The Masked Heart

by Karla Darcy

Despite her misgivings about attending the dinner party at Fairhaven, Blaine discovered that she was enjoying herself immensely. In a way, she felt a reversal of the normal order of her life. As Aunt Haydie, she was relegated to the background, an invisible spectator watching the main players in the drama. Once the fear eased that her disguise might be penetrated, she began to delight in the role she was playing.

  Owing to her secluded early life and her self-imposed exile from society, she had never been involved in normal conversation with others of her background. Almost exclusively, she associated with the theatre company but even there she had learned quickly that she had to be extremely careful of what she said or the male actors would immediately misinterpret her friendliness. She had adopted a standoffish attitude that many assumed was snobbery but it protected her from undesirable advances.

  As Lady Yates, her supposed age gave her a freedom she had never possessed before. She need not suspect the intentions of anyone who spoke to her, so she was able to enter into the conversation as she chose, asking questions or commenting without fear of creating the wrong impression.

  During the dinner party at Fairhaven, the company was small so the conversation encompassed the whole table and, despite the fact the guests were predominantly youthful, the discussions concerned an interesting range of topics. Although much of the conversation revolved around familiar figures of London society, it did not degenerate to the cataloguing of scandals and the spicier snippets of gossip. Much to Blaine's surprise, this high tone was owed primarily to the presence of Drew Farrington.

  He faced her across the table so that she was aware of his every movement. Dressed in black satin, his linen blindingly white, devoid of jewelry with the exception of a single emerald ring on one tanned hand, Drew dominated the company. It was not that he spoke with any great frequency but he masterfully guided the conversation, choosing topics which would be of general interest to draw out the other guests at table. He had a keen wit; his humor generally directed at himself rather than others. It was a virtuoso performance and one that gave Blaine a more kindly view of the man. He might be arrogant but he was not one to listen for only the sound of his own voice.

  Looking down the table, Blaine's mouth formed a thin line of distaste. The only objection she had to the evening was the inclusion of Talbott Stoddard. It had jolted her mightily when the man had entered the salon. He had been visiting one of Robbie's neighbors and as a courtesy was included in the invitation. To Blaine, it seemed inconceivable that the two men who had been pursuing La Solitaire so assiduously were both at the table with her.

  Next to Stoddard was Fleur. Blaine's heart swelled with pride at the loveliness of her sister. She wore a puff-sleeved gown of palest pink silk with a wide ruffle at neckline and hem. The color brought out the golden quality of her hair and reflected the pink tones of her complexion. Pearls hung around her neck and dangled from her ears when she moved.

  While helping Fleur prepare for the evening, Blaine had noted the glow of excitement that radiated from the girl and felt a keen sense of sadness. She herself had never had the naive joy of a debutante in her first season. She had gone from a sheltered and isolated homelife to the disillusioning experiences of the theatrical world. She prayed that Fleur might never lose the innocence that shone in her violet eyes.

  She did not like the fact that Fleur had been placed next to Stoddard. The refreshing innocence of the beautiful girl had immediately drawn the interest of the jaded palate of the nobleman. Blaine could see that her sister was quite taken with the elegant manners of the handsome blond gentleman and she was relieved when the dinner was over, eager to call Fleur away from the dangerous Stoddard.

  "Ah, Lady Yates," Drew said. "Won't you take my arm?"

  Blaine blinked at the speed with which the man had rounded the table. He stood now, blocking her way and it would only make a scene if she refused him. The footman behind her chair extended her walking stick and she grasped it convulsively as she forced herself to nod graciously at Drew. "Thank you, Lord Farrington."

  "Robbie insists I give you a tour of the Long Gallery since this is the first time that you have been at Fairhaven," Drew said, pulling her hand through his arm. Noticing the worried look in the old woman's eye as she looked back at Fleur, he hurried to reassure her. "Robbie will look after your little chick and keep her out of harm's way." He took a step and still sensed her hesitation. "Just lean on me, Lady Yates. I shall walk very slowly, ma'am, and then you will not be inclined to get winded."

  "There's nothing wrong with my wind, you rapscallion," Blaine snapped, annoyed at his vision of her as a simpering invalid.

  "Excellent. Then we shall move right along." Drew grinned at her as he led her away from the rest of the company.

  Once more Blaine realized how quickly he had outmaneuvered her. Instead of objecting to his company she had fallen into the trap of defending her health. Vanity, she muttered to herself, will be your undoing.

