A Lady in Disguise

“Jilted! My daughter! How dare that... if he thinks he’s going to get away with... jilted!”

“Not jilted, Father,” Lillian said when Mr. Canfield was forced to take a breath. “Lord Reyne and I simply agreed we did not suit.”

“Put a good face on it, my girl. By tomorrow, everyone will know he’s thrown you over for that East chit.” This was by no means the first time he’d brought up this point during their conversation. When she’d come to him an hour ago to tell him her engagement was at an end, he’d been rendered almost speechless. The first words from his lips had been, “My God, what will the
ton
say?”

Lillian continued, “I’m very fond of Sarah. She and Alaric should find a life of perfect bliss together. I could never have made him half so happy.”

“Happy! You’re Jacob Canfield’s daughter. I’ve settled four thousand a year on you in your own right. How much more happiness does a fellow need?”

Her father could never understand her dream of marrying only a man for whom she could feel true affection. She’d given up trying to explain. He thought that any male with a decently respectable title was all any young woman could ask for. He’d done everything he could to bring Lord Reyne and Lillian together, even announcing the date of their wedding without consulting either of them.

All the same, Lillian did not blame her father for the termination of her engagement. There had never been even the possibility for anything but mutual respect between her and Alaric, Earl of Reyne. For Lillian, that had not been enough.

“Perhaps there is something wrong with me,” she murmured.

“Eh? What? What did you say?”

“Nothing, Father. It doesn’t matter.”

“Oh, no, it doesn’t matter to you! You don’t foot the bills. That last evening dress you bought cost...”

Lillian had inherited more than dark eyes and hair from her father. She’d also received a goodly portion of his temper. Always, she struggled to keep it under control by taking a moment to repeat a psalm silently before speaking. But not all the psalm murmuring in the world would keep her silent now. It had already been a very trying day. “If I am too great an expense to you,” Lillian said, “perhaps it would be best if I retired to the country house for a time.”

“Aye, cower away! No decent man of rank will look at another’s leavings. The nobility’s fussy that way. All the money I’ve spent to make you a fitting bride for a duke or earl! I might just have hurled it into the fire. If you don’t get carried off by some fortune hunter, you’ll most likely marry some jumped-up tradesman’s son.”

“Then I will at least have kept to my class.”

At that, her father began almost to gibber. He hated to be reminded that he’d gotten his start behind a draper’s counter before heading off to India to make his fortune.

Lillian stood up. “I think,” she said, “that I should accept Lady Pritchard’s standing invitation to visit her home in Rochester. You recall my old school friend, I’m sure. I have no wish to be a burden to you, Father.”

“Perhaps you’re right. We can put it about that it’s a long-arranged visit. Yes, yes, a clever notion that. Give the
ton
time to forget.” The tall nabob patted his daughter’s cheek awkwardly. “Perhaps it’s my fault for taking you off to the East when you were seventeen. We should have come back in time for your come-out. I didn’t realize my business would take three years. I should have sent you home.”

“No, Father. I loved India. We should go back someday.”

With a flash of renewed anger, Mr. Canfield said, “And then two years fending off the worse sort of shabsters and ... you can’t say I haven’t tried to find you a worthwhile husband! And the finest of the crop you have to whistle down the wind!”

“Believe me, Father, I appreciate all you have done. But it is best that I do not marry Lord Reyne. He loves Sarah, not me.”

* * * *

The end of the Season, two or three weeks distant, could not arrive quickly enough for Lillian. Though she made it abundantly clear that the end of her engagement to Lord Reyne had been amicable on both sides, she still had to meet stares, whispers, and impertinent questions everywhere she went. Lillian left London as soon as she decently could.

Lady Paulina Pritchard was a wealthy widow for all she was only twenty-six. She had married an elderly baron immediately upon leaving school at eighteen. Though she and Lillian had shared little in common while attending the same school, as they were four years apart in age, they’d met again when Lillian first appeared as goods on the marriage mart. Lord Pritchard himself had died at the end of 1807, and Lillian had paid several visits to her bereaved friend who was living so quietly in Kent.

