Beneath the Mask Read online

  Her sister nodded, fingers tense around the handle of her teacup. “I’ll do whatever I can,” she murmured.

  “There. You see? Nothing to worry about. You just keep up with your lessons, and we’ll find a man worthy of your love as soon as Grace is settled.”

  Daphne clenched her fists, angry at their preoccupation. “I don’t want to marry,” she declared. “I want to perform.”

  The room fell silent. Even Grace seemed stunned by her pronouncement.

  Daphne wished the words unsaid, ashamed not of their content but of how she’d offered them. “Monsieur Henre says I’m good enough. He says I’m as good if not better than the dancers in his troupe.”

  She leapt out of her chair and went down on her knees before her father. “If you would just give your blessing, I could dance for real. I could become famous.”

  “Get up off the floor,” her mother demanded. “More like infamous. What do you think the ton would say if my daughter joined the performers?” The way she said the last word made it sound dirty.

  Daphne got up, but only to round on her mother. “They’re nothing more than hardworking artists. You wouldn’t condemn a poet for living for his art. Why keep me from mine?”

  “Daphne Louise, you will respect your mother and honor her word. You are not to make a spectacle of yourself in front of strangers. It’s not fitting.”

  She quailed a bit under her father’s firm stare, but tried to stand her ground.

  “I had no idea what foolish ideas that Frenchman instilled in her, Thomas. I’ll not have him in this house again.”

  Daphne turned to face her mother, horrified. “You can’t,” she wailed. “I’ll do anything.”

  Her father took hold of Daphne’s shoulders and turned her back to face him. “You are a young woman now. Another year and your mind will be filled with thoughts of a husband and children. I take full responsibility for letting it go this far, but with delaying your coming out for Grace, and your mother being so busy, it seemed a fair exchange at the time. I should have paid more attention when I knew you mastered the formal dances, along with your other studies, long ago.” He sighed and shook his head. “It’s time to grow up, my dear. To take on adult interests. I know it seems harsh now, but you’ll come to understand once you’re out in society. Some things are just never done.”

  She raised trembling fingers to her mouth, water gathering in her eyes as her world tore apart. “I’ll never understand,” she cried. “Never.”

  Daphne pulled free of her father’s hold and raced through their townhouse until she reached the nursery that had been her home every time they’d come up to London. She threw herself down onto her bed and stared blind-eyed at the ceiling. Never before had she felt so angry, so lost.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Daphne did not know how much time passed as she lay there, but at some point her mind started churning once again. It offered up possibilities at first so wild she could hardly countenance them then more sober reflection brought hope. He’d been surprised, shocked even, but her father never stayed cross for long. She’d done much worse than wish for something he did not approve of when younger, and he always forgave her.

  Daphne drew strength from the knowledge then used that confidence to calm herself. Crying would not serve her cause, but a reasoned argument might.

  She had only to convince him to retain Monsieur Henre’s services, and she’d give up any further dreams of performing. The power of a real audience, bringing pleasure and amazement to others, drew her, but after all, she’d never had those things beyond in her imagination. She could be satisfied with the teacher who gave her feelings life in the form of dance.

  Waiting only long enough for the red marks in her eyes to fade, she ventured down the stairs once again, this time a controlled young woman.

  “Father?”

  He had retired to his study as she’d expected, his head bent over a letter as he put the final touches to it before sanding.

  Lord Scarborough glanced up and frowned to see her, not the reaction Daphne had hoped for, but one she’d expected.

  “I’m sorry, Father. I didn’t mean to upset you earlier. Monsieur Henre is not to blame, only a young girl’s fancy. He never once suggested anything beyond noting my skill. Please, I’ll let it go, forget I ever had such a thought, if you’ll only let him continue to teach me.”

  He settled back into his chair, the wood creaking with his familiar weight. “Daphne, the deed is done. It’s time for you to turn your mind to other pleasures and prepare for your adult life. You cannot stay in the nursery forever.”

