Double Masquerade

by Lucy Muir

  “My nephew stole the key to the walled garden and broke my hare’s leg trying to catch him,” Catherine explained, tears welling up in her eyes again at the thought of her poor suffering William.

  “Ah, I see,” Lord Edgecombe replied. “It is unfortunate, certainly, but after all it is but a hare. You must put him out of his misery.”

  “Indeed I cannot,” Catherine responded with some heat. “He is not just a hare, he has become much of a companion to me, indeed, he is as much a companion to me as a cat or a pug may be to another,” she tried to explain, tears running quietly down her face despite her efforts to restrain them.

  “Please calm yourself Miss Trevor,” Lord Edgecombe entreated his betrothed. “I understand you have made a pet of the leveret, but such an excess of sorrow over a matter one must admit is rather trifling cannot be good for you.”

  “That is precisely what I told Catherine,” Judith, who overheard Lord Edgecombe’s last comment, put in. “What is a common hare to my son’s upset? He is very distressed over the housekeeper taking the liberty of reprimanding him so severely, and in the house he will someday become master of himself!” she ended with indignation.

  “Your sister speaks with some truth,” Lord Edgecombe urged quietly to Catherine. “You must put the unfortunate incident out of your mind and not allow it to create unpleasantness among family members. Allow me to mend matters with Mrs. Trevor.” So saying, he turned to Judith and began to converse, skillfully persuading her to better spirits.

  Catherine stared at Lord Edgecombe, her face revealing nothing of the startling thoughts within her mind as the marquess conversed with Judith. Was it in such ordinary moments and ordinary ways that moments of revelation came to one? For that was what she had had as she watched her sister and the marqess speak together: a revelation. She surveyed the marquess dispassionately. As always, no fault could be found with his appearance. His fine figure was impeccably attired in the fine woolen riding dress that was acceptable country attire for all but the most formal occasions, his hair neatly dressed and powdered, his linen of pristine whiteness, his top boots gleaming. Nor could she truly find fault with his manner. It was courteous and eminently reasonable. But she knew in her heart that she had made a terrible mistake. She could not marry this man who did not understand her feelings for her pet hare. They were not suited.

  Catherine rose early the next morning, and after checking on William, who was still hiding in his wooden box, she searched out her aunt in the breakfast room. Only at such an early hour was she certain to catch Lady Manning alone, for her aunt always rose with the sun and Judith, who preferred town hours, never rose before ten.

  “Aunt Manning,” she began after she fortified herself with a cup of tea and a thin slice of buttered bread, “I wish to speak with you.”

  Lady Manning put her correspondence aside, laid her spectacles down beside it, and gave her full attention to her niece. “Yes, Catherine, what is it?”

  “I have come to see I made a very serious mistake,” Catherine forced herself to continue. “The Marquess of Edgecombe and I are not suited. I did not know it until William’s accident and his response to my distress over it, but I know it now.”

  “I could remind you that this is what I tried to tell you all along, but it would serve no purpose,” Lady Manning said in her commonsense manner. “We must go from where we are, and you are engaged to marry Lord Edgecombe. I cannot say I am unhappy about your realization that you do not suit, but it does present several difficulties. What do you plan to do?”

  “I do not know,” Catherine admitted. “I entered into the engagement willingly. Worse, I sought Lord Edgecombe’s interest; encouraged it, as many are aware,” she ended with a sigh, thinking both of those who had known of her determination to bring Lord Edgecombe to an offer and those who had simply observed her accepting his attentions with pleasure. At least half of Moreton fell into one group or the other.

  Lady Manning pursed her lips in thought. “Often the simplest answer is best,” she advised with great good sense. “Why do you not simply inform the marquess that you have discovered you will not suit? If you are fortunate you will find he has come to the same conclusion himself. Often by the time one person has come to such a realization the other has as well.”