  As they walked through the corridors, Drew treated her to a discussion of the ancestry of many of the pieces on display. He halted before a case of Chinese ivory carvings, while she admired the delicacy of the workmanship. When they arrived at the Long Gallery he led her around the room stopping at the various pictures, amusing her with scandalous tales of his forebearers.

  "This is my Great Uncle Danforth. He lived to an amazing age and was the despair of all of our more staid relatives. The man had a penchant for the ladies and was wont to chase the chambermaids through the hallways while shouting 'Tallyho' and blowing a hunting bugle."

  "Definitely would cut up the peace," Blaine answered, a light chuckle breaking through despite her best efforts. "Had a similar uncle but he had a severe spasm one day and was gone in an instant."

  "I suppose the chase was too much for him," Drew said.

  "No," she said. "More like the capture."

  "Lady Yates!" Drew snorted in amusement. When the old woman raised her lorgnette in question, he threw back his head with a genuine bark of laughter. "I knew when I first met you that I would find enjoyment in your company. Your eyes give you away. They fair sparkle with mischief. And I was afraid that my stay in the country would be deadly dull."

  "Why exactly did you come to stay with your brother? A repairing lease?"

  "Robbie asked me to come," Drew answered quietly.

  "I see. Wants help with his suit, eh?"

  "Something like that."

  "At least you've not offered me Spanish coin. I like to be dealt with honestly." Being careful to move slowly, Blaine crossed the parquet floor to a grouping of carved walnut benches. She sat down gingerly as if stiff with rheumatic pains and crossed her mittened hands over the carved knob of her walking stick. "It's no good, you know," she said, her face a deep rumble in the quiet room.

  "Fleur is very young," Drew said, indicating he understood her perfectly.

  "The shameless chit has confessed that she has been meeting with your brother. For her part, it was a harmless lark to relieve her boredom. Luckily for her, Robbie is a gentleman." Blaine met Drew's amused glance with a grimace. "I have seen much of this world and I have tried to make her understand that her behavior might have reaped tragic consequences."

  "Did she believe you?" he asked out of curiosity.

  "Naturally not!" Blaine shrugged at the uselessness of giving advice. "She sees the world as a place of wonder and purity. Most men would take advantage of such innocence."

  Drew's gaze sharpened at the bitterness in the old woman's voice. He knew little of her life and yet he wondered at the jaundiced view of men she held. He waited in silence for her to continue, surprised that he wished to know her perceptions.

  "I like your brother, milord. He has a pleasant nature and I sense a stability that would make him an excellent husband. I gather he has no need to make a wealthy marriage, which is just as well since Fleur has only a small dowry." She paused, looking up into Drew's face. "Is Robbie aware of the fact that Fleur is not in love with h
im?"

  "Yes, he does know that. Unfortunately, he assumed that since she treated him as a friend, all he need do is to declare himself, and she would fall into his arms. Watching him tonight, I would guess he has come to the understanding that it will not be quite so easy." Drew placed one foot on the bench beside Lady Yates and braced his arms on his leg as he pursed his lips in thought. "I think Robbie was not aware of how isolated your niece has been from all society. Tonight in the presence of the other men at the table, he has received a much different view of her situation."

  Blaine nodded in agreement.

  "It is my thought that Fleur would be the perfect wife for Robbie," Drew continued. "She looks to him for friendship and generally that is the beginning of love. But she is young and will want to spread her wings a little and try out her powers. If he can be patient, I think he might win her in the end. Would you approve of Robbie's suit?"

  Blaine fussed with the silver-rimmed lorgnette but did not raise it to her eyes. She stared across the room, her eyes not really seeing the array of portraits. When she spoke it was as though she were working out the problem in her own mind.

  "When Fleur was just a child, I knew she would grow to be an exceptional beauty. I wanted her to go to London so that she might marry a titled gentleman who could give her the world. But in the last several years I have come to the realization that would not guarantee her happiness."

  "Is there any guarantee for happiness?" Drew asked quietly.

  "Probably not," she admitted. "London is much different than Wiltshire. The so-called gentlemen of the ton are not the kind of men who engender much admiration. Many are morally bankrupt, keeping mistresses or playing fast and loose with other men's wives. Many are on the look out for rich wives because they have already run through their inheritances. Few have the qualities I would choose for Fleur. In Robbie I find much that is admirable and would accept him as a suitor for her hand."

