Liberty for Paul

by Rose Gordon

  After another quick glance in the mirror to satisfy himself that nobody would recognize him in this ridiculous costume, he went downstairs to go wait for John and Carolina.

  To his surprise, they were both already in the drawing room waiting for him. “Oh, you look dashing,” Carolina cooed, coming over to straighten his cape. “Allison will fall in love with you on the spot.”

  Panic momentarily swelled in Paul’s chest. “Let’s hope not,” he remarked, thinking of the bitter irony. His own wife had known him for nearly a year and despised him, and yet, Carolina seemed absolutely certain his wife’s cousin would fall in love with him at first sight.

  John coughed and patted his chest. “Right you are. Perhaps you should leave your spectacles here,” he suggested, reaching up to Paul’s face to remove his spectacles for him. “Oh, stop that scowling, boy. Tonight you are Mr. Daltry, Knight Swathed in Black; and Mr. Daltry does not wear these.”

  Paul groaned. Without his spectacles he was hopeless. He could see large things, but for the life of him he couldn’t read or make out fine details. With how dark ballrooms typically were, it was going to be nearly impossible to get through the night without incident.

  “Oh, do you know how to imitate a Welch accent?” Carolina asked, a hopeful expression on her face.

  “No. Accents aren’t really my thing, ma’am. How about if I try to drop my voice an octave or two? Will that do?” He suppressed the urge to roll his eyes when she nodded enthusiastically. He’d never tell her, but he was glad she’d mentioned that. It wouldn’t do for someone to recognize his voice. Not that he really thought that was possible, but one could never be too careful.

  For some reason Paul couldn’t understand they rode in the carriage to the Townson’s residence. They were only a few blocks away and it would have made more sense to walk. His suggestion was met with a simple, “It’s not fashionable,” and he knew better than to argue with that.

  They walked in and made their greetings with the hosts. Paul was rather shocked to see a recognizably increasing Lady Townson acting as hostess. Even he knew it wasn’t custom for an increasing woman to be in town taking part of social events. Yet, Brooke was Brooke and he knew as well as anyone she would do whatever she pleased. At least she was able to wear a costume that disguised her state. Her husband, on the other hand, was a very lucky man who appeared to have escaped the trap of wearing a costume.

  John introduced him as Mr. Daltry to Brooke and Andrew who accepted it with not a hint of disbelief or question in their eyes. “And this,” Brooke said, grabbing hold of the arm of the young woman who was dressed as a queen and standing behind her, “is Miss Allison Ellis. She’s my cousin.”

  “How do you do, Miss Ellis?” Paul asked with a slight bow, making sure not to injure himself or anyone else with his wayward sheathed rapier. He remembered Liberty’s middle name was Ellis, it must have been a family name, he decided.

  “Very well, thank you, Mr. Daltry,” she said with a curtsy.

  “Miss Ellis has just arrived from America and this is her first ball,” Brooke explained.

  “Is that so?” Paul said evenly. Was it his imagination or had Miss Ellis winced both times Brooke said her name? He couldn’t see much in this dim room, but he was almost certain she’d winced.

  “Actually, Mr. Daltry,” John cut in smoothly. “I know it might appear presumptuous on my part, but would you be willing to keep my niece company this evening?”

  No, Paul wanted to say, I wouldn’t. I’d rather be with my wife. You remember her, don’t you? You ought to, she’s your daughter! But he couldn’t say that, he’d already agreed to go through with this nonsense. “It would be my pleasure,” he said smoothly, offering Miss Ellis his arm.

  “Excellent!” Carolina chirped with a staccato clap. “As her official co-chaperone, I give my consent for her to waltz.”

  “Waltz?” Paul echoed. The only time he’d ever waltzed was with his dancing master. He couldn’t possibly have his first public waltz be while he was wearing a disguise and dancing with his wife’s cousin.

  “Yes, a waltz,” Brooke chimed in. “Allison has been looking forward to it since she arrived. I believe the orchestra will be playing one next.”

  Paul looked at Miss Ellis. He couldn’t see her very well without his spectacles. Her face looked blurred, but he could see she shared the same beauty as her cousins. Best of all, he could tell she was smiling; and it was directed straight at him.

