Masquerade (14 page)

Lottie unhooked Dora’s skirt and train. “I’m not sure I could do such a thing.”

“Then don’t,” Dora said. “Perhaps it wasn’t the humor at all. Perhaps it was that I simply didn’t know any better. I’m not versed at being coy and demure. I didn’t know the proper niceties to say. I was just being myself.”

“No one ever instructed me to be myself,” Lottie said. “I was taught to be the daughter my parents expected, the ingenue society would greet with open arms, and the prospective wife that eligible men would want to marry. Being myself? I wouldn’t know how to start.”

The heavy skirt was lowered so Dora could step out of it. It was like stepping free from a lake where she’d had rocks tied to her waist.

Dora didn’t know how to respond to Lottie’s lack of confidence. How sad that what came naturally to Dora—what should have come naturally to any woman—had been squelched and bound into nonexistence.

“Here, now, let me help you get your hair undone,” Lottie said with a sigh.

Dora sat at the dressing table, and Lottie removed the pins and embellishments. Dora reached back and touched Lottie’s busy hand. “I’m sorry you didn’t have a good time tonight, but I can’t say I’m sorry
I
did. I want to thank you for the entire evening, the entire voyage. Without you I never would have experienced any of it.”

Lottie shrugged. “You’re welcome. And perhaps next time I’ll take your advice and try to let my true self shine through. Whatever that may be.”

Dora wished her friend full success—and wished herself more of the same.

Chapter Seven

Dora opened her eyes, hoping to remove herself from the awful rocking and lurching of her dream.

She saw Lottie at the cabin window, looking out upon the sea. Without warning, Lottie gripped the edge of the window to gain her balance. A bottle of perfume skittered across the top of the vanity nearby, teetered on its edge, then fell to the carpet.

The rolling was not in Dora’s dreams at all. The ship itself was swaying.

Lottie noticed she was awake. “We’re in a storm. A bad one from the looks of it.”

Suddenly it was as though the storm had moved from the outside to within. Dora lurched out of bed, grabbed the chamber pot, and gave up what was left of her dinner.

Lottie ran to her side, putting one hand upon her shoulders while the other gathered her hair away from her face.

When Dora was through, Lottie handed her a handkerchief. “Thank you.” Dora had never felt so embarrassed. “It must have been the rich food.”

“It’s not the food,” Lottie said, draping the chamber pot with a cloth and setting it by the door. “You’re seasick.”

“What’s that?”

“The rocking of the ship makes your insides unbalanced.”

That was exactly the way she felt. Lottie helped her back to the bed. Did it feel better to close her eyes? She wasn’t sure. “What time is it?”

“Nearly time for breakfast.”

Dora tried to get out of bed to get ready, but the dizziness forced her back to her pillows.

“You must stay in bed. When the time comes, I’ll have something brought to you.”

Dora realized the desire for food was not what propelled her to sitting. Before going to sleep last night, she’d thought a good deal about breakfast this morning—having nothing to do with the food but rather, the society. She thrilled at the idea of entering the dining room and being greeted by turned heads, smiles, and the good wishes from those who’d come to know her—and of her—last night at the ball. To miss that moment was nearly as excruciating as the churning in her stomach.

“Will you be all right while I’m gone?” Lottie asked.

Only then did Dora notice that Lottie was already dressed for the day. Lottie must have felt the intensity of her gaze, for she said, “Does my hair look awry? I tried to do the best I could on my own, but—”

“You look splendid,” Dora said. “I didn’t hear you get up, or get dressed, or …”

“You were worn out from the dance, no doubt.”

There was still a hint of jealousy in Lottie’s voice, but Dora was in no condition to counter it.

Lottie had her hand on the doorknob. “Will you be all right while I’m gone?”

Did she have a choice? “You might bring the pot closer, just in case.”

“Let me get it emptied first.” Lottie opened the door and Dora heard her flagging down a steward. She popped her head back in the cabin. “I’ve instructed him to knock and enter with the new pot. Be sure to ask him for anything else you need. I won’t be gone long.”

Dora fell back upon the pillows and closed her eyes. The bob and sway of the ship was disturbing, but perhaps if she likened it to the rocking of a cradle, she could find it soothing.

Or not.

A soft knock on the door was followed by the entrance of a steward. “For you, miss?”

Dora pulled the covers to her chin. “Over here, please.”

He averted his eyes and brought the pot close, setting it on the floor beside her bed. “Perhaps some tea, miss? Chamomile?”

“Tea would be nice. Thank you.”

He smiled and left her. The thought that he would return gave her comfort. It was disconcerting to be alone when she felt unwell.

While she waited she thought about Lottie entering the dining room and being seated at their table. Would people miss Dora? Ask after her? Or was she being prideful by imagining such a thing?

The ship road a swell and dove left, then right, and Dora reached for the chamber pot.

Unsuccessfully.

She was appalled by the mess she’d made and crawled from her bed to find a towel. She got on her hands and knees and mopped up as best she could.

