The Masquerade

by Brenda Joyce

  Lizzie shut off her thoughts, smiled and squeezed Anna’s hand. Anna smiled back, and then closed her eyes in exhaustion. Lizzie realized that the midwife was turning to the waiting maid. “No,” she heard herself cry, and she ran from the bed, taking the blanket the maid held. She quickly took Anna’s son in her arms, wrapping him in the blanket as she did so.

  Remarkable blue eyes opened and met hers, the gaze painfully direct.

  Lizzie felt her heart slam to a stop as she looked at the most beautiful and tiny creature she had ever seen. Tyrell’s son. She vaguely heard the midwife telling her the child needed to be carefully cleaned. Lizzie felt something bloom inside of her breast, expanding to impossible dimensions. And then the infant seemed to smile at her.

  Holding him close, no longer aware of anyone in the room, Lizzie smiled back. She was holding Tyrell’s son and there could be no doubt about it. While all newborns had blue eyes, his were clearly the brilliant de Warenne blue, and he had his father’s swarthy complexion and dark hair. She was holding Tyrell’s son.

  The baby never looked away, his gaze remarkably focused.

  And holding him, Lizzie knew she had never loved anyone or anything more. “How beautiful you are, my little darling,” she whispered, remaining stunned by the comprehension. “You are going to grow up to be exactly like your father, aren’t you?”

  The nursemaid wiped the child’s face as Lizzie held him. “Oh, he’s a fine little boy,” she said, beaming. “Look at those eyes! How alert he is!”

  “Yes,” Lizzie murmured, her heart so swollen now with her love that it almost hurt.

  This was Tyrell’s son. He was also her nephew, her very own flesh and blood.

  Eleanor entered the room. “I see the deed has been done,” she remarked, glancing at Anna, who appeared to be sleeping. She paused at Lizzie’s side and they both stared at the child. “Isn’t he handsome? Isn’t he perfect?” Lizzie asked, a terrible possessiveness claiming her, never taking her eyes off of Anna’s son.

  “He looks like his father,” Eleanor remarked quietly.

  Lizzie felt her heart lurch wildly. “It is only because we know the truth,” she lied, although she agreed with her aunt completely.

  Eleanor was silent.

  Lizzie turned her back to her, cradling the baby more tightly to her breast. What should they name him? she wondered, still smiling at her nephew. Her nephew. “He needs a name,” Lizzie murmured. “Anna? Dear? We must name your son,” she said.

  Anna’s eyes fluttered open. “My son,” she whispered.

  “We are hardly naming him, Elizabeth,” Eleanor said firmly. “The good sisters will be here tomorrow to take him to his new parents. They will surely have that honor.”

  Lizzie felt unbearable pain.

  Eleanor laid her hand on Lizzie’s shoulder. “Do not become too attached, my dear,” she said softly.

  And Lizzie felt as if someone had just thrown her in a tub of ice water. Her grasp on the child must have increased, because he started to cry. She turned away from them all, hushing the baby. “Don’t cry, don’t cry,” she murmured, rocking him.

  His brief whimpers ceased and he stared intently at her.

  I can’t do this, Lizzie thought wildly. I cannot give this child up!

  “Lizzie, give the child over to the nurse,” Eleanor ordered sharply. “I think it’s best.”

  Lizzie held the baby more closely. “Not yet,” she said, the panic surging. How could she do this? How could she ever put little Ned down? For that was his name, she decided. Ned, a fine name indeed, short for Edward, in honor of his grandfather, the earl.

  “I’ll take him, mum,” the maid said, reaching out.

  “No!” Lizzie jerked away. She quickly smiled at Ned, who had been on the verge of wailing. He seemed to smile back.

  Anna whispered weakly, “Can I…see him?”

  Lizzie stiffened and she realized she did not want her sister to hold Ned. Quickly, tightly, she closed her eyes, aware that now she was damp with perspiration. What was wrong with her? They had a plan, a solution to Anna’s terrible situation!

  Tyrell de Warenne’s image pierced through her mind, his regard intense and unnerving.

  Instantly Lizzie shoved that image away. She could not think about him now. She could not think about his rights as a father. Because tomorrow, the nuns would come and take Ned away….

  “Lizzie?” Anna whispered.

  Lizzie felt tears rising, tears she could not control.

