Beauty in Disguise. Mary Moore

been found wanting once this night. And perhaps I should have warned you from the first—I am armed.”

      “Ah, yes, it is in the military codebook that if you are armed, you must so inform your assailant. May I ask with what are you armed?”

      “If you knew my weapon, I would be at a complete disadvantage.”

      “You need not tell me. I have figured it out on my own. You are hiding a canon under your cloak. There, am I right?”

      “My goodness, are you the last of your army?” He laughed again and she realized that even nine years later, she still missed his laugh.

      “Who are you, my delight? Please give me your name and where I may call on you. I was extremely fearful this would be the dullest fortnight I have had to date. I believe you relieve me of my fear.” He bent his head, trying to see her face beneath her hood.

      “I am afraid I must go. It has been a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Dalton.”

      “Wait, give me your name, anything! When will I see you again?”

      “I shall be elusive, and I shall be ever present.”

      “Say you will come again tomorrow night. This same time.”

      What was she doing? She was trying to recreate their past, only as more seasoned participants. She would be careful, she told herself. She would keep her cloak close around her. “Till tomorrow, then. Now I must go.”

      Turning, she ran as fast as her ragged breathing would allow. Afraid he would follow her, she ran straight for the small copse of trees, fading into its dark tentacles and finally stopping against one of Sussex’s wide oaks to listen for the sound of his approach.

      She stood quietly for several seconds trying to still her pounding heart, and soon grew confident that no footfalls or hoofbeats trailed her. After waiting a number of minutes, willing her breathing to slow, she turned toward the manor and began her walk back. She was overjoyed and saddened by an all-new taste of life she knew would never pass her way again. God had not forgiven her for her mistake. Why not add another to the list?

      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