  He led her to the floor where partners were indeed taking the floor and preparing for a waltz. “I must confess I haven’t waltzed in a long time. I hope you don’t value your toes,” he jested.

  “Not to worry, Mr. Daltry. I have the most uncomfortably hard slippers on tonight,” she informed him. Then she peeked up at him from under her lashes and added slyly, “They also have a heel, and I am not above retaliation.”

  Paul chuckled. “Ah, now I know where it comes from,” he mused.

  “What’s that?” she asked curiously.

  He shrugged. “I always wondered where the Banks sisters got their vengeful streak,” he said lightly, “and now I know. It’s from Carolina’s side.”

  “Are you acquainted with them, then?” she asked after they’d started to dance.

  “Not well,” he said to cover his slip. It wouldn’t do for him to reveal too much after all the pains he’d gone through to disguise himself so Liberty would never know of this.

  “Are you counting, Mr. Daltry?” she asked laughingly after a moment.

  “I’m afraid you’ve caught me, Miss Ellis,” he said sheepishly. He’d definitely been counting. And it wasn’t for the reason she’d thought. Ever since he’d taken her in his arms, his blood started pumping so quick he could hardly stand it. Perhaps it was because he was afraid of someone finding out his identity, which would cause more problems than he’d like to consider. Or maybe it was because for some strange reason he liked the way she felt in his arms. The way her hands were touching his shoulder and hand felt like twin branding irons on his skin. The silk of her crimson gown brushed his leg with every move, which only added to his excitement. An excitement he knew he should not be feeling. So to stave off the excitement, he’d focused on counting.

  “It’s all right,” she said softly. “If you don’t wish to waltz, I won’t hold it against you.”

  “Are you certain?” he asked, relieved. “Perhaps we could take a tour of the veranda?”

  “That would be most excellent,” she agreed.

  ***

  Thank goodness that’s over, Liberty thought as Mr. Daltry led her to the veranda. She’d thought her body was going to catch fire with all sparks he was sending through her merely by touching her. Only one man had ever been able to cause those types of sensations before, Paul. She bit her lip. Paul would be appalled to know where she was tonight. He still thought she was with Elizabeth recovering from her “illness”.

  She hadn’t wanted to come tonight, she reminded herself again. It was just that yesterday when Brooke approached her about needing a favor, Liberty couldn’t refuse. She’d been hesitant when Brooke explained the favor was to help one of Andrew’s friends, a shy Mr. Daltry, feel more at ease in a London ballroom. Bemused, she’d asked Brooke why on earth she was the chosen candidate. Brooke ignored her questions and protests, claiming there was no one else to do this. Liberty knew Madison was out of the question, but surely Brooke knew of someone else to do this.

  After much cajoling, Liberty agreed. Brooke acted so excited at her agreement and waxed for thirty minutes about how much fun Liberty was going to have while Liberty just rolled her eyes and shook her head. Helping a shy stranger acquaint himself with the social scene of the ballroom did not sound like her idea of an evening’s entertainment. Yet, now she realized she may have been wrong.

  She looked up at the devastatingly handsome Mr. Daltry. Where had he been when she’d first come to London, she wondered, taking a seat on a bench. Mr. Daltry tried to join her, but hi
s sword kept banging into the bench. She tried unsuccessfully not to laugh at his situation. “Having trouble?” she teased.

  He flashed her a quick smile. “Indeed. I believe the man who picked out this costume has a wicked sense of humor.”

  His smile made her heart skip a beat. It was nothing less than a full out grin. Averting her gaze, she said, “Perhaps you should just take it off.” His eyes went wide and she realized she’d inadvertently just suggested he take off his whole costume instead of just the sword. “I meant the sword,” she said to clarify, blushing.

  He chuckled. It was a low, rich sound that sent shivers to her toes. “Fine suggestion, but I think I’ll leave it on for now,” he said, twisting the sword in a way that allowed him to sit down. “I would have left it off altogether, but I feared your uncle would have complained. He’s the one who picked this ridiculous outfit.”

