by Karla Darcy
"You have surely lost the wits you were born with," Tate snapped. "What will happen if he recognizes you?"
She stared at the figure on the window seat which faced out onto Portman Square. Seeing the set jaw of her mistress and the fiery determination in the golden-hazel eyes, the dresser sighed. It was never easy dealing with Blaine when she had already set her feet on a path. She shrugged, determined to fight against such a dangerous undertaking.
"I know the risks involved, Tate. Lord knows I have thought long and hard about this. With all my heart, I want this one night. For one night I want to pretend that my life is different. I want to be Blaine Margaret Meriweather, a young gentlewoman having dinner with a handsome gentleman."
The wizened little dresser heard the cry in her mistress' voice and could not harden her heart against the plea. For six years she had watched over Blaine, loving her much as if she were her own child. She had seen the girl combat loneliness and despair. She had been isolated from all of her own kind, living in a world renowned for its loose morals and debauchery. It was a wonderment that the girl had survived at all, let alone maintained the purity and innocence that lay just beneath the veneer of sophistication.
"Aye, lambie, I know it has been lonely for you," Tate said, an unaccustomed tear in her eye. "But it is almighty dangerous. Lord Farrington, of all people!"
"It is just for that reason that I can risk accepting his offer. He is the only man I know well enough to know that I will be safe. Despite his pursuit of La Solitaire, he is a gentleman, not prone to violence or drink. He would never force his attentions on me," Blaine argued.
"Some men needn't use force," Tate opined darkly.
The dresser was aware of something that made her extremely uneasy about the assignation. She had guessed the identity of the man who sent the white roses and she had watched the expression in Blaine's eyes soften when she received Lord Farrington's flowers. She did not know if Blaine realized her own feelings for the young lord, but Tate knew. Blaine was in love with Drew Farrington.
The thought of the pain that Blaine would endure when she came to terms with her own emotions, was frightening for Tate. There was no possibility that anything other than a brief liaison could come out of this relationship. Men of Drew Farrington's background did not marry actresses and Blaine believed in the sanctity of marriage. Any other arrangement would destroy her since she would never be able to live with the realization that she had compromised all of her values.
"Please, Tate, won't you help me?"
Love made you weak, the dresser muttered under her breath as she stared at the eyes of her mistress. "All right," she sighed. "I have a feeling in my bones that this is the greatest of follies, but I will do what I can."
"Oh, thank you. Thank you," Blaine said, hugging the glowering woman. "You shan't regret it, I promise. It will only be for one night and then I shall go back to being Maggie Mason without a grumble."
Tate was far too old to believe such rubbish. "I doubt that, my girl," she snorted. "All right, miss. What do you want me to do?"
Blaine was silent as she stared bleakly out the window onto the square. She wondered for a moment if one evening was worth so much trouble. Then Drew's face, as she had seen it last, appeared before her eyes. He had been smiling then, in recognition of her acceptance of his invitation. His eyes had sparkled with happiness and his face bore a curiously touching look of joy. She would not fail him. Blaine bit her lip, knowing the hardest part was tackling Tate. She could just imagine the expression on the dresser's face when she announced that she wanted help to dye her hair.
When she had decided to accept Drew's invitation to dinner, her only qualms were that he might recognize similarities between La Solitaire and Lady Yates. The makeup she used for her role as Aunt Haydie covered her skin completely and gave the impression of a lined and wrinkled face beneath the white paste. Tate had even changed the curve of her eyebrows for the part. Since she could do nothing to eradicate the telltale color of her eyes, Blaine had made it a practice to squint or use her lorgnette when in Drew's company.
Her white blond hair was the problem. She was afraid that it might remind him of Lady Yates' white ringlets and even this small oversight might cause him to become suspicious. Too much rested on the continuation of her masquerade as Aunt Haydie, to leave things to chance. As an actress, Blaine had learned that many times it was the small inconsistencies in a role that made the character unbelievable in the eyes of the audience. With a heavy heart, she determined that dying her hair would be the only possible way to prevent any possible comparisons.
Blaine turned away from the window and braced herself. Taking a deep breath, she told Tate her plan and, true to form, the woman was not silent in her disapproval. Much to Blaine's relief, the catalogue of dire predictions, pointed barbs and general disapproval did not last long. Once the woman had decided to help Blaine, she set to work with a vengeance.
