Masquerade (3 page)

“That is not the point. He should not have put himself in danger of taking ill on our account. Why on earth didn’t he stay home where it is warm and dry instead of venturing out without the proper clothing?” Colin’s sopping hair and dripping shoulders, coupled with the sneezing, had given Sophie a small, yet steady, headache. The vein in her left temple thrummed steadily, each dull thud making her want to smack him for being so ridiculously unaware of his own health.

“Colin is neither a fop nor a coxcomb. He does not put on airs or dress excessively.” Rachel stuck a fingertip in the jam pot, and then licked the raspberry jam daintily from her skin. Before she spoke again, she pulled her finger from her mouth with a large popping sound that made Louisa turn and glare disapprovingly. Rachel paid no attention whatsoever, and went on thoughtfully. “Would you rather he acts as a Corinthian? Honestly, Sophie, we both know that Colin will never be overly fashionable! If that is what you are looking for, Colin is not the man to fit that bill.”

Sophie placed the teapot on the trolley with more force than was necessary. Flatware tinkled as knives clacked against forks, and spoons tumbled across a stack of napkins. “I am not ‘looking for’ anyone! And I would not change Colin for all the tea in China. You know that, so stop acting so silly. Besides, I believe that is one of the qualities I most like about our Colin. He is what he is, without artifice. He does not try to be someone he isn’t. He is wholly himself, without need for pretense. Yes…that is definitely one of the most becoming traits our Colin possesses, I’m sure of it.”

Rachel grinned mischievously from her perch on a high wooden stool beside the kitchen counter. Her mood had improved considerably once they discarded the leftover sugar and water solution, and tucked the spare cotton strips into a drawer. She hardly seemed like the same squeaking woman she had been a scant half hour earlier.

“Our Colin, eh? I would think that by now you and Colin would have come to some kind of agreement, dear sister.” Rachel paused, as if weighing her words. Then, with a toss of her head that sent her tawny curls bouncing atop her shoulders, she said, “It makes absolute sense, you know. Penny and I have spoken about it so often it is nearly boring to consider it yet again.”

The teakettle began to steam on the stove so she swallowed the impulse to reach for Rachel’s throat and, instead, lifted the kettle. Not trusting herself to speak, she concentrated on making tea. The silence in the room was heavy, but it gave Sophie a chance to gather her thoughts.

When she had warmed the teapot, then discarded the warming water, she packed a small silver ball with tealeaves before dropping it into the pot. She filled the pot to the top, put the lid in place, and then set the nearly empty kettle back onto the stovetop. She turned, put her hands on her hips, and asked, “Am I to understand that you and Penny have been discussing—” She lowered her voice, just in case sound from the kitchen might travel through the heavy oak door, down the hallway, and into the front sitting room. Rather than have Colin hear one tidbit of the utterly insane conversation, she spoke in a voice just above a whisper. “Colin and me? Is that what you are telling me?”

“Of course, that is
exactly
what I’m saying. And who else should Penny and I discuss, if not my sister and her brother? Oh, don’t be coy. It is clear as day that you and Colin would make a perfect match. Penny and I have known it for years! I believe there are others who see it, too.”

Sophie opened her mouth to speak, but her sister cut her off. It was not an altogether unfortunate incident, since Sophie had no idea what—if anything—she might say in her own defense. It occurred to her that the brow shaping might have somehow altered Rachel’s thought processes. Temporary insanity, perhaps? Surely, there had to be some explanation for the preposterous turn this conversation had taken.

“You know, I daresay you and Colin are the only ones who have not yet realized the sensible nature of such a match. You are well suited to each other, from soup to nuts, and would make such a happy union. Very satisfying, I would think.” Rachel grinned. “In the drawing room and everywhere else, I’d say.”

No need to ask what she meant. The implication was clear.

Sophie couldn’t stand another moment of nonsense. She raised a hand, sharply curtailing the flow of words. Rachel’s rosebud mouth snapped shut, giving her the look of a fish caught on a hook, which inspired within Sophie a small jolt of satisfaction.