  Catherine brightened. Could the solution be so very simple after all? Perhaps it could! Surely Lord Edgecombe himself must comprehend by now that their characters were not suited. Perhaps he also wished himself free but did not wish to trespass against honour by asking for his release. “Aunt Manning,” she said, going to drop a kiss on that lady’s mob-cap, “I am sure you have the right of it. I shall call upon Lord Edgecombe directly and inform him of my change of heart.”

  Chapter Ten

  Too impatient to wait until the marquess again came to dinner at Rosemont two days hence, Catherine determined to ride to her neighbor’s estate that very morning and speak to him there without any loss of time. Flora helped her into her new riding habit, and Catherine ordered Damask brought round that she might ride him to Ellsworth Hall. Once there she was shown to the drawing room, where she found Lady Ellsworth and Miss Louisa Ellsworth seated at their needlework while Miss Ellsworth practiced upon the spinet. Catherine made her curtsey, and, after enquiring after the Ellsworth’s health and the progress of Mr. Ellsworth’s nuptial plans with Miss Emily Stillington-Fyfe, she asked if Lord Edgecombe were within.

  “Lord Edgecombe has ridden out to try Lord Ellsworth’s new foxhounds,” Lady Ellsworth informed Catherine politely, “but you are welcome to remain until his return.”

  Accepting Lady Ellsworth’s offer, Catherine attempted to make polite conversation with Lady Ellsworth and Louisa while she waited. Since the announcement of her betrothal to Lord Edgecombe Catherine had seen little of Miss Louisa Ellsworth, and she knew the younger woman had not forgiven her for what she must view as the theft of her beau out from under her very nose. “If you only knew why I have come this morning, you might not frown so,” Catherine thought to herself as she watched Louisa pretend to be absorbed in her intricate needlework.

  At last the gentleman returned, bringing the cool scents of autumn into the drawing room with them. “What ho! Miss Trevor,” Lord Ellsworth said with a wink at Lord Edgecombe. “Come to see your betrothed?

  “She cannot do without you, you devil!” he said aside to Edgecombe in a carrying whisper. “A woman betrothed is like a bitch in heat, Edgecombe, a bitch in heat.”

  Catherine’s cheeks flushed in embarrassment as she asked Lord Edgecombe if they might speak privately. Ever polite, the marquess agreed, suggesting a walk in the shrubbery, and they excused themselves from the drawing room to go outside. The autumn air had a slight nip to it, and they walked until they found a protected corner near the dense shrubbery of the boxwood maze. There was but one seat, and Lord Edgecombe courteously gave it to Catherine, himself leaning against a pedestal on which stood a tall urn.

  “I must assume you had a purpose in calling at Ellsworth Hall this morning, Miss Trevor?” he asked, for Catherine, out of consideration for the feelings of Louisa, had rarely called at Ellsworth Hall since the announcement of their betrothal. “I trust we shall not be overheard here.”

  Now that she had Lord Edgecombe’s attention and the time had come to speak, Catherine found it was not as easy to utter the words as she had thought it would be.

  “I…” she began, and hesitated. “I have discovered we shall not suit,” she stated baldly, the words coming out in a rush, unsoftened. “I have come to ask to be released from our betrothal.”

  The marquess looked up at the urn on the pedestal, contemplating its design with great interest as he took an enameled snuffbox from his pocket with his left hand and flipped the top up with his thumb. “No,” he answered briefly as he took a pinch of snuff and returned the box to his pocket.

  “No?” Catherine repeated, surprised.

  “No, I will not release you, Miss Trevor,” the marquess repeat
ed, this time looking directly into her eyes.

  “But…” Catherine began, and faltered to a stop.

  “I believe, Miss Trevor,” the marquess said, still leaning casually against the pedestal, “That you entered into this engagement of your own free will?”

  “Yes,” Catherine acknowledged.

  “Need more be said?”

  “But…” Catherine repeated, again faltering to a stop. Somehow she had convinced herself that the marquess would agree to release her with no difficulties, and was not prepared with arguments. Searching through her mind for a reason for him to release her she said, “But you do not love me.”