  A low chuckle echoed in the quiet room and Blaine looked up questioningly at her companion. When Drew smiled his face softened, losing the arrogant appearance that she found so annoying. His green eyes sparkled against his tanned face and his teeth flashed whitely.

  "It seems our goals for Fleur and Robbie are very similar. I will be frank with you, Lady Yates. I came to Wiltshire at Robbie's request but my intentions were to save him from the clutches of some scheming jade." He smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners when she bristled in anger. "Hear me out, ma'am, before you condemn my actions."

  Blaine subsided on the bench, caught by the gleam of laughter in his gaze. She wished he would remove his foot. His closeness was having an unsettling effect on her nerves. The material pulled tautly across his leg and she could see the musculature rippling beneath the skin at every movement of his body. She had to keep a tight grip on the top of her walking stick because she was filled with an urge to reach out and touch him. She raised her eyes to his face and forced her mind to focus on his words and not the nearness of his body.

  "Robbie, as you perhaps have ascertained is, like Fleur, the trusting type. When he informed me that he had been meeting secretly with a young lady of impoverished circumstances with, if I may be pardoned, an invisible aunt, my suspicions were aroused. I rushed here to save him and much to my surprise found the wicked temptress to be nothing more threatening than a well-brought up babe sprung lately from the nursery."

  "Believe me, young man, there is nothing more dangerous," Blaine intoned archly.

  "Unless it is her beady-eyed mother," Drew said with a shudder. "However to return to the subject. Do you think Fleur might come to look on Robbie with some favor?"

  "If she has any sense, she will, but one never knows with young girls." Blaine bit her lip, deep in concentration. "Fleur has always had a very sweet nature. Despite her disenchantment of the moment, she loves the country and has a strong feeling for the land. It is just lately that she seems petulant and bored. Perhaps I have been wrong in keeping her so close. In London, with her beauty, she would be sure to take but I do not think she would be happy in that society. The question is, will Robbie be content to stand by while she discovers the joy of being young and a lovely female?"

  "I think once he thinks on it, he will. We shall have to do what we can to be of assistance." Drew placed his foot on the floor and held out his hand. "Well, madam, how like you the role of Cupid?"

  "The world's a stage," Blaine quoted, taking Drew's hand and letting him assist her to her feet. At his touch, she did not need to pretend an aged shakiness as her knees felt decidedly unsteady. "I shall play my part like the veriest trouper."

  Drew's brow furrowed at the touch of irony in her voice but led her back to the main parlor, well pleased with his chat with the old lady. He had not been wrong about the intelligence or the wit of the woman. Her insights were perceptive and he had thoroughly enjoyed himself in her company. Lady Yates would make a formidable co-conspirator.

  On entering the room, Blaine's eyes immediately found Fleur, seated in a window embrasure, listening raptly to Talbott Stoddard. The girl's cheeks were flushed and occasionally a soft giggle burst from her rosy lips. Blaine's own mouth tightened as she watched the spell being cast by the experienced rake. At her side, Drew nudged her and she followed his gaze to Robbie who lounged with his back to the mantel.

  Despite the casualness of his pose, it was apparent that Robbie was far from relaxed. The expression in his eyes was a mixture of anger, hurt feelings, and admiration for the girl he loved. As though he felt their eyes upon him, Robbie turned and immediately his expression changed to the congeniality expected of a host.

  Blaine poked Drew with the knob of her cane. "Tell that flighty chit I would like to go home," Blaine said through gritted teeth.

  The carriage ride back to Weathers was made in an uncomfortable silence. Fleur pouted at their early departure but Blaine was much too annoyed with the girl to do anything but glower at her. She followed Fleur to her room determined to lecture her on the inappropriateness of her behavior with Stoddard but before she could launch into speech, her sister's eager thanks took the wind out of her sails.

  "Oh, thank you, Blaine, for making this evening possible." The girl twirled around the room in her exuberance. "I know it must have been horrid for you to tramp around in that fusty gown. Never has a girl had a more unselfish sister."

  "I'm glad that you had such a good time." Blaine sighed heavily, loath to cut up the happiness she saw reflected on her sister's face.

  "Everything was perfect," Fleur enthused. "I was terrified at first that everyone would think I was gauche but the gentlemen were ever so kind. Talbott, I mean, Lord Stoddard was most attentive."

  "He is not a man to trifle with, Fleur," Blaine warned. "I cannot like the fact that you spent so much time with him. He is far too experienced and sophisticated for you."