They spent the afternoon dying her hair and fitting a dress Tate had borrowed from the wardrobe mistress at the theatre. They were uninterrupted since Fleur, with the indefatigable Puff in toe, was happily engaged for a day of shopping with one of the girls she had met in London. Timing things to a nicety, the dying was completed and Blaine's damp hair covered with a turban before Fleur knocked on her door and flew into the room with an armload of packages.
"Is there anything left in the shops after your adventurous day?" Blaine asked, from the comfort of her chaise longue.
"It was ever so much fun. Constance Flannery is such fun to be with. She knows everyone and is quite generous in her introductions." Fleur ignored Tate's sour expression as she dumped her packages on the floor. "No need to frown. Ellen will come to take these to my room."
"Since Ellen has become your Abigail your habit of neatness has become far too lax," Blaine chided. "I trust when you return to Wiltshire, you will not expect the servants to pick up after you."
"I won't," the girl assured her, coming over to sit on the foot of the chaise. "I am just taking full advantage of being pampered. Now, no more lectures. Just wait until you see what I bought you. I know you shall love it."
"Let me guess," Blaine said, entering into the light mood. "A new lace shawl and some caps for my role as Aunt Haydie. No? I have it. A tapestry reticule to hold my tatting supplies."
Fleur giggled and shook her head and even Tate's face turned up in a smile at their nonsense.
"A new cane? Or perhaps some more bombazine in a bright cherry red," Blaine continued.
"You may tease me all you like but I know you will love this." The girl pouted but her violet eyes sparkled with mischief. "You are right that it is for your role as Aunt Haydie but I think I have found something that will find approval with even your most exacting standards. It is a hat."
"Oh," Blaine said, torn between annoyance and laughter. It was true that she needed new things for her wardrobe but it was a most lowering thought.
"Give a look, Blaine, do." Fleur opened a bandbox, pulling at the paper that covered her present. "I know how you keep to your room so that you do not have to wear that horrid rig of a costume. Well, I have found just the thing so that we can go jauntering around and at least you won't have to wear that pasty white makeup and yet you will be perfectly safe."
Fleur pulled a black hat out of the depths of the bandbox, flourishing it before Blaine's bemused glance. It was black straw with a wide circular brim. The top of the hat was covered with yards of satin in puffy great bows. However the thing that made it so singular was the black veil that descended all around the brim of the hat to about shoulder height.
"The saleswoman called it a chapeau de morte . At least I think that's what she said. Constance was giggling so loudly I could hardly take in the woman's words." With a flourish, Fleur placed the hat on her head and flipped the veil down across her face. "Now this piece of satin is to be tied at the neck so that the veiling won't blow about in the wind."
Tate could not resist being involved in the project and
took the band of black satin that the girl was waving about. She tied it around Fleur's neck then pulled and prodded the veiling until satisfied with the effect. She stepped back and Fleur danced over to the chaise so that Blaine could see the genius of her idea.
"I can see perfectly well, but no one can see my face."
Blaine's eyes crinkled with laughter as she took in the truth of the girl's statement. The veiling was not very transparent so that there was only a vague suggestion of the figure behind. It was as concealing as a mask, without being confining.
"Darling child, you have surely given me the best present of all," Blaine said. "I hate wearing all that greasepaint and now I will be free to go out without fear of giving the show away. Take that off and come give me a kiss."
Fleur obeyed enthusiastically and then settled beside her sister to tell her about her plans for the evening.
"Constance told me that the Mayhews are all the thing and that the ball this evening will be a terrible squeeze. I thought, if you approved, I would wear the peach silk. I found some flowers just that shade while we were shopping and Ellen promised to weave them into my hair."
"Sounds just the thing, Fleur. Will Puff be up to the lateness of the evening after a day of gadding about? The good Frau is not quite as young and I would not want her to exhaust herself taking you about."
"Constance's mother has volunteered to take me under her eye. She is almost as strict as Puff," was Fleur's irrepressible reply. "I wish you could go but I know how you relish your time alone on your day off. I do wonder at times if Cousin Lavinia is not working you too hard. Will I be able to meet her soon?"
For a moment a bubble of hysteria rose in Blaine's throat at the possibility of impersonating another old woman for her sister's benefit. She brushed the thought aside with a shudder of distaste. "If only dear Lavinia was well enough for visits. Sometimes she is fair moped, cooped up in the house."
