Double Masquerade

by Lucy Muir

  Catherine made no reply, failing even to point out to her sister-in-law that both Mrs. Stillington-Fyfe and Mrs. Turner were married women who had found the society worth joining. She was shocked that it had never occurred to her she would no longer have her meetings to look forward to once she moved to Edgecombe Place. There might be a branch of the society in Leicestershire, or perhaps she could begin one there, but it would not be the same without the friends she had known for so long. Dismayed by her thoughts, Catherine entered the draper’s with a sober mien.

  Judith, not noticing her companion’s lack of spirits, went directly to the newest samples and began feeling their quality. “I think this for the gown you are to be wed in,” she said, indicating an elaborate silk brocade, “and this for the new redingote,” pointing to a fine wool, “as it will be winter. Then you will require materials for your morning gowns and nightdresses,” Judith mused as she continued examining the cloths, selecting various India cottons and Chinese silks.

  Catherine, unable to feel the least interest in her wedding clothes, allowed her sister-in-law to order whatever that lady felt was appropriate, thereby restoring herself to Lady Trevor’s good graces.

  Chapter Eleven

  Shades of red, orange, yellow, and brown blended in a masterpiece of autumn colour, contrasting sharply with the deep turquoise-blue sky, but although Catherine stared fixedly at the scene she saw none of it. She had paused on top of the hill to the east of Rosemont, looking back toward her home, feeling emptiness as she realized how soon she must leave its safe and comforting bounds. It was the end of October and the first reading of the banns had occurred yesterday at the Sunday service. Catherine’s subtle attempts to become less appealing to Lord Edgecombe over the last week had failed, and no new plans to bring about the end of her betrothal had occurred to her. Everything was marching toward marriage with the Marquess of Edgecombe, and she felt powerless to halt its advance.

  Catherine’s horse, tired of standing, shook his head and blew softly. Reluctantly, she flicked the reins and allowed him to head home. A Hunt Ball was being held this night at the assembly rooms, and Catherine viewed it as her last chance to cause Lord Edgecombe to take her in disgust and end the betrothal. Not that she had much hope. So far he had not even appeared to notice any of her attempts to appear less attractive a spouse.

  How quickly one’s life could change for the worse, Catherine thought dispiritedly. But six months ago she had been perfectly content with her life at Rosemont, her friendships with Lord Woodforde and Sarah, and her homely pleasures. Three months past she had been enjoying the thrill of persuading the Marquess of Edgecombe to look at her with interest, followed by the excitement, and, yes, the triumph, of bringing him to an offer, and now…Catherine shook her head in disgust. What was amiss with her? How little she had understood of herself and what she truly wanted in life!

  Once more at Rosemont, Catherine walked around to the rose gardens to gather a few of the ripe rose hips to give William. Although many of the fruits were dry, those from the later-flowering bushes were still plump, and she collected enough to be a treat for the hare. Here at least she had good news, Catherine thought as she unlocked the garden and entered. William had recovered slowly but surely from his leg injury, and could once again hop to greet her and take treats from her hand.

  She held out a handful of the rose hips and William immediately hopped over to see what she was offering. One sniff convinced him it was worth accepting and he delicately removed the rose hips from her hand one-by-one. When he had finished he sat up and looked at Catherine so knowingly she felt he understood all her troubles and travails and wished to help. Slowly, she reached out and stroked his head and the base of his ears. Happy, he allowed the touch and settled onto the ground and chewed quietly in the odd way he had when he was pleased with something. A sense of calm and peace settled over Catherine, as it always did when she spent time with William. How she would hate leaving him behind! Soon she must ride to Woodforde Park to ask Lord Woodforde if he would be willing to take William when she had to leave. How ironic, she thought, that she would much rather spend her lifetime with William than the several-titled Marquess of Edgecombe, Earl of Northcliffe, Baron Pickering!

  Later that afternoon when Flora began to dress her mistress for the assembly room Hunt Ball, Catherine surprised her maid by requesting that she lay out her most formal dress and hoops, and that she prepare her hair in one of the high, elaborate hairstyles now mostly worn at court.