  "He did not think so."

  Blaine groaned as Fleur raised her chin in rebellion. She realized she had handled this poorly and she tried to soften her tone. "It is just that I find Robert Farrington so much more the gentleman," she said. "He is very handsome too."

  "Oh, Robbie is aces." Fleur's voice was breezy with disinterest. "He is a good friend but he is hardly a romantic figure. Talb-Lord Stoddard is much more fascinating." She lowered her voice as she stared wide-eyed at Blaine. "When he looks at me, my heart jumps and I do not know whether it is fear or excitement."

  "It is probably indigestion," Blaine drawled, hoping her prosaic tone might pierce the bubble of romanticism that surrounded the girl.

  "Oh, piffle! How can you be so practical," Fleur said, stamping her slippered foot in annoyance. "No wonder you're not married if you look at everything that way. You've been too long with Cousin Lavinia. It must be dreadful being at someone's beck and call. You need to think of yourself more. Haven't you found anyone special in London? Someone who would make a loving husband and father?"

  "No, dear. I have not come across such a paragon of virtue."

 
"I noticed that you spent a great deal of time with Lord Farrington. I thought at first I might attempt to attach him but there is an air of amusement about him that I do not fully understand." Fleur looked across at her sister consideringly. "It is a shame that you could not have met him when you were dressed as yourself not as an old lady. He is a bit intimidating but I do not think that would bother you, since you can be quite bossy when you want. Do you think he is too old for you?"

  "Much too old," Blaine answered, moving quickly toward the door before her sister could question her further. "Off to bed now or you will look quite hagged in the morning."

  At her words, Fleur raced to the mirror and Blaine made her escape. Back in her room, Tate was waiting to help her off with her makeup and to hear a report of the evening. The dresser reminded her that Wesley Upton would be arriving in the morning to present her with the year's allowance and Blaine groaned that the masquerade would continue for another day.

  Climbing into bed, she felt close to tears and put it down to the lateness of the hour. She lay on her back, staring up at the bed hangings, trying to fall asleep. However Fleur's words kept circling in her mind.

  She was glad that her sister did not realize the unintentional cruelty of her questions. How ludicrous that Fleur thought she was sacrificing her life in the service of the fictitious Cousin Lavinia. In actual fact the only men she saw, outside of the actors she performed with, were John Tibbles and Sarge. As an actress she was not recognized by society. The only relationship she could hope for was as the mistress of one of the gentlemen who vied for her attention. Men like Talbott Stoddard and Drew Farrington.

  Her heart jolted at the thought of Drew. She had to admit that, since her coming to Wiltshire, she had discovered a different side to him than she had considered possible. If, as her sister had so wildly conjectured, she had met him as Blaine Margaret Meriweather, she might have fallen in love with him. He surely had a great many qualities that she could admire. He might even have asked for her hand, she fantasized.

  A silent sob shook her body and a tear rolled out of the corner of her eye and slid into the tangle of her hair. She was only castle-building. She could never meet Drew as herself, the sister of Fleur Meriweather. He already knew her as Maggie Mason, the notorious La Solitaire. Men of his class thought of actresses as playthings and as one, he would never accept her as anything other than a woman of easy virtue. Rolling over on her stomach, Blaine buried her head in her pillow and cried herself to sleep.

  In the morning, her eyes were swollen, but Tate made no comment as she applied the white makeup to her face. The gown was similar to the black dress she had worn to dinner but this time the color was a dark brown, cut in a style long out of fashion. Tate fussed with the cap, until she was satisfied that the fake ringlets covered Blaine's ears, then she handed her a black lace fan and her walking stick.

  "Mr. Upton has been cooling his heels in the drawing room this half hour. He brought you roses." Tate snorted at the idiocy of the man.

  "Good Lord," Blaine muttered. Shaking out her skirts she made for the door, already leaning on her stick to get herself into the role of Aunt Haydie. "You better come down with me before the flowers wilt. Then if I don't ring for tea in twenty minutes, come in and rescue me."

  One of the disadvantages of her perfect acting as Lady Haydie Yates was the fact that Wesley Upton, somewhere in his late sixties, thought of her as his contemporary. He was a sweet man and she hated deceiving him so she had always been especially warm toward him. They had corresponded over the years, concerning the business of the estate, and she thought they had become friends.

  The last time she had seen him, she was horrified to discover he had mistaken her warmth for affection and developed a tendre for her. If she hadn't been so desperate for the yearly allowance, she would have ended the charade in the face of the man's pursuit.

