A Masked Deception (7 page)

“She will be quite safe, my dear. You must think of yourself once in a while, you know.”

“Richard,” she said, looking him full in the face with soulful eyes, “would you do me a great favor and accompany them?” And she very daringly placed her hand on his, until her thumping heart and quickened breathing forced her to remove it.

Brampton hesitated. He could not remember any other occasion when his wife had asked him to do something for her. He considered with dismay the prospect of an evening spent alone with two couples. He would feel like a wallflower par excellence.

“Very well, my dear,” he said, “but only on condition that you go to your bed immediately. I shall send Kitty up to you.”

“Thank you, Richard,” she said, and slipped quietly from the room, leaving Brampton to make her excuses. He sat on for a few moments after she had left, worrying about her. He had never known her unwell. She could not be pregnant. He had been denied her bed again for five nights less than two weeks before. Perhaps she was working too hard to make Charlotte’s Season a success.

Margaret forced herself to lie in bed for ten minutes after she had heard the party leave for Vauxhall. She was glad that she had taken the precaution of going to bed. Richard himself had brought her the laudanum and a warm drink of milk.

She had claimed that the milk was too hot to drink but had promised to take the medicine as soon as the drink had cooled.

He had sat on the edge of the bed, suffocating her with his aura of masculinity.

“My poor dear,” he had said. “You have been so looking forward to this evening, have you not?”

“Yes, Richard,” she had replied, “but it is Charlotte I am really concerned about. She has been so excited.”

“I shall take you there another evening,” he had said, smiling gently into her eyes, unaware of the somersaults his expression was causing her stomach and heart to perform.

“That would be nice, Richard,” she had replied.

And then she could have sworn that her stomach and heart changed places when he leaned slightly toward her. She was certain that he was about to kiss her. But he merely put back a strand of hair that had worked loose from the braids that were still coiled around the back of her head; then he laid gentle fingertips against one of her cheeks for a moment.

“Good night, my dear,” he had said. “Sleep well and have no fears for Charlotte. I shall be as good a chaperon as you could wish.”

Kitty finally arrived in the bedroom and Margaret leapt out of the bed, her body and mind all aflutter at the thought of what lay ahead that night. Kitty was carrying the silver gown over her arm. The accessories were quickly dragged from boxes in the bedroom closets.

Half an hour later, Margaret was ready to leave. She surveyed herself one more time in the full-length mirror. As far as she could remember, she looked almost exactly as she had looked on that night long ago when she had first danced with, and first kissed, Richard. The gown was a trifle more gorgeous, and she had a suspicion that the neckline was a trifle lower, but it had the same design—a tight bodice and short, puffed sleeves, a very full skirt, wide on the hips. The wig looked the same, adding height and elegance to Margaret’s slight, slim form. Her coiled braids would not fit beneath the wig; her long brown hair was pinned loosely beneath it. Her mask was tied securely to the back of her head, beneath the wig. It covered most of her face, so that she was almost convinced that she would be unrecognizable.

Almost convinced, but not quite! For the last three weeks, Margaret had been plagued by doubts as strong as her excitement. She was largely convinced that Richard would pay her no attention at all. Why should he? He had had—and probably still had— dozens of lovely women. Why should he remember one girl whom he had kissed and fondled for a half-hour six years before? She would be disappointed to be totally ignored.

But what really terrified her was that Richard might take notice. What if he tried to talk to her? Would he not immediately recognize her? And what would she say if he did? She had had three weeks in which to make up a story that would cover such an eventuality, but she had still not thought of one. She just hoped that, if the crisis occurred, she would receive inspiration on the spot.

Kitty, who had left to confer with Jem, poked her head around the door again and announced in a stage whisper, “The carriage is ready, my lady.”

Margaret felt her knees turn weak and her heart thump painfully. She could not go through with it. The whole scheme was downright ridiculous. Utter madness!

“Jem says to be quick, my lady,” Kitty whispered anxiously.

Margaret whirled away from the mirror, grabbed her white gloves and her fan, and ran lightly down the stairs and out the front door, from which the footmen had been removed after the departure of the earl’s party.

C
harlotte was finding it very hard to behave as if she were relaxed and enjoying herself. She knew that under any other circumstances she would be enchanted with Vauxhall Gardens. It was a delightful area of trees, grass, and winding avenues, close to the river. All was made excitingly mysterious by the colored lanterns in the trees, colored, moving shadows created by their blowing in the breeze. Music wafted from the orchestra room, and dancers, many masked, moved gaily in the dancing area.

This was one place in London where everyone felt free to come, members of the
ton
rubbing shoulders with cits as they contemptuously called the merchant class, and servants and laborers too. Charlotte clung to Devin’s arm, fearful of losing her party in the crowd. But he steered them all to a private box he had reserved ahead of time, and they fed again on plates of cold meat, strawberries, and wine.

Charlotte viewed the occupants of the other boxes and recognized many of them. The masks that most of them wore had not been intended to disguise their identities, but only to add a dash of romance to their appearance.

But Charlotte’s heart was not in the entertainment. As she chatted with Devin and the earl and occasionally with Lady Lucy and Sir Henry, she played nervously with her fan and tried to estimate when an hour would be passed. By that time Margaret should be there.

Finally she judged it was time. She got to her feet impatiently and turned to Devin.

“It is just too heavenly here to be sitting in one spot all evening,” she said, giving him a flirtatious slap on the wrist with her fan. “Pray, let us walk, Mr. Northcott.”

He was on his feet in a moment, gallantly offering his arm.

“Sir Henry and Lady Lucy?” she queried, turning in their direction.

