Beauty in Disguise

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He saw that Miss Charity seated herself on a love seat near the fire, and her look beckoned him to the spot beside her. He pretended not to notice.

He turned and saw Miss Montgomery standing in the farthest corner of the room. It would have put her quite beyond the pale had he joined her there. Dalton knew it was where she wished to be, and knowing he was being completely selfish, he said, “Miss Montgomery, perhaps you would like this chair a little closer to the fire. I see it remains quite empty.”

He saw her turn to him in complete surprise. It was not in the corner of the room, but it was not in the center, either. He thought they could agreeably converse without appearing secluded. She approached the chair, appearing somewhat wary of him.

“I promise I shall not eat you, Miss Montgomery,” he said, hoping to interject some levity.

“My lord, I did not mean to appear ungrateful!”

“You did not. There is something I particularly wished to ask you. I hope you will not think me forward.”

Seating herself, she replied, “I cannot imagine what might interest you that one of the others might answer just as easily.”

Was she in fear of retribution from her charge? He would not allow it. He would talk to whomever he pleased, and he would give the chit the set down she deserved if necessary.

“There are many things, I assure you.” He stood a little apart from her chair, making sure there were no codes of conduct broken for a drawing room discourse. “I wondered about your eyes.” She did not look at him, but pushed the spectacles against the bridge of her nose anxiously. “I do not mean to pry. I assumed it to be a condition involving light, but as you are wearing them this evening, I see that cannot be the reason. May I ask if it is something more serious?”

She stuttered for a moment; he had taken her quite off guard. “I...I... No, it has nothing to do with the intensity of light, my lord. My spectacles are for quite another purpose, not one I should like to go into at present. You may suffice it to say that they are the bane of my existence!” She did smile at that, so her refusal did not come with any malice or indication she was not pleased with him.

Indeed, he continued quite comfortably. “Then may I change subjects and ask you if the Dinsmores attend church on Sundays? I was pleasantly surprised to find the rector joining us for dinner, though he was not apt to speak overmuch.”

“The family does not attend church on any regular basis, I am afraid. But it is not far from here, and I can easily give you its direction.”

He smiled. “Does the good parson have more to say from his pulpit than he had at dinner?” He did not wish to appear to be belittling the gentleman so added, “Perhaps he was in a thoughtful state of mind tonight?”

“No, no, my lord, he is quite reserved at all times.” She kept her eyes forward, but he could see a small smile. She had not mistaken his first question. “If you wish for a good fire-and-brimstone sermon, I am afraid you are doomed to disappointment.”

He laughed. “I would prefer something a little more in the middle, but I will let God handle what He feels I need to hear.” Somehow the next question was one he knew he wanted the answer to, but he did not realize it until this moment. “Do you attend services, ma’am?”

She sighed. “I am sorry to disappoint you on this front, as well. I believe God has quite given up on me, my lord. I have not done so for many years.” It was as if she knew he would ask more, so she turned the subject. “I presume you have attended St. George’s in London? I never got the chance, rather, I did not get the opportunity to view the church from the inside.”

“It is quite beautiful, to be sure. But there are times when I feel like the ones preaching there are a little prideful of their pulpit and make themselves of more consequence than their message.”

He waited for some comment from her, but none came. It appeared she did not wish to discuss God, though she had alluded to a time when she did.

“I did not visit many places, but I believe Richmond Park was—”

Charity interrupted rudely. “My lord, shall I play the pianoforte for you? You may turn the pages for me, if you would be so kind.”

He’d had more than enough of this spoiled child and her impoliteness, especially as it was more often than not aimed at her companion. He bristled and said, “Miss Charity, I am presently—”

This time it was Miss Montgomery who interrupted him. “Charity, I am sure that will make Lord Dalton feel quite like he is in a fashionable drawing room in London.” She turned to him. “You must excuse me, my lord. I have a few things I promised to prepare for the children in the morning. I will say good-night.”