Eventually after showing Blaine the rest of her purchases, Fleur was sent off to her own room. They had agreed to have trays sent up but Blaine assured her sister that she preferred to eat later and then to go immediately to bed. Fleur agreed to join her for breakfast and tell her all the details of the ball. Blaine dozed on the chaise until it was time to prepare for her own evening.
"Just look at your lovely hair! It's surely a nasty color," Tate wailed as she settled the last hairpin in place.
"It's not so dreadful. It's different," Blaine said as she stared into the mirror. "I hope you're right, that this will wash out. I much prefer my own hair."
In place of her white-blond color, Blaine's hair was brown. It had the look of old oak but not near the deep tones of old wood. At least the hair had a sheen of sorts and Tate had arranged it in a bundle of curls pulled high on her head and cascading down to her shoulders. Ignoring the frowning dresser, Blaine got up from the vanity bench and crossed the room to the cheval glass.
Her gown, a cool column of heavy ivory satin, was magnificent. Tate had purloined it from the theatre's wardrobe where it had been placed after she had played Mary Queen of Scots last season. The lines were simple and it was unadorned with the exception of a band of lace along the low décolletage and at the edge of the puffed sleeves. A sash of softer satin caught the material beneath her breasts and tied in the back in a shimmering pouf. She wore no jewelry at her neck only a wide band of ivory satin. Pearls dangled from her ears and swung gently against the side of her neck.
"You needn't look so satisfied, miss," Tate sniffed. "It's true you're a beauty but remember most gentlemen are beasts at heart."
Blaine laughed at the vision of Drew as a drooling, snarling animal but she sobered quickly reminded that her assignation this evening was dangerous and most probably a dreadful mistake. She raised her chin in defiance. She had promised herself one magical evening and now was not the time to cry craven.
"That's enough, Tate. My mind is quite made up so there's no point in nattering at me. I shall be perfectly safe under Sarge's protection. I do not consider Lord Farrington a raving lunatic. I am sure he will conduct himself as a gentleman."
"I suppose you know best. My lips are sealed, miss," Tate said but could not resist one last reminder. "Keep your hood well forward and watch your step."
Sarge assisted her into the carriage, glowering darkly over what he considered the greatest folly. When she told him their destination he balked and, it was only after she ordered him that, he slammed the door and stomped around to take the reins. As the carriage got under way, Blaine smoothed out her skirts and leaned back against the squabs, exhausted by her preparations and the nagging of the servants. She had a strong feeling of ill usage until she reminded herself that both Sarge and Tate were only trying to protect her. When she thought about the evening ahead, she found it was difficult to breath naturally. Her chest felt constricted and she found herself more nearly panting. Her heart was pounding in a most exaggerated fashion. Overcome by nervousness, she pressed her hands together in her lap to keep them from trembling.
She had to admit she felt frightened. Having never been involved in such a venture before, she was worried that something would go wrong. Drew's instructions had been explicit to assure her of secrecy and for that very reason she could not ignore the feeling of shame at the clandestine nature of their meeting. Once more she was caught up in a series of lies.
The servants at Portman Square knew her only as Lady Yates. In order to explain her absence in the evenings, she had told the housekeeper that she would be staying most nights with an old friend who was unwell. At the times when she had no performance at the theatre, she stayed at Portman Square, keeping to her room with the explanation that she was overtired. Tonight after she was dressed, Tate had had to smuggle her out of the house and would be waiting to admit her on her return.
The coach arrived much too quickly at the Rose and Trellis. From the name, Blaine had expected a charming wayside inn but the place was tucked into a copse of trees, looking timeworn and rather disreputable. She shuddered as she stepped to the ground and pulled her hood more securely around her face. Before she could lose courage, she walked quickly across the yard to the side door, leaving a sullen and disgruntled Sarge beside the carriage.
The door closed with a sharp rattle of the latch and Blaine was plunged into darkness. Through the walls she could hear the sounds of revelry from the public rooms of the inn which did little to encourage her. Her heart tripped with fear in the darkened stairwell and she clamped her teeth together to keep them from chattering. She fumbled around in the darkness for the railing. When her hand touched the rough wood, she clung to it.
