The Masquerade

by Brenda Joyce

  Anna sat down beside her as Lizzie spoke. “I was almost run down by a coach. Tyrell de Warenne rescued me,” she said.

  Both sisters gaped.

  Georgie cried, “And you are telling us this now?”

  Anna was as stunned. “Tyrell de Warenne rescued you?”

  Lizzie nodded. “He rescued me—and he was so kind! He swore he’d chase those scoundrels down and give them his mind. He wanted to see me home.” Lizzie looked up at her incredulous siblings. “I acted like a child. I told him he was kind, heroic and handsome!”

  Georgie seemed amazed, and Anna remained quite disbelieving. Georgie finally said, carefully, “So what, exactly, is wrong? Haven’t you been waiting for a genuine encounter with him your entire life?”

  “Didn’t you hear what I said?” Lizzie cried. “He must know exactly how I feel!”

  “Well, you could have been more discreet,” Georgie agreed sensibly.

  Anna stood with a little laugh. “Men love to be told that they are strong and brave and handsome. I can’t believe he rescued you. Lizzie, you must tell us everything!”

  “You could tell a gentleman that the sky is falling on his head and he would swear you are right.” Lizzie refuted. “You could tell a man that his pockmarks are adorable and I feel certain he would get down on one knee! I am sure I did not flatter Tyrell de Warenne in a sophisticated manner. In fact, I saw him start to laugh at me. I acted like a child.”

  “He laughed at you?” Anna asked. Then, “He must have realized you are only sixteen!”

  Georgie came to the rescue. She sat down on Lizzie’s other side and put her arm around her. “I am sure you are grossly exaggerating, Lizzie. I am sure he did not mind being told that he was handsome. As Anna has said, men love to be admired. Just think of it! He rescued you—why, that is the stuff of the novels you read!”

  Lizzie moaned. “I have yet to tell you the worst part! I was a muddy mess, Georgie. I had mud all over my dress and even in my hair.” She did not add the very worst part—that she had been thinking about being in his arms and that she suspected he had guessed. “He is a gentleman and he played the role perfectly, but I feel certain he does not think highly of me at all.”

  “No gentleman would fault a woman for her appearance, not in such a circumstance, Lizzie,” Georgie said calmly.

  Lizzie looked at her. “I was as foolish as Mama, prattling on. Maybe I am a foolish woman—after all, I am her daughter.”

  “Liz! You are nothing like Mama,” Georgie said with some small horror.

  Lizzie wiped her eyes. “I am sorry for being such a ninny. But he was so heroic. He saved my life. What am I going to do when I see him tonight? If only I had the courage to tell Mama I am not going, but I can’t possibly let her down.”

  “Are you telling us everything?” Anna asked.

  “Of course I am!” Lizzie hugged herself. She would not admit to either sister just how shameful her thoughts had been.

  “Did he kiss you?” Anna asked, apparently sensing all was not quite revealed.

  Lizzie gave her an incredulous look. “He is a gentleman!”

  Anna studied her. “I don’t understand why you are so upset,” she finally said.

  Georgie spoke, her tone brisk. “Lizzie, I can understand why this has been a huge crisis for you, but as the adage goes, there is no use crying over spilt milk. Whatever you said, there is no taking it back. I am sure he is not thinking about your words.”

  “I hope you are right,” Lizzie muttered.

  Anna stood. “We should help Lizzie with her hair. Georgie, is this costume too dark for my complexion?”

  “It’s fine,” Georgie returned. “Lizzie, as exciting as his rescue must have been, he is a de Warenne and you are only a Fitzgerald.” Her tone was gentle.

  Anna put her hands on her hips. “And sixteen,” she added. She flashed a smile. “We are not trying to be mean, Lizzie, but if a man like that is thinking about anyone, why, it is some beautiful courtesan that he is currently courting.” Anna stood. “We are all going to be late!”

  Lizzie stiffened. Anna’s words were like a splash of ice water. And suddenly she realized that all of her anxiety had been in vain. Her sisters were right. He was a de Warenne and she was an impoverished Irish gentlewoman—not to mention sixteen to his twenty-four years. He had undoubtedly forgotten all about their encounter the moment he had left her at St. Mary’s. If he saw her again, it was unlikely he would even recognize her. He would be chasing some terribly beautiful noblewoman—or a notoriously seductive courtesan.