She rose and bowed her head to him, then walked to the middle of the room and curtsied while she spoke small words of “excuse me” and “sleep well.” She even asked Charity if there was anything else she could do for her that evening. Dalton watched her leave the room, certain now that she had not wished to upset her spoiled charge.

He found himself getting angry. All at once he realized that perhaps that was the lot of a companion. He had met many each Season, but he had thought no more about them once the introductions had been made. Miss Montgomery was a lady. She had a past of some sort among the ton; she had told him so herself. To be relegated to such a position must be most degrading.

Worse yet, the only reason he noticed her was because he appreciated her conversation and preferred her to any other person in this household. God pricked his heart. He should treat everyone equally no matter their position in life, yet he had excluded an entire middle class, neither servant nor member of the peerage. He would change that, beginning now.

His thoughts were interrupted again by the beauty clearing her throat.

“I would be delighted to turn the pages for you,” he replied, with gritted teeth. Even this chit must be treated equally, he supposed. Only she surprised him and stopped playing. “Oh, my lord, this is too boring. I wish to give you some exciting news.”

“Charity?” her mother said, dragging out her name in question.

“Mama, I have thought of the very thing! We must throw a ball while Lord Dalton is here!”

“A ball?” cried Lady Dinsmore and Lord Dalton at precisely the same time.

“Perhaps not a ball per se, but we could have a party where we may introduce his lordship to our neighbors. And we may have music and dance the night away.” She ended this by twirling around with eyes closed like a child.

“Lady Dinsmore, I protest. I would never put you to so much trouble on my behalf. I specifically told Sir John I would not wish any such attention.”

“Sir John and I did speak of having a small dinner party while you were here, and should the children wish to roll back the rugs for a few dances, I should not object. We shall discuss it further when Sir John is free. And you cause us no trouble, whatsoever. Miss Montgomery has always been a big help to me in such areas. I quite look on her for all guidance when it comes to matters of Society.”

He was forced to allow the subject to drop, but he decided he would quit this room as soon as possible. He had feigned tiredness from a full day of riding, so excused himself when the tea tray arrived.

So here he was, alone in his room at the unseemly hour of ten o’clock. His Bible lay open on his lap. Lord, I only want to be free of this place. Perhaps You have brought me here for some purpose? Give me Your peace and grace to stay when impatience begs me to flee. And Lord, help me to focus on You and Your will as I face so many distractions.

He was distracted indeed. He could not stop thinking about the woman on the bridge last night. She caused so many emotions in his breast.

She was amazing! Her voice was rich and calming. Her bearing was regal; she was a lady, of that he was certain. He knew it was odd of him, considering it was he who asked her to come, but he was concerned about her visiting the bridge alone so late at night. What if he had taken her second visit as an invitation to something more? She was defenseless.

He was very attracted to her, and he was happy that he could in no way attribute that to her physical appearance. He used to tell himself often that even had Lady Kathryn not been so beautiful, he would still have been drawn to her. But because she was so beautiful, he really never knew that for certain.

But this fairy could be hideous—which would explain the hood—and he would still be attracted to her. She made him laugh. That had become very important to him. Even the most beautiful woman’s features would one day fade. He needed so much more in common with someone.

Only look at his preference for Miss Montgomery. When unencumbered by her charge, she was delightful. And even when the chit was near, he believed Miss Montgomery sensed his feelings easily and shared them, if only with a simple smile.

He had not chased after the woman last night. He did not want to snatch midnight meetings with her. He wanted to find her, get to know her. Sight unseen, she was too special to let go.

* * *

As Kathryn laid down her brush and donned her cotton night rail, she supposed she would just have to be herself—herself in a foolish wig, shoes and spectacles—and wait for the fortnight to end. She had no delusions, even after such short acquaintance; there would be no marriage between Lord Dalton and Charity. It was also clear he was already trying to invent ways to shorten his stay at the manor and decrease the amount of time he must politely spend with its inhabitants. Perhaps she would be lucky, and he would abort his stay and return to London. Yet a pang touched her heart at the thought.