Was there water in the pitcher and basin? She tried to stand in order to check, but the heaving of the ship brought her back to the pot.

At least this time she found it. When she was finished, she sat upon the floor and tried to lean against the bed, but the upright position was too much for her.

She fell onto her side and lay there, waiting for help—or death. She didn’t care which.

The dining room had scant attendance. As Lottie made her way across the room, taking hold of the backs of chairs along the way as the tip and sway of the room demanded, she noticed that of the usual diners at their table, four were missing.

“Well, well,” said Mr. Collins. “Miss Gleason, you must be commended for your resilience against the storm.”

“And hungry,” his wife added.

The waiter held her chair as she was seated. “Has the storm affected the others?” she asked, noting that every table had empty chairs.

“Yes, yes. Apparently many have given a reluctant offering to Neptune,” a banker from Philadelphia said. “Has Miss Connors succumbed?”

Lottie found his word choice humorous but did not smile. “She is a little under the weather.”

Mr. Collins laughed. “From the storm or her popularity at the ball last night?”

“I do enjoy seeing a young person truly enjoying herself,” Mrs. Collins said. She looked longingly at her husband. “It makes me remember my own youth.”

He patted her hand. “We were quite the pair in the Virginia reel, weren’t we, my darling?”

The thought of the corpulent couple dancing was not an easy image.

Lottie felt the touch of a hand upon her shoulder and turned to find Dr. Greenfield at her side.

“Good morning, Miss Gleason.” He nodded to the others at the table. “Ladies. Gentlemen.”

The others murmured their greetings, then turned their attention upon each other, giving Lottie and the doctor the impression of privacy.

“May I?” He indicated the seat beside her.

She gave her affirmation, and he sat down. “How are you this morning, Miss Gleason?”

“I’m well.”

He gazed around the room. “One of but a few, it seems.”

She suddenly realized he had accosted her because he was concerned about Dora. She knew she should make things easy for him and not make him ask, but the seed of envy that had been planted last evening spread roots and she offered no information.

He cleared his throat. “Is Miss Connors attending breakfast this morning?”

Lottie shook her head. “It appears her constitution is weak against the waves.”

He stood immediately. “I’ll go check on her, see if I may be of service.”

Lottie put a hand on his arm. “No, sir, I …”
What am I doing? Dora could use the assistance of a doctor.
But her lesser side won the battle. “She has been attended to. She’s resting now.”

He seemed appeased—though a bit disappointed. He took a fresh breath and said, “To her credit she created her own waves last night. Truly the belle of the ball.”

She didn’t look so belle-like throwing up in the chamber pot this morning.

Then Lottie got an idea. Perhaps she could usurp Dora’s position in her absence. “Would you care to join us at our table, Doctor? There is obviously room. We would be honored.”

He did not consider it long. “No, thank you. I must return to my dining partners.” He rose. “But perhaps I will see you in the music room later?”

Lottie gave in to the inevitable. “Perhaps Miss Connors will be able to join us.”

He beamed and offered a nod. “That would be wonderful. Please extend my sympathy on her discomfort and offer my services at any time. Tell her I wish her fine health in the near future.”

“Fine health and calm seas.”

He smiled and left them.

The others at the table had obviously heard every word and were quick to pull Lottie back into conversation. “It appears Dr. Greenfield is smitten,” the banker said.

His wife poked his arm. “That is not for us to discuss, my dear.”

“Well, then, whom shall we discuss?”

Mrs. Collins leaned forward, her eyes aglow. “Did you see Miss Connors dancing with the Duke of Hertfordshire? And then a member of Parliament, and—”

“A doctor, a lord, a duke, and a bevy of other gentlemen,” said her husband. “I believe she earned herself a full house.”

“At least,” the banker said. “Or four of a kind.”

The men laughed at their joke.

Lottie was not amused.

There was a light rap upon the door and someone entered. Dora didn’t have the energy to look up from the floor to see who it was.

She heard the clatter of a tray being set down, and then a young woman in a maid’s uniform came to her aid. “Oh, miss. Are you all right?”

“The rocking …”

“You ain’t the only one indisposed. ’Ere, let’s get you to bed agin.”

Dora let herself be helped; she welcomed it.

“There, now,” the maid said. “The steward said you were in need of some nourishment, but he didn’t tell me you were all out on the floor. He shoulda helped you.”

“He did help,” Dora said as the maid arranged the pillows so she could sit up in bed. “I … it … after he left …”

“Well, I’m ’ere now, and I’ve brought you somethin’ soothing.”

She retrieved the tray she had set aside during her hasty entrance. “There’s chamomile and I brought you some Carr’s crackers.”

Dora didn’t feel like eating. “I don’t think—”

“You must eat somethin’, miss, or you’ll be the worst for it when the drys come.”

Oh. Those. Dora had been that sick only once in her life and did
not
want to repeat the process. She nodded, spurring the maid to pour the tea. The girl had to stand with a wide stance in order to remain steady.