  "Ah, my dear Lady Yates," Wesley Upton croaked, rising stiffly to his feet as she entered the room followed by her dresser. His arm was burdened with an enormous bouquet of red roses.

  "Mr. Upton," Blaine acknowledged, keeping her voice friendly but impersonal.

  "I am delighted to find you well, Lady Yates. I have taken the liberty of bringing you some flowers which I hope you will accept as a token of my regard." His gold-rimmed spectacles had slid down his nose and in his nervousness as he pushed them back into place, he fumbled the bouquet.

  "You are too kind, Mr. Upton. Roses are a favorite of mine." She lowered her head in a regal bow of approval. "Tate, perhaps you would be good enough to put these in water."

  The dour-faced dresser took the flowers from Wesley and, with a final sniff, left the room, leaving the door partially open. The solicitor extended his arm and led Blaine to the blue and silver striped sofa. She sat down in the very center precluding any action of his to seat himself at her side. She grandly waved him to one of the armchairs facing her across a low table of burled walnut. Watching him, she groaned inwardly. The dapper little man was showing all the nervous twitches of an amorous schoolboy.

  Blaine had grown quite fond of Wesley Upton over the years. She found his old-fashioned courtly manners quite endearing. He was shorter than she, with skinny legs below a generous paunch. His head was bald, although there was a fringe of soft white hair which made her think of a halo. His plump face did have the look of some benign saint, she decided, studying his blue eyes and pink cheeks.

  "I trust your journey from London was uneventful. As I know how busy you are, I think we should conclude our business immediately. I am sure you are in a hurry to shake the dust of Wiltshire from your heels," she suggested.

  "Not at all, dear lady. I thought perhaps this visit I might extend my stay to take in some of the beauty of Salisbury Plain."

  "Oh." Blaine knew her reply was less than adequate but she did not know what else to say. Without any encouragement, Wesley launched into a lengthy praise of the district, while Blaine kept a stiff smile of interest riveted to her face. She closed her eyes, praying that the little man would not choose this time to make a cake of himself. She was much too tired to cope with any sort of a scene. Waiting only for the man to pause for a breath, she burst into speech.

  "This is all quite fascinating, Mr. Upton. Perhaps we should get our business over with so that we might talk more over tea."

  "Excellent. Excellent," the solicitor said, fidgeting with his high collar and resettling his treacherous spectacles.

  "Have you the papers for me to sign?" Blaine asked. She tried to keep her voice cool although she felt perspiration bead her lip. She flicked open her fan and plied it briskly as she eyed him warily.

  "My father always approved of your business acumen, Lady Yates." He waggled his white eyebrows in a roguish manner that sent his glasses lurching down his nose. "It was his opinion that you were the model for the perfect spouse."

  "Fustian, Mr. Upton," Blaine snorted. "Your father thought I was a stubborn old harridan. And he was right."

  Wesley chuckled and reached inside his coat to withdraw a long envelope. Blaine had to restrain herself from snatching it out of his hands. While the little man bustled around to bring the tray of writing materials from the dainty lady's desk at the far side of the room, she clasped her hands tightly, the sticks of her fan crackling ominously at the pressure. He spread the papers on the table, then with great ceremony, he dipped the pen and handed it to her. She clamped her teeth together in annoyance and hastily forged Lady Haydie Yates' signature, feeling like the veriest criminal. She sighed as he rolled the blotter across the wet ink.

  "The money will be deposited with your man of business, Lady Yates." He refolded the paper and carefully tucked it inside his coat and patted the pocket lovingly. It was a ritual Blaine had become used to over the years and she smiled, grateful that it was over for another year.

  "Perhaps you would care for tea, Mr. Upton."

  "I would like that very much, my dear lady," Wesley said, beaming down at her.

  Sh
e had not realized how close the man had come and now she shifted on the sofa as he made to move toward her. Her eyes squinting with wariness, she swallowed nervously as the little man seemed to marshal his forces. He brushed his hands across his paunch and tugged at the edges of his coat with all of the solemnity of a warrior preparing for battle. Hoping to head him off, she spoke.

  "If you would be so kind as to pull the bellcord."

  "Before I ring, milady, I would have a word with you."

  "Oh, I wish you wouldn't," Blaine blurted out.