Her life had changed so that his presence should be of absolutely no importance to her. And now, despite her sheer weariness of an hour ago, she was wide-awake, staring at the ceiling. She could not go downstairs for a book; she had only just left the drawing room complaining she could not keep her eyes open.

Suddenly she perked up, and the wheels in her mind began to turn. Could she go to the bridge? It was not yet ten o’clock; the family would be ensconced in the drawing room at least another hour with their guest. The locals never used the bridge after dark, no matter what the time. Indeed, witches, gnomes and trolls were her friends!

Even as she questioned herself, she rooted through her drab dresses to find her rumpled walking dress of the previous night. By the time she finished hooking the buttons on the serviceable gown, she was resolved to get some fresh air.

She cherished her nighttime freedom, though she had never gone two nights in a row, much less three. Once a week was all she dared risk. But her pistol had given her courage, and once she knew the freedom, even rarely, she could not give it up.

Kathryn was not a fool. She did not dismiss the fact that Lord Dalton might also take a late-night walk to the bridge. She would not put it past him to assume she was a local wench who would also be on the lookout for him. But she felt secure in the knowledge that she would be back long before he retired for the night. Even should he claim fatigue after the drawing room and not join Sir John privately for brandy and billiards, she had at least an hour.

The thought cheered her as none had that day. She would allow herself this one extra hour of complete freedom before she subjected herself to the next fortnight of frustration and the knowledge that had she not allowed Lord Salford to whisk her away, she might even belong to Lord Dalton today.

Kathryn slipped her dark cloak over her shoulders, pulled the hood loosely up over her head and left her room. She looked both ways and took the hallway to the servant’s staircase to the kitchen, where she could slip out unnoticed.

* * *

His Bible was doing him little good this night. He could not concentrate on the words for all of the noise in his head.

He could not sit still any longer; he had to get out of this room. He would walk to the bridge again. He knew it was far too early to expect his late-night visitor, if indeed she intended to visit at all. That was not his purpose in going. He only wanted some air.

So he took up his position at last night’s tree, listening to the gurgling water and taking in deep breaths of the country breezes. He could not resume his search for his fairy, but if there was any chance of seeing her or finding out her identity, he would take it.

Dalton’s thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a scream, cut off hastily, on the other side of the bridge. As he pushed away from the solid trunk and stepped quietly onto the ancient structure, the sight that met his eyes stopped his heart.

Chapter Five

Dalton froze. It was her, the woman he had met last night, but in no way situated as he had imagined. There on the other end of the span, less than one hundred feet from him, she stood with her head held tightly against the bridge’s stone pillar with a hand covering her mouth. Dalton could only be thankful that the hood that covered her head might provide a small cushion as her attacker held her so tightly against the stones.

She was imprisoned by the weight of a man’s body, and her neck arched to avoid the knife pressed dangerously close to her skin. He could tangibly feel her terror.

He pulled up short, his heart no longer stopped, but beating very fast. Dear Lord, You are more than capable of protecting this woman, but if Your way of protecting her involves me, show me the way. He had hoped to surprise her attacker by stealth, but the woman saw him from under the folds of her hood. That single glance in his direction gave his presence away.

The man wielding the knife had complete control over the woman, but he turned his lecherous gaze to Lord Dalton. “Stay where ye are or I’ll slit ’er throat, don’t think I won’t. Even in the dark, it looks too purty to scar.”

The cur’s voice was raspy and common, and Dalton heard the girl’s slight whimpers as he pushed the point of his dagger just a little farther into her skin.

“Let her go,” Dalton said, his command in deadly earnest. Anyone who knew him would have followed those orders instantly. His opponent, however, though now more hesitant, did not know enough to recognize the menace in his words.

Instead, the assailant laughed and seemed to wedge his knee tighter against the woman’s fragile frame, effectively pinning her closer and, no doubt, making breathing even more difficult for her. “It don’t seem to me you be the one in the position to be hagglin’ now does it? Looks like this be my lucky night. I found me a purty wench with a rich cove to pay for ’er life!”

“There will be no bargaining. You will let her go or I will kill you.” Evil was evil, whether in wartime or not.

