law would choose to play whist. Lord Trevor also chose to remain with his womenfolk, and John departed alone for the card room.
There were to be no minuets this night, and when guests began taking the floor for a cotillion, Catherine looked about anxiously, hoping her hand would be solicited for the dance by Lord Edgecombe. But so far she had not spied any costume which she felt might hide either Lord Edgecombe or Lord Woodforde.
“Enchanting Lady Cavalier, might I have the honour of your hand for this dance?” a gentleman dressed as a minstrel asked with a graceful bow.
“La! Sir Minstrel,” Catherine replied in a falsely high voice as she tried to place who the gentleman might be and could not, “I shall be delighted.”
Whatever gentleman the minstrel costume and mask hid, he was an excellent dancer, Catherine discovered as they completed their square with the sultan and a woman dressed as Jane Shore. The minstrel returned Catherine to her seat after the set ended, thanking her and taking his leave with another graceful bow. Catherine was next approached by the sultan, who asked for the dance in gestures, as some guests chose to do if they feared their voices would betray their identities.
More than ever convinced the sultan was Mr. Ellsworth, Catherine accepted his hand for the dance and they took their places on the floor. When the figures called for them to interlock their arms, the sultan held Catherine much closer than he would normally have dared. Catherine did her best to discourage his familiarities without being discourteous, and wished her next partner might be a gentleman whom she would not mind holding her close.
But although a constant stream of partners succeeded Cat
herine’s first two, there was still no sign of Lord Edgecombe, or anyone she suspected was he. Surely the marquess had to be there, Catherine thought, searching the crowd once again for any gentleman tall enough to be the marquess.
At that moment, a collective gasp went through the guests seated near the entrance door, and Catherine turned her head to see what was causing the disturbance.
“Shameful,” Judith exclaimed as a gentleman clad in nothing but flesh-colored tights, green mask, and a large fabric fig leaf entered the room. Catherine gave an unladylike snort of laughter at the daring of the young man who had come as Adam, and even the Roman matron Lady Manning allowed a smile to touch her lips as Adam danced through the room to the applause of many of the half-inebriated guests. To Catherine’s great amusement, he stopped his twirling dance before her, and with graceful gestures invited her to take the floor.
“Catherine, you must not!” Judith hissed.
Catherine, laughing, turned to look at Lady Manning and Lord Trevor. Lady Manning gave a brief nod of permission and Lord Trevor smiled benignly, doubtless recalling many a more daring masquerade costume from the days of his youth.
Catherine took the floor with Adam to great applause, many of the dancers shouting bawdy encouragement. The dance was a cotillion, and Catherine, entering into the spirit of the evening, lifted her skirts far higher than she would normally have done for the dance. The other couple sharing their square appeared equally amused by the daring young Adam, and by the time Catherine returned to her aunt and father she was flushed and laughing.
Catherine had barely taken her seat when a tall masked Cavalier approached, and, sweeping off his plumed hat, asked for the next dance through gestures. Lord Edgecombe at last! Catherine thought. He must have heard she was to come as a Cavalier’s lady and had chosen to compliment her by coming as a Cavalier. For this she could almost forgive Judith’s loose tongue! Certainly Lord Edgecombe looked excessively well as a Cavalier, clad in a green satin doublet and breeches that tied at the knees with bows. The long full sleeves of his white shirt were slashed from shoulder to wrists, revealing darker satin underneath. A wide lace-edged collar turned down over his full white shirt, and the long dark locks of a wig fell onto his shoulders. Silk hose and square-toed leather shoes with rosettes completed his costume.