Masquerade by Nancy Moser Page B

she’d always embraced an element of distance. Friends or no, Lottie had been the mistress and Dora the maid. But here on board the ship she was to treat Dora as an equal. Could she do that?
    Dora interrupted her thoughts and looked at Lottie with a full smile upon her lips. “Seeing all these people … we must get it in our heads we are not fleeing from something but flying to something. Something better.”
    Lottie nodded and turned her gaze skyward. The sight of the clouds moving to the east as the ship moved west accentuated their departure.
    God help me.
    God help us.

    Dora’s stomach danced in a most uncomfortable manner as they neared the dining room for the evening meal. This was her first real test of being a lady.
    “Don’t hold on so tightly,” Lottie whispered.
    Dora eased her grip on Lottie’s arm.
    “Remember: polite, prompt, pretty, and proper.”
    Dora was more concerned about not tripping over her train, or spilling soup down her front, or saying something inane.
    There was a parade of couples heading to the dining room, the men in tailcoats and bow ties and the women in elegant off-the-shoulder gowns, layered with drapery, lace, beading, and fringe.
    The decorative layers fascinated Dora, but the layers beneath thegowns fascinated her even more. As a maid she’d worn a corset and a petticoat, but to wear the layers and weight of the undergarments that fine ladies endured was beyond cumbersome. It was ironic how women cinched in their waists to portray a thin silhouette when they could appear even slimmer if only they would remove some of the layers between skin and gown.
    And the dresses themselves … Dora’s was made of sky-blue satin and brocade, with an overlay of ecru lace ruffled at the bodice and floor. She had no idea how many yards of fabric were used to make the bustle, train, and drapery, or how many different beads or measures of trim decorated her dress, but the result was stunning.
    And heavy. Dora felt as if she were dragging several sacks of flour or grain behind her, or perhaps a good-sized child had become a stowaway on board her train, taking a ride.
    By her own right, Lottie looked stunning in her gown of sage green, and their chokers made of rhinestones still managed to glisten under the gaslights.
    There it was. The dining room.
    Two liveried footmen stood stoic beside the double doors as the wealthy and important passed by. Were any of these grand people a pretender like Dora?
    If so, she wouldn’t guess it. Everyone seemed to know what they were doing and what they should be saying, and they seemed to be confident in the effect they created by merely being .
    The dining room itself made her gasp. It was two stories in height, with a balcony rimming the room. Columns edged in gold filigree held up a coffered ceiling that was crowned by a stained-glass dome.
    “Where is our table?” she asked Lottie. She’d feel more at ease seated. She eyed the place settings, checking to make sure she knew the specified use of each fork and knife as Lottie had taught her.
    “Table seven. We’ll find it—eventually.” Lottie offered soft greetings to those they passed. “The rich never hurry, Dora, nor let on that they are hungry, thirsty, or need to sit. Now is the time to see and be seen.”
    Upon further observation that was exactly what was happening. Diners stood about the room in small groups of four or six, making introductions and chatting with the ease of like acknowledging like. No one appeared out of place or nervous. All portrayed a confidence that was both reassuring and presumptuous. Absent was all hint of fear. Apparently that sentiment was Dora’s alone.
    A middle-aged gentleman with a woman on his arm approached, and Dora tried to restrain her urge to flee. Lottie took a step toward them, her face open and inviting.
    “Good evening, ladies,” said the man.
    “Good evening,” Lottie said. She dipped her head slightly, and Dora followed suit.
    “Let me introduce