  Eleanor touched Lizzie’s shoulder. “Let her see the child, dear,” she said softly.

  Lizzie somehow nodded.

  With Eleanor guiding her, she went over to Anna’s bedside. “Isn’t he beautiful?” she asked roughly, but she made no move to lay Ned down beside his mother.

  Tears filled Anna’s eyes and she nodded. “He looks—” She paused and wet her cracked lips. “He looks just like his father. Oh, God. He will be a mirror image, don’t you think?”

  Lizzie couldn’t speak. She shook her head meaninglessly.

  Anna clutched the sheets. “Promise me you will keep my secret, Lizzie, no matter the circumstance!” Anna cried. “He must never know!”

  And in that moment, Lizzie knew that such a secret was wrong. Tyrell had every right to his child, and she knew, with all of her heart, that he would cherish his son. But she did not hesitate. “He will never know. I promise.”

  Anna’s eyes were closed, but she was breathing shallowly and rapidly. She whispered, “Thank you.”

  Lizzie turned away.

  “Elizabeth?” Eleanor laid her hand on her shoulder. “I want you to give the child to the nurse. It is time for him to be properly cared for.”

  And Lizzie knew that if she released the baby, she would never hold him again. She knew it the way she knew that she must breathe in order to live. In that moment, as she faced her aunt, cupping the back of Ned’s head to her breast, she also knew what she must do. “Send word to the sisters. They need not come,” she said harshly.

  Eleanor stared. “What do you intend?” she asked, with both restraint and alarm.

  “Tell them the child has his new mother.”

  “Lizzie!” Eleanor cried in protest.

  “No. I am Ned’s mother now.”

  Part Two

  June 1814–August 1814

  7

  An Intolerable Situation

  “Ma…ma. Mmma….”

  Lizzie was humming as she rolled the dough for a piecrust. It was a beautiful June day, neither too warm nor too cool, with barely a cloud in the sky. She had decided to make an apple pie for supper.

  The moment the words were out of little Ned’s mouth, she froze, her heart lurching. In a few weeks, Ned would have his first birthday. He had been making all kinds of sounds for some time, but he had never spoken a coherent word before. Lizzie whirled to face her child, who sat strapped into a tall kitchen chair, his handsome face covered with stains from the blueberries he was eating. “Neddie?” she whispered, amazed at the miracle she was witnessing. Was he finally speaking?

  “Mma!” he shrieked, and the blueberries exploded from his hand.

  The berries rolled across the floor, but Lizzie did not care. With a whoop, she reached her son and hugged him. “Neddie! Oh, tell me my name again. Neddie, say Mama!”

  “Mma!” he cried, needing no encouragement, and beamed at her, clearly understanding his huge accomplishment.

  Tears filled Lizzie’s eyes. Her heart was so swollen with love, it almost seemed impossible for it to expand. “My darling boy,” she whispered. “You are so clever! Just like your father!” And Tyrell’s darkly handsome image came to mind.

  As the mother of his son—a child who looked exactly as he must have at that age—Tyrell was never far from her mind.

  Ned stopped smiling. Looking very serious, he glared at her and he pointed one chubby hand at the floor. “Mma,” he demanded. “Mma! Da, da!”

  For one instant Lizzie stared in disbelie
f. As Ned had no father in his life, and no male figure other than Leclerc, she could not fathom that he might now attempt to say Papa or Daddy. Then he shrieked, still pointing at the floor, and she understood. Relief overcame her then. He wasn’t trying to say Dada. He was trying to tell her that he wanted to get down from the tall chair.

  “Down,” Lizzie corrected gently, removing the waist belt and putting him on the floor. Instantly he staggered upright, took a few wobbling steps and fell down. He howled in outrage.

  “Come, Ned, try again,” Lizzie said softly, taking his hand.

  The temper tantrum vanished as quickly as it had appeared. Eagerly he pushed to his feet, using her as support. Lizzie helped him take a few teetering steps. Ned laughed in delight, clearly as pleased as punch over his accomplishments.

  “He will be an arrogant man, I think,” Eleanor said from the kitchen doorway.

  “He just called me Mama,” she said eagerly. “And I think he will be walking very soon.”

