Regency Masquerade, page 6
In a flash, Carleton was standing back from the bed, his face white with shock. “Oh God! I’m sorry – I didn’t – I thought – Oh my God!” he repeated, gathered his clothes up in one arm and fled.
Frances stared after him, her heart thudding like a hammer. What in the name of heaven had he been thinking? He’d looked devastated at her reaction, but how could he seriously believe she would just fall in to his arms? It took a while for her jangled brain to realise Carleton had not been horrified because he thought he had kissed a woman, he thought he had just kissed Peter Francis.
The disaster ran round and round in her mind like a mouse in a cage, trying to find a way out. For a brief moment she considered packing her bags and climbing out the window, but that smacked of bad melodrama. On a more practical note, her boots and breeches were still in the care of Fanshaw, she would have to leave in the morning. Could she pretend she did not remember what had happened? She fell into an uneasy sleep. Morning came eventually but no further solution had occurred to her by the time she had packed her bags and made her way down to the breakfast room. To her great relief it was empty. Her stomach was churning, and she helped herself to coffee, unable to face the thought of food. What could she say to him?
Carleton came in. Frances went bright red and could not meet his eyes. “I’m sorry!” she exclaimed, “I’ll go straight away.”
“I suppose that’s the only thing to do,” Carleton replied, his voice harsh with strain. He cleared his throat and continued jerkily. “Will you believe me when I say I did not know it was you? I had forgotten we’d changed rooms and when I saw you ... I thought -” he stopped. He could hardly say he’d thought Peter was a girl! “God knows what I thought, but I didn’t think it was you, Peter!”
“I know,” the words came out in a whisper.
“My God, if I was another type of man I could laugh about this and pretend it was all a jest in poor taste!” He paused again. “You won’t – won’t speak of this to anyone?”
“Never!” Frances cried, looking at him for the first time. His appearance shocked her. Dark circles under his eyes proved hours of sleepless worry and the tension in every line of his body showed the rigid control he was now exerting on himself. His face was white and drawn, and when she met his eyes she saw agonised shame, and what really shocked her, a touch of fear.
Carleton had not slept for self disgust. It had been a frighteningly short time before the horrifying thought had slid into his mind that perhaps he had known it was Peter, perhaps there was a terrible reason why he had no wife or even a mistress. What would he have done if Peter had kissed him back?
The fear lurking in Carleton’s face brought Frances up short, even though she did not fully understand it.
She shook her head decisively, “No, it is not fair! You don’t deserve this.”
Carlton stared at her, not daring to even imagine what she was leading up to.
“Richard, this will be a shock, but not as great a one as you have had already,” she tried to smile and failed. “I must tell you the truth about myself, I have been deceiving you.” She took a deep breath. “I am a woman, not a man.”
Carleton looked at her in disbelief.
“My name is not really Peter but Frances, with an “e”. All that I told you about myself is true except for that. I disguised myself as a man for my own safety, so I can travel freely and earn my living,” she explained carefully, still looking at him. “For most of my life, even when I lived with my father, I was dressed as a boy more often than a girl.”
Unconvinced, Carleton shook his head, “I just can’t believe it.”
“I know it is difficult in these clothes,” Frances agreed. “I’ll go upstairs and change into a dress, if you will give me ten minutes then come up to my room?”
Carleton looked at her speechlessly, then nodded. As she left the room, he walked over to the window in a daze. What on earth had he let himself in for? Peter (he still thought of him that way) had admitted to him he was an adventurer. Was this some kind of horrible trap to extort money from him? He did not want to believe it, but had everything been an act? No it was I who kissed him, he reminded himself, still hardly able to bear the thought. Had ten minutes passed yet?
He had to go and see for himself, find out the truth about his sex at least, before he could even start to make any sense of the rest of it.
Frances raced upstairs, thinking only of how she must wipe that terrible look from Richard’s face. Her fingers were trembling so much she could barely manage to unlock her bag. Eventually she got it open and scrambled hastily into her green gown. She slipped on the brown wig and dusted a little powder on her face, then stepped into her white slippers as a knock came at the door.
“ ’Tis me, Carleton.” He wondered fearfully what he would find when Peter opened the door. He heard the key being turned in the lock and then stepped cautiously into the room.
He could scarcely believe his eyes. A young woman stood before him. Peter, no “Frances” had gently rounded shoulders, unmistakable breasts and a neat waist. Her face looked different too, softer under the curled wig. Needing further reassurance he reached out to touch her. Gently he ran his fingertips down her soft cheek, then down the side of her throat then down to cup her breast with his hand. He could feel it round, heavy and warm through the flimsy material and realised that at least was true, this was definitely a woman! He looked at her again and stepped closer.
Frances had just realised, rather belatedly, that perhaps her bedroom was not the most sensible place she could have chosen to prove she was a woman. She spoke quickly, putting up a hand to hold him off. “I realise this must be very confusing for you my lord. Will you please leave now, and let me change back to Peter? I will come downstairs and talk to you in a few minutes, I promise.”