She smiled grimly in the darkness, telling herself not to be such a ninny and took a deep steadying breath. Her heart still pounded in an erratic manner but she grasped the railing firmly and began to climb the stairs. At the first door on the right, she raised her hand, scratching lightly on the panel. The door swung open and firm fingers grasped her arm and swung her inside the room. Her hood fell forward blinding her and she struggled to pull herself from the binding fingers, gasping as the door closed with a sharp click of the latch.
"Forgive me, my dear, for giving you such a fright."
Drew's deep voice reassured her and as he released her wrist, she pushed her hood back. She smiled in relief at his elegant attire until she looked beyond him to the room.
In the light from the candles in the wall sconce, she could see that the room was not large and more nearly a bedchamber than a sitting room. Although there were two easy chairs in a windowed alcove, a large fourposter bed, covered by a brightly-patterned quilt, dominated. There were more candles on the table beside the bed, surrounding it in a harsh glow. She pressed her back against the panels of the door, appalled that she had so mistaken Drew Farrington. It was painfully obvious that the room had been furnished as the backdrop for a scene of seduction.
The sight of the disillusionment on the beautiful woman's face, struck Drew like a blow. "Please forgive me, Miss Mason," h
e said. "I had no intention of insulting you."
At his words, she raised accusing eyes and studied his face. He held perfectly still beneath her scrutiny and then opened his arms. With only a momentary hesitation, she trustingly stepped into his embrace as if to seek reassurance from her frightening conclusions. He could feel the trembling of the body pressed close to his and he was washed with a wave of shame that he had ever contrived such a shoddy arrangement. He could not believe that he could have been so thoughtless as to give her even a moment of discomfort.
Slowly she raised her face. His breath caught in his throat at the ivory perfection of her skin and the golden luminescence of her eyes. His eyes caressed her shining curls and he loosened the clasp at her neck, swinging the cape from her shoulders in a single movement. Standing back, he admired the elegance of her gown and the radiance of her lovely features. In the tawdry surroundings, La Solitaire shone like a lily among weeds
Blaine had recovered a little of her courage and stepped away from Drew, giggling softly at the stunned expression on his face. There was no sign of recognition in his face, only a look of admiration that sent her pulse racing.
"I am sorry for displaying such missish airs, Lord Farrington," she said. "The stairwell was dark and I became confused."
"You need never apologize, Miss Mason. I am at fault. I should never have invited you to such a place." Drew folded her cloak and placed it on the seat of a chair against the wall.
"I do not normally accept invitations of any kind," Blaine said. "I am not really sure why I came."
Without commenting, Drew took her hand, leading her around the bed and over to one of the chairs that overlooked the innyard. It comforted her to see a corner of her carriage and to know that Sarge was so close at hand. She eyed the ancient chair with misgivings, then gingerly seated herself. Much to her surprise it was quite comfortable.
"Do you come here often, Lord Farrington?" she asked as he pulled up the other equally disreputable chair.
Drew laughed, the sound harsh in the little room. "My apologies again, Miss Mason. I have behaved like a callow youth in arranging this evening. Until tonight I had never been to this dreadful place. I asked an acquaintance to suggest an inn close to town where we might be private. It appears that he misunderstood my intentions."
"Did he, milord?" Blaine asked quietly.
Even in the dim candlelight, she could see the rush of color to Drew's face. He looked much like an awkward schoolboy and seeing the guilt written clearly on his countenance, she could not hold back a chuckle of amusement.
"Devil take it!" Drew leaped to his feet, glaring down at the smiling woman. "He did not mistake me. I will tell you truly, ma'am. It was my intention to invite you here for the sole purpose of seducing you and making you my mistress."
Blaine recognized immediately that the anger in his voice was directed at himself, not at her. She accepted his words but wondered what had made him change his mind. "Were you not even going to feed me?"
"Good God, woman!" Drew exploded.
When Blaine dissolved into giggles at the sight of his outraged expression, he threw himself back into his chair, his face black with fury. This action raised a cloud of dust and she was convulsed anew. Finally Drew caught the total idiocy of his anger and he joined in her hysteria, laughing until tears stood in his eyes.
"You are surely a most exasperating woman," Drew announced when he could pull himself together enough to speak.
"But I am hungry," she explained. "Since you are not going to dishonor me, the very least you could do is not let me starve."
