The Masquerade

by Brenda Joyce

  “Gee,” he said with authority. “Gee!” he shouted, dropping the shoe and clapping his hands.

  “My clever boy,” Lizzie whispered with pride.

  “He is very clever,” Georgie agreed, standing. “I cannot get over the shock,” she said, staring very closely now.

  Lizzie had the most uncomfortable feeling that she was referring to the shock of Ned’s paternity. She slipped to her feet. “As you said, the crisis will pass.”

  Georgie gripped her arm, stalling her. “Liz. Is Tyrell de Warenne the father?”

  Lizzie was instantly dizzy. She had never expected anyone to guess the truth when she came home with Ned, but her sister had done precisely that—within minutes of glimpsing Ned. If Georgie so easily saw Tyrell in Ned, would someone else, too?

  “Don’t do this!” she cried, trembling.

  “I am hardly a fool. Ned doesn’t look like you, not at all. And how many Black Irishmen do we know? Especially when you have been in love with Tyrell de Warenne your entire life.”

  The cooper was a swarthy “black” Irishman, Lizzie thought in dismay, but she did not point out such a foolish thing. “Is it so terribly obvious?”

  “It is obvious to me, knowing your history as I do. He is so dark, his eyes are the de Warenne blue!” Georgie said.

  Lizzie sat back down. “If he ever learns the truth, he will take him away from me! Georgie, I will deny it. Ned is mine.” And Lizzie was afraid that her lie was already becoming undone.

  Georgie laid her hand on her shoulder. “I know he will never marry beneath him. There are rumors of an impending engagement to a very wealthy English heiress from a powerful Whig family. You are right. He would take Ned away from you.” There was a question in her eyes.

  Lizzie looked away.

  Georgie touched her arm. “Was it that night on All Hallow’s Eve? You said you did not tryst with him.”

  Lizzie inhaled. “I can’t, Georgie. I cannot ever discuss this subject.” She hesitated and looked up, adding, “It is far too painful.” She would not lie to her sister again. Fortunately, once in a great while, she could be as determined as Georgie.

  Georgie scrutinized her. “So you really plan to keep his child from him? You will raise Ned alone?”

  Georgie had yet to remark upon the fact that Ned was being denied his birthright—a fact that was haunting Lizzie even more now that she was at home and so close to Adare. Lizzie wet her lips. “One day, when he is closer to his majority, I will reveal the truth.”

  Georgie seemed to accept that. “Maybe Tyrell won’t have any other male heirs,” she finally said, “making Ned’s acceptance that much easier.”

  “I know it will be another crisis, but I must manage one day at a time.”

  Georgie put her arm around her. “Of course you must. And I want to help.”

  “Thank you,” Lizzie whispered. She tried not to be a fool and give into the painful hurting in her breast. “So, he is about to become engaged?”

  “That is the rumor. It is all over Limerick. The lady in question might be the daughter of Viscount Harrington.”

  Lizzie closed her eyes. Even she, as politically unaware as she was, knew of the powerful Lord Harrington. He had been on the Privy Council at one time and he remained the chairman of the House of Lords. He was a very wealthy, prominent Englishman. If the rumors were true, the match would be a highly advantageous one for the de Warenne family.

  Georgie said, “Lizzie, you have known all along he is not for you—”

  “I know! Georgie, it will be for the best if he marries and has more children. I want him to be happy,” she managed to say.

  Georgie smiled sadly. Then she said, “Of course you do.”

  Several days later, the household had not recovered from the crisis. Mama remained in her rooms, apparently too melancholy to come downstairs. Papa brooded in his study and was oddly quiet at meals. It was as if someone had died and the household was in mourning, Eleanor commented, a remark which did not alleviate Lizzie’s anxiety or dispel her somber mood. Georgie tried to be amusing and was wonderful with Ned, but that did not help. No one, not even Eleanor, could encourage Mama to come downstairs. Papa seemed not to care.

  Lizzie was on edge, terribly so. For the past year, she had tried very hard not to think about what would happen when she brought Ned home. She had tried to tell herself, when she did dare to contemplate the future, that it would somehow work out. Now she had to face how deeply she had hurt her parents—and it was only the beginning. If her parents were so shocked, how would their acquaintances react? Lizzie was afraid the scandal would be even worse than she had dared to imagine.