  She laughed, causing all the curls Brooke’s hairdresser put into her hair shake. “I believe it. I didn’t pick mine, either,” she said, gesturing to herself. Brooke and Mama had taken it upon themselves to pick her costume. Since she’d arrived this morning, they’d been fighting with each other over who was going to be her chaperone and she’d suggested they could be co-chaperones, not that there was such a thing, but it made them happy enough.

  She would have argued with their costume choice if not for their stern determination mixed with her fear of being discovered. Instead, she ignored the little voice inside her that was screaming, “Do not put that ghastly costume on!” and put it on anyway. There was nothing Liberty liked about the costume, except maybe the color of the dress. The dress was a dark crimson red and it had white lace stitched around the edges. The bodice swooped a bit too low, revealing more of her bosom than she liked. There was a gold chord that was woven in an out of different loops on the bodice then formed a bow that rested right in the middle of her breasts. If the low swoop wasn’t enough to draw a man’s attention there, the bow would do it. Except Mr. Daltry. She had yet to catch his gaze drift there.

  She shifted again and felt her headpiece shift. She hadn’t a clue what the thing was called. All she knew was it was ugly and heavy. It looked like a giant pillow that formed a semicircle and rested right on the crown of her head. At least her curls had turned out, Liberty thought with a sigh. Brooke’s hairdresser worked for more than two hours to get her hair just right. And she had to admit, she’d done a great job with the curls.

  “Well, it looks very pretty on you, Miss Ellis” he told her, making her blush and cringe at the same time. “Forgive me, I didn’t mean to be so forward.” His voice was quiet and he made move like he was about to get up.

  “No, no. It’s not what you said,” Liberty rushed to assure him, laying her hands on his arms to stay him.

  He looked at her like she was fit for bedlam.

  “That is to say, it’s not your fault exactly. See, I hate my name,” she explained and felt him relax.

  He still stared at her like she’d lost her mind, but at least his body had relaxed and he wasn’t in a rush to depart her company. She couldn’t explain why she was relieved he’d relaxed and was still sitting next to her. “If you stay, I shall tell you a secret,” she said, hoping he’d be more likely to stay if he knew she was about to reveal something personal and perhaps vulnerable about herself. “I have this great-grandmother that wasn’t so great,” she said with a bitter smile. “Great-Grandma Ellis we all called her. Anyway, the woman was nothing but a sour faced, hateful old windbag. She went around criticizing the whole family. She’d always look for flaws and when she found one, she’d publically ridicule the person for it. I remember a specific birthday party I attended where she criticized poor Liberty about her crooked teeth the whole time.” She abruptly stopped herself and dropped her eyes to stare at her fisted hands. She didn’t dare look at Mr. Daltry for fear he’d see right through her disguise and she’d be exposed. Though she didn’t recognize Mr. Daltry, she couldn’t be sure he didn’t know Paul. Thinking she better say something and quick, she hastened to add, “Anyway, I just prefer not to be called ‘Miss Ellis’ because it reminds me of her and I’d rather not think of her.”

  “All right,” he agreed. His voice sounded uneven and held a hint of a sharper edge than it had a minute ago. Turning to favor her with another grin, he said, “We shall never speak of her again. Instead, I shall call you, Miss…?”

  Mrs. Grimes, she wanted to say proudly. She’d been thinking a lot about Paul recently. After many heart-felt conversations with Elizabeth, she’d decided she would ask him the truth. Not only did she think as his wife she deserved that, but she’d missed him more in the past two weeks than she could have predicted. Somewhere during that fortnight she’d discovered she truly cared for him and even if he would never feel the same way for her, she at least wanted to know if there was even a sliver of a chance. Earlier today she’d decided after this folly with Mr. Daltry was over, she’d go see him. But for now, she needed to play her role. “Allison. You may call me Allison,” she said at last.

  “Allison,” he repeated. “You may call me Tom.”

  Was it her imagination or did he slightly hesitate before he said his name? “If you’d prefer I not call you Tom, I can still call you Mr. Daltry,” she offered, knowing she probably would anyway. She had no business calling another man by his Christian name, especially after all the trouble Paul had gone through to get her to use his.

  He smiled. “No, no. It’s fine,” he assured her.

