Masquerade (9 page)

But now everything had changed. Now she had the blessing of the lady of the house.

“Come on, Dora. Put on the dress.” Lottie held the two pieces toward her.

Permission or no, Dora still hesitated. Although she’d been guilty of holding one or two of Lottie’s gowns against herself, she had never been brave enough to actually put one on. Being given permission to do so now—being directed to do the very thing she’d always forbidden herself to do …

“Dora, what’s wrong with you? It’s just a dress.”

A dress that represented the ever-present chasm between them. Just as Lottie would never consider wearing a maid’s uniform, Dora had never considered wearing—

Actually, she’d considered it, had even dreamt about it. What servant hadn’t thought about what it would be like to be on the other side of the service?

Lottie sighed. “This is ridiculous. If you don’t want to even try it on, I’ll just put it away and tell Mother you refuse to travel as my companion and—”

“No!” Dora said. “Let me try it.”

Dora unbuttoned her black blouse. Feeling a swell of modesty—for though she had seen Lottie in all manner of undress, the act had never been reciprocated—she turned away from Lottie to remove it. Then her skirt. She set the garments on Lottie’s bed and took the gown, one she had seen Lottie wear on numerous occasions.

The skirt portion went on first. It had a long train and was as cumbersome to wear as it was to mend or press. But it was a beautiful dress. The top basque had a rounded bottom and three-quarter sleeves. Although Dora had touched such luscious fabric before, she had never felt it on her arms or shoulders. Caressing her arms and shoulders.

Lottie helped her with the front buttons. Looking at her mistress helping
her …
it was odd to have their roles reversed.

“It’s such a pretty yellow color,” Dora said. “And the lace at the arms and neck is beautiful.”

“It’s not just ‘yellow,’ Dora. You should learn the terminology. The bodice and train are an Isabelle yellow in a satin brocade. The draping across the front is a golden brown plush. And the lace you mention is white point duchesse.” She finished the buttoning and pointed to the fringe at the bottom of the front drapery. “The fringe is made of amber beads and is set upon a crimpled silk edging.” She went back to the wardrobe and brought out an armful of pleated muslin. “And once we attach this balayeuse under the train instead of a petticoat … I do love the way it swishes behind me when I walk, and how the pleated trim of the muslin shows.”

Dora was unable to help with the attachment and had to allow Lottie to do the work. She knew there was no way for a woman of means to dress herself in such a gown. And now, to be dressed by another …

Lottie emerged from under the train, her hair falling this way and that across her face. “There,” she said as she blew a strand away with a puff of air. “Now come to the mirror and behold the lady.”

They moved to the full-length mirror in the corner. Dora gasped at the sight. “It’s so lovely. I feel like a princess.” Dora found it hard to take her eyes off her reflection and stood taller, her chin raised in a regal pose. She felt oddly important.

“Ah, but the look is not yet complete.” Lottie rushed to her jewelry box and returned with a necklace. She clasped it around Dora’s neck. “Citrine and Bohemian topaz. Father gave these to me on my seventeenth birthday.”

“I know,” Dora said. She touched the stones warily as if they were the crown jewels. “They are stun—” Dora noticed Lottie staring into space. “What’s wrong?”

Lottie blinked. “You know.”

“Pardon me?”

“You know about Father giving me the necklace on my seventeenth birthday.”

Dora didn’t understand. “Of course. I was there. As I was present for your thirteenth, your fourteenth, and fifteenth and—”

“Every birthday since I was twelve.”

“Yes.”

“And every Christmas.”

“Yes.”

“And Easter.”

Dora didn’t understand the direction of the questioning.

Lottie took her hands. “Don’t you see? You know all about me. You’ve witnessed every moment of my life.”

“Not every moment.” Dora thought of the balls, the teas and parties—occasions where she’d been left at home.

“Everything that has occurred in our household has been under your scrutiny.”

“I would not call it scrutiny, but yes, I’ve been here.” Dora still didn’t understand Lottie’s point.

“So coming to America with me … it’s perfect.”

Once again Dora peered at her image in the mirror. The dress, the jewels … much of being a lady lay in the trappings.

But not all. Far from all.

“I
don’t
know how to make conversation with your set. And though I’ve observed the etiquette, looking and doing aren’t the same thing. The only education I’ve had is sitting in when your governess taught you and helping you with your lessons.”

“You may be undereducated, but you are far from stupid, Dora. And your speech patterns reveal little of your roots.”

Dora would agree. The advantage of living with the Gleasons from such an impressionable age is that in many ways she’d become one of them. And unlike Lottie, Dora could name all the counties in England and could list its monarchs back to William the Conqueror. Not that any of this information was useful, but she was proud just the same.

Lottie retrieved a cloisonné comb and tried to place it in Dora’s hair. “With just a few lessons, I could teach you all you need to know about being a lady.”

“Just like that?”

Lottie bit her lip—which meant the transition would not be “just like that.”

“What you must remember,” Lottie said, “is the first rule of being a lady.”

“Which is?”

“You must be polite, prompt, pretty, and proper.”

Dora could be polite and prompt, but the rest … “What if I make a fool of myself? What if people guess that I’m not really a lady but—”

“Remember the lady’s second rule.”

“What’s that?”

“Smile. A smile is the best defense against offense.”

