Double Masquerade

by Lucy Muir

  “Lady Manning,” Catherine said, turning to her aunt, who sat working on a piece of intricate embroidery, “the errand on which I went was unsuccessful. I shall discuss it with you at another time when you have more leisure.”

  Lady Manning looked up from her needlework, her sharp eyes peering closely at Catherine over the top of her spectacles. “Very well. I expect I shall have the leisure this evening. You may come to my dressing room after supper. Meanwhile I suggest you arrange a day to go with your sister to order wedding clothes.”

  Reluctantly, knowing she had a duty to her sister-in-law but disliking the thought of even thinking of wedding clothes, much less selecting them, Catherine moved to a chair closer to Judith and prepared to endure the necessary discussion when Fate suddenly decided to have compassion on her. Judith’s youngest son, Henry, who had been helping himself to a box of sweets his mother had left sitting on the occasional table next to the sofa, suddenly vomited them up on his mother’s skirts.

  “Roberts!” Judith called in revulsion as the mess began to seep through her skirts. “Roberts! Where has the woman gotten to now? She is never around when she is needed,” Judith complained, afraid to move to ring the bell for fear the mess would spread farther over her skirts or drip onto her slippers if she stood.

  “I should change from my riding dress, and I shall find Roberts for you on my way,” Catherine offered. Taking the opportunity to escape, she rose and left the room swiftly lest her aunt order her return after she completed her stated errands.

  As Catherine had expected, she found Roberts in the nursery trying to amuse Marie and John while at the same time imparting some knowledge of manners and decorum. Catherine explained to the nursemaid what was required, ignoring the fearful grimaces John directed her way, and while the nursemaid set her charges a task to complete while she left to aid her mistress’s current distress, Catherine continued upstairs to her bedchamber.

  Once safe in her chamber, Catherine paced back and forth before the windows, reliving the conversation she had had with Lord Edgecombe that morning. How could she possibly stay and pretend through a family dinner that all was well? Perhaps she should ride to Moreton to see Sarah. She could confide the truth to Sarah. Was there time? Catherine glanced at the small ormolu bracket clock and realized she would arrive at Moreton Manor about dinner time should she go. Still, it would be better than remaining here. With sudden resolution Catherine slipped downstairs to the entrance hall and ordered her horse brought round again.

  “Catherine, welcome, I am pleased to see you,” Sarah greeted her friend when Catherine arrived at Moreton Manor a half-hour later. “You must stay and take dinner with us.”

  “I am sorry to arrive at dinner with no prior invitation and in riding dress,” Catherine apologized as she handed her hat to the footman, “but I am in distress, Sarah, and have need of your counsel. I did not take time to change and order the landau.”

  Sarah searched her friend’s troubled countenance and reached for Catherine’s hand. “We shall speak after dinner,” she promised, pressing her friend’s hand with warmth. “You are always welcome here, Catherine, as well you know.”

  Already feeling better for the promise of sharing her troubles, Catherine entered the dining room with Sarah and the squire. A servant was just finishing adding a setting to the table, and Catherine slipped gratefully into the chair before it. Dinner in company with the squire and Mrs. Turner was far preferable to dinner at Rosemont with her brother and his wife.

  “I am glad to see you at our table again, Miss Trevor,” the squire commented as he helped himself to a large serving of roast pheasant. “You have been too rare a guest of late. You must try some of this pheasant, Miss Trevor, bagged it just this last week. I’ve shot six brace so far, and no sign of depleting the birds. The woods are well-stocked.”

  “I am pleased to be here, Squire Turner,” Catherine replied as she accepted a slice of pheasant from the squire and then spooned a small portion of turnips onto her plate. “I have missed your company, and that of Mrs. Turner.”

  “It is understandable that you have less time for old friends just now,” the bluff squire said with a wink. “Saw Edgecombe earlier today, riding toward vicar’s. Daresay we shall be hearing some banns read this Sunday.”