  Her confidence faltered at his words. “You dismissed him already?”

  Lord Scarborough shook the excess sand from the letter he’d been writing. “I have his dismissal right here and will deliver it as soon as the monsieur arrives for today’s lesson. Your mother and I have spoken on this. With Grace’s future arranged, there’s no cause to keep you back any longer. Lady Scarborough is off to secure the indulgence of an audience with the Prince Regent as we speak. It’s well past time for it this year, but your schooling is long completed, and you need the distraction,” he said, casting a stern look in her direction.

  Daphne smothered her gasp with one hand even as she reached with the other to snatch up the dismissal notice from her father’s loose grip. “I don’t want to come out, not this season or any. I’ll tear the notice to shreds so you can’t do this to me.”

  He shook his head and put a hand out palm up. “Even were it not beyond the pale, obsession is not a pretty trait in a young lady. I accept the fault is my own. I let you run a little wild as a young thing, despite your mother’s warnings, and the dance seemed a way to help you gain control. I never suspected it would harm.”

  Though he clearly intended her to return the notice, Daphne ignored the silent command. She rolled the paper and thrust it under her bodice. Stray sand tickled and itched against her skin, but she didn’t care. “You’ll not dismiss him.”

  Lord Scarborough made no attempt to reclaim the paper. Instead, he simply reached for a new sheet. “It makes no difference. You cannot change my mind in this. Go up to your room and wait until your mother returns.”

  Just then, the longcase clock standing in the front hall gave out its deep, booming chimes to count off the hour. Daphne gathered her skirts in one hand and raced from the room before her father could stop her, determined to speak to Monsieur Henre who would be just arriving.

  The scrape of wood against wood gave warning that Lord Scarborough understood her purpose though, and despite her efforts, his long strides carried him past her to where Thomas was just opening the door to admit Monsieur Henre.

  “Lord Scarborough would see you in his study.”

  The words had barely been spoken before her father moved to block the door from her sight. “I’ll see you here,” he announced. “You are no longer welcome under my roof. I’ve learned of the nonsense you’ve been putting in my daughter’s head, and I will not have it in my household.”

  “My lord,” Monsieur Henre said, but he never had the chance to finish his protest.

  Daphne saw her father jerk a purse from his belt and thrust it at the dance instructor. “Take this as your severance. It’s more than generous. If I see your face around here another time, I’ll put out the word, and no one of significance will let you anywhere near their daughters again.”

  She heard no response to Lord Scarborough’s threat, and even as she moved forward to say her own goodbyes, sure her father would allow her that at least, the front door swung closed with a thud.

  Daphne turned and marched back to her room rather than chance what words would come from her mouth should she speak to her father.

  Once there, she pulled out the dismissal notice and smoothed its pages. The vile thing served as her last remaining connection to the one teacher of all of them she counted a favorite. His Drury Lane address, carefully penned in her father’s hand, only reminded Daphne of what she cou
ld never have.

  The last bits of sand absorbed most of the liquid from her tear, keeping the address readable for all the good it would do her.

  “PLEASE, DAPHNE. I HAVE NO one else. You’ve been up here for a week, barely touched your food, and won’t speak to our parents. You know they’d agree to anything you wanted to do.”

  Daphne rolled over, surprising a passionate look on her normally dutiful sister. “Why do you care so much about going shopping?” Daphne asked, intrigued by something for the first time since Father made his pronouncement.

  Red tinged Grace’s cheeks, and she looked down at her hands, mumbling an answer Daphne couldn’t hear.

  “What?”

  Grace dropped to the bed next to Daphne, drawing one leg up under her. “Do you have to know? Can’t you just help me? I’ve helped you often enough.”

  Daphne sat up and stared at her sister for a long time before nodding. “You have at that, but you’ve never asked before. I don’t understand what’s so special about this shopping trip that you need to hide from Mother and Father. But—” She held up a hand to silence her sister. “I’ll do it. Whatever you’re up to can’t be half as bad as my scrapes.”