  The marquess smiled. “I do not believe, Miss Trevor, that I ever claimed to. What has love to do with marriage in any event? Tell me,” he continued, “do you love me, Miss Trevor?”

  “No,” truth compelled Catherine to reply.

  “I thought not. You chose to accept my offer because I was of acceptable lineage and fortune. You see, we are eminently suited, Miss Trevor. You are of attractive and dignified appearance, you dance well, entertain company well, are a good conversationalist, play the harp with admirable skill, and appreciate those objects that are fine and rare. I trust you must find my person and capabilities equally satisfactory or you would not have accepted my hand. We need not love each other.”

  “But our natures,” Catherine protested, “they are not compatible.”

  “By that I take it you mean I am not given to indulging in my emotions as you have a tendency to do?”

  “One might so express it.”

  “That is not an insurmountable objection to our union. I can forgive a woman having more tender feelings than I would care to find in a gentleman. And if you truly seek to share that tender emotion with a man, well, Miss Trevor, after you have provided me with an heir or two I shall no doubt be willing to look the other way should you find a gentleman with whom you desire to indulge in the gentler passion. I am not an unreasonable man, Miss Trevor, and would not deny my lady wife pleasures I take myself.”

  Catherine, dismayed by the marquess’ words, but impelled by honesty to admit she had entered into the betrothal of her own free will and brought this moment upon herself, searched frantically for words that would persuade him to release her.

  “But Lord Edgecombe, would you not prefer a woman who has warmer feelings for you to share your bed?” she asked, her cheeks reddening at her boldness.

  “Warmer feelings are not necessary to enjoy the pleasures of the marriage bed, for either sex, my dear. I think you will find me skilled in ways to persuade you to desire my presence in our bed.”

  Catherine listened to Lord Edgecombe’s last words with incredulity. While she had to acknowledge that he had a right to be angry at her wish to be released from the engagement, should he not, as a gentleman, release her nonetheless? A surge of anger swept through her at Edgecombe’s refusal to accept her change of heart.

  “You cannot force me to marry you!” she exclaimed.

  “I force nothing,” the marquess said in even tones. “I believe you signed the settlement papers? We have a marriage contract, and witnesses to testify you signed of your own free will. The banns have begun to be read.

  “I suggest, Madam,” the marquess said, looking meaningfully into Catherine’s eyes as he emphasized the honourific that might now be applied to her as a woman betrothed, “that you think carefully before you consider refusing to take the vows that only add the church’s blessing to what is already legitimized in law by signed contracts. Perhaps you are not aware that it is not uncommon for a gentleman to take his lady to the marriage bed the moment contacts are signed. A child on the way usually reconciles a woman to a marriage.”

  “You dare not!” Catherine exclaimed, horrified.

  “No, there is no need of such tactics,” the marquess said, relenting. “You are a woman of breeding and will keep your pledged word.

  “Come Madam, enough of this childish behavior,” the marquess continued in a persuasive tone. “We shall deal well with each other as husband and wife, have no fear.”

  “I was wrong to enter upon this engagement, and it is true I did so willingly,” Catherine said in a shaking voice. “I am at fault. I am sorry I did not realize earlier that we should not suit, but if you were a gentleman you would release me.

  “You may be able to force me to marry you,” Catherine continued, becoming more impassioned at Lord Edgecombe’s silence and imperturbable expression, searching her mind for a way to strike back and finally thinking of one, “but you shall never have my rose, not if I must dig up every cane and sucker.”

  “There is no need for such dramatic threats, Madam,” Lord Edgecombe replied in an expressionless voice. “I suggest you return to Rosemont and regain control of your emotions. After you have done so I am certain you will be able to think your situation through and come to behave in a civilized manner.

  “I shall make your excuses to Lady Ellsworth and her daughters,” Lord Ellsworth added. “I do not believe you would wish to appear before them until you have composed yourself. Allow me to escort you to the stables and order your mount.”

