Mary Moore - Beauty in Disguise

She would spend one more evening in his company, and then she would truly disappear.

Back in her room, she stared at herself in her tarnished mirror and it all came flooding back. As she lay down in her bed, tears rolled out of the corners of her eyes and dampened the pillow. Not only was she ruined beyond reparation and unwelcome in her own home, but she would be shunned should she seek help from any of her family or friends in London. No one would countermand her father’s orders.

She had told Lord Dalton the truth. He would never see her again. Tomorrow she would don the trappings that grew more burdensome each day but made her unrecognizable to those in her previous circles. There had been no other option after she was abandoned by the rogue. She was alone and needed to make her own way in the world. But she could not do so as herself. She would disguise the beauty Lord Dalton saw tonight with the accoutrements of a dowdy wig, a pair of spectacles and lumbering shoes. Lady Kathryn would become clumsy and drab Miss Kate Montgomery, the hired companion of the daughter of the house.

And until tonight, that had been enough.

* * *

He came upon the bridge while allowing Merlin a drink of water, and he was mesmerized. It was uncanny. She reminded him of someone, though he could not think of whom. In the moonlight, he watched her pace up and down the bridge, assuming some kind of inner struggle, only to relax again and take in deep breaths of the night air. Her hood was farther back, and she had a beautiful profile in the light of the moon.

Dalton watched, bemused, as she ran from him. He knew any attempt to catch her up would be foiled by her own avowal of a deep knowledge of the terrain. He stood solitary for several moments, a bit perplexed. What had come over him? He did not accost women he did not know. Perhaps accost was too strong a word, but something struck a chord with her. Was it her unsettled spirit? Her beauty? He hoped to find out at their next meeting.

He returned to the inn and lay awake a long time. It had been years since anyone had affected him so immediately...nine years, to be precise.

It had been his third Season and he’d only gone back to please his parents; he was ready for the army.

But he had met Kathryn—Lady Kathryn—and was very soon caught. She was young and in her first Season, but she was so different from the usual debutantes that flooded London each spring.

She was beautiful, so beautiful she took his breath away. Would he ever forget those eyes? He feared not. They were sapphire-blue. And he could see into her very soul through them. Her raven hair was thick and luxurious and her skin creamy, with a little bronze from the sun. But even had she not been so beautiful, he believed he still would have sought her out. She was selfless and intelligent. She smelled wonderful. They never tired of talking; they were so much in tune with each other’s thoughts. And her heart belonged to God. They talked of Scripture for hours.

Many of his happiest memories were the ones when they had waltzed. It was the only time they were allowed to touch, and her touch was so calm and gentle. And in a dance, it was her gracefulness that swept him away. She floated in his arms, and he had begun to fall in love with her in only two short months.

And he had thought, at the time, that she felt the same. He need only wait for the proper time after speaking to her father. He would give up thoughts of the army and take up a profession that she would be proud of—one that would not keep them apart.

But she left him. He looked for her at every ball. He scanned the boxes for her at the opera. He would have set up camp on her doorstep, only the knocker had been removed and no one answered. He finally wrote to her father at Montgomery Hall, but received no response. He was only too happy then to buy his commission, and to this day, he carried a deep scar that kept him from trusting another woman completely.

Dalton repositioned his pillow, reminding himself yet again that the past was the past, and he must now marry and beget an heir.

He had been trained to judge the character of others quickly in his position as a major in Wellington’s army. But in the Little Season he had only just left behind, he still doubted his ability to judge a woman. She had left him that curse.

And he knew not how he was to marry if he compared every woman to Kathryn. There had been no doubt in his mind that her feelings for him were as strong. He believed she, too, was falling in love. He had never misjudged someone so completely. It had not been so, and now he thought he could not marry for love. His heart was battered. He would wed based on credentials alone and pray that God would provide the companionship necessary to make the marriage work. He felt sure there was an eligible candidate, but he dreaded the search.

Heavenly Father, I know You will bring the woman You have for me in Your perfect timing. Please give me the patience to wait for her and for eyes centered on You to see her.

Yet before falling asleep, his last thoughts were of a waif in the moonlight, a winsome fairy who had taken his fancy.

* * *

“He will be here any moment. I demand you send Lacey elsewhere and help me complete my toilette!”

It was the next morning, and Kathryn heard Charity stomp her foot like a schoolgirl even though she could not actually see it. The talk had been of nothing but Lord Dalton for the past fortnight. She almost became sick of hearing his name until meeting him again last night on the bridge.

She had gone for one of her walks. She discovered after a few weeks in Trotton that could she shed her disguise even for an hour, she could bear the unwieldy trappings imposed on her by her own past actions. Once Charity was through with her for the evening, and usually only once a week, she would wait until the moon was high in the sky and take a solitary walk as herself.

She wore a voluminous cloak to cover her full appearance, but she had never really needed it until last night. She carried a small pistol her father had commissioned just for her. But no crime had come to the little town of Trotton for years, so she had not needed that, either. And she never saw another living soul at that time of night. Tales of goblins and trolls died hard in the Weald, and the Rother River Bridge was the source of many of those tales.

She was brought back to the present with another angry cry from Charity. “I believe you are not listening to me!”

Kathryn always tried to remain gentle and soft-spoken with her charge, but at times it was nearly impossible. “Charity, do try for a little decorum. No gentleman of fashion would arrive before noon.” That was the truth, but she did not understand Lord Dalton’s delay, as he was housed so close to the manor.

“You look quite nice in your apricot muslin, so I do not see how I may add anything to your appearance.”

“Nice...nice...?” The young beauty before Kathryn balled her fists in a spoiled rage. “I think I look quite stunning in this gown!”

Kathryn heaved a sigh of resignation. “Charity, you must stop puffing yourself up. It does you no good and will surely put Lord Dalton off.”

With her eyes closed in frustration, Kathryn wished she could get a message to Lord Dalton to flee for his life. She would not wish a fortnight of Charity upon him for any reason!

No, she must stop that line of thinking. She no longer knew him and had no right to determine what or whom he might like...despite their past.

She had desired nothing more than the darkness last night, a few moments of freedom. But today, despise it as she might, she was never more happy for the anonymity her masquerade brought her.

Her past mistake had haunted her for nine years, and she was no longer free to be Lady Kathryn. She was unwanted in London’s elite world, and she must support herself now. She had learned years ago that it was only possible if Lady Kathryn disappeared and Miss Kate Montgomery took her place—a wig, a pair of spectacles and unwieldy shoes her only protection. She accepted her responsibility and the following consequences of her own mistake. She would not cry and complain of injustice; she would not grow into a bitter, angry woman. She accepted her punishment. She had made her bed, now she must lie in it.