  She looked at him curiously. “All right, Tom,” she said nervously with a half-smile. She’d said it only to please him so he wouldn’t call her “Miss Ellis” again.

  “Your accent is quite pronounced,” he said, leaning back on the bench.

  Oh drat. Brooke and Mama had insisted she feign a strong American accent so not to be recognized. Perhaps she was overdoing it a bit. “Yes, well, I just arrived. Perhaps it will take a while for it to fade.” She flashed him a hopeful smile which he returned.

  His gaze locked with hers for a moment and she noticed he had the most stunning green eyes. They were beautiful. Paul’s eyes are green, she thought with a pang of guilt as she tore her eyes away. She shouldn’t be thinking of this man’s eyes. And she really shouldn’t be enjoying his company nearly as much as she was.

  “She has a lot of admirers,” Mr. Daltry said, startling her.

  Liberty followed his gaze to where Madison was surrounded by a gaggle of gentlemen tripping over themselves while trying to vie for her attention. “She always did,” Liberty said numbly.

  “Hmm, I always got the impression she was shy,” he said with a shrug.

  “Not at all, quite the opposite actually,” Liberty said, shaking her head. “Back home the men flocked to her like flies to honey. Every man of our acquaintance danced attendance on her. But her downfall was her soft spot for Robbie Swift. She fancied herself in love with him and he told her he felt the same. Yet, I doubt he did because he courted her for five years before ruthlessly throwing her over in order to marry another.”

  “I see,” he said, nodding.

  “The last time I saw her, she was still dreaming about what might have been,” she said, shaking her head.

  “Do you not approve of daydreaming, then?” he asked, looking at her curiously.

  Startled, she met his curious eyes. “No, well, yes. I mean, my reaction wasn’t because I disagree with daydreaming exactly. It was a reaction I have every time I think of that varmint and how he ruined her life. She is better off without him in her life, even if it causes her to daydream. Which, I must confess,” she lowered her gaze, “I haven’t always been the most understanding of.”

  “Haven’t you?” The question was spoken with more than just his lips. His whole face seemed to be asking her the question, and she couldn’t lie.

  Taking a deep breath, she said, “Sadly, no. I’ve been far more critical of her than anyone else.” He turned his face away so quickly she wasn’t able to gauge hi
s expression, but she knew he couldn’t possibly think very highly of her after this revelation. “If you’d like, I can get you a dance with her,” she offered, trying to end the uncomfortable tension by ending the situation entirely.

  “No,” he said, shaking his head.

  “Are you sure? She won’t mind that you count,” she countered, trying to sound encouraging.

  “No, I’d rather not go back in there and dance with her. I’d rather stay here, and dance with you,” he said with a smile that made her bones melt and her breath catch.

  Chapter 23

  Paul stood up and pulled her into his arms. The orchestra had just begun playing the first strains of another waltz. He forced himself to calm down and think clearly. His blood was pumping faster than it had last time they’d danced together. But this time it wasn’t for the same reason. This time he was angry. This was Liberty in his arms, not some cousin. She probably didn’t even have a cousin named Allison Ellis. Why had she come to a ball to meet with another gentleman? Even if her parents had set it up where she was only meeting with him, it still hurt that she’d come in the first place. He wanted to drag her from this veranda and demand an explanation, but not before having some fun at her expense first.

  Holding her closer than proper, and hoping to scandalize her by doing so, he waltzed her around the veranda, ending up in an even darker, more secluded spot.

  “Perhaps we should go back in,” she said, a hint of anxiety in her voice.

  Good. He wanted her to be anxious thinking a man other than her husband was taking her off to a dark corner where he could ravish her and nobody would hear a thing. Where was the woman that cared so much for propriety that she’d have a fit at the mere suggestion of leaving the ballroom? He knew her propriety obsession hadn’t been an act, she’d had five hundred nineteen books on the subject when they’d married.

  “No,” he said silkily, shaking his head, “I’d rather stay right here. With you.”

  Her face turned a fetching bright red. “Well, umm…,” she cleared her throat and stepped on his foot. “Sorry,” she murmured. “It’s just that dancing out here with me won’t help you.”