Unfortunately, Dora feared her offenses would be too numerous to defend in any manner, smiling or not.

“Dora!” Barney’s face lit up at the sight of her. He quickly wiped his hands upon a bloody apron. “You rarely come to the village. I ain’t complaining, but—”

“I need to talk to you.” She glanced at the others in the butcher shop and recognized a few. There would be talk, of that she could be certain. But she had no choice.

Barney conferred with the owner of the shop. With a wink, the owner nodded, setting Barney free.

He came round the counter, removing his awful apron along the way. “I’m so glad to see you. I missed you the last time I came deliverin’. Mrs. Movery wouldn’t e’en call you down. That cow. I—”

She took his hand and pulled him out of the shop. On the street she let go but led him past a milliner’s, to the covered stoop of a vacant shop. As soon as she stopped, he grinned and leaned closer, pushing her against the stone wall. “Oh, I get it. You wants to be alone.”

She shoved him away. “Stop it! I need to talk to you.”

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Fine. Talk.”

There was no good way to say it. “I’m going to America with Miss Charlotte.”

He blinked. “America. Why America?”

“She’s getting married.”

“Ain’t none of the dandies round here good ’nuf for ’er?”

“ ’ Tisn’t a question of good enough, ’tis—”

He nodded knowingly. “ ’ Tis a question of money. And the sticky wicket Sir Thomas got himself into. I’ve ’eard the talk.”

Dora ignored the infidelity issue. “It’s always a question of money, Barney.” Although she and Barney were not officially engaged, they had spoken about Barney’s means of supporting her and the family that would surely follow.

He kicked a pebble out of the doorway. “So once she marries, you’ll be comin’ back, eh?”

Seeing him look so hopeful she nearly told him to forget everything she’d said. They’d known each other for years. He was a good man and a hard worker, and more than that, he had feelings for her—he’d said as much.

But did she love him? She cared about him, but love … She remembered Lottie’s desire to find a man who would make her swoon. Did Barney—?

“Dora, you didn’t answer me. You
are
comin’ back, ain’t ya?”

Was she? Even if Lottie decided not to marry Conrad, Dora couldn’t imagine either of them coming back to Wiltshire. What was here for them? Disgrace? Shame? Complications?

Until this moment, Dora had never thought through the full implications of their trip abroad. Unless something changed drastically, it was a one-way journey.

She grabbed a fresh breath and looked at him straight on. He deserved that much. “No. I’m not coming back. I’m sorry, Barney.”

He stepped away onto the sidewalk, nearly colliding with a man carrying a bushel of apples. His whole body, which usually brimmed with life and strength, seemed to deflate. “Yer leaving me?”

“I … I have to go with Lottie. With her mother sick and unable to go … she needs me.” As soon as she said the words, she wanted to take them back.

Anger filled him up again and he stood tall, his chin strong. “And I don’t?” At first it was a question, but then he repeated it as a declaration. “And I don’t.” He pointed a finger at her. “I don’t need you, Dora Connors. There’s plenty o’ women who’d love to marry me.”

What was she doing? What was she giving up? Dora was going to America to fulfill Lottie’s future. But what about her own? “I know there are other women who admire you and consider you—”

“Why did I waste me bloomin’ time waitin’ for you, anyways? I shoulda known better. You and your fancy ways and proper talkin’. The Gleasons ’ave done you no favors making you think yourself better than the rest of us clods.”

Dora was stung by his bitterness. She knew he would regret it, and she didn’t want him burdened with wishing he could take it back. She would have enough regret for both of them. For within his bitterness lay the truth. Dora
had
thought of herself as a step above the other laborers in Lacock. She’d held few illusions that she would ever marry above her station, but she had taken satisfaction in educating herself, in being
more
than they.

She put a hand upon his arm, and though he tried to shake it away, she held strong. “The Gleasons have been good to me, Barney. I’m not being fancy or putting on airs by learning from them. Given the opportunity, I took it. And I care for you, I truly do. You are a good and able man, and I’m sorry matters are taking me away from you, from this town, from this country.”

“Not that sorry,” he said.

She drew him back into the entryway, and with him close again, she put both hands upon his. “I had no plans to hurt you, and it grieves me to do exactly that. But I have to take this chance in America, Barney. I must.”

“Oh, I’ve ’eard it all right. Streets paved with gold. ’Tis just talk, Dora.”

Was it? She’d heard amazing tales. “I go with my eyes open—as much as they can be. And truth be, I’m not just going for Lottie. I’m going for me.”

“Leavin’ me’s more like it.”

There was no way around it. She put a hand upon his cheek. “Leaving you is my one regret.”

“Then don’t—”

“I must. Until now I’ve risked little. I’ve never been given such an opportunity. That’s why I go. To be brave and step forward on faith.”

He put his own hand over hers and looked deep into her eyes.

“You’ll write to me,” he said. Asked.

She could only nod, even though she knew she would do no such thing.

He lifted her chin with a beefy finger. “I jus’ want you safe and happy, Dora. Be that for me, eh?”

She leaned her head against his chest, closed her eyes, and tried to burn this moment into her memories. Was she making the biggest mistake of her life?

Unfortunately, by the time she knew, it would be too late.

Chapter Five

Lottie gazed at her bedroom—the room she’d never see again.

The carriage waited outside. Her parents waited. Dora waited.

“What am I doing?” she whispered.