  Catherine’s appetite vanished and although she managed a weak smile for the squire, she took little food, concentrating on pushing around what was already on her plate so that it appeared she had eaten some. Fortunately, although Sarah directed several questioning looks her direction, the squire appeared to notice nothing amiss and kept up a monologue of entertaining stories about his hunting exploits and various tenants and neighbors.

  Finally the moment came when Sarah rose from the table. “We shall leave you to your port, Squire,” she said formally, “while Miss Trevor and I have a gossip.” So saying, Sarah preceded Catherine from the dining room and into the drawing room.

  “Wait one moment while I instruct the nursemaid not to bring the children in until later that we may speak undisturbed,” Sarah ordered Catherine.

  Catherine took one end of the rather battered settee while Sarah rang for the footman and gave her instructions. Sarah then joined Catherine on the settee, sitting close that they might speak softly.

  “What is it, Catherine?” she asked, concern evident in her voice. “It is evident something has occurred to distress you greatly.”

  “I asked the marquess of Edgecombe to release me from our betrothal this morning and he refused,” Catherine began, and went on to relate the day’s happenings. Sarah listened with attention until her friend finished her recital.

  “I must confess I never thought the marquess quite the right choice of husband for you,” Sarah said after a moment of silence, “and I cannot understand why he will not release you from the betrothal. Perhaps he truly cares for you, Catherine, have you thought of that possibility?”

  “I do not think that is the case,” Catherine replied. “I believe it to be more that he feels I will fit the position of his wife and that he does not like to be rejected. Or that he wishes to have me in the same way he wishes to have my rose—as an item of possession.”

  “Then I can think of little you may do,” Sarah said sadly. “One must simply make the best of such circumstances. Perhaps it will not be as bad as you fear. Perhaps in time you will come to care for each other.”

  “Indeed, I cannot,” Catherine protested. “I did not tell you the whole of it,” she confessed, and proceeded to relate what had happened to William, the failure of the marquess to understand her attachment to the animal, and even his threat to consummate their marriage beforehand, although in justice she reported he had backed away from the last threat.

  “I know I brought this upon myself in my mad determination to bring the marquess to an offer,” Catherine finished, rising and starting to pace the drawing room floor, “for mad I must have been, but I cannot submit to being married to him.”

  Sarah’s face became graver and graver as Catherine told the rest of her story. “This is distressing indeed, Catherine. I am sorry to hear of your hare’s injury and the marquess’ failure to comprehend your attachment, but you know as well as I that no one would consider that a reason for rejecting such an eligible suitor. As for his threat to take you to his bed before the actual marriage, he would be within his legal rights, although he should not have said such a thing to you. I am glad to hear that he retracted it.

  “But although I sympathize with your predicament, I fear I cannot help you,” Sarah finished, “for what choice have you if Lord Edgecombe will not release you? To refuse to accept him at the altar? Such an act would cause a great scandal, the more as you are known to have sought his attentions.”

  “Only too well do I know the truth of your words,” Catherine acknowledged as she ceased to pace, stopping before her friend. “Oh Sarah, what am I to do? I cannot marry him, indeed I cannot!”

  “I suppose one might behave in such a manner
as to give one’s betrothed a disgust of oneself,” Sarah suggested slowly. “In truth, I can think of no other solution.”

  “Yes, I had not thought of that,” Catherine said, brightening. “It is certainly worth an attempt. Thank you, Sarah,” she said, embracing her friend.

  “You must not be too obvious in your efforts to put him off,” Sarah warned as she returned her friend’s embrace. “The marquess is not unintelligent.”

  “That is true,” Catherine acknowledged. “I grant the scheme has but a slim chance of success, but that it is better than none. Perhaps I may dress a bit less attractively, and I shall try and think of other things he admires about me and make subtle alterations.”

  The hopes that had risen after her talk with Sarah enabled Catherine to eat supper with her family in equanimity after she returned to Rosemont, and she was even able to agree to accompany her sister-in-law to town two days hence to order wedding clothes. However, when Judith showed no signs of abandoning the topic of the coming nuptials Catherine excused herself from her sister-in-law’s presence and retreated to the large drawing room, where she practiced upon her harp. She remained there until the hour at which Lady Manning customarily retired, and then sought her aunt in her dressing room.