Let us not forget who the eldest sister here is,
Sophie thought smugly.
Too bad Penny and Rachel have been acting merry as grigs. It is time for them to remember themselves.

“I will not abide such talk, not from you and Penny or from anyone else for that matter. It is unnecessary, uncalled for, and completely undeserved.” Sophie pushed a canary-yellow tea cozy down onto the Brown Betty teapot and went on, “Colin and I are just friends, nothing more. We have never been otherwise, and the arrangement suits us both quite well. All I ask from you and Penny is some respect, Rachel. You cannot speak so flippantly about hearts and attachments. I realize you want everyone to find a match, but if I ever decide to find a
parti
for my own heart, I will need no assistance from either you or Penny. Do you understand?”

She directed the tea trolley toward the closed kitchen door. Before she pushed through into the hallway, however, she waited for a reply.

Rachel, looking younger than her years, said softly, “I do, and I am sorry if I have angered you.”

A long sigh, then a shake of her head. “I am not angry, dear. I just don’t wish to be the object of anyone’s—not even yours or Penny’s—speculation.”

“I understand.” Then, lightening considerably as Sophie pushed the trolley into the hallway, Rachel asked, “Has Colin said whether or not Penny is going to tonight’s dance? She is, isn’t she?”

“I’m sure Colin will tell you, if you ask him,” Sophie called over her shoulder. “Why not join us for tea? Then you can see for yourself just how reckless our dear friend can be on the first morning of the New Year!”

Chapter 2

Sophie was grateful to have made it to the Atwell home in one piece. Call it providence, fate, or the hand of God; something had pulled them through the snowy evening in relative safety.

There had been moments during the short ride when the five occupants of their carriage held onto each other for dear life as the horses’ hooves sought safe footing on the icy, snow-covered cobblestone streets. Their father and Brian had attempted to reassure them, but neither their mother nor the two sisters had been able to put aside their prayers for a safe journey long enough to hear the men’s words. At one point, their carriage tilted to one side, throwing them all into an untidy heap against the door. Somehow the driver coaxed the horses onward and out of the rut to continue on.

It was no surprise, then, that their father intended to convey his family home at an hour earlier than he would have done if the weather had not been so thoroughly inauspicious. Sophie was all in favor of turning around and heading home this very minute, but she had been outvoted. They had made it this far, the others reasoned, so why not stay for at least a short while?

Elbow room was not in short supply in the upstairs bedroom that had been readied for ladies, so she did not feel selfish sitting before the looking glass for an extra few minutes. Her primping had been done at home and her hair curled and sprayed so well it had hardly moved despite the harrowing journey, but she still sat and stared at herself, lost in a reverie, while Rachel fussed beside her.

“Oh, I do hope the snow lets up some,” Rachel wailed. She licked a finger, and then slicked a wispy tendril near her right temple back into place. Deftly, she inserted a hairpin, effectively securing the wayward strand. “I wondered if Father might turn the carriage right around when the horses drove us into that rut. We are fortunate we did not break a wheel, or worse.”

“What could possibly be worse than standing outside in a snowstorm waiting for a carriage wheel to be replaced?” To her knowledge, their old, hardly-ever-used carriage did not possess a spare wheel. The ones that were on it were the only ones they could afford. If one had broken, they would be left quite without resources, but she did not point that out.

“But, Sophie, we could have spilled out the door and onto the snow when the carriage tilted. We would have been wet, our dresses ruined beyond repair, and the evening truly spoiled. That would have been much worse, I dare say!”

Rachel pinched her cheeks, bringing a rosy tint to her skin. With a snort of annoyance, she rummaged in her bag. It was a tiny evening bag, with a dainty drawstring closure, and as such should not have been able to hold a preponderance of items. Still, Rachel determinedly pored through its contents until she found what she wanted. With a victorious cry, she held up a tiny vial of Pear’s Liquid Blooms of Roses. In seconds, Rachel’s cheeks looked in full bloom and a satisfied smile pulled her lips upward.

“Would you like some?” Rachel held the vial out, but Sophie shook her head. “Are you certain? It wouldn’t hurt to add some rouge to those cheeks. You look positively white, Sophie.” The smile turned to a frown. Rachel leaned forward and attempted to place her wrist against Sophie’s forehead. “Are you unwell?”