  Oddly, she felt far more dismayed than before.

  “Are you all right?” Georgie asked, seeing her distress.

  “Of course,” Lizzie said, eyes downcast. “I am doubly the fool, to think he would even think about me for a moment.” The thought hurt, very much, but then she pulled herself together, standing and smiling. “I am sorry. Because of my lapse into hysteria, you will have to wait for me and we will all be late.”

  “Don’t apologize,” Georgie said, also rising. “You have loved him from afar forever. Of course such an encounter would distress you. In any case, we can help you dress and we will hardly be late at all.”

  Anna had gone to the bureau. “I will curl your hair,” she said, “as I am the best at it. Let me heat the tongs.”

  Lizzie managed another smile, turning her back to Georgie so she could be helped out of her dress. But she wasn’t fine, she was on a whirlwind of emotion, first thrust high, then dragged low and lower still. But it was best this way, wasn’t it? It was best that he would never recall her again. It was best that he should remain her secret fantasy lover.

  And then she gave up. Whirling, she seized Anna’s hands, knowing she must be mad. “Make me beautiful,” she cried.

  Anna regarded her with obvious surprise.

  “Do something special with my hair—I want to wear rouge—and coal on my eyes!”

  “I can try,” Anna began hesitantly with a glance at an equally surprised Georgie. “Lizzie? What are you thinking?”

  Lizzie swallowed and prayed. “I am thinking that tonight I have a second chance and I must try to win his admiration, even if only for a single night.”

  As they went up the wide limestone steps in front of the house, a mansion the size of the grandest homes in southern Ireland, Mama prattled on. Clad as a Georgian lady from just a few decades ago, she cried, “I have never been more pleased! Lizzie, seeing you dressed so, why, you can stand up proudly with your sisters now. You have given me so much hope! I would not be surprised if you did not find a husband tonight!”

  They followed several other guests inside, all beautifully garbed in costumes of silk and velvet. Lizzie could not respond and she could not smile. She was breathless and almost in a daze, as she still did not quite know how this had happened. The velvet dress was the most exquisite garment to ever touch her body—and the most sensual, as well. Her sisters had insisted that she stand before the mirror, once she had pulled the costume on. The dark green velvet enhanced her fair complexion, the color of her hair and her eyes, which had never been more striking. Rouge highlighted her lips, which seemed oddly full, but not her cheeks; her sisters had insisted she didn’t need more color, as she was rather flushed from excitement. Even her figure had somehow improved. The gown’s bodice was lower than Lizzie had expected, drawing the eye upward to her bare décolletage, her long neck and face. Anna had spent almost an hour curling her hair. Lizzie had expected to wear it up, but instead, she wore it hanging to her waist. Lush strawberry waves framed her face, etching into her cheekbones and accentuating them. Lizzie had been stunned to realize that she was, for the first time in her life, rather pretty. And more important, she even felt attractive, as if she had somehow become Robin Hood’s fair lady.

  Papa now squeezed her hand. “My little girl has become a beautiful woman,” he said proudly. But his eyes were red and teary.

  Lizzie decided not to refute him, not tonight, not when t
hey were going up the steps of Adare.

  “Mama, I think the fact that Lizzie has embraced high fashion is a single step in the right direction,” Georgie said. “But she is only sixteen. You should not have too high hopes from her very first entrance into society.”

  Lizzie silently agreed.

  But excitedly, Mama continued, “Did I mention that all of the earl’s sons are in residence, including one of his stepsons, the younger one, Sean O’Neill, although I have no idea where his brother, Captain O’Neill, might be.” Mama grinned slyly. “Lizzie, he is young—not too much older than yourself.”

  “I believe you mentioned it several times,” Papa said. “Now, Mama, Georgie is right. Leave Lizzie alone before you give her an apoplexy.” Papa was firm, Mama’s hand tucked under his arm. Then he smiled at her as they entered the huge front hall with its stone floors and high ceilings. This part of the mansion, Lizzie knew, dated back centuries, and the floor remained the original one. “Have I told you how handsome you are tonight?” he asked in a quieter tone.