  “You are excused for the evening, Molly,” Lady Manning instructed her maid when Catherine entered her aunt’s dressing room. “My niece will assist me should I require anything more this evening.”

  “Yes, your ladyship. Thank you, your ladyship,” the maid said with a curtsey.

  “I am afraid, aunt,” Catherine said when Molly quit the room, “that being released from the betrothal is not to be had for the asking. I asked Lord Edgecombe this morning and he refused.”

  “I had surmised as much from your demeanor at supper,” Lady Manning said, settling herself into a comfortable chair. “Did he give you his reasons?”

  “He informed me he feels we shall suit as husband and wife and reminded me that I entered into the betrothal of my own will.”

  “The last is true enough.”

  “Yes, it is true, but should he not, as a gentleman, release me? I begged his pardon for not realizing earlier that our natures are not compatible, but he still would not give me my freedom.”

  “I suppose one might ask with equal justice whether you, as a lady, should not keep a commitment you entered into freely, Catherine,” Lady Manning said quietly. “He is not asking you to do something dishonourable. He is giving you his name and a fine estate as your home, not to mention that the settlements were very generous.”

  Catherine sighed. “That is also true. But is not one allowed to make a mistake? May one not change one’s mind?”

  “One may, but that does not remove one’s obligations should the other party involved choose not to release one from a promise or engagement freely entered into.”

  Catherine sighed again, recognizing the truth of her aunt’s words.

  “Mrs. Turner suggests I try to give Lord Edgecombe a disgust of me,” she essayed. “I know he is too intelligent to be taken in by obvious ruses, but it would appear to be my only hope.”

  “I have long wished to see you wed, Catherine, but I have no wish to see you unhappily married. It is certainly worth the effort to attempt to give Lord Edgecombe a disgust of you,” Lady Manning agreed, “although I believe him unlikely to be taken in by any such ruse. We must continue to hope he will come to see for himself that the betrothal would be best ended. I am sorry I cannot give you any more hopeful counsel.”

  “I understand, aunt,” Catherine said, kissing her aunt affectionately on her soft wrinkled cheek. “And I recall you did your best to prevent my coming to be in this position. Certainly had I done as you advised and accepted Lord Woodforde, he would have released me had I asked.

  “But since I did not listen, I must now wait and hope to find a way out of this coil.”

  The next afternoon was one of Lord Edgecombe usual alternate days to dine at Rosemont. Catherine had not seen him since she had asked to be freed to from the betrothal, and hoped he might not come, but promptly at three of the afternoon the Marquess of Edgecombe arrived for dinner as had become his custom. To Catherine’s amazement, he behaved as though their discussion had never occurred, and not a whit of his usual punctilious courtesy was missing as he greeted her father, aunt, brother, sister, and herself. She had to acknowledge that it made the situation easier for them both, and followed his lead, acting as though nothing untoward had ever occurred.

  Catherine had, however, remembered Sarah’s advice. With it in mind she had dressed in one of her least attractive gowns, a jonquil-yellow silk that, with her light hair, gave her skin an unattractive pallor, and had Flora dress her hair in a more elaborate and less becoming style than her usual loose curls. She felt the marquess had noticed her less attractive appearance when his eyes stayed upon her a fraction too long upon his entry into the drawing room, but he made no comment. Shortly afterwards, dinner was announced and the women entered the dining room. Judith availed herself of the opportunity to speak to Catherine before the men came in.

  “Sister, I do not believe that jonquil is the best colour for your complexion. With your fair hair you appear far too sallow. It would be more becoming on one with my complexion,” she finished with a satisfied look at her own reflection in the mirrors behind the sideboard.

  “Thank you for your advice, sister” Catherine responded as the gentlemen entered the room, pleased to know her efforts were successful. However, her less attractive appearance had no apparent deterrent on Lord Edgecombe’s determination to forward their nuptials.

