Free The reluctant cavalier by Karen Harbaugh Page A

again, climbed out, and picked up a towel he'd brought with him. Parsifal shivered in the chill air and hastily dried himself, then seized his clothes. As he pulled on his breeches, he noted for the first time that they were beginning to fray at the knees, and he grimaced. His clothes were made for comfort, not for gadding about in society. He liked them and felt very much himself in them, not as he did in the stiff formal clothes he was forced to wear when going to parties or balls. He felt gauche in fashionable clothes and very . . . exposed, was the best word for it. As soon as he put on a neckcloth and confining waistcoat, he felt a stiffness come over him, as if he were slowly turning into a waxwork. It was always thus when he felt impelled to go to some society function.
    Or, no, not always. Parsifal's hands stilled for a moment in tying his hair back into a queue. He'd felt no real awkwardness at the masquerade ball to which he'd gone the other night. Oh, he had at first. But it had quickly faded, and he had felt— He frowned. He did not know what he had felt, exactly. As if he were himself, yet not himself. That evening he'd come to be as comfortable in his Cavalier costume as he was in his gardening clothes, though he was not conscious of it then. He had moved easily in the costume, danced with greater skill than he normally would—naturally, as if he were moving through his gardens instead of a room full of people.
    Parsifal did not run back to the house, as he sometimes liked to do, but walked slowly, pondering. Yes, he had felt very much himself then, until... until he had rescued Miss Smith from Sir Quentin's assault, and later, when he had ridden madly at the highwayman. He shuddered. Certainly he had not felt much like himself then! A hot eagerness had overcome him, impelling him into action.
    Perhaps there was something in wearing a costume that made one act differently from the way one would normally act. Parsifal smiled and breathed a sigh of relief, and his steps quickened. There, that must be it. He needed only think of actors, after all. Did they not wear costumes, and act differently than they did when they did not wear them? And did they not change characters with each costume? No doubt something similar had happened to him. Perhaps the simple wearing of a costume, pretending to be someone else changed one somehow.
    A slight uneasiness prickled the back of his neck, but he shrugged it away. It had not changed him permanently, of course. The Cavalier was a made-up thing, and Parsifal felt no urge to rescue fair maidens or travelers from villains at this moment. Indeed, he'd been shocked at his own actions afterward. There was no reason to think he would do anything so impulsive the next time he put on the Cavalier costume.
    An eagerness rose in him at the thought. Perhaps going to another masquerade would help him feel more easy in company. Perhaps if he practiced going into society under the guise of someone else, he'd feel less awkward someday without it.
    Parsifal laughed softly and began to whistle again. Regardless, it would enable him to meet Miss Smith once more, perhaps even speak as easily with her as he did for the short while they were in the Bowerlands' gallery. That would be a good thing, certainly!
    He remembered suddenly that his mother had promised Caroline a masquerade within a month's time. He had tried to forget it, as he tried to forget—and avoid—most social functions his family arranged. Perhaps he would go to this one, briefly, and see if he felt as confident there as he had at the Laughtons' masquerade.
    A bird sang above him, and Parsifal lifted his hand to shade his eyes from the sun, now much higher above the horizon. He watched the bird's flight until he could see no more of it than a speck in the sky. For once he felt more free than he'd felt before, as free as he'd imagined he'd like to be when he was a child, after hearing the stories of brave knights his nurse told him