But they were enjoying each other’s company too much and declined the exercise.

“Lord Brampton?” Charlotte asked, the blood pounding in her ears. A great deal depended on his reply.

“Whichever couple I join,” he said ruefully, “I shall feel decidedly
de trop.
However, I do believe I shall walk. If you and Dev are really fortunate, Charlotte, you may lose me along one of these dim paths.”

“But we have no intention of losing you, my lord,” Charlotte replied, and she linked her free arm through his. Had the occasion not been such an anxious one, she thought, she would have felt remarkably pleased with herself to be seen walking between two such distinguished-looking masked gentlemen.

Meanwhile Jem had maneuvered the plain town carriage into a secluded parking space outside Vauxhall Gardens and had lowered the steps for her ladyship to alight. He was surprised that Kitty had allowed her mistress to leave without a cloak. The night was warm, but not warm enough for bare arms, he reflected. However, there was no accounting for the whims of the Quality. This whole escapade seemed strangely mad to him. Like all the servants of the Earl of Brampton, though, both in London and at Brampton Court, he had fast acquired a fierce loyalty to the countess. With all her quiet and gentle ways, she treated the servants with unfailing courtesy and knew them as individuals. She never failed to inquire after Chalmer’s gout, or to ask the scullery maid if she had recovered from her cold, or to comment on the youngest footman’s new livery.

Margaret was nervous as she climbed down from the coach. She could never remember being out alone before and the night seemed unusually dark. She was very glad of Jem’s presence as she entered the gardens and began to walk along the avenues. He walked a respectful distance behind her, but the distance closed rapidly on the two occasions when her solitary figure drew the attention of some masked gallants. Jem, about as tall and as broad as his master, made a menacing figure in his dark-gray cloak and mask.

It seemed that they wandered for a long while. One problem that Charlotte and Margaret had never been able to solve was arranging a definite rendezvous. Neither they nor Kitty knew the place. All they did know was that there was an orchestra room there. They had therefore made vague plans to walk in that general area and hope that their paths eventually crossed.

It seemed to Margaret that she would have to give up and go home. The area was just too large. There were too many paths and too many people. But suddenly she heard a cough from behind and Jem’s voice directed quietly, “To your left, my lady.”

And there they were, the three of them strolling toward her, still a distance away. Margaret judged that even Charlotte had not seen her yet. She moved quickly off the path into the shadows of the bordering trees. Jem had disappeared entirely.

Now that the moment was upon her, Margaret felt that she must faint, for the first time in her life. How could she have been mad enough to allow Charlotte to draw her into this scheme? In another moment he would see her. He would instantly recognize her. And how was she to explain her presence and her strange appearance when she was supposed to be at home in bed, in a laudanum-induced sleep? She still did not have any story prepared for him.

If she did not do it now, she decided desperately, she would lose all courage and never do it. She drew a steadying breath and stepped out into the path.

They were closer than she had expected. Devin was staring up into the treetops, Richard had his head bent to hear something that Charlotte was saying. Margaret stood still, waving her fan slowly in front of her face, looking over its top. Richard looked up.

She had never really expected him to remember her. Her greatest hope was that if she used the flirtatious manner, his interest would be aroused and some subconscious memory would be stirred. Her greatest fear was that he would take no notice of her at all, or—worse!—that he would look on her with amusement or contempt. She certainly was not prepared for his actual reaction.

His whole body froze. Charlotte was almost jerked off her feet with the sudden cessation of movement. Margaret, watching his face intently, could not decipher the expression in his eyes. Her view was hampered by his black mask. But his lips formed a word. She was in no doubt that that word was “angel.” Then she fluttered her fan more briskly, turned on her heel, and began to walk swiftly down the path away from him, swinging her wide skirts with provocative movements of her hips.

The Earl of Brampton was in shock for a few moments. He thought he was having a hallucination. There she was before him, surely, exactly as he remembered her—his little angel of the Hetheringtons’ masquerade ball. That vivacious little figure would be etched on his memory for all time. He had not been able to explain to himself the almost uncontrollable attraction he had felt for the girl whose name he did not know and whose face he had not been able to see. All he did know was that what had started as a delightful flirtation in the ballroom had changed into sudden passion in the garden, and that by the time he had brought her back to the terrace for a drink of lemonade, his heart was quite smitten. He had meant it when he told her that he would be calling on her. Richard Adair, who had not once thought about matrimony in connection with himself, was hearing wedding bells as he skirted the ballroom and made his way to the refreshment room. But when he had returned with the glass of lemonade, as excited as any boy, he had found that she had disappeared.

His manner had become more and more frenzied during the next half-hour as he searched for her in every likely place and even in some unlikely places. When he had asked about her, deliberately keeping his manner cool and almost bored, he had discovered that though several people remembered Marie Antoinette, no one knew who she was and no one had seen whom she had come with or left with.

For the rest of that Season Brampton had searched for her. He had attended every social function to which he was invited, to the amazement of his friends, and had danced and conversed with every small girl that he saw. But he had felt instinctively that none was she. Once he had even danced a quadrille with Margaret Wells; but his attention had wandered away from her after only a minute. This quiet, dull little girl did not resemble his angel in anything but size.

At the end of the Season, when most of the members of the
ton
had drifted to Brighton or to their family estates for the summer, Brampton had finally admitted defeat. He would never see her again, never hold her light little body again, never make love to her. From that time he developed a taste for voluptuous mistresses. They reminded him less of what he had lost. These thoughts occupied Brampton’s mind for a mere few seconds as he stood mesmerized in Vauxhall Gardens, Charlotte clinging to his arm and staring inquiringly up at him.