Sophie waved her off. “Certainly not, although your concern is quite sisterly. No, I am not ill…I am—oh, I don’t know what I am.” There were no other ladies in the room at present, but Sophie lowered her voice anyhow. “I guess I was more excited by the idea of the dance rather than the actual event itself. I feel wrung out from the drive over. Father will be gathering us together before too long to toss us back into the carriage so we may make another near-death trip back the way we came. To top it off, the weather is so terrible hardly anyone will show up tonight. Why have we bothered at all?”

“Don’t get yourself all worked up! I hate to see you like this; I am usually the one who is all aflutter, not you. It unsettles me to see you so…well, to find you so unsettled. Isn’t that senseless?” Rachel patted her hand soothingly, and for an instant it was almost as if they had exchanged roles.

“You’re right. I’m sorry for being such a crank. I suppose I am living up to my station, being a spinster and so long on the shelf.”

Rachel looked scandalized. “Hush, Sophie! Don’t you dare say things like that about yourself! I won’t hear it, I tell you. It’s not right—you are
not
a spinster and certainly not on the shelf. Why, if you won’t take mine and Penny’s advice and consider Colin a suitable marriage candidate, you will simply have to look around and choose someone else to fall in love with.”

Colin. Between his morning’s soaking and the afternoon trip he planned to take to visit an old school chum, he probably wouldn’t even make an appearance at the dance. Too busy, or too tired from all his traipsing around in the sleety wet weather.

She said as much. “You and Penny must stop your girlish prattle. Besides, I doubt Colin will even be here tonight. He had an engagement earlier today, so who knows where he is stuck in this weather?”

Both women turned, and stared into the blowing white mess outside the window. The snow seemed to have picked up considerably. Icy pellets hit the glass pane at random intervals.

Sophie shivered, despite the warmth of the room. A fire blazed in the hearth, but it did nothing to quell the chill in her heart at the thought of Colin out in the blizzard. She hoped he had the good sense to stay put—wherever “put” was.

“I do hope he isn’t stuck anywhere. And I’m sorry. I promised myself I wouldn’t bring Colin up again in any conversation with a romantic tone. I have already broken my promise, and it is only hours old! Oh, Sophie, whatever am I going to do with myself? I have the best intentions, not only for myself but for those I love, but I still make a bumblebroth of things without meaning to.”

“Don’t apologize, dear. You are young, and will find your way into your own skin sooner or later.” Sophie gave one of Rachel’s ringlets a gentle tug. It extended, and then bounced back into place. She smiled. “I know you don’t have a mean bone in your body, Rachel. You only want what is best for all of us, and we all see that.” She stood and brushed a palm down the front of her green gown. “Now, let’s see who has arrived, what kinds of refreshments are being served, and, perhaps most importantly, which eligible bachelors have braved the storm for the opportunity to dance their frozen toes off!”

She turned and headed for the bedroom door, but Rachel stopped her.

“Wait—Sophie, your mask.” Rachel caught her up and quickly handed one of the identical black silk-and-ostrich-feather masks to her. They tied at the back of the wearer’s head with black ribbons, and were so wide and concealing they easily hid most facial features from view. “It is a masked dance, remember?”

“Of course,” she said with a resigned sigh. An idea struck her as she tied her disguise into place. If no one could see her face, they wouldn’t recognize her. That meant no one should be the wiser about her having worn the dratted green gown so many times!

A masked dance—yes, it is just the thing I need to start this year on good footing. Who knows? Perhaps I shall meet the man of my dreams tonight…

Sophie knew it was more likely snowflakes would turn to sunbeams than she would meet her hero at the dance. Still, she could not help but imagine that it could, in fact, happen.

There was always room for hope, wasn’t there?

****

Colin paced the comfortable, well-appointed room like a caged animal. Enough pent-up energy coursed through him that he thought he might bounce off the walls like a child’s ball gone astray if given the chance. Part of his tension was excitement, but that was only a small portion of his energy. The majority of it was annoyance, and plenty of it.