Dashing Through the Snow

Chapter 1

Penrose House, Berkeley Square, London

26th August, 1812

I cannot believe I’m actually going to do this. I must be mad, Katherine Woodville muttered as she let her friend Tessa Penrose adjust the fall of the ‘seafoam green’ satin skirt of her borrowed evening gown. "Bluestockings like me do not attend Grand Masquerades at Vauxhall Gardens. Especially not in dresses created by modistes."

Tessa glanced up and caught her gaze in the looking glass. I do understand, Kate. Really, I do. She straightened and tugged at the silver netting over the lightly puffed sleeves. You know I loathe social functions too. But there isn’t a reason in the world to stop you having a little fun. And fun is what you are bound to have, dressed the way you are. Just look at you. Tessa’s dark brown eyes glowed with warmth as she smiled. You look wonderful, my dear friend. This gown suits you very well indeed. Better than it would suit me. The green matches your eyes perfectly.

Kate grimaced. You are too kind. But it’s only because of your generosity that I’m presentable at all. She sighed as her gaze drifted over her reflection. Tessa’s maid had done a brilliant job of arranging her recalcitrant red hair into a style that was more becoming than her usual attempt at a no-nonsense bun. And the shimmering green gown was elegant and unlike anything she’d ever worn in her entire life.

But she couldn’t help dwelling on the fact she was a twenty-five-year-old school teacher accustomed to a life of genteel poverty. A woman with limited prospects. She knew where she belonged. And it wasn’t dancing in a couture gown at a Grand Masquerade even if it was a public event being held to celebrate the victories of the British army on the Peninsula. Despite her very fine trappings, she would feel like the proverbial fish out of water. If her brother, Freddie, hadn’t practically begged her to go tonight, she’d be tucked up in bed in her little room at Mrs. Brooke’s Academy for Young Ladies with a cup of tea and her latest purchase from Mrs. Marlowe’s Book Emporium.

Tessa, thank goodness, had not appeared to notice her heavy sigh as she’d turned away to retrieve the final pieces of her ensemble: a reticule, a matching fan, a pair of white satin gloves, and a lovely silver mask adorned with pale green feathers.

Despite her reluctance to attend the masquerade, tears sprang into Kate’s eyes as she donned the gloves and took the other items from her friend. Thank you, she said in a voice that was more than a little choked. I’m truly grateful for all your help. Even though I am not accustomed to events like this, I don’t want to disappoint Freddie. He deserves to be lauded for his service to King and country considering how badly he was wounded at Badajoz. And he deserves a companion who doesn’t look like a frumpish spinster. I wouldn’t want to embarrass him.

Tessa touched her arm. "You are not a frump and could never embarrass him or anyone for that matter, Katherine Woodville. You are a lovely, intelligent young woman. And I predict you are going to have a marvelous time. I want to hear all about it tomorrow. I shall seek you out at the academy after I finish teaching my art class."

Tessa was a gifted portrait artist and even though her brother, Christopher, was a viscount, she’d begun to take commissions and even conducted a weekly art tutorial at Mrs. Brooke’s well-to-do school. But such was her nature, she donated all the proceeds to a cause that was dear to Kate too—The Benevolent Society for the Women of Whitechapel. Indeed, Tessa was the sweetest, most generous soul Kate knew and she considered herself blessed to have such a wonderful friend. Summoning a smile she suspected was quite watery, Kate caught Tessa’s gaze in the mirror and said, Sharing the details is the least I can do. Now, she drew a deep breath, threw back her shoulders and lifted her chin, I think I’m ready.

Good. Let’s rescue Freddie from my brother before he plies him with too much brandy. Christopher can be wicked like that.

You forget Freddie was a military officer, Kate remarked as they departed Tessa’s bedroom and headed for the main stairs leading to the library of Penrose House. I’m sure he has, on occasion, imbibed brandy for breakfast. He’s probably leading your brother astray.

He does have a rather naughty twinkle in his eye, doesn’t he? observed Tessa.

