Katherine, on the other hand, was fobbed off on geriatrics whose only discernible trait of worth was a middling income. A Mr. Mowbry was the best Mama hoped for, and even in that possibility, the lady despaired.
A mother’s duty was to secure good husbands for her daughters, after all, and an unmarried daughter was a mark against a mother and a blight on her family. Until that all-important wedding was performed, Katherine was a bane, leaving Gertrude Leigh forever tainted by association.
Mama would never love her. Not truly. But then, such a selfless emotion was impossible when one’s focus was on oneself. With her sense of self so wrapped up in the outward success of her children, Mama could never love them as they were—unless they were perfect.
This was not the first, second, hundredth, or even thousandth time Katherine’s thoughts had dwelled on that undeniable fact, yet her heart still squeezed tight. That old pain echoed through her, and gazing out at the swirling people around her, she couldn’t help that her mind drifted down familiar paths. A sea of faces, all laughing and smiling, and not one of them spared a single thought for the solitary Katherine Leigh.
Surrounded by people, yet she was alone.
As this was hardly the first time she’d felt thusly, it ought to be familiar by now. But with two and thirty years to her name, Katherine was old enough to know some wounds never healed completely. Like an old soldier with a limp that acted up when the weather turned, Katherine’s gave her little trouble, only twinging at times. But at times like these, she couldn’t help but feel that pang and wish for things to be different.
Thank the heavens, the music came to a close, freeing her. Katherine bobbed a curtsy to her partner and turned to leave, but Mr. Mowbry took her by the elbow and hooked her arm through his, not even pausing in his speech about his difficulties with another tannery in town, droning on about the nuances of their petty squabbles.
Perhaps when she’d been in her twenties, any man’s attention would’ve soothed her wounded pride, but despite what others believed about the pitiable state of spinsters, there were far worse fates than being unattractive and unmarried, and being Mrs. Mowbry was one of them.
Drawing in a deep breath, Katherine cast her gaze about for some escape; she may have a reputation for abruptness, but that didn’t make her rude. Then her salvation appeared.
“Do excuse me, Mr. Mowbry, but I really must speak to Mrs. Kitts.” Not allowing him time to respond, Katherine yanked her arm from his and slipped between the other guests, weaving through the crowd as though the hounds of hell were nipping at her heels.
Although Pamela was dressed in costume, like most of the gathering, Katherine recognized her friend beneath the slight half-mask covering her eyes. When Pamela spied her, she raised a hand in greeting, but her smile died away at the sight of Katherine’s widened eyes. Snatching the lady by the hand, Katherine dragged her from the ballroom.
“Help me,” she said, leading her friend from the fray.
As Pamela was the best of women, she didn’t argue or slow as they wove their way to the door.
Chapter 4
As Boxwood Manor was her sister’s home, Katherine knew where to escape. Ducking down a corridor, they scurried into the library, which was closed to the public. With only a low fire burning in the fireplace, there was little light by which to see, but it was clearly empty. Katherine shut the door behind them and sagged against the wood.
“Is your mother matchmaking again?” asked Pamela with a wry smile as she straightened the turban sitting atop her head.
“I had a few months of blessed peace. I had thought she’d accepted the inevitable, but she and mydearsister are at it again,” mumbled Katherine as she nudged her spectacles up her nose. Straightening, she studied her friend, in the flowing pants and robes of a sultana. “You look lovely, Pamela.”
Her friend preened and turned about, the gauzy robes and sash flowing behind her. “Isn’t it magnificent? I do love fancy dress parties.”
“You must save me,” said Katherine, dragging them back to the subject at hand. “If I am forced to spend the evening with Mr. Mowbry, I shan’t be responsible for my actions.”
“You are at a masquerade, so the solution is fairly obvious,” said Pamela with raised brows that inferred her meaning as much as her tone.
Katherine sighed and crossed her arms. “You know I cannot wear a mask and my spectacles at the same time.”
“Would you rather see or be pestered by Mr. Mowbry all night?” Though it was phrased as a question, Pamela’s tone made it clear there was only one answer she expected.
And heaven help her, Katherine knew she was correct. If stumbling around blind provided an escape, it was well worth the price. Her friend took her by the hand and led her back into the corridor. Tip-toeing back into the entryway, Pamela searched about and found the stack of masks Rosanna had provided for those who hadn’t brought their own. With a quick word to the footman, Pamela summoned her shawl before dragging Katherine back down the corridor and out of the sight of prying eyes.
Plucking Katherine’s spectacles from her nose, Pamela tucked them beneath the edge of Katherine’s elbow gloves and tied a black mask in place. It was larger than the masks so many favored, which covered only the eyes and nose, and stretched up to her forehead and down her cheeks, leaving only her mouth and jaw uncovered.
With a flick, Pamela opened the shawl and draped it over Katherine. The cream fabric was large enough to cover her head and shoulders while still cascading down far enough to obscure her bodice. Twisting the edges, Pamela arranged it like a mantle, concealing her friend’s face in shadow. Without hesitation, she reached into the folds of her outfit and pulled free a few pins, using them to secure the shroud in place.
“You need those—” But before Katherine could mount any proper objection, Pamela gave her a narrowed look that brooked no refusal, though the sultana’s costume now drooped a touch in a few places. But when Pamela inspected her creation, she frowned. Reaching to her lapel, she freed a butterfly brooch and affixed it to Katherine’s shoulder, holding the drape of the shawl firm.
Stepping back, Pamela smiled. “No one will be able to identify you, though I would avoid vigorous dancing, as it wouldn’t hold up to much jostling.”
“Are you certain?”
“Absolutely,” she said with a nod. “I cannot see your face or hair at all. Unless Mr. Mowbry recalls your dress—and I doubt he was that observant—he won’t recognize you. And even much of that is obscured. Besides, he won’t be looking for a lady in fancy dress. Not even your family would recognize you.”
Katherine longed to see for herself, but there was no looking glass to be found (not that her eyesight would allow her to make out her appearance even if there was); so, she had to have faith in her friend’s assurances, and besides Mr. Archer, there was no other soul she trusted so much as Pamela Kitts.