  Mama smiled at him. “And you, sir, are an enviable escort. I do like you in a wig, I confess.” Papa was also dressed from the early Georgian period in a frock coat, stockings and a long, curly wig.

  Lizzie realized she had halted near the door. Her family was now moving through the entry and toward a reception room that was quite the size of their entire house. She touched the white mask she wore, one that covered her eyes but revealed the lower half of her face. She was queasy with her excitement now.

  Lizzie saw that Anna had just stepped into the reception room, her grace such that she almost floated as she walked. Of course, two British soldiers instantly looked her way. They were officers and suddenly they were at her side, bowing; Lizzie knew that Anna would be blushing and demurely giving her name.

  Georgie looked back at her. She held her eye mask and now she moved it aside, both brows lifted as she strode back to her. “Come, Lizzie.” Then she smiled and added, “I promise you will be fine.”

  Lizzie hesitated, suddenly overcome. It felt as if she had waited her entire life for this night, but was she truly being a fool? Tyrell was always chased by many beautiful women, heir to the earldom that he was, and he would be occupied tonight. As Anna had suggested, surely he was courting some lady. What made her dream, even for a moment, that he might notice her?

  Two gentlemen were striding past her, one obviously dressed as a musketeer, the other as a colorful macaroni. They both glanced at her and Georgie as they passed, only to join the group now surrounding Anna. The tension in Lizzie rose, becoming quite unbearable. Why was she doing this? She was actually, in a desperate and hopeless way, thinking to compete for Tyrell’s attention! She strained to glimpse him but did not see him anywhere in the front hall.

  “Lizzie,” Georgie said with warning, “do not back out now!”

  It was as if her sister had read her mind, for she was almost ready to do just that. But her desperation won. She wanted a glimpse of Tyrell de Warenne, and she wanted a chance to undo their previous encounter. She prayed for courage when her knees felt oddly weak.

  Georgie took Lizzie by her hand rather decisively, pulling her forward. She hurried through the hall with her sister, past Anna’s group of eager suitors. The macaroni seemed to turn as she passed. In the reception room, huge columns held up the high ceiling, from which numerous, magnificent crystal chandeliers hung. The floor was a streaked marble, and a hundred guests mingled as they made their way into the ballroom.

  Mama appeared beside her and Georgie. “That macaroni tried to speak with you and you cut him, Lizzie!”

  Lizzie blinked. Had that really happened?

  Georgie squeezed her hand. “Look, Anna is already surrounded with beaux. Isn’t that nice, Mama?”

  Mama turned and suddenly she put aside her eye mask, her gaze widening. “Ooh! Isn’t that Cliff de Warenne?”

  Lizzie turned. Four men, including the two officers, surrounded Anna, all trying to talk to her at once. But just outside their group stood a man who was not in costume, looking partly bored and partly amused—no easy task. With his wildly streaked tawny hair and remarkable blue eyes, he was clearly the youngest of the earl’s sons. Rumor had it that he was an unconscionable rake, but Lizzie refused to form her opinion on rumor alone. He was also an adventurer—Lizzie knew he had been in the West Indies this past year or so. Like all the de Warennes, he was good-looking to a fault. Now he turned his back on the group and sauntered away. Lizzie decided that he was very bored, indeed.

  “I have never seen such rude and unforgivable behavior!” Mama cried, looking outraged.

  “Mama, Cliff de Warenne is not for our Anna,” Lizzie said quietly, quickly scanning the room.

  Mama faced her with more outrage. “And why not, missy?”

  Lizzie sighed. “We are not in their circle,” she tried gently.

  “He is the youngest. He will hardly marry from the first ranks!”

  “He is a de Warenne. He will inherit a fortune and will marry, I think, exactly as he chooses,” Lizzie said.

  Mama huffed.

  “I have heard he is a ne’er-do-well, and I would not want my Anna associated with such a man,” Papa stated.

  “If he calls—and I know he will, I saw the way he was regarding our Anna—you will most certainly be pleased with such an association,” Mama declared.

  Georgie and Lizzie exchanged glances and slipped away from their parents, now in the throes of a good argument. “He is handsome,” Lizzie admitted with a smile.

