But the gentleman’s expression remained fixed on his face as he watched her. Holding his gaze, Katherine pleaded with him to let it go. There was no good to be had in bemoaning her life, and she had wallowed in self-pity for long enough.
Thankfully, he seemed to accept that silent petition and threw himself back into his role, flourishing his pistols.
“That is a mighty fine dress, lass. Clearly, you are a woman of taste and refinement, so give up your jewels before I’m forced to take more drastic measures.”
Running her hands down her skirts, Katherine tried not to let his words affect her. This was Dick Turpin speaking, after all, and not Mr. David Archer. Nudging her spectacles up her nose, she glanced about the gathering, though no one paid her any mind.
“It is hardly a fine dress, and I have no jewels.” No truer words had been spoken, for though Katherine liked this gown, it was hardly one to draw the eye. A simple white muslin hardly stood out amongst the rainbow around her, but with the columnar styles of the past decades waning, the fuller skirt and natural waist gave her figure far more definition, and the wide neckline that was gaining more prominence in fashion allowed Katherine’s only good feature to be shown to advantage.
Not that shoulders were much of an attraction, but when one had nothing else, one embraced what one could.
“Nonsense.” Some of the dreaded Mr. Turpin’s tone faded, and Mr. Archer waved his pistol about as though motioning at her dress. “You look nice tonight. That is a fetching gown, and it suits you perfectly.”
When one did not anticipate dancing, one didn’t often require a fan, but Katherine wished she’d borrowed one of Mama’s, for her cheeks were determined to set her ablaze. For all that she tried to remind herself to be calm in such a moment, her heart gave a happy thump—but thankfully, that was not noticeable to anyone but herself. And thankfully (or unfortunately, depending on one’s perspective), she had practice enough at keeping a calm facade when Mr. Archer inspired such ridiculous, swoony behavior.
With a flash of a cocky smile that belonged wholly to the rascal beneath the costume (and not the character he played), Mr. Archer added, “Being a spoilsport is such a unique costume, after all. And to be so devoted to the role that you play it year after year—that is commendable.”
Despite the small pang in her chest, Katherine smiled. “If nothing else, I am committed to my part.”
“There you are, David.”
With those four words, Katherine’s ribs constricted, though she managed to school her expression. In and of himself, her brother was no cause for alarm, but where there was one Leigh, more would soon follow.
Coming up beside Mr. Archer, the Roman soldier threw an arm around the highwayman’s shoulder, and Katherine struggled not to look at his bare arms and legs. Masquerade or not, it was unnerving to see her baby brother in such an indecent state, though he was hardly the only one in deshabille.
“I was beginning to think you’d decided not to come tonight,” said Benjamin.
“When in doubt, look for a pretty maiden. You’re likely to find me at her side,” replied the roguish Dick Turpin.
Benjamin’s eyes darted to Katherine and back to his friend, the movement as clear as any words. The last unmarried Leigh daughter was hardly one to attract the attention of any man, whether he be real or imagined.
“That’s kind of you to keep my sister company,” said Benjamin.
Katherine’s heart twisted. A bit of charity? Was that all her brother believed motivated Mr. Archer’s friendship? But she supposed that was what everyone believed. Heaven forfend that Mr. Archer might actually enjoy Miss Katherine Leigh’s company. No one else seemed to.
“On the contrary,” said Mr. Archer. “She has been kind enough to keep me company.”
Benjamin’s brow furrowed, and he smirked at his friend with a shake of his head. Then, ignoring that statement, he said, “I wanted to speak with you concerning this business in the newspaper—”
“Am I going to have to give you the same lecture I gave your sister?” asked Mr. Archer with a playful sigh. “We are at the Tates’ annual masquerade, but it is their family who are determined to keep us grounded in reality. Can we not embrace a bit of merriment for one evening?”
“Well said, Mr. Archer,” added Rosanna as she drew up beside the others. Katherine forced herself not to grimace. Not that she disliked her sister’s intrusion, but as she had feared, the family was gathering. Wherever Rosanna went, Mama was soon to follow, and Katherine couldn’t bear having the Leigh matriarch intrude on her time with Mr. Archer. It was bound to happen, but Rosanna needn’t rush it along.
“Do not tell me we have more prudes in the company,” said Rosanna whilst frowning at her siblings. “It is bad enough that public opinion is turning against masquerades, but I cannot bear the thought that my own family is betraying me. It is naught but a bit of fun. I adore our annual ball, and I am not ready for the tradition to end.”
The goddess glanced at the others, and though she didn’t linger on her sister’s costume (or lack thereof), Katherine felt Rosanna’s disappointment. But then, if Katherine looked even half as lovely as her elder sister did whilst swathed in little more than a fancy bed sheet with her hair cascading down her back, perhaps she might wish to embrace costumes as well. Granted, Rosanna looked gorgeous in everything she wore, so dressing as the Goddess of Love and Beauty was redundant; despite being nearly forty years of age and the mother of six, Mrs. Rosanna Tate looked more like Katherine’s younger sister.
Rosanna tugged at the shoulder of her toga as her blonde brows pinched together, fairly begging them to assure her that the evening was, in fact, delightful. Had no one intruded on her conversation with Mr. Archer, Katherine might even have agreed.
But then Rosanna gave her sister’s dress another frown. “If you wish for a mask, dearest, I have plenty at the ready by the door.”
Katherine’s jaw clenched. She refused to think about that wretched endearment, so casually tossed about. Crossing her arms, she turned her gaze away from her family and looked out at the dancers. It wasn’t as though she was the only one to eschew fancy dress, and her reason was far more understandable than the others’. Yet it was she who earned the disappointed looks and constant verbal nudges.
There was no point in defending herself, for this was a conversation they’d had every year since Mr. Malcolm Tate had appeared in Greater Edgerton twelve years ago, stolen away the heart of Rosanna, and settled into local society every autumn with their annual masquerade ball. Katherine Leigh could see, or she could wear a mask; until they created spectacles that fit beneath the mask or a face covering that worked around the spectacles, she would be forced to choose. And she wouldn’t be swayed.
Unfortunately, even after years of attempting to persuade her, neither would her family.
A brief nudge of an elbow drew Katherine’s attention to the gentleman at her side, and from beneath the shadowed edge of his mask, Mr. Archer winked at her. Such a small thing. So simple and unnoticed by anyone but her, yet Katherine’s heart stuttered, her breath catching as she stared into his light brown eyes.