  Ned was tugging on her hand, clearly wanting to go to Eleanor. Lizzie gave in, leading him over. Instantly Eleanor lifted him into her arms. “Clever boy,” she said fondly.

  Lizzie smiled at the sight of them. Ever since she had decided to keep Ned, her life had become perfect, or nearly so.

  It was the fear that prevented her life from being truly perfect. She lived in quiet terror, waiting for the day when his father would walk into their lives and claim him, furiously angry with her for this deception, tearing Ned from her arms and her very life.

  Of course, Lizzie reminded herself that Tyrell could not possibly discover the truth—she, Anna and Eleanor were all sworn to secrecy. Only a handful of servants had remained during the obvious part of Anna’s pregnancy; the rest had been given a leave. Those servants, such as Leclerc and the nursemaid, Rosie, were completely trustworthy. Eleanor and Lizzie continued to avoid having guests at Glen Barry to this day. Even Rory remained in the dark, having no clue as to Ned’s existence. When he did visit them, Neddie remained in the third-floor nursery.

  And as for her guilt, she rationalized that away. Lizzie knew it was wrong to deny Tyrell de Warenne his son. She knew he would be an outstanding father. But he would never be given that chance, not now, not while Ned was a child. Lizzie had sworn to take Anna’s secret to the grave with her so that Anna would not be ruined—and so she could keep Ned as her own.

  So much had changed since that promise was made. Ned was a little person in his own right. Lizzie had only to look at him to know he was a de Warenne. Lizzie loved him so much that she knew one day he must be told the truth of his paternity and claim his birthright. But Anna’s marriage would be ruined if Ned ever stepped forth openly as a de Warenne. Tyrell would never believe Lizzie was his mother, and if he were to accept that Ned was his son, the truth would have to be told.

  Eleven months ago, Lizzie’s promise had seemed simple enough. Now Lizzie was acutely aware of her determination to guard Ned’s birthright for some future day. The promise she had made to Anna would eventually have to be broken.

  But there was time, yet.

  The guilt nagged on all possible levels, but Lizzie told herself she would wait until Ned’s eighteenth birthday to set matters right. Surely, by then, even Anna would want her son to claim his place in the de Warenne dynasty.

  Eleanor cut into her thoughts. Her tone firm, she said, “We need to speak, Elizabeth.”

  Lizzie tensed, certain she knew what was coming. She simply was not ready to go home. She would never be ready to return home—Raven Hall was too close to Adare. “I am baking a pie,” she said in a rush. “But I will be done in an hour or so.”

  “The pie can wait,” Eleanor said seriously. “Elizabeth, I went to your room looking for you and I saw a letter from your mother—the letter you have yet to open! The postmark is a week old. It is time to end this madness, my dear.”

  Lizzie flinched because Eleanor was right. She missed her parents and Georgie. Anna had long since left Glen Barry and she had married Lieutenant Morely in September as planned. Lizzie had not attended the wedding, a decision she and Anna had made together. Anna and her husband now resided in Derbyshire at his family home; Thomas had resigned his commission and was now a gentleman of leisure. Anna’s letters indicated that she was very happy. There were frequent guests at Cottingham; she wrote that she was very popular and that Thomas wished to start a family. The fact that Anna’s life sounded perfect reassured her that they had done the right thing, never mind that Tyrell was being denied the opportunity to raise his child.

  But Lizzie avoided the letters from home. Georgie kept insisting that she return. She had recently become engaged to Peter Harold and Lizzie knew that she was miserably unhappy, as she could read between the lines her sister wrote. Mama had begun to hint that her stay had become an overly long one. It was obvious that Mama missed her and was hurt by her prolonged absence. Papa had even written, blatantly asking her to come home, even if she must bring the ailing Eleanor with her. Last week Lizzie had received letters from Mama and Georgie. They remained unopened on her secretaire, for her excuses for staying in the Pale were running out.

  “Lydia has written me, as well. She misses you terribly, Elizabeth, and I cannot say that I blame her. It has been well over a year, my girl, and it is time for you to return and face the music—if you still intend to continue this masquerade.”

  Lizzie turned away from her aunt, aware of the fear rising rapidly inside of her. Tyrell’s image loomed. She heard Eleanor set Ned down. She glanced at him, playing with the blueberries on the floor and, reassured, she fingered the edge of the floury counter. Eleanor was right. But she wasn’t ready to go home—she was a coward, nothing more.