  “Are you certain, miss?” Flora dared to question, surprised at the highly unusual request.

  “Yes, Flora, I wish to dress more formally for this evening,” Catherine assured her maid.

  When Flora finished her task nearly three hours later Catherine looked at her reflection with satisfaction. The hoops held the brocade skirts out stiffly, the longer over-bodice flattened her figure despite the tight lacing of the stays beneath, and her hair, which had been pulled and piled over wire bases until it was in excess of eighteen inches high, had been dusted with pink and yellow powder. A pair of curved-heel shoes with outrageously large buckles completed her ensemble.

  “It is perfect Flora,” Catherine reassured her dubious maid. “But a few patches for my face, I think.” If this did not put Lord Edgecombe off her looks, nothing would, Catherine thought with satisfaction as she gave her reflection a last look. Yet, although her toilette would certainly surprise anyone who knew her well, it would be considered acceptable given she was to dance the formal minuet.

  Surprise did flicker over Lord Edgecombe’s face when he met Catherine at the assembly rooms for the Hunt Ball, as it had those of her family when they had seen her evening’s toilette, but, ever courteous in public, the marquess said nothing to indicate any displeasure with his betrothed. And when Catherine gave her hand to the marquess to take the floor for the minuet, she realized she had not taken into account that next to the marquess, who was clad in a powdered wig, gold brocade evening coat, cream breeches, silk stockings, and dress shoes, she looked formal and elegant rather than ridiculous. Repressing a sigh, she walked to the front of the room. Somehow she must make herself appear a fool, for she sensed the marquess would never wish to appear one. She did not dare miss steps in the dance, that would be too evident a ploy, but she would watch for any opportunity for a mishap.

  Halfway through the elaborate minuet, Catherine noticed an uneven place in the floorboards. She had found her chance! As she danced forward in the tiny minuet steps she intentionally caught her slipper on the uneven board and tripped. The resulting fall was even more laughable than she had expected, for as she fell to the floor the wire hoops sprang upwards, exposing her shift to those spectators standing in the direction toward which her feet pointed, and her high, elaborate hairstyle slipped and tilted sideways. Laughter burst from the spectators, and she heard several ribald comments shouted by witty young gentlemen who had viewed her pantalets. Exultant, quite sure she made a most ridiculous figure, Catherine pretended embarrassment as Lord Edgecombe politely helped her up and led her back into the dance while the musicians in the gallery above played on.

  But when the dance ended and Lord Edgecombe escorted Catherine off floor, his words were not what she expected nor deserved. “I must congratulate you upon your aplomb at such an unfortunate disaster, madam. It was a mark of your excellent breeding that you ignored the mishap and carried on as though naught had occurred. I shall escort you to the withdrawing room that the maids may assist you in repairing your toilette.”

  Glumly, Catherine gave herself up to the ministrations of the attendant maids in the withdrawing room. None of her plans were working! What else could she possibly do? she wondered as she listened to the rising hilarity of the guests at the notoriously licentious Hunt Ball. Slowly she made her way back to her party and regained her fan from Lady Manning, who had held it while her niece danced, still trying to think of any behaviour that might offend her betrothed without exposing herself to too much censure
. Fanning herself rapidly, Catherine scanned the room, hoping for inspiration. A gentleman in a party not far from theirs caught her eye. Of course! Catherine closed her fan with a swift flick of her wrist and then slowly opened it before her face, signaling “I am interested in you,” to the gentleman who had caught her eye. He reciprocated the gesture and followed it with his own gesture by placing his large fan over his heart, boldly declaring “My heart is devoured with love for you.” Perhaps he was one of those who had had a view of her undergarments, Catherine thought wryly. She continued to flirt with her fan, pretending to do so in secret but knowing Lord Edgecombe could not help but observe her. Not wishing to overplay her hard, after a minute or two she spun her fan in her left hand, signaling “We are being watched,” and then closed her fan, placed it in her lap, and turned to see her sister-in-law watching her with narrowed eyes.

