Familial Deceptions

Marie watched out of the corner of her eye as Lord Foxham sauntered through the streets, his entourage following him dutifully. He looked remarkably interested in the fresh bread that a baker was putting out on the racks of his stall. He turned in her direction, and they locked eyes. She knew exactly where he was headed. 

He stopped three paces away from her. “At it again, I see.”

She curtsied, bowing her head, but her eyes flicked back up to his. “Please, my lord, I do not know of what you speak.”

He did not smile. “So says every damsel accused of this crime.”

“My lord, I—” She glanced around, self conscious about the attention their conversation was gaining from the surrounding village folk. “I had no idea that visiting the market was a crime.”

“Aye, if that were all that you were doing, t’would not be a crime in itself.”

“My lord, I am doing nothing else that can be proved of me. Will you not take a woman at her word?”

“I am afraid that is precisely the issue. You are a woman, and therefore your word means nothing.”

“I beg your pardon!” Her raised voice drew even more spectators. 

“I beg your pardon my lord,” he corrected. 

She ground her teeth, glaring at him, but obeyed. “I beg your pardon, my lord.”

“I do not need to explain my reasoning to you. Suffice it to say that my status, not to mention my gender, elevate me above you enough to place you under arrest.”

“My lord—“

“You would not wish to add to your crimes by resisting the law, would you, wench?”

She lowered her head. “No, my lord.” 

“Follow me.” 

The crowd watched, only some pretending to continue their work, while he led her to his coach, parked across the market. They murmured when he motioned her to get in. Was he perhaps a gentleman, even after the display they had all witnessed? Then he stepped in afterwards. The women gasped and the men shook their heads. No, he was not a gentleman after all. 

Marie settled into the cushioned seat of the coach, arranging her skirts, assuming a dignity that fit her quite comfortably. The footman shut the door and made his way to the horses. Lord Foxham sat straight and tall, in quite the opposite corner. They maintained their silence until the hardened street under the carriage wheels was exchanged for the uneven ruts of a country road, then dissolved into fits of laughter.

“I do believe,” wheezed Marie, “It gets better every time.”

Lord Foxham slapped his knee. “This tour has been such a success. Mother will not understand in the slightest when all the eligible maidens disdain me at the ball.”

“Yes, no matter how polite and well-mannered and complimentary you appear to be, they will not trust a word you say. Oh, Mother’s face will be priceless.” 

They both sighed with complete contentment. 

“Where are we heading now?” She asked. 

“I believe…” He reached into the parcel behind him and drew out a sheet of vellum. “We’re supposed to stay the night with Lord and Lady Wilby in Guttenshire yet, then back to the manor.”

“Oh.” She slouched a little. “Well, it was a lot of fun. How easily do you think my governess is going to buy my story that I’ve been studying while you were out making scenes with the ladies?” 

“Well, you just tell her that you’ve been studying the stage, meeting personally with those in charge to learn their techniques.”

“Of course, because the stage is such an honourable profession.”

“What? You got into this whole nefarious scheme without thinking through your answer? Of course, you are going to tell your governess that you have learned from them how to manage so many people with positive results, which will be infinity helpful when you are married and have to manage a large household. And if she needs more, you can tell her that you have also picked up tips from them about the painting of your face, which will help you with attracting any man you wish.”

“Yes, that is wonderful. What would I do without you?” He ruffled her hair. She swatted his hand away. “You know that I don’t like you doing that!”

“It’s not even your real hair. What’s the big deal?”

“That’s exactly the big deal.” She took off the wig and combed it out with her fingers. “Well, you owe me now, don’t you?”

“For what? messing up your hair?”

“No, for this whole play I’ve been doing for you just so all the girls hate you so that Mother can’t object when you tell her you want to marry Rosie.” 

“Oh yes, that.”

“Yeah… so I’ve been thinking.”

“Oh?”

“Well, I haven’t decided yet. But you owe me.” 

“Think it out well, little sister.” 

“I shall, big brother, with all of the wisdom that has come in reach of me.” 

They burst out into laughter again at the uprightness of their speech. Then Marie sighed. “Can you put up the curtain? I’ve got to get back into myself.” 

Lord Foxham obeyed his sister and strung up the dark sheet, then listened with patience to Marie’s struggles with petticoats and corsets and thank goodness people expected travelling to take a toll on even the richest of young ladies. Soon both of them were reclining in their seats, dressed as befitted their stations and prepared to face stuffy society for yet another evening. 

The footman opened the door and allowed Lord Foxham to step out, then held out a hand to help Marie. She followed her brother into another grand manor. They were presented to Lord and Lady Wilby along with their children. The oldest boy, who looked about a year older than herself, made a snide comment and dropped his eyes down the length of her gown. Marie pretended to take no notice, but inwardly she only smiled. She knew how her brother could begin to repay her.