  "Beg pardon?" Wesley was clearly put off his stride by her outburst. Beads of sweat dotted his forehead and the pink scalp of his bald head. "But, Lady Yates, I have planned everything I wish to say and I know I shall never have the courage again."

  "Sometimes, Mr. Upton, it takes more courage to leave a thing unsaid."

  Blaine struggled to her feet in agitation, wanting to put as much space as possible between herself and the amorous solicitor. She grasped her fan in one hand and her stick in the other, raising her arms as if to ward off some horrifying spectre.

  "Oh, Lady Yates, please calm yourself," the little man cried, reaching out as if to take her arm.

  Blaine swatted at him with her fan, feeling that the entire scene was degenerating into low comedy. She wanted nothing more than to race from the room before the man could foolishly declare himself. Seeing the determination on his face, she finally decided that nothing would do except to let him have his say. As he reached for her again, she drew herself up, until she towered over him, and raised her stick much like a prophet of old.

  "Devil take it, Mr. Upton! There is no need to maul me," Blaine snapped in the imperious tones of a gentlewoman. "I was having a spasm. A slight fit of the vapors, don't you know. It is rather close in here."

  She seated herself and permitted him to take the fan from her hand and wave it briskly in front of her face while with the other hand he mopped his streaming forehead. Finally she could stand the suspense no longer and snatched the fan away and waved him back to his seat. She gritted her teeth waiting for him to declare himself, praying that he would refrain from throwing himself to his knees in an undignified manner.

  "Have your say quickly, good sir," she said, finding it increasingly difficult to be gracious. Although the situation was ludicrous, she felt no urge to laugh. She felt sorry for the sweet old man and was annoyed with herself for letting things come to such a pass.

  Wesley stood across from her, tugging at the edges of his coat, his mouth partially open although no words issued forth. A tremor shook his body and his eyes, behind rapidly descending spectacles, were slightly glazed.

  "I have always admired you, d-dear lady," he stammered. "Over the years I have come to appreciate your fine qualities and I have hinted, on the occasions that we have met, that I was desirous of a warmer relationship. I had no intention of trifling with your affections and hope I have not given you a disgust of me for desiring something that was above my touch."

  "Please know, Mr. Upton, that I have always considered you a fine gentleman," Blaine answered kindly. She could feel perspiration soaking through the palms of her mittens and, placing the fan on the table, reached into the voluminous pocket of her skirts to withdraw a black-bordered handkerchief. "I have always thought of you as a friend," she continued, stressing the final word.

  "Exactly, Lady Yates." Wesley beamed across at her as if she were an exceptionally bright student. "It was originally my earnest hope that you might consider me more than a business acquaintance. Therefore I know you will understand that I never at any time envisioned that I would dash your hopes for a - shall we say - lasting relationship."

  "What?" Blaine goggled up at the man, wondering if her ears were playing tricks on her. Good Lord! the man was not proposing. He was rejecting her! She pressed the handkerchief to her lips to hold back a cry of relief.

  "Please, Lady Yates, do not upset yourself" Wesley was shifting from foot to foot in his agitation. "It was only six months ago that I met a very sweet lady. Euphemia Whiffledon has taken my heart by storm."

  For a moment, Blaine thought she might go off in whoops of laughter and she bit the inside of her cheek until tears stood in her eyes. Wesley immediately assumed the tears were signs of her distress.

  "I can never forgive myself for giving you a moment of anguish," he said. He tottered around the table and creakily dropped to his knees beside the sofa. "You must think I am a veritable bounder for encouraging you as I have," he muttered brokenly.

  Blaine knew she must cut this scene short before she truly hurt the man's feelings by having a fit of hysterics. She drew in a shaky breath and called upon all her ability to play melodrama.

  "Dear Mr. Upton, it is only that for a moment I was overcome with guilt." She covered her face with her fan as if in acute embarrassment. "I must admit that I did entertain certain hopes as to your feelings but it has come to me lately that I could not come to you with heart whole. You are too fine a person for me to offer any less than my deepest devotion. Therefore it is with prodigious joy that I wish you happy with Miss Wiffledon."

  "Was there ever such a gracious lady as yourself, Lady Yates? I kiss the hem of your gown in homage."

  Before Blaine could stop him, the little man lifted the material and touched it to his lips. She raised her eyes in exasperation and then sucked in her breath.

  "It wanted only this," Blaine muttered, closing her eyes in agony at the sight of Drew Farrington, lounging against the frame of the doorway.

  Chapter Six