"You obviously have few sensibilities to think of food at a time like this," Drew grumbled.
Muttering under his breath, he pushed himself to his feet and crossed the floor to a table against the wall. He dragged it closer to the alcove until it was within easy reach of their chairs. Then with an exaggerated flourish, he raised the covers to display the sumptuous feast.
"I apologize for the paltry selection," he said as he surveyed the sparseness of the fare. "The ham does smell delectable and I believe there is also the unavoidable roast beef. I can offer no personal recommendations but if you would care to sample, I will endeavor to pour wine."
Drew grinned as Blaine heaped a thick slice of bread with the thin-sliced ham. Before he was seated, she had taken a bite of the improvised sandwich. "It's a gourmet delight, Lord Farrington," she announced, accepting the glass of wine he extended.
She sipped the wine in silence as he helped himself to some food. He was still chewing when she made her next comment.
"It would seem to me, sir, that if your intentions were dishonorable, you might have made some push for a more lavish spread."
When he broke into a coughing fit, she tried not to laugh, but could not hold back a grin as he glared at her. "Sorry, Lord Farrington," she apologized, not the least bit contrite. "I thought you might appreciate a small suggestion for the next time."
"There will be no next time, you cheeky wench," he rasped out. "I have decided to give up women entirely."
"What a shame." She clicked her tongue in dismay. "I trust my plain speaking hasn't put you off your feed as well."
Drew snorted good humoredly at this latest sally. "Baggage!" he said, smiling happily across at her.
They ate slowly, talking easily throughout the meal. They spoke in the way of old friends, comfortable in each other's company. It was only as the meal was drawing to a close that Blaine was aware of a sudden tension in the air. It had been a magical evening but there was an air of intimacy to their situation that suddenly made her uneasy.
Blaine had considered the possibility that Drew might ask her to become his mistress. She knew if she said no, he would never force her. He wanted her, but he was basically a principled man. In thinking of the evening, she had focused on his feelings and his behavior. She had not taken into account her own response and when she looked into her own heart, she was appalled at what she saw.
She was in love with Drew Farrington. She had already begun to like the man in Wiltshire but over the succeeding weeks she had let down her guard and had somehow fallen in love. The revelation of her feelings was truly frightening as she realized that her love had made her vulnerable; it had weakened her defenses and left her open to any advance he might chose to make. Without volition her eyes moved to his face and she found she could only focus on his lips. Her heart pounded in her throat and she knew she must leave immediately.
"Thank you for dinner, Lord Farrington," she said, pushing herself out of her chair.
At her abrupt movement, Drew leaped to his feet, moving quickly to block her path. She could feel a trembling weakness in her knees and she willed herself not to reach out for him.
"Must you leave so soon?" Drew asked, his eyes moving across her face as if he were memorizing it.
Blaine licked her lips and tried to speak but only a small cry burst from her lips.
At the sound, Drew took her in his arms, stroking the curve of her cheek with the back of his hand. She caught her breath at the contact and her eyelids fluttered in the rush of excitement that flowed through her body. She could feel the heat rising between them, a fire that she knew would consume her. He bent his head until his lips were only a breath away as if waiting for her permission. She rose to meet him and he took possession of her mouth with a tenderness that she had not known existed.
The kiss seemed to last forever but eventually Blaine's senses cleared. She had known all along that she could have no relationship with Drew. She was an actress and as such he would never offer her marriage. If she remained, she would deny him nothing. Once she became his mistress, he would lose all respect for her and she could not bear that thought. With the last remaining strength in her body, Blaine pushed against his chest and he immediately released her.
"I must go," she whispered.
"When can I see you again?" Drew's voice was hoarse with emotion and he grasped her shoulders when she shook her head. "I wi
ll not ask you to stay. This is no place for you and I would not insult you so. But I must see you again, my dearest love."
Blaine bit her lip, knowing she must leave quickly before she gave in to the temptation of his nearness. "I will send you a note," she said. Then before he could question her further, she ran across the room and swept up her cloak. She swung it around her shoulders and opened the door into the hallway before Drew could stop her.
Blinded by tears, she stumbled as she closed the door into the hall. She grasped the stair rail and steadied herself, flipping the hood up over her hair. Then carefully she went down the stairs and opened the door into the cool night air. She crossed the innyard, ignoring the horseman who had to rein in to keep from trampling her. Without a backward glance, she raced to the side of the carriage where Sarge was waiting. He thrust her inside and then leaped to his seat and gave the horses the office to start.