  Catherine returned home to Rosemont in a state between rage and despair. Why would the marquess not release her? Was it pride? Desire for the portion she would inherit? Desire for her rose? A refusal to be rejected? A combination of all those reasons?

  And what could she do to persuade him to change his mind? It was true that, having signed the settlement papers, the only way to now be released was by mutual consent, which he was unwilling to give. But there had to be a way out. There must be something she could do short of refusing to take the vows in front of the vicar. For a moment she contemplated doing even that. It would be a terrible scandal, of course, given she had entered into the engagement willingly, as all knew. It would be a scandal that would affect her father, her aunt, and all her other relatives as well as herself. A delicious scandal all would savour. It would probably, she realized, even end up in the pages of the Gentlemen’s Magazine with pious cautions about how neither rank nor independence could ensure reputation or happiness.

  And who would support her in such a desperate action? She could think of no one, for if one was foolish enough to do as she had done and chosen ill, it was one’s duty to accept the consequences, no matter how one’s heart shrank at the thought. And if one were patient, one might do as Lord Edgecombe himself had suggested, and find one’s happiness in the arms of lovers, after heirs had been provided. Catherine knew that such arrangements were common enough among her peers, yet her whole being rebelled at the idea of such a loveless union.

  Knowing she could not long prevent the tears that threatened, and determined to avoid her sister-in-law’s scrutiny, Catherine retreated directly to the walled garden when she regained Rosemont.

  “William,” she called softly, “William.”

  A moment later William’s nose poked out of his wooden house, but he came no farther. Remembering how but two days ago come near and allowed her touch, Catherine mourned the loss of trust his new injury had caused. She gathered a few undamaged leaves from the trampled garden and placed them before the hare. Cautiously, he sniffed the leaves and with a last look around to be sure nothing threatened, he began munching on them. Relieved that William was eating despite his injury, Catherine searched for a few more undamaged leaves.

  What would happen to William if she were forced to marry the Marquess of Edgecombe? This was a problem she had avoided facing heretofore, but now must. She doubted Lord Edgecombe would be willing for her to take William to Edgecombe Place, and who at Rosemont would be willing to give him the care he needed? It was not enough to see that he had food and shelter; William needed affection and care. Her family lacked the knowledge and interest. Sarah? She might be willing to take the hare, but it would require her having a special area prepared, and even that might not prove safe what with the squire’s hounds and Sarah’s young children. There was only Lord Woodforde.
He was nearly as interested in William as she—surely he would be willing to take on the hare’s care if it became necessary. She must ask Woodforde if he would. It would remove one burden from her spirits if she knew she had a place for William to go when she married Lord Edgecombe, if it came to that. Yet, she determined, it must not come to that. Somehow she had to think of a way to persuade the marquess to release her from the betrothal.

  Meanwhile, she would have to confess to her aunt that her request to be released from her betrothal had come to naught. Slowly Catherine stood up, brushing off her skirts and willing the tears away. Carefully locking the garden door behind her, she hurried upstairs to wash the tears from her face and then went in search of Lady Manning.

  “There you are, sister,” Judith said accusingly as Catherine, her toilette repaired, entered the large drawing room in search of her aunt. “Where have you been? I had planned to accompany you to town today and assist you in selecting your wedding clothes. I had taken the time to dress to go out and then you were nowhere to be found.”

  “I had an errand I needed to complete,” Catherine replied mildly. “I am sorry I did not return in time to accompany you to town.” It was interesting how unimportant her irritations with her sister-in-law suddenly seemed when placed next to her larger troubles, Catherine thought dispassionately as she took a chair by her aunt.

  “I wish it were not necessary you be married here in Moreton,” Judith went on, apparently having decided to let the previous day’s contretemps drop after the marked attention Lord Edgecombe had paid her the previous afternoon. “You ought to be married in London. It need not be your home parish where the wedding takes place. Could you not persuade Edgecombe to delay the wedding until it could take place there?”

  “London is not Lord Edgecombe’s home parish either,” Catherine reminded her sister-in-law.