  “Sister,” Judith hissed, “your behaviour is beyond bounds this night. What if Lord Edgecombe should notice? You had best repair to the withdrawing room and cool yourself with lavender water.”

  “You are correct, Judith, I must retire a moment,” Catherine agreed. Excusing herself, she made her way out of the ballroom and down the hallway to the ladies withdrawing room. Feeling certain the unknown gentleman would follow her and be waiting outside when she exited the withdrawing room, Catherine bit her lips to make them plump and red and stepped confidently into the hallway.

  “You appear to be in high spirits this evening madam,” Lord Edgecombe said, stepping forward to take her arm.

  Catherine gasped.

  “I fear I have neglected some of my duties to you of late.” So saying, Lord Edgecombe took hold of Catherine’s arm and propelled her down the stairs and into the dimly lit hallway of the ground floor, past other laughing and dallying couples to the darkness at the end of the hallway where he unceremoniously pulled her to him and covered her mouth with his. Catherine discovered a previously unknown advantage to her hoops when the wires prevented the marquess from pressing too closely against her.

  “We shall be observed, Lord Edgecombe, release me, if you please,” Catherine protested, frightened and realizing her flirting had tried the marquess’ patience too far.

  “No one will think anything of us,” he countered with a glance back down the hallway filled with couples engaged in mutual dalliance.

  Knowing this to be true given the general state of inebriation and the bawdy behavior of so many of the guests at the ball, Catherine once again tried to pull away.

  “What is this? Do you not wish my embraces” the marquess asked, keeping a firm hold on Catherine’s wrist. “I thought you in a mood for dalliance, given your coquettish manner, and only your betrothed is the proper object of such flirtation. One may find oneself overcome by the general intemperance at a Hunt Ball, but I would prefer you confine your flirting to me, at least until after you have given me an heir,” he added. “Then, as I have informed you previously, you may conduct your intrigues as you wish, provided you are discreet.”

  Catherine, torn between honest acknowledgement that the marquess had reason to reprimand her behaviour and revulsion at his pragmatic view of marriage, forced herself to make an apology.

  “Please forgive me; I fear I have had too much of the Arrack punch,” she prevaricated. “If you will permit me, Lord Edgecombe, I shall return to Lady Manning.”

  “Allow me to escort you,” the marquess said politely, stepping back and offering his arm.

  Catherine meekly allowed the marquess to return her to her aunt’s side, and for the rest of the evening she stayed close to Judith and Lady Manning long after Lord Edgecombe had disappeared into the card rooms. It was not going to be as simple as she had hoped to put the marquess off her person.

  The day after the Hunt Ball Catherine again found respite from her troubled thoughts by sitting with William in the walled garden. How she would miss her sweet hare who so charmingly begged treats from her and seemed so grateful for her love and attention, offering his own in return! It was time she asked Woodforde if he would take William when she had to leave Rosemont, for it did not appear her efforts to give Lord Edgecombe a disgust of her person were going to be successful. She had delayed it long enough; she must not leave finding William a home until the last moment. She would ride to Woodforde Park this very morning, for Lord Woodforde rarely came to Rosemont any longer, despite their mended friendship.

  Thinking it best to go early while Lord Edgecombe would most likely be hunting and she would be unlikely to meet him on the roads, Catherine changed into her riding habit and ordered Damask brought around. It had been several weeks since she had last ridden in the direction of Woodforde Park, and the ride through the familiar old ways was very calming. What, she wondered, would it have been like if she had accepted one of Lord Woodforde’s facetious offers? Or the offer he had made that day in his library? That one, at least, had been genuine. Surely with him she would never have felt the reluctance she felt to wed Lord Edgecombe. Lord Woodforde was comfortable, honourable, and reliable. She might never have felt the passion she had that very first kiss with Edgecombe at the masquerade, and she might never have been able to live up to the memory of Lord Woodforde’s first wife, but would not that have been better than what she had now? She should have listened to her Aunt Manning and Sarah. Why did she have to be so stubborn, determined on pursuing her own foolish desires? But, she thought with a sigh, she had to deal with what was, not what might have been.