Talbott Stoddard sucked in his breath when he recognized the figure in the flowing cloak. La Solitaire! He would recognize her face anywhere. Beneath lowered brows, he watched the carriage as it turned out of the yard then his eyes shifted and he glared up at the lighted window of the inn. It took him no time at all to check the stable and identify Drew Farrington's familiar black stallion. Cursing under his breath, he once more crossed the yard and vaulted into his saddle, roughly kicking his horse back toward London.
Although the carriage was traveling at a brisk clip, Stoddard's horse easily caught up with it. He stayed well back until it moved into the more populated areas of town. For months he had been attempting to discover where Maggie Mason lived but Sarge, her wily bodyguard and coachman, never took the same route from the theatre. Tonight he was determined to follow the actress to the ends of the earth.
Curiosity was rampant as the carriage moved into the more fashionable neighborhoods of London. He could not believe that any nobleman would dare keep his light o' love under the very noses of the starchy tattlemongers of the ton . But what else could this mean?
Stoddard kept his horse close to the wall, moving cautiously as the carriage navigated the narrow side streets. When it finally turned into the mews behind Portland Square, his teeth gleamed in the darkness in a grim smile of triumph. He pressed his horse foreword and was just in time to see the slender ivory figure slip inside the wrought iron gates of an imposing townhouse. Patiently he waited and was eventually rewarded by the flicker of candlelight in an upstairs room. La Solitaire had come home.
Turning his horse out of the mews, Stoddard's face reflected the anger of his thoughts. He had sworn to possess La Solitaire. Damn Drew Farrington! The bastard might have breached the actress' defenses but by the look on the woman's face when she left the inn, Stoddard suspected that the seduction had not gone as planned. There was still hope that he would succeed before his rival. For years he had hated Drew and the thought that Farrington desired La Solitaire was impetus enough to pursue the woman. Besides he had a score to settle with the celebrated Maggie Mason.
Stoddard stormed into his rooms and immediately poured himself a large brandy. He threw back his head and gulped the fiery liquor and then refilled his glass. Moving to the mantel he stared up at the portrait of himself, as always delighted by the artist's rendering. He had always been proud of his physique and the handsome face and Adonis-like curls that had won him so many females. The silly chits were easily wooed and even more easily won. All except La Solitaire.
With a snarl, Stoddard threw his snifter into the empty fireplace, smiling at the tinkling shower of glass on the tile surround. Now that he knew where La Solitaire lived it would be a simple matter to find out all about her. His brow furrowed in thought and he dropped into a chair, his fingers steepled under his chin.
There was something very confusing about the whole affair. He had recognized the house on Portman Square. It was owned by Aurelia Breckenridge, Drew Farrington's aunt who was away on a visit in Scotland. If the man already had the actress in keeping then why had he arranged to meet her at the Rose and Trellis Inn. Besides, the Meriweathers were staying at Portman Square and even Drew would never dare to house an innocent debutante like Fleur Meriweather under the same roof as a notorious actress. Society would ostracize him for such an outrage.
Could there be some connection between the Meriweathers and Maggie Mason. A servant? A relative? The latter was clearly impossible. No woman of good family would ever become an actress. It was surely a puzzle and the more he thought about it, the more curious he became. Perhaps he might learn something if he called on the Meriweathers. He had not called on Fleur sooner because he had felt she was not worth the effort. There was little sport in the deflowering of such a simple child. But the petite blond had been awed by his attentions in Wiltshire and surely he could use that to his advantage to find out what he most needed to know.
Did Drew know that La Solitaire was living at Portman Square? Stoddard doubted it and that thought did much to raise his spirits. How rich to be able to tell him that the wench had been right under his aristocratic nose. Despite the fact he had been meeting Maggie Mason at the inn, Stoddard was convinced that Drew had not been successful in bedding the actress. What sweet revenge to succeed with La Solitaire and flaunt her before the arrogant Lord Farrington.
His eyes kindled at the thought of possessing the beautiful actress. She would pay for rejecting his offer. He would have been gentle with her then, but now he would make her regret her insolence. Once he had her in his hands, he would see to it that no man would ever want her again.
Chapter Eleven