Masquerade (4 page)

Lottie’s eyes blazed and flitted from the door to Dora and back again.

Then suddenly she said, “Come with me.”

“Come—? Where are we going?”

Lottie beat Mr. Davies to the door and burst outside, striding down the steps to the drive. Dora ran after her and had trouble keeping up with her gait. “Lottie, I’m so sorry.”

“You have no idea.”

“But where are we going?”

Instead of answering, Lottie veered toward the stables. She called after the stableboy. “Hitch up the cabriolet, Derek. Now.”

“You want to go somewhere, Miss Charlotte? I’ll take you.”

“Dora will go with me. Now go!”

Although his face revealed a hundred questions, Derek did as he was told. Dora had her own questions, but the stony mask on Lottie’s face revealed it was a time to be silent and follow.

And perhaps pray for the best.

Lottie whipped the reins on the horse, making him fly down the road. She would have liked him to go even faster. If she had her way, and if such things were possible, she would instantaneously be at the Smythe house so as not to waste another second. How dare Ralph not come to her party! What had Suzanna said to him? What lies?

She’d take care of Suzanna Weaver later; that was for certain.

“Lottie, please. Slow down.”

“Never.”

With a glance, Lottie saw that Dora held on for her life, one hand on the edge of the seat and the other on her mobcap. For some reason the sight of that stupid cap incensed her. Dora, all dressed up in the formal uniform of a parlormaid, for a party that was not to be …

Lottie called above the sound of hooves on the road, “Take that thing off. And your apron too. You’re my lady’s maid, not a parlormaid.”

Dora pulled the cap free and stuck it in the space between them. Then—using but one hand—she untied the apron in the back and pulled its bib over her head. She began to fold it as best she could without letting go of the seat.

The act fueled Lottie’s fury, and she grabbed the apron and threw it into the air behind them.

“What are you—?”

Lottie added the cap to the wind.

“What are you doing? I’ll be charged for those,” Dora said.

Don’t be ridiculous.

Lottie slowed in order to turn into the Smythes’ drive. And slowed more as they approached the house. Whatever would she say to Ralph? She’d come to chastise him for his absence but also to find answers for whatever Suzanna had been unwilling to tell her. She hoped he would take her in his arms and comfort her.
I’m so sorry, Lottie. I should have come. I love you and despise that I’ve upset you. Can you ever forgive me?

When the house came into view, Lottie handed the reins to Dora.

“I don’t know anything about driving.”

“Nothing to know. Just pull on the reins to get them to stop.”

“But—”

“Shh!” Lottie realized she’d left the house without a bonnet, and the hair that Dora had so skillfully arranged for the party had escaped its bonds with stray pieces hanging this way and that.

“Help me fix my hair,” she said.

Dora shook her head. “I can’t drive
and
fix your hair.”

A true point. Sometimes Lottie regretted her impulsive nature. She should have taken the time to put on a bonnet, should have let Derek drive her, and … and what had she been thinking throwing away Dora’s cap and apron?

“Whoa …” Dora said.

The horse complied, and a stableboy ran forward to take it by the bit while a footman stepped forward to help the ladies out.

Lady. Just Lottie. Belatedly, Lottie realized the awkward situation she’d created by bringing Dora along. Dora had no reason to enter the Smythe home.

“I’ll wait here,” Dora said. “You won’t be long, will you?”

“Hopefully not.”

It was awkward leaving Dora in the carriage, but the girl couldn’t very well step down and sit upon the front step.

The butler greeted Lottie at the door. She tried to tuck in the most offending strands of hair and said, “Good afternoon, Walters. I’d like to see Mr. Smythe, please.”

“I …”

“Please, Walters. Is he available?”

Ralph walked out of the drawing room. “Miss Gleason. Please come in.”

Miss Gleason?
They were a hairsbreadth away from being engaged. They’d even shared a clandestine kiss.

Lottie entered the drawing room and was surprised when Ralph closed the double doors behind them. Yet she was glad for it, because her anger had returned.

“Where were you?”

“I beg your pardon?”

She wagged a finger at him. “Don’t start with me, Ralph. Suzanna showed up long enough to inform me that no one was coming to my party. Not even you.”

He moved to a safe place behind a chair. “I … I couldn’t come, Lottie.”

At least he didn’t call me Miss Gleason.

She sat on the settee where their one and only kiss had occurred and folded her hands in her lap. “I’m waiting.”

His fingers pulled across the carving at the top of the chair. “Father wouldn’t let me come.”

“Since when do you do what your father says?”

“I’m the heir, Lottie. I have a responsibility to listen to the dictates of my parents.”

“Again I ask, ‘Since when?’ And beyond that, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

A furrow formed on his brow. He hesitated, then with a burst of movement went to a drawer in a bureau. He removed a book that had a ribbon tied around it. “Birthday greetings, Lottie.”

It was a copy of
An Old-Fashioned Girl.

“It’s by Louisa May Alcott. It’s about a country girl who goes to the city and—”

Lottie liked the gift very much, and yet … “Why didn’t you bring it yourself? And why didn’t you send word you weren’t coming? Why did I hear it from—?”

“I did send word. I sent a note of regret.”

“It was never received.”

His face revealed an inner conflict that seemed so genuine she knew he
had
sent a note.