Carleton stared down at her, grappling with his feelings, uncertain as to whether he wanted to hit her or kiss her, or may be both! It was painfully obvious what sort of woman she must be, to live that kind of life.
Made uneasy by his continued silence, Frances spoke again, “Let me go, please.” Deliberately, she raised her chin and squared her shoulders like Peter Francis. “The answer is still “no” my lord.”
Carleton flinched and stepped back. “I have no idea whether I am coming or going,” he admitted slowly, “My head is still spinning, I need some time to think.”
“Unless you would prefer to be alone, could I suggest we go riding?”
“That sounds the safest idea under the circumstances. I’ll send word to the stables.” He turned on his heel and walked out quickly, shutting the door firmly behind him. He leant against it for a second, fighting a mad desire to rush back in and – too late. He heard the key turn in the lock. It was probably for the best, he was scarcely thinking clearly at the moment. Her voice came to him through the door as if she knew he was still there. “Just don’t forget I’m a man my lord, for Heaven’s sake do not order me a side saddle!”
Half an hour later, two horses were saddled and waiting down in front of the stables and Carleton was growing anxious. She was coming wasn’t she? Or had the suggestion been a ruse so she could quietly leave? The thought that she might have gone was like a blow to the stomach. As he was about to send someone to find out, Frances came hurrying into the yard. She was dressed as Peter Francis in rather faded but clean riding breeches and boots, her stride long and crisp.
“My apologies for keeping you waiting my lord, I overslept,” she cried gaily. “Oh what beautiful animals! Which one may I ride?” The groomsman led forward a beautiful roan gelding with a proud head and liquid amber eyes. They all talked horses for a while, though Frances admitted freely she did not know as much as the other two men.
Carleton had a big black stallion which was snorting impatiently to be off. “Right my beauty? Let’s go then.” The black danced for a minute as he got him under control and they trotted out of the yard at a brisk pace. Frances rode well, if not superbly, but he found he couldn’t take his eyes off her. Now that he knew she was a woman he wondered how he could have been so blind before. While they had been in the stable yard he had been in an agony of trepidation that the groom would recognise her for what she was. Certainly the flattened chest and squared shoulders were a powerful aid, but it was also the way she moved and the care she took with her mannerisms. People saw what they expected to see.
He felt as if his head was split in two. Half of it saw the young man whose company he enjoyed and whose skills he admired and the other half saw a young woman with smooth skin, an enchanting smile and beautiful eyes. He realised that those same eyes were smiling quizzically at him now “Shall we gallop?” she called.
For answer he dug his heels into Diabolo’s sides and they flew off, hooves pounding on the turf. Frances followed on her roan but they could not match the pace of the other two and soon fell behind. His lordship obviously knew his grounds better than she did, and she was content to follow, enjoying the speed and feel of powerful muscles beneath her. Eventually the pair ahead drew up and she brought her horse to a stop beside them.
“That was wonderful,” she cried breathlessly. They moved on at a walking pace to cool the horses. For a moment neither spoke, each busy with their own thoughts. Frances broke the silence, her eyes straight ahead.
“Before I go, I owe you an explanation. What I tell you will be the truth, but of course it is up to you to decide if you believe me or not.” She looked at him then but he merely nodded for her to continue. “As I told you, my name is Frances, but I know of no other. My father indeed had so many names over the years I could scarce keep track of them. I think he was of gentle birth for he always knew how to go on in polite company and I know he went to school here at Eton, but there was no money and we always lived off the cards.” She paused to reach forward and pat her horse’s neck.
“My mother died when I was a small child and even before that I think we moved around a lot. Often it was easier for me to be a boy, for my own protection as much as anything, and I learned how to shoot and fence and ride, but I don’t have many feminine accomplishments – apart from French and Italian of course. Do not misunderstand me, it was a wonderful life and I have no regrets,” she added with a touch of defiance. Carleton looked as if he would protest this, but he thought better of it and motioned for her to continue.
“As I told you, my father died a few months ago and it was at his request that I came to London, to follow up a name he had given me, someone who might be of assistance to me. I had planned to lay low until I could find this person, I did not intend to get caught up in your affairs at all my lord, but then I did and I must admit it was very exciting,” she smiled tentatively at him. “And then, as you know, the Comte Duverne struck down my servant and is hot after my blood so I took refuge here with you, intending to do no more than be a companion to you as Peter Francis until I could plan my next move.” She shrugged her shoulders, “The best laid plans eh? I will not trouble you any further, I will go as soon as we get back to the house.”
Carleton surprised both of them then by leaning forward to catch the roan’s bridle.
“I will not let you go,” he said rather fiercely. Both horses had stopped and he kept his grip on the reins so that their legs were nearly touching.
Frances looked at him levelly. “What do you mean, my lord? Whatever you may think of my behaviour, I am not a whore.” He flinched at this and she continued. “’Tis true I am a gamester and an adventuress if you like, but I have been no man’s mistress, ever!” A spot of scarlet burned in each cheek as she said this. “I know the world would say I might as well be for coming here with you unchaperoned, but most people would have damned me long ago for the life I have led. But they would be wrong!” Carleton felt more than a little shocked by this plain speaking, especially when he realised he had been thinking those very things himself.
