A Lady of Hidden Intent (24 page)

Winifred had sent one invitation after the other throughout the month, and Catherine had managed to excuse herself from each event. She hadn’t seen Carter since that day at the Danby house and felt quite vexed with herself for even thinking about him. She missed him more than she wanted to admit.

“Nothing can come of it,” she muttered.

But that didn’t stop her from seeing visions of the handsome dark-haired man in her dreams. Night after night she had tossed and turned while dreaming of Carter Danby. Once when she’d been walking home from town, Catherine had thought him to be following her with the carriage. But when she turned to investigate, there was no one there save a conveyance carrying a woman and several children.

“Catherine?”

“I’m in here,” she called.

Selma came into the room and grinned. “We’ve been looking all over for you.”

“I’ve been working to get things picked up and cleaned so that we might finish early and start our holiday.”

“Well, we have a bit of a surprise for you. An early Christmas gift of sorts.”

Catherine put the broom aside. “Whatever do you mean, Selma?”

“You’ll see. Come with me to Mrs. Clarkson’s sitting room.

It’s quite exciting.”

Catherine pulled off her apron and hung it by the door.

“Very well.”

She walked down the hall behind Selma and tried to imagine what the two women might have been up to. She knew they both worried about Catherine’s lack of rest and her refusal to attend parties and outings with Winifred. They had also been concerned about the time she spent worrying over her father. And since Mrs. Clarkson had been admitted to the circle of trust regarding Catherine’s true identity, she had constantly fretted over the matter, trying her best to help Catherine find resolution.

For just a moment, Catherine allowed herself a dream. She thought of what it might be like to find her father on the other side of the door. The idea caused her heart to skip a beat. Oh, what glory it would be to see him again. To see him safe and healthy. What if he were here? What if they had caught Finley Baker, and her father had been set free? But when Selma opened the door, it was only Mrs. Clarkson who stood on the other side.

Disappointment washed over her. She silently chided herself for being such a ninny. Had she not guarded herself against just this type of thing for years now? She forced a smile and looked at Mrs. Clarkson.

“Catherine, come in. We have a present for you.”

There was little time to advance or even attempt to sit before Mrs. Clarkson clapped her hands and Dolley and Beatrix appeared carrying a gown of shimmering green silk. The neckline had been fashioned in a graceful cut and trimmed in pink hothouse roses. It was lower than Catherine was used to but certainly not overly immodest.

“What is this?” she asked, turning to Selma.

“It’s your gown for the party tonight. The masquerade at the Danbys.”

“I cannot possibly attend that party, and you should know that better than most.” Catherine’s stomach knotted at the thought.

“Of course you can. Just as Winifred suggested, you will be completely unrecognizable. With this gown and mask, no one will even suspect your identity.”

Catherine thought of one man who might well try. “It would be too big of a risk.”

“Not at all, my dear. I have some new white evening gloves,” Mrs. Clarkson began. “They will hide the fact that you work with your hands. Not only that, but I also have some lovely jewelry that will cause all present to suspect you a wealthy woman. They were a gift from my dear departed brother, and they match the gown perfectly.”

“And I fashioned you a mask of green lace and silk,” Selma told her.

“It’s all too much to imagine,” Catherine said, unable to deny that she would love to attend the party.

“Then don’t. Hurry upstairs, where a hot bath awaits you. I will come and help you dress, then Beatrix and Dolley will help you with your hair and such. It’s all settled for you.”

“I can see that,” Catherine replied. “But what of leaving before the unmasking?”

“That’s been arranged as well,” Mrs. Clarkson announced.

“I’ve hired a carriage to take you to the party. The same man will return for you and be waiting in an agreed-upon place so that you can slip from the house unnoticed and make your way home.”

“But what of my—”

“Cease with the excuses,” Mrs. Clarkson said with a smile. “You are going to enjoy a party that the rest of us can only dream of. Come home and share all of the details with us, and that will be our reward.”

Two hours later, Catherine stood before a mirror as Dolley added final touches to the cascade of curls that she’d created. Catherine could scarcely believe her own appearance. The gown fit her better than anything she’d ever owned. It draped gracefully across her neckline and cinched snugly at the waist before spilling into a full, sweeping skirt. The pale green satin served her well with its inset lace bodice and puffed sleeves.

“I can hardly believe my appearance,” she told Dolley. “You’ve made me look . . . well . . . completely changed.”

“I like arranging hair. I had thought to be a personal maid to a lady, but then I came here to live at the sewing house.”

“You are very talented,” Catherine said, knowing that were her situation different, she would most eagerly hire Dolley to style her hair all of the time.

“You are beautiful and easy to work with,” Dolley declared.

“I’ve never seen anyone with such thick and wondrous hair. My own is so thin and mousy. Not at all pretty like yours or even red like Beatrix’s.”

“Me mum says that red hair is God’s way of warnin’ folks of the temper that lies beneath,” Beatrix piped in.

Catherine smiled at this comment. She was finding it easier and easier to smile these days. She knew her father was still in peril, but the money was quickly adding up, and after Christmas she planned to get word to Captain Marlowe to see if he might locate a barrister to help her father. She felt hopeful . . . something she hadn’t felt in a long time. That alone made her happy.

