Masquerade (17 page)

“But
then
what of your parents?”

With a quick shake of her head the question was dismissed. “We’ll deal with that when or if the time comes.” She took Dora’s hands in hers. “Come on, Dora. This is perfect. We’ll each gain our own adventures and find happiness.”

“Or not.”

Lottie tossed Dora’s hands away. “You
will
think about it.”

It was not a question. “Yes, of course, but—”

Lottie showed Dora her back. “Help me off with this. I want to get to bed. We have a lot to do in the few days before we land. A lot to plan.”

Oh dear.

Sleep eluded her.

It was hard for Dora to comprehend the journey she’d taken. It had nothing to do with miles of ocean, but with the distance she’d traveled between being a lowly maid to having the chance to marry one of the wealthiest men in America. Along the way she’d dipped her toe into a refreshing pool of romance with Dr. Greenfield… .

Was Lottie correct in stating that she had no future with the good doctor? Unfortunately, Lottie’s reasoning made sense. Once they reached New York, Dora would not be Lottie’s equal, but her companion—her lesser companion. As the former physician to the queen, Dr. Greenfield would have nothing to do with her—whether he wished to or not. Society would not allow it.

An old hymn started playing in Dora’s head.
The rich man in his castle, the poor man at his gate, God made them, high or lowly, and ordered their estate… .

There was an order to things. If she wasn’t good enough for Dr. Greenfield, how could she ever be good enough for Conrad Tremaine?

But I wouldn’t be Dora Connors. I’d be Charlotte Gleason.

Her head ached from the clash of what could never be with what could, perhaps, maybe … She could never be Mrs. Edmund Greenfield, but she might be able to be Mrs. Conrad Tremaine.

If she could pull it off. If the moon and the stars aligned—and if God approved.

What did the Almighty think of this plan?

Thou shalt not lie.

The string of lies that had brought them this far was crooked and unwieldy and had started with Lottie’s father. As Lottie had stated, his actions were the cause of their current situation. Would it be so horrible for Lottie to find her happiness beyond the scope of her father’s plan, and for Dora to grab hold of this chance in her stead?

Dora wouldn’t be the only one to benefit. If all went well, her mother could put an end to her life of servitude and find happiness running her own shop. Her mother had lost a husband and three children and had worked eighteen hours a day her entire life. Didn’t she deserve a chance to be happy?

Wasn’t it Dora’s duty to try to provide her with that chance?

What about Conrad? What about the Tremaines? What have they ever done to be the recipients of such deceit?

Lottie’s voice interrupted the darkness, and her thoughts. “Are you awake?”

“Of course.”

“You can do this, you know.”

Dora had said the very same words in the dark just a few days previous. She answered now as Lottie had answered then. “I know.”

And with those two words, Dora shut away her doubts, her fears, and her conscience.

I can do this.

She had to try.

Chapter Eight

Lottie closed the lid on the last trunk. “There,” she said. “I hereby bequeath to you these lovely clothes. May you wear them well.” In spite of her bravado, she felt a stitch in her stomach. To leave these gowns with someone else …

Dora glanced at the much smaller trunk. “Are you sure you only want to take a few?”

No. Lottie was not sure. But she felt ill at ease presuming upon the hospitality of Dora’s cousin with a bevy of luggage. Yet to make sure they did connect, Lottie had sent a telegram announcing her upcoming arrival. She prayed everything would fall into place.

In their final days on board, as Lottie expected, Dora had relinquished her impossible dream of pursuing a relationship with Dr. Greenfield and had agreed to
become
Charlotte Gleason. Once the decision was made, Lottie inundated her with the finer points of being a lady while coming up with her own plan. Once in New York, Lottie’s first task would be to sell her jewels. With that accomplished, she would have money to live on.

As if reading her thoughts, Dora said, “I’m sad you’re going to sell your good jewelry. You could also have these costume sets we’ve been wearing. I don’t need to wear jewels of any sort.”

“You most certainly do,” Lottie said. “You can’t wear my gowns without them or the Tremaines will think less of you. Until Conrad gives you presents of your own, you must wear the lesser jewels proudly. Remember, what they don’t know, you don’t have to tell.” She stood erect, her chin held high. “It’s all a matter of carriage, Dora. Act regal and people will perceive you as such.”

Dora mirrored Lottie’s posture but soon wavered into her normal unassuming stance. “I’ll be on pins and needles the entire time. In spite of your patient teaching, I don’t know what I’m doing. This isn’t going to work.”