Dalton thought the woman would be in shock. She kept rolling her head from side to side, trying to get away from the grimy hand that covered her mouth. The attacker only pushed a little harder on his knife to make her stop each time.

“Mighty uppity you are when it’s me what ’as the knife.” Her attacker laughed. “Now jest toss me your purse,” the man continued, “then back off. Ye get on that ’orse of yours and ride away. Ye do all that and the ’arpy comes out of this with a whole skin.”

His voice held no fear, and Dalton knew this was the worst kind of enemy.

He was screaming so close to the woman that she jumped, feeling the knife as she did so. “Do what I say, now—’er life makes no never mind to me.” With that he actually punctured her skin with the tip of the blade and sniggered as blood trickled down her neck.

Her cry led him to comply. He removed his purse from his coat and tossed it to the center of the bridge. He could have thrown it as far as the man’s feet, but he wanted the cutthroat to come and get it.

The release of his coins seemed to lighten her attacker’s mood, if not his hold. “Sounds ’eavy enough. Might even be all I need for this night’s work and I can give meself a little reward. Ol’ Jack Dawkins might even let this wench live.” He became deadly serious once more. “Now pick up the brass and toss it all the way to me...don’t make me kill ’er.”

Dalton knew if he could keep the man distracted, there was more of a chance that he would slip up, giving him an opportunity get the woman away safely. If that did not happen, Dalton was more than prepared to face the man’s knife. But it must first be pointed at him instead of the fairy.

Suddenly the night burst into a flurry of sounds and movement that took all three participants by surprise.

She had been telling the truth! She was armed and, apparently, not afraid to use her weapon.

The flash of powder and the crack of the pistol sounded like thunder in the quiet night. But the scream of pain and the surprise of the counterattack allowed her to push against him with all her might. Dalton ran toward the man, ready to kill him if necessary, but he was stopped by the woman who ran straight into his arms.

He held her so tightly that his anger abated for a moment at the thought of her being safe and secure in his grasp, as if she belonged there.

But reality flooded back when Ol’ Jack began howling. “She shot me! The ’ussy shot me!” Her attacker lifted the arm he had been using to cover her mouth, and examined his wound. It was clear that the bullet had entered the man’s lower left side, and he was growling in pain.

Dalton could see the hole in the back of the man’s coat, however, and knew their troubles were not yet over; the bullet must have grazed his side before exiting the back of the man’s grimy jacket. There was no debilitating damage.

As pain and anger filled the eyes of the ruffian, Dalton knew they might as well be dealing with a wounded bear, and he determined nothing would prevent him from protecting the frightened woman in his arms. His military training took over, and he was a force to be reckoned with. He gripped her upper shoulders tightly, moving her quickly behind him.

“Your light-skirt ain’t done nothin’ but caused ’er own death and I don’t care if I ’ave to go through ten of you to get to ’er.” His voice was a slow growl, the sound of an injured animal. He tossed his knife back and forth between his hands then began to charge Dalton, thrusting his dagger, wildly intent on murder.

But Dalton was more than prepared, and with one swift kick to the wrist of the injured thatchgallow, the knife went flying far into the high river grasses on the other side of the bridge.

Ol’ Jack was stunned but not cowed. “No gentry cove is gettin’ the best o’ me,” he swore, but was stopped short by the punishing left Dalton landed in the center of his face. The blood gushing into his mouth finally seemed to turn the tide. While Dalton prepared for whatever response the cutthroat threw at him next, Jack Dawkins turned on his heels and dashed away, doing the one thing Dalton did not expect. And Dalton had not been granted near enough time with the villain to assuage his anger.

As he prepared to follow the man, he took a quick look over his shoulder and stopped dead in his tracks. The brave young woman so recently in his arms had quietly slid to the ground into a sitting position, her back against the stone wall of the bridge. Her head was down on her pulled-up knees, and she was shrouded in her cloak. He could see, even from where he stood, that she shivered uncontrollably in silence. He had witnessed many shattering experiences in battle, but his heart had never been touched so deeply by any sight.