  “But not for any of us,” Georgie agreed, also smiling. Then her smile receded. “Sometimes I worry about Mama, Lizzie. She is under so much strain, with three daughters of marriageable age and no real funds to speak of. If only Anna would marry, I think some of the pressure would be instantly lifted.”

  “Mama might suffer from boredom if she did not have us to launch into society,” Lizzie said seriously. “What would she do then?”

  Georgie frowned. “She was in the dining salon the other day, sitting in a chair, looking quite pale and fanning herself as if she could not breathe.”

  Lizzie halted in her tracks. “Do you think she is ill?”

  “She claimed a mere shortness of breath and some dizziness. But I am worried. I wish she would rest a bit more.”

  Lizzie was alarmed. “We will make her rest,” she decided.

  Georgie suddenly seized her hand and, her tone teasing, said, “Isn’t that Sean O’Neill, the earl’s stepson whom Mama wishes you to meet?”

  Lizzie followed her gaze and recognized the tall, dark-haired young man instantly. He was conversing with another gentleman very seriously, costumed as a knight. “I am certainly not marching over there and introducing myself to him!”

  “Why ever not? He is quite the catch, I should think—and more in our league, as he isn’t titled.”

  Lizzie scowled, wondering why Georgie was provoking her. “I wonder where Tyrell is.” She scanned the crowd a second time, quite certain he was not present. Even speaking his name caused her heart to skip wildly in a combination of excitement and anxiety. “Let’s go into the ballroom,” she said.

  But Georgie suddenly tugged her hand, forcing her to halt. “I also worry about you.”

  Lizzie froze. “Georgie,” she began.

  “No. It is amusing to dress up tonight in the hopes of trying to impress him after what transpired in town, but the truth is, this infatuation has gone on for far too long. How will you ever give another man a chance when you feel as you claim to?”

  Lizzie folded her arms defensively over her chest. “I do not claim anything. I cannot help my feelings. Besides, I meant what I said the other day—my fate is spinsterhood.”

  “I doubt that! Is it at all possible that you think you love him so you will never have to find the courage to face a real suitor?”

  Lizzie gasped. “No,” she said, “I really love him, Georgie. I always have and I always will. I am not interested in f
inding someone else.”

  “But he is not for you.”

  “Which is why I shall grow old alone, taking care of Mama and Papa. Let’s go into the ballroom.” She did not want to discuss this any further.

  But Georgie was determined. “I am afraid that you hide behind your love for him, just as you hide in your novels. There is a real world out there, Lizzie, and I so wish you would be a part of it.”

  “I am a part of it,” Lizzie said, shaken. “As much as you are.”

  “I don’t read a dozen romance novels every month. I do not claim to be in love with a man I can never have.”

  “No, you bury yourself in political essays and articles! You are the one who almost refused to come to this ball,” Lizzie accused.

  “I only refused because I knew that there is no one here for me,” Georgie snapped, as flushed as Lizzie now. “I know that one day I will have to accept one of Mama’s suitors, as I have no means of supporting myself in the future otherwise. Sometimes I pretend to myself that is not so, but we both know it is—just as one day you will have to wed, as well, and it won’t be Tyrell de Warenne.”

  “I cannot believe you are talking like this,” Lizzie cried. A part of her ached for Georgie and was afraid for her, but she was also dismayed and even angry.

  Georgie had calmed. “If Mama is ill from the burden she bears in caring for us, I may accept Mr. Harold. He seems the most interested in me, and I do not think his demands will be too harsh.”

  Lizzie felt herself pale. “But he is old—he is fat—he is bald—he sells wine!”

  “I hardly expect a dashing buck like Cliff de Warenne,” she said with a rueful smile.

  “Oh, please, do not even think of marrying that…that toad!” Lizzie wanted to cry. “Let’s try to find you a better prospect—right now! There are so many handsome young men present.”

  Georgie rolled her eyes. “And no one is going to look twice at me.”

  “You are wrong,” Lizzie flashed. “You are very elegant tonight.”

  Georgie shrugged. The ballroom was adjacent the reception hall and could be entered directly from it through various sets of double doors. It was very crowded inside and they bumped into the macaroni and his musketeer friend. Both men bowed. “My lady,” the macaroni said, and Lizzie thought he was speaking to Georgie, “would you do me the honor of joining me in this dance?’