  Eleanor touched her shoulder from behind. “You can’t stay here, hiding in the country with me, forever.”

  Lizzie turned, biting her lip, overcome with dismay. “Why not?”

  Eleanor’s face softened. “Darling girl, what kind of life is this for you? We live in absolute seclusion. There are no parties, no outings, there is no culture, nothing at all! No one ever calls anymore, as they are always turned away. You know how fond I have become of you and Neddie. But I yearn for the city, for the theater and the opera, for a ball. I miss Rory! And I do not know how much longer I can lie to him.”

  Lizzie could imagine how terrible Eleanor felt dissembling to her favorite relation; Lizzie felt terrible, too. She and Rory had become good friends in the past year and that made deceiving him all the harder. “My life has become nothing but a lie,” she whispered.

  “Your life is far more than a lie,” Eleanor disagreed. “Elizabeth, you do not have to go through with this, you know.”

  Lizzie was aghast. “I love Ned. He is my son, in every way except the biological one. If you are suggesting I give him up, I could never do such a thing.”

  “I know that, dear. I was suggesting you declare him an orphan you have adopted, rather than go home and claim him as your own illegitimate child. You would still have a chance at wedlock, my dear.” Eleanor’s tone was surprisingly gentle.

  Lizzie shook her head, almost frantic now. “If I return home claiming to have adopted Ned, Mama will not stand for it. She will insist I give Ned up.” Lizzie had no doubt. Mama would be horrified and there would be no reasoning with her.

  “I suppose there is that risk, Elizabeth, but perhaps, for once, Lydia could be persuaded.”

  “No! I cannot take that chance, Aunt Eleanor. I have no desire to ever marry—my life is Ned!” Lizzie cried.

  Eleanor clasped her shoulder. “And have you really considered the scandal?”

  “Yes,” she lied, for she refused to give it a thought. Lizzie inhaled. “The scandal is nothing compared to such a precious child’s life and future.” How could she risk being forced to abandon Tyrell’s child? She would gladly bear any scandal for the sake of Ned.

  “You are a wonderful mother. I have seen it with my own eyes. I suppose you are right. We cannot risk losin
g Ned.”

  Lizzie smiled, in relief. “Mama might have an apoplexy, Aunt Eleanor, when I arrive with my child in my arms. Papa will be so disappointed, I think.”

  “There will be no easy way to break the news, but it is time,” Eleanor said.

  Lizzie knew that she was right. Eleanor had been overly generous in allowing her to stay for so long in her home. It wasn’t fair to keep her secluded in the country this way. She had every right to a rich and social life. It was Lizzie who had decided to forgo all social intercourse for the sake of her child, but Eleanor was paying the same price.

  “Elizabeth? Is that the real reason you do not wish to go home?”

  Lizzie jerked.

  Eleanor’s tone was terribly kind. “Anna told me of your interest in Tyrell de Warenne.”

  Lizzie gasped. “Anna told you? Oh, how could she do such a thing?” She was mortified.

  “There is nothing wrong with a young woman in love with a handsome older nobleman. Every girl dreams of a Prince Charming. But how ironic it is, that you have loved him from afar for most of your life and that you are now raising his child.”

  “I have one favor to ask you,” Lizzie said boldly, facing her aunt. “When you have already done so much. I have no right to ask anything more of you.”

  Eleanor smiled. “You can always ask another boon, my dear.”

  “Would you consider coming to Raven Hall with me? I am so frightened, Aunt Eleanor. I am afraid of telling Mama and Papa.” She hesitated. “And you are right. I am afraid I will see Tyrell de Warenne one day, and that he will somehow know the truth.”

  Ten days later, Lizzie stared out of the window of Eleanor’s handsome black-and-gold coach, gazing at the lush, rolling hills of County Limerick, her heart pounding wildly. They had passed the outskirts of town a half an hour ago and were just a mile from Raven Hall. Eleanor was beside her, Ned in the rear-facing seat with his nursemaid, Rosie. Ned was soundly asleep, lulled by the rocking motion of the coach. The countryside was painfully familiar, and Lizzie remarked every farm, every stone wall, every blooming rosebush. She had refused to miss her home this past year; now she was acutely aware of being terribly homesick.