  It was Lady O’Dell who called first. Lizzie was in the parlor with Eleanor, Georgie and Ned when the handsome black carriage drove up. Lady O’Dell was a good friend of Mama’s and she had always been kind to Lizzie—although she had never cared for Anna. But then, her own daughter, Helen, who was rather pretty, had never had as much attention as Anna, and Lady O’Dell had always resented it. She had been one of the women to call Anna “wild” behind her back.

  Lizzie peered out of the window as Lady O’Dell alighted from the carriage. Ned was asleep in a bassinet and Eleanor was at the card table where she had been playing gin rummy with Georgie. Her stomach turned unpleasantly as she watched Mama’s friend approach.

  Georgie joined her at the window. “It is Lady O’Dell! What do you want to do?” She quickly faced Lizzie, her features tense.

  Lizzie did not hesitate, even though she felt ill. “I think I have little choice. After all, she will learn I am a fallen woman sooner or later. Perhaps it’s best to get this over with.”

  “Oh, Lizzie, you have been through so much! I wish you could be spared a scandal.”

  Lizzie managed to shrug. “There is no avoiding one.”

  “No, there isn’t.” Georgie finally smiled at her, trying to be reassuring. “Maybe it won’t be that bad. Lady O’Dell has been ecstatic over Helen’s marriage last fall. She has never been in a better humor.”

  Lizzie looked away. Margaret O’Dell was going to be shocked, never mind her daughter’s marriage, and then she would be disapproving. By the time she left Raven Hall that day, no one was ever going to accept Lizzie into polite society again. Lizzie reminded herself that her son was worth the censure. His welfare was what was important—not her own.

  The heavyset matron was shown into the parlor by Betty. She beamed at them all. “Elizabeth! It has been far too long, my dear girl. How fine you look! And Lady de Barry! How wonderful to see you again.” She swept into the room.

  “How are you, Lady O’Dell?” Eleanor smiled, rising to her feet. “Or should I even ask, as you look so well?”

  Lizzie’s heart was racing wildly and she shared a glance with Georgie. Eleanor was never so pleasant to the society in Limerick, but Lizzie certainly knew why she was being gracious now.

  “Oh, thank you. And I heard you have been ill, but you look as if you have totally recovered your health,” Lady O’Dell said. She noticed the sleeping child in the bassinet, then, and seemed mildly puzzled but returned her attention to Eleanor.

  “Please, you must call me Eleanor, as we have known each other for…how many years is it now? And my congratulations, Margaret. I heard Helen made the most advantageous match.”

  Margaret O’Dell beamed. “He has an annual pension of six hundred pounds! Yes, it was a very splendid match.” She glanced at Ned again. “What a pretty baby! Or should I say handsome, as I suspect he is a boy?”

  Lizzie walked past her aunt and Lady O’Dell, aware of her legs shaking. “Yes, it is a boy.” She did not want to awaken Ned, so she reached down to fuss with the light covers. Then she stroked his downy cheek, just once. When she straightened, she saw Margaret O’Dell staring at her with wide, curious eyes.

  “Is he a relation?” she asked.

  Lizzie somehow faced her. “He is my son.”

  There were more callers, as every neighbor they had cam
e to Raven Hall to gawk at Lizzie and her son. When a carriage arrived in the driveway, Lizzie’s anxiety escalated until she felt faint. She had never been popular, but she had always been treated with warmth and respect. Suddenly, she was the height of popularity—in the most humiliating way. There were so many indirect comments and innuendos. Lizzie knew the entire parish was speculating upon who Ned’s father was. And almost everyone commented upon the fact that it was simply shocking that “shy Elizabeth Anne” was the one to turn up in such a way.

  Every time Lizzie heard someone remark that Anna, with her wild ways, should have been the one to come home in shame, she cringed.

  It was Georgie who insisted they spend an afternoon shopping in town.

  “You cannot hide forever and the worst is over,” Georgie said as they strolled down High Street, both sisters in embroidered white gowns and silk pelisses. Ned was in a carriage that was being pushed by Rosie.

  “They look at me as if I am a harlot,” Lizzie said, clutching her reticule tightly. It had been a beautiful morning, but it had become windy and gray, the afternoon skies threatening rain. She did not care. Her life had been turned upside down and she desperately wanted it upright again. She hated being the center of so much attention, of such a sordid scandal. “I almost feel like a harlot.”

