Free Masquerade by Nancy Moser Page A

been good to me, Barney. I’m not being fancy or putting on airs by learning from them. Given the opportunity, I took it. And I care for you, I truly do. You are a good and able man, and I’m sorry matters are taking me away from you, from this town, from this country.”
    “Not that sorry,” he said.
    She drew him back into the entryway, and with him close again, she put both hands upon his. “I had no plans to hurt you, and it grieves me to do exactly that. But I have to take this chance in America, Barney. I must.”
    “Oh, I’ve ’eard it all right. Streets paved with gold. ’Tis just talk, Dora.”
    Was it? She’d heard amazing tales. “I go with my eyes open—as much as they can be. And truth be, I’m not just going for Lottie. I’m going for me.”
    “Leavin’ me’s more like it.”
    There was no way around it. She put a hand upon his cheek. “Leaving you is my one regret.”
    “Then don’t—”
    “I must. Until now I’ve risked little. I’ve never been given such an opportunity. That’s why I go. To be brave and step forward on faith.”
    He put his own hand over hers and looked deep into her eyes.
    “You’ll write to me,” he said. Asked.
    She could only nod, even though she knew she would do no such thing.
    He lifted her chin with a beefy finger. “I jus’ want you safe and happy, Dora. Be that for me, eh?”
    She leaned her head against his chest, closed her eyes, and tried to burn this moment into her memories. Was she making the biggest mistake of her life?
    Unfortunately, by the time she knew, it would be too late.

Chapter Five

    Lottie gazed at her bedroom—the room she’d never see again.
    The carriage waited outside. Her parents waited. Dora waited.
    “What am I doing?” she whispered.
    The room which had been privy to every private moment of her life offered no answers.
    Everything was falling into place in a way that made Lottie think this trip to America was meant to be. Yet she resisted the notion. Although she was ecstatic about having Dora accompany her to New York, the events that were supposed to transpire once they arrived made her enthusiasm wane. But that was a worry for another day. Today she was leaving home—a home she loved. Lottie had never lived in a city, and her family’s yearly treks to London for the social season always left her longing for the serenity of the Wiltshire countryside, where she could find solitude and escape into a good novel. She would miss this place horribly.
    She wouldn’t miss the people beyond her family. It surprised her how little regret she had in leaving Rodney Barrister, Gilbert Collins, Suzanna Weaver, and the rest of their crowd. And yes, even the thought of never seeing Ralph Smythe and his evil Edith elicited no sorrow. Let them all rot in their cruel snobbery. If she had her way, their names would never cross her thoughts again.
    Lottie looked out the window at the carriage below. Dora was overseeing the trunks being tied to the back.
    Dora had proven to be an apt pupil. The fact that she’d lived with a family of society for so long had been of great benefit. There was no lower-class accent to overcome, and Dora had witnessed and absorbed most of the peculiarities of etiquette. She was also knowledgeable about a lady’s attire and the proper time and place to wear each gown, each glove, each bonnet.
    Dora had embraced her new ladyhood with aplomb. Lottie had been less successful in accepting the notion of her own situation and upcoming marriage to Conrad. Despite her desire to appease her mother—which had oddly lessened as her mother’s health improved— she still wished to marry for love, not convenience. But was she judging Conrad Tremaine too harshly? Many men weren’t eloquent in their letters. She had judged him solely by the pen.
    I want to be free and independent.
    She’d read a poem that offered the boast that America was the land of the free, the home of the brave. Lottie hoped some of its intrinsic