Free Masquerade by Nancy Moser

conferred with the owner of the shop. With a wink, the owner nodded, setting Barney free.
    He came round the counter, removing his awful apron along the way. “I’m so glad to see you. I missed you the last time I came deliverin’. Mrs. Movery wouldn’t e’en call you down. That cow. I—”
    She took his hand and pulled him out of the shop. On the street she let go but led him past a milliner’s, to the covered stoop of a vacant shop. As soon as she stopped, he grinned and leaned closer, pushing her against the stone wall. “Oh, I get it. You wants to be alone.”
    She shoved him away. “Stop it! I need to talk to you.”
    He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Fine. Talk.”
    There was no good way to say it. “I’m going to America with Miss Charlotte.”
    He blinked. “America. Why America?”
    “She’s getting married.”
    “Ain’t none of the dandies round here good ’nuf for ’er?”
    “ ’ Tisn’t a question of good enough, ’tis—”
    He nodded knowingly. “ ’ Tis a question of money. And the sticky wicket Sir Thomas got himself into. I’ve ’eard the talk.”
    Dora ignored the infidelity issue. “It’s always a question of money, Barney.” Although she and Barney were not officially engaged, they had spoken about Barney’s means of supporting her and the family that would surely follow.
    He kicked a pebble out of the doorway. “So once she marries, you’ll be comin’ back, eh?”
    Seeing him look so hopeful she nearly told him to forget everything she’d said. They’d known each other for years. He was a good man and a hard worker, and more than that, he had feelings for her—he’d said as much.
    But did she love him? She cared about him, but love … She remembered Lottie’s desire to find a man who would make her swoon. Did Barney—?
    “Dora, you didn’t answer me. You are comin’ back, ain’t ya?”
    Was she? Even if Lottie decided not to marry Conrad, Dora couldn’t imagine either of them coming back to Wiltshire. What was here for them? Disgrace? Shame? Complications?
    Until this moment, Dora had never thought through the full implications of their trip abroad. Unless something changed drastically, it was a one-way journey.
    She grabbed a fresh breath and looked at him straight on. He deserved that much. “No. I’m not coming back. I’m sorry, Barney.”
    He stepped away onto the sidewalk, nearly colliding with a man carrying a bushel of apples. His whole body, which usually brimmed with life and strength, seemed to deflate. “Yer leaving me?”
    “I … I have to go with Lottie. With her mother sick and unable to go … she needs me.” As soon as she said the words, she wanted to take them back.
    Anger filled him up again and he stood tall, his chin strong. “And I don’t?” At first it was a question, but then he repeated it as a declaration. “And I don’t.” He pointed a finger at her. “I don’t need you, Dora Connors. There’s plenty o’ women who’d love to marry me.”
    What was she doing? What was she giving up? Dora was going to America to fulfill Lottie’s future. But what about her own? “I know there are other women who admire you and consider you—”
    “Why did I waste me bloomin’ time waitin’ for you, anyways? I shoulda known better. You and your fancy ways and proper talkin’. The Gleasons ’ave done you no favors making you think yourself better than the rest of us clods.”
    Dora was stung by his bitterness. She knew he would regret it, and she didn’t want him burdened with wishing he could take it back. She would have enough regret for both of them. For within his bitterness lay the truth. Dora had thought of herself as a step above the other laborers in Lacock. She’d held few illusions that she would ever marry above her station, but she had taken satisfaction in educating herself, in being more than they.
    She put a hand upon his arm, and though he tried to shake it away, she held strong. “The Gleasons have