  “You are no harlot!” Georgie cried. “These women have known you your entire life and they all know how good you are. I overheard someone saying that you must have been seduced—that you must have been in love. I think it is rather shocking to them that their shy little Lizzie could get herself in such a way.” Georgie smiled at her. “They will recover. No scandal lasts forever.”

  Lizzie doubted that she would ever live the scandal down or have any of her former friends as acquaintances again. Even now, as they passed the many shops lining High Street, the proprietors remarked their progress. Lizzie knew that there were whispers in her wake. “I don’t know if I should stay here, Georgie,” she finally said. “Maybe it will be better for Mama and Papa if I leave.” She was still afraid that she would not be welcome at her aunt’s home if she did have to depart Raven Hall.

  “Nonsense! Mama is being overly dramatic, as always. Papa is sad, but he will recover, as you have always been his favorite. Lizzie, time heals all wounds. We will get through this,” Georgie said firmly, holding her hand tightly and squeezing it. “I promise.”

  “At least he is speaking to me,” Lizzie said despondently. She wondered if Papa would ever love her again as he once had, so completely and so trustingly.

  Georgie suddenly halted in her tracks.

  Lizzie had been so absorbed in her brooding that she hadn’t been paying attention to the passersby. She faltered, following her sister’s gaze.

  Tyrell de Warenne was approaching.

  He was a half a block away, but there was no mistaking his tall, broad-shouldered form. Lizzie would know him anywhere, even after a full year and a half. He was on foot, his strides long and purposeful, and another gentleman accompanied him. They were in a deep conversation and he had not seen them yet.

  Lizzie whirled in complete panic. “Rosie! Take Ned into the baker’s and do not come out!” she cried frantically. Her fear knew no bounds. She had tried so hard to tell herself that it was unlikely she and Tyrell would ever meet, as he was so often in Dublin these days. But he was there, just a few steps down the street!

  Rosie paled. Without a word, she wheeled the carriage with Ned into the baker’s shop.

  Rational thought escaped her now. Her back remained to Tyrell and she prayed he would cross the street or go into the alehouse that was farther up the block. But even as she prayed for him to leave, his dark, handsome face, his smoldering eyes, his strong, powerful body filled her mind. She closed her eyes, perspiring, but his virile image remained. It had been so long since she had laid eyes upon him.

  “Oh! They are coming this way! I think they are approaching us,” Georgie said in disbelief.

  “That’s impossible,” Lizzie choked.

  And from behind, a very familiar voice cried, “Lizzie? Lizzie, is that you?”

  It was Rory McBane. Lizzie whirled, incredulous, meeting his friendly green gaze and not daring to look at the man he was with.

  “It is you!” he cried, clearly pleased. His glance slipped to Georgie, briefly assessing her, but as quickly returned to Lizzie. He bowed deeply. “But I had forgotten, your home is here in Limerick. Somehow, I thought that you remained with Aunt Eleanor at Glen Barry.”

  Lizzie knew she had to respond. Her cheeks becoming excruciatingly hot, she curtsied. And finally, she glanced sidelong at Tyrell.

  He was staring at her with wide, stunned eyes—as if he recognized her. Of course, that was simply impossible—wasn’t it? Never had he seemed more masculine, more utterly virile. He was wearing a dark, immaculately cut blue coat and fine doeskin breeches with high, gleaming riding boots. Lizzie was as breathless as if she had been punched. Confusion reigned.

  “Lizzie?” Rory asked.

  Lizzie came out of her trance. She whirled to face him, aware of the feverish heat spreading from her cheeks to her throat and breasts, her body becoming gloriously alive for the first time since learning of Anna’s treachery. “Hel-hello,” she stuttered. It was impossible to think. “I am…I am so pleased to see you, Rory.”

  His concern grew. “Are you all right?”

  She somehow nodded and dared to glance at Tyrell again. His expression had hardened as if carved in stone and his gaze had turned black. In fact, he appeared angry, terribly so.

  His gaze wide, Rory said, “Where are my manners? Lizzie, meet his lordship, Tyrell de Warenne, a good friend. Ty, this is Miss Elizabeth Fitzgerald.”