  She thought longingly of those simpler days when she’d sneak out to try Father’s strongest horse, coming back all covered in twigs from where she rode through trees trying to duck the people who knew her family. Grace had always been there to usher her through the servant quarters and clean her up before their tutors arrived. If not for her and Willem, now their coachman, Daphne would have been in endless trouble.

  Her sister pulled her into a tight hug, surprising Daphne out of her musings. “Thank you so much, Daphne. I’ll never forget it. Never.”

  Daphne watched, mystified, as Grace leapt up and raced out the door to request the carriage at a pace very different from her normal decorous walk.

  Finding the energy to prepare came harder for Daphne. She’d given up everything for dance and now she’d lost the only teacher she’d ever had. A wave of despair crashed over her and she sank back onto the bed, the effort too much.

  “Come on, Daphne, you promised.”

  Grace pulled her arm until Daphne had to rise.

  “I’ve got Willem bringing the coach round. Mother was delighted that you expressed interest. It took forever to convince her not to come with us. She’ll probably be watching you from the front room to make sure you’re all right.”

  While she talked, Grace pulled off Daphne’s nightgown and tugged a faun-colored walking gown over her head. She pulled the side laces tight and threw a shawl over Daphne’s shoulders.

  “You’ll need a bonnet. We haven’t time to fix the mess you’ve made of your hair,” she scolded, suiting actions to words as she pulled a flowered bonnet over Daphne’s head and tied the strings snug under her chin.

  Grace stepped back to survey the results of her labor. She looked Daphne up and down, then tugged a bit on the bodice. “You’re going to need some new clothes soon. But for now, you should do.”

  Daphne hunched her shoulders and tucked the shawl across her chest. “Are we going or are we not?” she asked, hearing the pout in her voice. Somehow, the thought of getting outside had started to grow on her.

  Their mother waved from the doorway of the front parlor, her strained face making Daphne feel guilty for a moment before she remembered why. Again, her loss threatened to overwhelm her.

  Deliberately using an awkward gait as if losing her dancing instructor destroyed her balance, she marched the last bit and pulled the door open, not even acknowledging her mother with a word.

  Behind her, she heard Grace give a quick goodbye before her sister followed her down the steps.

  “Good afternoon, my ladies. Let me help you into the carriage.”

  “Good afternoon to you, too, Willem,” Daphne said with a slight curtsy that failed to mask her grin. He’d been a friend and ally too many times in their childhood for her to be taken in by his elegant uniform.

  He smiled and doffed his cap. “Thank you, Lady Daphne,” he said, handing her up onto the seat. “And where will we be going this fine day?”

  She waved at Grace, paying little notice to the directions. Shopping couldn’t hold her attention, and now that the preparations were complete, even this trip seemed a drain on her meager energy.

  Staring out the window, Daphne gave the passing scenery scant focus. If her father hadn’t fired Monsieur Henre, she’d be dancing right now. She’d be learning something new, or practicing the steps she already enjoyed.

  She sighed, the air whooshing out of her as her hand trailed along the carriage strap.

  Grace jumped. “Must you do that?” her sister snapped.

  “I can’t help it. I’ve lost everything,” Daphne said, sighing again.

  Her sister stared out the window for a long moment, then turned to Daphne. “I need you to keep a secret,” she said in a rush.

  Daphne looked at Grace, shocked by the signs of agitation, the red blush marking her cheeks, eyes glittering as if fevered, and her hands clenched. “Do you feel all right? You don’t look well.”

  Grace smiled, the expression giving a different meaning to her anxiety. “I’m fine. I’m more than fine. I just need you to listen, and listen quickly.”

  Pushing back her preoccupation, Daphne took one of Grace’s hands between her own, chafing the chill from them. “Whatever it is, just tell me.”