Suddenly an image from that morning came to her. That of a stack of letters in her mother’s possession, her mother opening a single note and dismissing the rest. Had others sent their regrets as well?

“You know why I couldn’t come, Lottie. Don’t make me say it.”

But I don’t know!
She felt like throwing the book at him. Instead, she set the book beside her on the settee and laid a hand upon it, staking claim. “I’m afraid you have no choice, Ralph. I’m not leaving until I hear the truth, whatever it may be.”

He retreated to his place behind the chair. “For one, your family’s financial situation has become an issue.”

She was shocked for but a moment. Snippets said by her parents that very morning—and before—came back to her, hints and innuendosabout something amiss. Whatever the “situation” was, Ralph wasn’t making it up. “Tell me what you mean.”

He looked confused. “Surely you know as much as I do.”

“I know nothing! Just tell me. Now.”

His face revealed his reluctance—which gave her some comfort. At least he wasn’t taking pleasure in it. “My parents and the other families in the county have heard talk of fiscal impropriety on your father’s part. I don’t know the details, but the fact remains that society will not condone such indiscretions.”

What has Father done?
“I have nothing to do with the financial interests of the estate, nor do I have any knowledge of them,” she said.

“I know you share no guilt, Lottie.”

She suddenly remembered something else Ralph had said. “What do you mean by ‘for
one
’? Is there some other sin you’re holding against me?”

Ralph blushed, and with this involuntary act, Lottie guessed the essence of the other sin. If people around Wiltshire knew of Mrs. Lancashire …

But even so … Lottie had heard gossip about more than one of the gentry set. Although she found such indiscretions repulsive, it should not be the cause of—

“Your father is being named in a divorce suit.”

“Named?”

“By the husband of the adulterous wife.”

“I …” She didn’t know what to say, how to respond.

“People have their dalliances, but to be named is a scandal, and that, added to the financial issues …” His face softened. “I am surprised your parents haven’t told you something about it, if for no other reason than to warn you of forthcoming repercussions. I feel bad you’re the one having to suffer.”

Her thoughts rushed from the unfathomable news to the intense desire to find comfort in his arms. “Then don’t make me suffer a moment longer, Ralph.” She stood and went to him. “I care for you, and you care for me. We—”

Suddenly, through the French doors, Lottie caught sight of a woman in the garden beside the house. Lottie rushed to the glass and pointed. “What is Edith Whitcomb doing in your garden?”

“She just stopped by and—”

Edith saw Lottie and scurried behind a rhododendron. Friends who just dropped by didn’t scurry.

Lottie whipped open the doors and entered the garden. “Olly olly oxen free.”

Edith stepped into the open, her eyes seeking Ralph’s direction.

“Well, well, well. Who do we have here?” But even as Lottie said the words she wanted to retreat and unsay them all. She couldn’t stand to hear more unpleasant truths. If only she’d never seen Edith, if only she’d pretended she hadn’t seen Edith.

Edith’s face revealed her panic, and she ran to the safety of Ralph’s arms.

“There, there,” he told her, stroking her hair.

And there it was. As painful as a slap to Lottie’s face.

She felt the life drain out of her. With a simple breeze she would dissolve into a puddle of empty clothes. She didn’t even have the strength to voice a question.

And perhaps there were no questions to voice. The situation was abundantly clear: on this day, on her birthday, her life had been forever changed.

She heard herself speak in barely a whisper. “I have to go now.”

Ralph relinquished Edith to herself. “I’ll see you out.”

“No!” With a rush Lottie found herself again. “I don’t need your help or your pity. Good day, Mr. Smythe. Miss Whitcomb.”

She strode back into the drawing room, detoured to claim her book, then with great drama flung open the double doors. Walters had to scramble to open the front door for her.

She barely let the footman help her ascend the carriage, took her place beside Dora, and thrust the book into her care.

Lottie shook the reins and the carriage jerked into motion, taking them home.

Her parents had some heavy explaining to do.

Chapter Two

The journey home from the Smythes’ was accomplished in silence. Dora had a thousand questions, but by the look on Lottie’s face, now was not the time to ask—or offer condolences. Whatever had transpired with Ralph had not been good.

The return trip was made at the same speed as the trip away, but this time Lottie surrendered her hair to the wind and pulled it completely loose, letting it flow in odd hanks behind her. Dora had the feeling if Lottie could have removed all her clothing and flung the pieces to the wind, she would have. Whatever had happened had shut a door—and locked it.

When they reached the Gleasons’ home, Lottie got out first and uttered her first words. “Meet me upstairs.”

Mr. Davies helped Dora to the ground, but instead of asking after Lottie, he appraised Dora’s attire. “Where is your cap and apron?”

An explanation would take too long and would not be understood. “Flung to the wind in a fit of freedom,” she said.

“Excuse me?”

She strode to the door. “No, excuse me. Miss Charlotte is waiting.”

Mr. Davies called after her. “You’ll have to pay for those.”

As Dora headed upstairs to Lottie’s room she heard a commotion coming from the drawing room.

“I demand an explanation!” Lottie shouted.

Dora paused on the steps, wanting to hear. But when Lady Gleason closed the doors, Dora continued up the steps. She’d hear the details soon enough.