  Lizzie prayed she would not faint. Rory and Tyrell were friends? She was doomed, wasn’t she?

  “My sister,” she somehow whispered, “Miss Georgina May Fitzgerald.”

  Lizzie was vaguely aware of Georgie curtsying, although she was stiff with tension, too. Rory bowed gallantly in return and smiled at her in that charming rakehell way he had. “It is a pleasure, Miss Fitzgerald. I can only say that I am sorry we did not make our acquaintance last summer at Glen Barry. I so enjoyed your sisters’ company. You have missed some very amusing times.”

  A slight flush colored Georgie’s cheeks, making her impossibly attractive. She was almost as tall as he was and she looked him in the eye when she spoke, “I am afraid I spent last summer looking after our parents. Lizzie did not…. she did not mention you.” Her color deepened when she realized what she had said was quite ungracious.

  Rory murmured, “What an impression I must have made!” He smiled at Georgie. “How very noble it is, to take care of one’s parents. I do hope no serious ailment afflicted either one of them?”

  Georgie looked away. “Everyone is fine, thank you, sir.”

  Georgie seemed rather flustered, which was quite unlike her, but Lizzie could not think about that now. Tyrell’s stare was unwavering. She tried to breathe yet again and found it even more difficult.

  Ever since learning of Anna’s betrayal, she had refused to think of him in any way except as Ned’s father. She had refused to dream about him in any way, but especially as a lover. And any shameful dreams she’d had while asleep she’d refused to consider or recall.

  Now, staring at him, she was so overcome that all she could think about was him leaning seductively close, as he had at the All Hallow’s Eve ball.

  Tyrell took a single step forward and he bowed. “But we have met, have we not, my lady?” His tone was soft, dangerously so.

  Lizzie’s alarm knew no bounds. How could he recognize her? She must remain anonymous. In fact, she should stay as far away from him as possible! “Sir, I am afraid you are mistaken,” she finally managed to say.

  “Ah, but my memory rarely fails me, especially not when faced with such beauty,” he purred, giving her a frank look.

  Lizzie was speechless. Could he, amazingly, still think her attractive? S
he found her tongue. “Sir, I am afraid this conversation is not appropriate. Such flattery belongs in the ballroom.” When she realized what she had said, she winced.

  He laughed, yet the sound was without mirth. “I will flatter where I choose,” he said flatly.

  She inhaled. “Your eyes do fail you, sir.”

  A beat of silence passed in which he assessed her. “Have you never heard that beauty is in the eye of the beholder?”

  Lizzie swallowed. Did he think her beautiful? “So it is said. But that is neither here nor there—my sister and I are late.” She curtsied, about to flee. She was not given the chance.

  His hand seized hers. “Why do you pretend that we are strangers?” he demanded.

  His grasp inflamed her as nothing had in almost two years. “Had we ever been introduced, I would remember it.”

  “So I am unforgettable, then?”

  She tensed, debating a range of answers.

  He smiled. “I must take your silence as a yes. You play a merry game, my lady,” he said. “And you lead a merry chase.”

  He was flirting with her, just as he had done that All Hallow’s Eve, and it remained as incomprehensible now as it had been then. She could not look away and neither could she admit to their having any acquaintance at all. “You clearly mistake me for another,” she said at last. “I am hardly a fox to be pursued through the wood.”

  “I might beg to differ,” he said smoothly. “And I do recognize a game when it is played.”

  “Then you play by yourself, sir,” Lizzie said firmly.

  “And who mocks whom?” he demanded. “I never play alone.”

  Her heart thundered. This flirtation was going too far too quickly. Worse, she was almost enjoying herself. “I beg your apology, my lord.”

  But he was through with banter. “We did make our acquaintance, madam. In the Shire Wood.”

  Lizzie backed up. What should she do now?

  “Do not deny it,” he warned.

  Lizzie’s dismay remained, but a part of her grew elated. He knew she had been Maid Marian. It had been a good year and a half since the masquerade, but he not only remembered their heated encounter, he remembered her well enough to know her now without her disguise. A part of her mind, no longer repressed, opened like a dam gate, and a hundred lurid fantasies spewed forth. Illicit images flashed in her mind, and in each and every one she was in Tyrell de Warenne’s embrace.