“My dear, dear Lillian! Such a surprise! But how did you know I wanted you? This old house is so dreadfully boring without friends.”

“You have no one visiting you then?” Lillian asked, after being embraced in welcome.

“No, not a soul. Well, there are those tedious Garnet girls and their mother. And Lord and Lady Winchell. As well as Mr. and Mrs. Mackesy. Honorables, you know. But other than them, not a soul. No one I can really talk to! Nobody sympathetic!” Paulina gave a great sigh and threw herself into an armchair in a welter of lace and blue muslin.

Stripping off the gloves and gypsy hat in which she’d traveled down from London, Lillian said, “Why, what’s amiss?”

“Thorpe’s hiding something from me.... I can feel it!”

Lillian was accustomed to Paulina’s theatrics and so did not gasp with horror. Opening her carriage robe, she sat down opposite Paulina and said, “Who is Thorpe?”

“Surely, I told you... oh, perhaps not. We met three months ago, at the Duke of Grantor’s house. From the moment I looked into his eyes, I knew that this was the man who could replace dear Pritchard in my lonely life.” Paulina shook back her head, the cropped red curls bouncing. “I know he felt the same. We had only two blessed weeks before he was suddenly called home, but I know had it been longer I would be planning my wedding now. That reminds me, how soon will you and dear Alaric be married?”

“We shan’t be getting married. Didn’t you see the statement in the
Gazette?”

“No. Oh, that’s too bad. But about Thorpe... the entire time we were together, his preference for my company was deeply marked. We agreed that I should come at once for a visit, but every time I mention it in one of my letters, he sends back an evasive answer. I know he is keeping something from me. Perhaps something scandalous!”

“Perhaps it isn’t a convenient time for him. What does he do?”

“Do?” Paulina asked blankly.

“Yes. Is he a lord, a farmer, a... a tinker? How does he occupy himself?”

Paulina laughed sparklingly. “Oh, my dear girl, whatever are you thinking of? He doesn’t
do
anything. He’s Thorpe Everard. You must have heard of him. Everard of Mottisbury Castle.” When Lillian shook her head, Paulina said, “He’s simply one of the wealthiest men in England. I’m sure your father would know who he is.”

“I’m sure he would. But I do not. Would I know him by his title?”

“Thorpe doesn’t have a title. Why does he need one? The Everards never would accept any of the titles kings tried to give them. They have this vulgar tendency to want back the money they loaned to royalty. That’s what the kings used to do, you know. Instead of paying back the loans, they’d make the loaners knights or barons or something. That’s where we found our title. But the Everards have such family pride.”

“If he’s as haughty as all that, Paulina, you will simply have to await his pleasure. He’ll send for you, no doubt.”

“Oh, Thorpe is very proud. Too proud to let me discover what his trouble is. If only I could find out some other way.” She pressed her fingers against her forehead. ‘Then we could discuss it, arrange the matter, and get married. I don’t care what the secret is. I’d be loyal to him through anything.”

“You love him so much as all that?”

“Love him?” For a moment, Paulina turned the large diamond ring on her left hand, a memento of her first husband. “Oh, to be sure.”

Dinner was a noisy meal. Paulina preferred laughter, even at the silliest things, to intelligent discussion. Lillian was glad to escape upstairs to the nursery after the meal. But the person she sought there was gone. The nursery was thick with dust and the schoolroom no better. Swathed in holland covers, the rooms had an eerie, abandoned aura.

Returning to the withdrawing room, Lillian asked, “Paulina, where is Lewis?”

“Oh, didn’t I tell you? He’s gone to school.”

“School? Isn’t he ... that is, he’s seven now?”

“Yes, I think so.” Paulina looked up at the ceiling while she counted on her fingers. “Yes, that’s right.”

“Will he come home for the summer? You know how fond I am of him.”

“No, I’ll be at Brighton and it’s no place for a boy. I’ve made arrangements for him to spend the holidays at school. It was supportable to have him home while I was living so retired in mourning for Pritchard, but now...” Paulina lifted her creamy shoulders, displayed to such advantage in her low-cut green gown.