Kate felt Freddie squeeze her gloved hand as their hired hackney inched along Kennington Lane toward the main entrance to Vauxhall Gardens. He’d obviously noticed her sharp intake of breath when she’d seen a dark haired woman in a purple mask almost knocked to the ground by the crush of people on the walkway; thank heavens she’d been caught in time by a tall man in a flowing black cape.

I will look after you, Katie, Freddie said with a reassuring smile. I know you’re nervous about tonight but I think it will do you good to get out and about. He gave her a mischievous grin. You never, know, you might meet a very eligible gentleman so you can resign from that thankless teaching position of yours. God knows, we deserve some good fortune considering old Uncle Harold probably won’t fall off his perch any time soon.

Freddie! Kate swatted her brother’s arm with her closed fan. You must not say things like that. We owe everything we have to him. Our education. Your commission. Harold Woodville, Baron Rookhope was their deceased father’s older brother and Freddie was next in line for the title.

True, but I’ve seen enough active service to last a lifetime. I’m glad that I’ve resigned my commission, but I’m not sure if I’m ready to rusticate in Cumbria with Uncle Harold just yet. And you, my lovely sister, are wasting away at that ladies’ academy. We both deserve better than ... Well, better than we’ve had before— Freddie broke off and looked out the window; a muscle ticked in his lean jaw and Kate knew he was trying to hide his pain, both mental and physical.

Freddie’s regiment, the Second Battalion, Fifty-Second Regiment of Foot, had been sent back to England after the bloody Battle of Badajoz in April. He was reluctant to talk about what had happened, but Kate had heard thousands of soldiers and officers had been killed, and many British troops had engaged in conduct unbecoming after the battle. Even though Lord Wellington had won a decisive victory at Salamanca against the French at the beginning of the month and the tide in the Peninsular War seemed to be turning at long last, Kate was not sorry at all that Freddie wouldn’t be returning to active duty.

"I won’t disagree that you deserve better, she murmured at length. How is your shoulder by the way? I know it still bothers you considerably no matter how much you try to hide it."

Freddie turned back to her and gave her a rueful smile. I’ll live. It certainly won’t stop me from dancing this evening. But what about you? Will you dance? He raised an eyebrow. I’ve been meaning to mention you look gorgeous in that new gown. I’m sure you’ll have any number of noble gentlemen flocking around you, begging you to spare them a crumb of your attention.

Well played, Freddie. Her brother had become adept at avoiding conversations about his injury. Shrapnel had torn his left shoulder to pieces and although he’d healed on the surface, he had limited movement in his left arm and ongoing pain and stiffness.

Rather than press the point and cause any disharmony, Kate decided to follow his lead by changing the subject. Pish. I doubt that. Besides, why would I want to attract a nobleman or any man’s attention for that matter? It’s not as if I ever intend to marry. And I certainly wouldn’t marry anyone just because of his position in society or how much wealth he possesses. I like my independence. She didn’t need to add that she didn’t want to be like their mother who’d had her head turned by the rakish younger brother of a baron. A man who’d turned out to be a bounder of the worst kind and had wasted most of his fortune at the gaming tables. She’d make her own way in life, thank you very much.

You’re the niece of a baron, and any man would be lucky to have you as a wife, Katherine Woodville, asserted Freddie with a proud lift of his square jaw.

Kate’s mouth twisted with cynical mirth. Yes, because a headstrong bluestocking like me is exactly what most men want.

You’d be surprised. Not all men wish to wed giggling ninnyhammers or fragile creatures as spiritless as Dresden figurines.

The carriage drew to a halt and Kate refrained from making further comment as she and Freddie both donned their masks. She wanted Freddie to enjoy tonight even though she continued to have significant reservations about the masquerade.

Her brother handed her down from the carriage, and after she took his proffered arm, he deftly escorted her through the throng of well-heeled merry-makers on the path. Despite the crush, Kate could smell the dank waters of the Thames on the cool night air. She’d been to Vauxhall years before with Freddie and their mother to see the gardens; perhaps she’d been ten years old. It had been a spring day—fine but cold as she’d shivered in her threadbare gown, worn slippers and patched coat—but the sight of the daffodils and bluebells in bloom had warmed her. They hadn’t stayed for the supper or the fireworks, or