“It’s nearly time to leave,” Selma said, entering the room. “I’ve brought the gloves and Mrs. Clarkson’s jewelry. I must say you will look like the fine lady you’ve always been once we finish you off.”

Catherine started for a moment, worried that Beatrix and Dolley might wonder at the comment. They seemed unmoved, however, and finished securing the last of the curls. Looking in the mirror, Catherine surveyed her hair from every angle possible. No one would recognize her. She had always worn her hair up and carefully secured to keep it out of her way while working. This arrangement had it sweeping up and then tumbling down her back in an array of curls and tiny ribbon accents. She thought only for a moment of Carter knowing her in England but dismissed her concern. At seventeen, she was only a shadow of the woman she had become. It was little wonder he hadn’t recognized her when they first met.

Selma secured the necklace of peridot and gold around Catherine’s neck. It draped perfectly against her smooth white skin. Catherine pulled on the gloves while Selma secured matching earrings. “Mrs. Clarkson said this stone of peridot is believed to bring peace and success. It’s even mentioned in the Bible.”

Catherine gently touched the necklace with her gloved hand. “Perhaps it will help me hide my identity, for surely no one would expect a seamstress to wear such expensive jewels.”

“If the jewels don’t work,” Mrs. Clarkson said, “then surely this will keep you hidden well enough.” She handed Catherine the mask.

“Had I not known you since birth,” Selma declared, “I wouldn’t recognize you now. You’ll have no trouble remaining a mystery to all at the party.”

Studying her reflection for a moment, Catherine could only agree.

“Here is your cloak,” Mrs. Clarkson announced, “and the carriage is waiting for you even now.”

Catherine had worried about what she might wear over her gown, but Mrs. Clarkson had already attended to the matter. The hood was carefully fitted over her hair, and Dolley admonished her to take care and not lean back against the carriage seat.

“Remember, the man has been instructed to await you at midnight. He will park and meet you wherever seems fitting and secluded.”

Catherine nodded and allowed them to move her toward the door and downstairs. It wasn’t until she was being handed up into the carriage that she allowed herself to believe it was all really happening.

“We want to hear all about it when you get back,” Mrs.

Clarkson called.

“Oh yes,” Dolley said with a sigh. “I want to know all about the party. I’ve never been to a ball. It must be glorious.”

“It is,” Catherine murmured in the confines of the carriage as the driver closed the door. “It is glorious, especially when someone is there waiting for you.”

Felicia watched with Lydia from the upstairs window as the entourage helped Catherine to the carriage. She burned with jealousy.

“It isn’t fair that she gets to attend the ball.”

“Why didn’t you tell Mrs. Clarkson what you know about her?” Lydia asked.

Felicia hadn’t shared all of the details with Lydia, but the girl knew that they now had enough information to get Catherine dismissed from the sewing house.

“I don’t plan to tell Mrs. Clarkson. Not unless Catherine proves to be less than cooperative. I believe all I will need to do is have a talk with her and she’ll leave on her own accord.”

Lydia seemed rather intrigued by this and came to Felicia’s side. “Can you not tell me about it?”

“Not yet,” Felicia said. She moved away from the window and went to sit on the side of her bed. “But in time you shall know it in full.”

“I hate having to wait.” Lydia plopped down on the only chair in the room and sighed. “I suppose I shall have to, but I wish it were not so.”

“Patience, dear Lydia. Patience. Good things take time. I have wanted to see that woman gone for years, but I had to bide my time. Now that time is nearly complete. Perhaps I will speak with her after the party. She will be enjoying the evening’s revelry . . . it might be the perfect moment to intrude.”

Felicia smiled, feeling rather smug. Ever since learning the truth of Catherine’s plight, she had tried to figure out the perfect moment to spring the news on her. She wanted a moment that would have the maximum effect. A moment that would completely crush Catherine’s hopes and dreams for the future.

Lydia yawned. “But she won’t be back until after midnight. That’s a long time to wait, and tomorrow I need to be home early to attend church with my family.”

“Stop fretting, you silly goose.” Felicia got to her feet and headed for the door. “The time will fly by. You’ll see.”

The carriage came to a stop at the end of the drive, and rather than head on up to the house, Catherine had instructed the driver to let her off here. He opened the door and assisted her from the carriage.

“I will meet you over there,” Catherine said, pointing to a crossroads where the trimmed shrubbery made a perfect hiding place. “I will be here just before midnight, so don’t be late.”

“Yes, ma’am. I will wait for you there.”

Catherine drew a deep breath and headed up the walk, grateful the snow had melted. She was one of the last to arrive and found the party in full swing as the butler took her cloak and pointed her up two flights of stairs to the third-story ballroom. Several men stopped to watch her, and Catherine felt a strange sensation course through her. It was a reminder that harked back to the last party she’d known.

“Good evening,” an older man declared as she came atop the final step. He took her gloved hand in his and raised it to his lips. “I don’t believe we have met.”

“Perhaps we have,” Catherine said, pulling her hand away.

She didn’t care for the way the stranger’s gaze roamed her body.

“It is, after all, a masquerade.”

“True,” he said, leaning closer, “but I would have remembered this body despite the mask on your face. You are a stranger here, and quite welcome. I shall look forward to your . . . unveiling.”

Catherine shivered and moved away so quickly that she found herself plunged into the arms of another waiting admirer.