Changing the subject, she fell to admiring the fine sapphires around Lillian’s throat, a gift from Mr. Canfield on her eighteenth birthday and her favorite among all her jewels. Lillian felt that Paulina would like to know how much they’d cost but hoped her friend was not quite bold enough to ask directly.

It was halfway through a raucous game of forfeits that Lillian became aware that Paulina was studying her with an appraising air warranted by something other than jewels. She tried to ignore it, but every time she looked up, it was to meet her hostess’s eyes. Therefore, when a rap sounded at her door after she’d prepared for bed, Lillian knew it had to be Paulina.

After beating about the bush for some little time, the baroness came to the point. “Would you go to Mottisbury for me? I know it is a great deal to ask, but I have been thinking.... Thorpe doesn’t know you. He hasn’t been near town this Season or last. He said he finds it boring. You could go— you could find out what it is he’s keeping from me.”

“You want me to spy on him?”

“Yes, but only for his own good. I will make him very happy and I... I need to marry him.”

Though Lillian was shocked that her friend had put forward such a suggestion, she tempered her response when a few crystal tears slipped from Paulina’s wide blue eyes. “You must see that I can do no such thing.”

The baroness sniffled. “But... but you’re the only one of my friends I can trust. The rest of them are so empty-headed, but you, Lillian, you’re so sane and serene. I know you could do it.”

“No doubt, but I—”

Breaking in, Paulina said, “Listen, I have everything planned. Thorpe has a six-year-old daughter. We’ve discussed raising children; he thinks my ideas very sensible. Anyway, he needs a governess for little ... little ...” Paulina concentrated for a moment and then shook her head.

“I thought,” she continued, “that if I wrote a reference, you could take this position for a few weeks and then come back and tell me everything you found out. I’d go myself in the twinkling of a bedpost, but I’m sure he’d recognize me at once no matter what disguise I affected. You, on the other hand, could easily look like a governess. Of course, you’d have to change your name. He’s bound to have heard of your father.”

“I cannot. It wouldn’t be right. Besides, there is no chance of my fooling anyone. I cannot even play in amateur theatricals with any conviction. You should simply ask Mr. Everard what the trouble is. I’m sure he will tell you.”

“I tell you he won’t! He’s too proud.” Paulina paced up and down the room and then stopped at the foot of the bed. “Well, Lillian, if you don’t feel you can do it, there’s an end to the matter. Now, I’m thinking of expanding my house party. What say you to Mrs. Henderson-Phipps, Mr. Lloyd Gilfoy, and Lady Anne Winslow?”

“Do you want to invite three of the most noted gossips . .. oh, Paulina, you wouldn’t.”

“Wouldn’t what?” The clear blue eyes were innocent, but a smile flirted with the corners of her mouth. Lady Pritchard looked like the kitten who knew where the back door to the mouse hole lay.

“I shan’t stay to be interrogated by those three.”

“Of course not. You shall go to Mottisbury. It happens I have a letter of reference right here. I had Mrs. Garnet sign it, testifying that you cared for Margot and Matilda the last four years. Of course, you’ll have to look older than you are, as they are turned eighteen, but that shouldn’t be difficult.”

“And what if I go home to my father rather than to do your bidding?”

“Why then I shall be forced to tell Mrs. Henderson-Phipps, Mr. Lloyd Gilfoy, and Lady Anne Winslow how upset you were over the severing of your engagement to Lord Reyne, how you spent the night sobbing on my shoulder, and cursing the girl who took him away from you. Let me see, her name is Sarah East, isn’t it? I hear she’s a very pleasant girl, but how many of the
ton
will be confirmed in their notions of her as a scheming minx who made a dead set at Alaric, I wonder? You see, I’ve had letters from town about her already.” Again, Lady Pritchard smiled. Lillian could almost hear the feline purr as she, a mouse, scampered between the paws, velvet as yet but hiding razor claws.