  Riding up to Woodforde Park, Catherine was struck with the knowledge that she would soon be as much a stranger here as she would be to Rosemont. An era of her life was truly ending, and the knowledge brought on a deep melancholy.

  Once inside the house, the footman asked Catherine to wait in the drawing room while he informed Lord Woodforde of her arrival. A few minutes later she heard Woodforde’s familiar step in the hall, and a pang shot through Catherine at the sight of his familiar tall form in the wide-cuffed cutaway coat, waistcoat, and knee breeches, his hair clubbed and tied with the customary black ribbon.

  “Miss Trevor. It is a pleasure to see you. What brings you to Woodforde Park this morning?” he asked with a bow.

  “I have a favour to ask of you, Lord Woodforde,” Catherine replied candidly.

  “I shall be glad to grant it if it is within my power, Miss Trevor. Please, sit down and explain what it is you require,” Woodforde said, gesturing to a carved mahogany armchair.

  “It has occurred to me that I shall be unable to take William with me if—when—I go to Leicestershire,” Catherine explained. “I am certain Lady Manning and James would care for him, but I wish him to receive more than food and shelter. Would you be willing to bring him to Woodforde Park when I must leave?”

  “Certainly I would be willing to do so, at such time as it may become necessary,” Woodforde agreed. “I have a fondness for William and would be pleased to allow him to live here.”

  “Oh thank you!” Catherine said fervently. “It is a great weight off my mind to know he will have a place to go if…” she broke off, catching herself before she said “if I cannot find a way out of my betrothal.” She did not wish to admit her change of heart to Woodforde if she would be unable to obtain her release.

  Lord Woodforde gazed at Catherine with a penetrating look, but when she did not finish her sentence or elaborate, he allowed the subject to drop.

  “Now that William’s future is settled, I have a surprise for you,” Lord Woodforde said with the air of one who has good news to impart, “Anne is here.”

  “Your daughter?” Catherine asked in surprise. “I thought she was away at school.”

  “A fever went through the school. Anne was one of those afflicted,” he began, but at Catherine’s horrified exclamation he hastened to say, “She is recovering, but still weak and it was thought best if she returned home for a month or so until she recovers fully.”

  “May I see her; if she is well enough to withstand company?”

 
“Of course, I was going to ask if you would step up to the schoolroom before you left,” Lord Woodforde replied, leading the way from the drawing room upstairs to the schoolroom.

  As they entered the room an attractive young woman seated on a chair near a globe stand rose to her feet. Lord Woodforde’s daughter sat on a daybed nearby, frowning in concentration as she pored over a lesson. Dark curls tumbled about a piquant face still pale from illness.

  “Look whom I have brought to say hello,” Lord Woodforde said, presenting Catherine to his daughter.

  Anne’s head snapped up at the sound of her father’s voice and the book slid to the floor. She jumped from her seat and ran forward, stopping before Catherine to duck a quick curtsey. “Oh, Miss Trevor! Is it true you have a hare named William? And that he sits up and begs for treats? May I see him?”

  “Anne, where are your manners,” Lord Woodforde chided. “You have not presented your companion to Miss Trevor.”

  “Oh, I beg pardon,” Anne said, turning back with a graceful motion to the young woman who stood beside the globe stand. “Miss Trevor, may I present Miss Hervey. Miss Hervey accompanied me from school and is to give me lessons until I return.”

  “I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Hervey,” Catherine said warmly to the young woman, “and grateful that you traveled to Woodforde Park with Miss Woodforde.”

  Miss Hervey curtsied and murmured her greetings.

  “Does William truly pull on your skirts when he wants a treat?” Anne asked, her first interest returning now that her duty had been done.

  “Yes, he does,” Catherine assured the young girl. “You must ask your papa to bring you to Rosemont that you may see for yourself. And you also, Miss Hervey, if you would wish to come as well.”