  “Miss Trevor,” the marquess addressed Catherine as he helped himself to some poached salmon, “I suggest that now the settlements have been signed we take the needful documents to the parish and have the banns read. I spoke to the vicar early this afternoon. I cannot delay returning to Edgecombe Place past November, and we shall require one Saturday between the last reading of the banns and the first Sunday of advent in order to be married before I must return.”

  “It shall be as you think best, Lord Edgecombe,” Catherine answered in a tranquil voice, despite the feeling of desperation that seized her heart. Less than six weeks! How was she to extricate herself in time?

  The remainder of the dinner seemed interminable to Catherine, but finally Lady Manning led Catherine and Judith from the table while the men remained to drink their port.

  “I am sorry you must marry here in Moreton,” Judith commented as she seated herself on the sofa, “for you shall be able to arrange but a paltry wedding here. But it must be flattering to you at your age, sister, that the marquess is in such haste to wed. You are fortunate in your betrothal.”

  “Catherine, why do you not play upon the harp for us this evening,” Lady Manning suggested, sparing her niece the need for a reply.

  Catherine acquiesced and seated herself before her harp, tipping it back onto her shoulder. Her fingers moved automatically over the strings as her thoughts ranged elsewhere, but when the men entered the room a few minutes later, she recalled that Lord Edgecombe admired her harp playing. To miss notes would be too obvious, so for the rest of the evening Catherine played accurately but without expression, choosing pieces she did not care for herself, hoping the marquess would find her performance less pleasing than before. As she concentrated on plucking each note with expressionless accuracy, Catherine recalled Lord Woodforde’s words about her playing at a masquerade trying to appear what Lord Edgecombe wished. Now she was masquerading to appear what Lord Edgecombe would not like.

  Catherine kept her promise to Judith and Lady Manning and accompanied the former into Moreton to select the styles and materials for Catherine’s wedding clothes at the dressmaker’s and draper’s that Thursday morning. Judith talked incessantly of the wedding plans and what was and was not fashionable in London all the way to Moreton, while Catherine fixed a look of attentiveness on her sister-in-law and paid attention to nothing she said.

 
; Once in Moreton, the coachman was instructed to wait outside of the draper’s while the women went into that shop and the dressmaker’s on their errands. As they left the dressmakers after selecting the styles they wished and walked toward the drapers to look at fabric samples, a woman passing in the street stopped and spoke to the two women.

  “Mrs. Trevor, Miss Trevor, good afternoon. How fortunate to have met you,” Mrs. Stillington-Fyfe greeted them.

  “Good afternoon Mrs. Stillington-Fyfe,” Catherine returned the greeting. “How do the wedding plans for Miss Stillington-Fyfe and Mr. Ellsworth progress? The third reading of the banns was last Sunday, was it not?” she enquired politely.

  “Yes, and it partly that of which I wish to speak,” the older woman said. “I had wondered, Miss Trevor, if you might be willing to play your harp for the wedding supper. Emily has always had a preference for the instrument.”

  “Yes, of course I shall,” Catherine promised.

  “The other matter upon which I wished to touch is the meetings of the Society.”

  “Has the architect you engaged to speak at the meeting had to cancel his plans?” Catherine asked, hoping that was not the case, for it would be difficult to find another speaker within a month.

  “It was not this next meeting I wished to ask you about, but who will take your place when you are gone,” Mrs. Stillington-Fyfe confessed. “I wished to offer myself as the person to arrange the speakers and meetings once you move to Leicestershire, although I shall understand should you have promised Mrs. Turner.”

  “I had not thought upon it, Mrs. Stillington-Fyfe,” Catherine answered truthfully. “Perhaps we might discuss the matter at the next meeting, and allow our members to decide.”

  “That would no doubt be best,” Mrs. Stillington-Fyfe agreed. “Good afternoon Mrs. Trevor, Miss Trevor.”

  “Good afternoon, Mrs. Stillington-Fyfe,” Catherine returned.

  “I cannot imagine why anyone should desire to become involved with the Blue Stocking Society, unless of course, one is unmarried and has nothing else to do with one’s time,” Judith said as Mrs. Stillington-Fyfe went on her way down the street. “Now you are to be wed, sister, you may put an end to such spinsterish foolishness.”