“My lord, I am very sorry for the distress I have caused you, but I ask you to remember that you were friends with Peter and to let me go.” Frances said quietly, not making any effort to free herself.
Carleton looked searchingly at her, “I must confess my head is still at sixes and sevens over all this.” He sighed and released his hold on her horse. “I will not force you to anything, but - I do not want you to return to London alone to be hunted by Duverne.”
“You do not need to be concerned sir, I will manage,” she murmured.
Carleton was still considering, a frown between his eyes. For the first time in his life he was contemplating taking a mistress, but he knew it was too soon to make the offer and only an idiot would have made such a suggestion now. “What if you stayed here for a few more days? As Peter Francis. Do you think we could keep up the masquerade a little longer?”
Frances was amazed. “Pardon?”
“Could we return to our previous relationship, pretend last night never occurred? I have some business here I must complete, before I return to London. I give you my word you would be safe here.”
“Lord Carleton, are you certain of this? You would be prepared to have me stay here as Peter Francis, knowing what you do about me?” Frances felt bewildered, she had been certain he would never forgive her for the deception.
Her companion was not actually certain about anything at the moment, except that he did not want her to go. This was the only way he could think of to persuade her and to give himself some breathing space. “My word on it.”
“Thank you! I did not expect ... I did not think you ...”Frances struggled to express her feelings, she felt close to tears. “You are too kind. I will accept your offer but only on the condition that you tell me to leave if my presence becomes ... inconvenient.”
“Agreed. Perhaps we should return?” They cantered side by side back to the stables.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Frances went upstairs to change and found that a new room had been prepared for her, a few doors down from Carleton’s. She still had a view of the front drive but it was decorated in blue and cream without the rich wood panelling. Her clothes had been unpacked and put away, with the exception of course of those in her locked bag. A basin of warm water had been provided and she washed up before going downstairs, feeling hungry after her ride. A cold luncheon was laid out on the sideboard and she helped herself to a large plate of cold meat while she waited for his lordship. He joined her shortly and they sat down at the table.
“I intend to call on the Squire this afternoon,” he advised. “Will you be alright here?”
“Yes indeed. I will practice my shooting if that is acceptable,” Frances replied, relieved that he had not asked her to go with him. She needed some time alone. Although she knew she could trust Carleton, he had given her his word, she was anxious about whether his scheme would work. She had noticed he was already treating her differently than he had Peter Francis. When they returned from their ride, he had stepped towards her as if he would assist her to dismount, a courtesy he would have offered without thinking to any woman of his acquaintance. Hastily she had swung out of the saddle protesting, “No - no, I can manage thank you. I am quite recovered!” Carleton had come to an abrupt halt, realising his mistake. “Of course. I’m sorry, Peter.”
Meanwhile Carleton was being welcomed by Squire Herbert and his wife. Part of him was conducting a civil conversation but another part was still thinking about Frances. He had yet to recover from the shock that she was a woman. Immense relief had been his initial reaction because it had released him from a private hell, but then he had felt furiously angry that he had made such a fool of himself. Now however, his feelings were more complicated, and sheer amazement was not the least of them. How incredible that she should have fenced so well with Maestro Mancini and outshot his friends and himself so brilliantly.
“While you are here Richard,” the Squire was saying, “I was wondering if I might send Jeremy over to you, to meet your agent and see what the work would entail. Give him a chance to decide if that is what he wants to do with his life.”
Carleton nodded his agreement. Jeremy was the son who was interested in learning about estate management. Squire Herbert filled him in on the local news until eventually he took his leave and swung himself onto Diabolo to complete his appointed round of visits.
Back at Chatswood, Frances finished her shooting practice and returned to the house. The thought had occurred to her that she might find some reference to the Murray family in one of the many books in the library. Mrs Madden showed her into the room pleasantly enough, but she fancied that for some reason the housekeeper disapproved of her. At one time she caught a speculative look in her eyes and wondered for a moment if by any chance she had guessed she was not what she seemed. “She is probably merely anxious to see that I am not imposing myself on Carleton,” Frances concluded reassuringly. “Which of course, I am!” she admitted with a wry smile. There was a comfortable deep leather armchair in the library and she curled up cosily in it with a pile of books at her elbow. Carleton found her there on his return. Frances immediately stretched her legs out in a more masculine pose, then sat forward, her arms on her knees.
“Hullo, what are you reading?”
Frances smiled up at him, “I am looking through some local histories.” She paused and said consideringly, “You may be able to help me more though. Do you know anything about a Lady Julia Murray?”
He frowned, “Murray? No I don’t think so... wait a minute, I believe there is an older lady of that name living in London, but I think her Christian name is Anna. Would she be the one? It is coming back to me now... I remember there was a daughter, or perhaps two, but I am fairly sure she died some years ago. Maddy might know more, shall I ask her?”
A disappointed expression came over Frances face as he spoke and she chewed her lip. “I do wish he had told me more!” she murmured to herself.