  Grace shook her head, rejecting the offer. “What you don’t know, you can’t tell. Only promise me this. I will step down when we pass Grosvenor Square. You’re to continue on. Buy some ribbon, a new bonnet, or whatever catches your eye. I’ll pay for it from my allowance, I promise.” She pushed some of her calling cards into Daphne’s hand. “Just give them these and have the bill sent home.”

  “But, Grace,” Daphne protested, tension binding her gut.

  Grace reached out and tapped on the wall separating them from Willem. “Here’s fine, Willem,” she called. “I’ll be here when you come back. Just pick me up as if we went together and I’ll be in your debt. Say you’ll do it, Daphne, please.”

  Daphne stared into her sister’s pleading face and could not see fit to deny her. “But what of Willem?”

  Her sister laughed. “He won’t tell. He never has before, and he won’t start now.”

  The carriage came to a halt with a short, jerky motion then rolled backwards a bit. “Here we are, Lady Grace,” Willem called.

  “Thank you, Daphne. I won’t forget this.”

  Grace opened the door and slipped out before Daphne could respond or agree. She sat there, hands lax in her lap, staring at the now closed door.

  Who was this person who had replaced her dutiful sister? And what trouble had she gotten involved in?

  “Shall we go on, my lady?” Willem asked, leaning around the side.

  Daphne stared out at the park, half tempted to find her sister and drag her back, but she had promised, or at least not disagreed. She sighed again, this time not because of her own troubles. “Carry on, Willem. I have to have something to show for the outing or Mother will question.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  The shopping trip held as little interest for her as she’d expected until her gaze fell on a book displayed in the window of a bookshop. She stepped inside and waited as an older gentleman finished his purchase, reminding herself that Grace had not planned for Daphne to spend a large sum.

  “Can I help you, young lady?” the shopkeeper asked, his eyes glittering with amusement.

  Daphne blushed, knowing her eagerness had been too obvious. “That book in the window. The Life of a Dancer. Can I see it?”

  The man laughed. “Ladies always seem so curious about the other half. Not sure I should show it to you though. Is your mother here?”

  She drew herself up to her full, if moderate, height and frowned. “I’m old enough to choose my own reading material, sir, and I thank you to show me the book I asked for or I will take my bus
iness elsewhere.”

  “All right, young lady. No offense intended.”

  Daphne released her breath when he turned to get the book, smothering a laugh. She’d practiced that imitation of her mother in a snit many times but never had the chance to use it until now.

  “Here you go then. It’s a memoir, or so the authoress claims.”

  She took the book, smoothing her fingers over the precise leather binding and admiring the gold-leaf letters. Beneath the title said only: a dancer. “How much?” she asked, not sure she wanted to hear the answer.

  The price he named to borrow the tale was well beyond what her sister could have dreamed of her spending, but she had to have it. The little book called to her, as if it would reveal a secret answer to her problems. Promising herself she’d use some of her allowance to cover it, Daphne signed the bill, relieved to see the slip only said “book.”

  She glanced up at the clock above his head and gasped. “I had no idea it had gotten so late. Send the bill to this address,” she said, handing the man one of her sister’s calling cards. “I have to go.”

  He glanced down and froze for a moment before giving her a curious stare. “Yes, my lady. I’ll have it sent right up. Would you like the book delivered as well?”

  Daphne tightened her hands around the leather binding, instinctively protecting it. “No, I’ll carry this with me.” She didn’t want to imagine the talk with her mother if they knew she had a book about a professional dancer, not after Mother had equated them with streetwalkers.

  He gave her a stiff bow, and she walked quickly from the store.

  Daphne scanned the street for her carriage and crossed to it, clutching her two bundles and the precious book. By the time they drew up next to the park, the sun had already started to sink, making long shadows out of the trees. Grace stepped from behind one of them, showing no sign of upset that they were so late. She turned back just before opening the carriage door and waved.