“It will work.” Lottie was not as confident as she portrayed. “Take heart, Dora. Your path is more certain than my own. You have a vocation to fall back on. I have no skills other than how to do needlework, play the piano, sing in a manner so as not to make listeners cringe, and read aloud with a certain flair. These menial talents are of little use to the world beyond the drawing room.”

Yet Lottie felt good about making this decision. It was her one big chance. In her parents’ house her opinions had counted for little. Although she’d spent a lifetime with every material whim met, her opinion on matters of the heart, mind, and soul had either been ignored, discarded, or cut off like a bothersome smoking wick. Once she landed in America, she would have to rely upon herself alone.

Sink or swim.

Amid all Lottie’s bravado came the undeniable knowledge that her own worth had never been measured by anything she thought or achieved, but was mired in who she was according to society—a society that had proved to be dishearteningly fickle. What worth would she have in New York—away from the upper-crust life?

Dora put on a hat, securing it with a long pin. “I suppose I have little to lose. If I don’t do this, I will always wonder what might have been.”

“Precisely,” Lottie said.

“And if we’re totally wrong … I suppose God will forgive us and set us right again.”

Lottie didn’t like the sound of that.

There was a knock on the cabin door. The porters had come for the luggage. Lottie took charge. “Here they are. The trunks are ready to go.”

As the porters left, a ship’s officer knocked on the opened door. As soon as he saw Dora, he nodded a greeting. “Miss Connors. I trust your voyage was enjoyable?”

“You have all been most hospitable.”

Lottie didn’t like being ignored, especially since the purser was holding her box of jewels brought from the safe. “If you don’t mind?” she asked.

He blushed at the sight of her, obviously realizing his faux pas. “Yes. Indeed. Miss Gleason. Here are your belongings, safe and sound.”

She took them, feeling better for having the leather box in her possession.

He turned to leave. “I hope you have a pleasant stay in New York, ladies.”

“Thank you, we—”

“I had a pleasant voyage too,” Lottie said. “If you’re interested.”

His face reddened even more and he touched the tip of his hat and left them.

“Lottie, that was rude.”

“Was it polite for him to ignore me and fawn over you?”

“He knew me. I’d met him. It was not a slight against—”

She was done with it. “Enough. Let’s go on deck to watch the city rise before us.”

“Hello, ladies.” Lottie and Dora turned to see Dr. Greenfield coming up beside them at the rail.

“Good morning, Doctor,” Lottie said.

Dora nodded a greeting, feeling her cheeks grow hot.

He looked directly at her. “I’ve missed spending much time with you these past few days.”

“She’s been busy with the details of our arrival,” Lottie said. “
We’ve
been busy.”

“How unfortunate. For now we arrive.”

In a few hours this man would be gone, absorbed into the population of America. The thought made Dora incredibly sad.

“What are your plans in New York, Doctor?” Lottie asked. “You have been the physician to royalty. There is no royalty here.”

He laughed. “Although Americans acknowledge titles, in truth they think them a novelty, an endearment of sorts. They consider titles …” He searched for the word. “Amusing.”

“Perhaps they’re jealous,” Lottie said.

“Perhaps,” he said. “Yet they did have the chance to create a monarchy. That they chose this other way …”

“They are stuck with it now,” Lottie said.

He chuckled. “But to answer your question, royals or no royals, I’ve been bitten by the American bug. I’m going to join a practice here. My cousin is a doctor and well established. He offered me a position a few months ago, and I … I’m taking the plunge. It’s quite exciting to start over.”

“Yes, quite.” It was the first time Dora had spoken, and her words were full of inner meaning. She gazed over the harbor that stood before them. The buildings of New York City stood shoulder to shoulder like children vying for the best view. And they on the ship followed suit and stood at the railing, awaiting a formal introduction. Or a harsh rejection?

“What is that, on that island?” Lottie asked, pointing ahead.

“That, dear ladies, is Lady Liberty. ’Tis a gift from France, just completed. They built the entire statue in a workroom in Paris, dismantled it, and reassembled it here.”

It seemed odd to have one country give another country such a gift. “But why?” Lottie asked.

“To celebrate the friendship the French and Americans began during their revolution. Their revolution against us,” he said.

“As a British citizen, I feel rather left out,” Lottie said.

He laughed again. “The Americans owe much to the French. Without their help we would be landing in one of our very own colonies.”

Dora leaned forward and looked at the lower decks that were lined with hundreds of people, entire families, coming to America with the highest hopes.

As was she.