The Masquerade

by Brenda Joyce

Tyrell was suddenly furious. His brother was right on each and every point. “Clearly I have turned into a madman without one whit of common sense, one iota of judgment and no care for family or duty,” he snapped. “Elizabeth should have thought of her future before she jumped into bed so quickly!”

  Rex was not to be deterred. “The best thing for everyone would be for you to come to your senses and dote upon your fiancée. I cannot defend Miss Fitzgerald, but I like her very much. She deserves far more than you can give her.” Angrily, he limped toward the open door. He paused at the doorway. “And we deserve more, too, if you are to head this family.”

  Tyrell did not hesitate. He threw his drink at the doorway his brother had just passed through. But Rex was gone and the glass landed harmlessly on the floor outside. He covered his face with his hands.

  15

  A Whirlwind of Emotion

  Mary de Warenne walked into the huge library where she knew her husband would be poring over the estate ledgers or reading the London Times. She was deeply absorbed in thought, preoccupied with the character of Elizabeth Fitzgerald, and could not shake away the events of that day—or even of the first day that she had met her.

  “Darling, you are back,” the earl said with a smile, standing. He walked out from behind his large desk to greet his wife with an embrace and a kiss. “I was hoping you would return soon.” His blue eyes sparkled. “I was thinking about taking a short rest before supper. Would you care to join me?”

  Mary had loved her first husband very much, but she had been impossibly aware of Edward de Warenne even in those days of her marriage. When Gerald O’Neill had been murdered by British soldiers in a terrible rebellion at Wexford, Edward had come to her rescue. Within months they had married, and he had raised her two sons, Devlin and Sean, with his own three boys and daughter. Mary had fallen in love with Edward well before Gerald’s murder, never mind that they had never done more than exchange a pleasant greeting or a polite word. They had been married sixteen years now; still, such an invitation normally elicited a quick response from her. They were both well into middle age, but nothing had really changed for them. It was a rare night that Mary did not fall asleep in Edward’s arms.

  “Miss Fitzgerald accompanied me to the orphanage today, Edward,” she said somberly.

  Edward’s smile vanished. “And?” he promptly asked.

  Mary went to a large yellow chair and sat down. “She is very kind,” she said after a long moment.

  Edward walked past her to the silver tray that sat on one counter of a huge bookcase. Choosing from several decanters, he poured both a sherry and a Scotch. He returned to his wife, sitting casually on a facing ottoman while handing her the glass of wine. “Are you certain she did not seek to impress you?”

  “I am certain,” Mary said. “As it turns out, the nuns know her well. She has worked there with the children for years, until she became with child and went away. They were thrilled to see her. So were two of the children who were still there. She is as generous and loving to the orphans as she is with her own son.”

  Edward drank. “I have already put a runner on her case, and her reputation has been flawless until now. In fact, it is exactly as her mother described—she has always been shy and reticent, a veritable wallflower, with not a single suitor to her name. Of course, that last lacking might be due to her tender age. She is universally liked, and she has been known to give away the very clothes on her back if some poor beggar crosses her path.”

  “Oh, Edward! She is a sweet, kind young woman and she has been terribly wronged!”

  Edward leapt to his feet. “What would you have me do? Should I break off Ty’s engagement? His son will have more power and more wealth than any of the Desmond de Warennes!”

  Mary stood, trembling. “But you are happy. You have not needed to sit at court, whispering into the ear of this or that member of the Privy Council, playing political dominoes with the Union’s other great families. We have had such a good life and I thank God every day for it. Does Tyrell truly need an alliance that will ensconce him in England far more firmly, politically and socially, than we have ever been?”

  “Mary, what about our grandchildren? Times have changed, and they continue to change. This marriage will ensure the fortunes of the next generation. I know you are aware of that.”

  “I am,” Mary whispered sadly.

  “Do you want him to marry this young woman?” Edward was grim.

  “I don’t know!” she cried truthfully. “But Tyrell is not a rake. I don’t believe his story—and I do not believe hers. I think they are both holding back some portion of the truth. How could Tyrell take such a girl to his bed? It’s practically impossible and I feel certain she did not seduce him.” Mary’s eyes filled with tears.

  Edward sighed. “On that last point I agree. She is no seductress. And that is frankly why I am so confused.”

  Mary went to him and wrapped her arms around him. “Are you really confused? Because today the answer became so very clear to me.”

  He grimaced. “If you are going to tell me that he is in love with her, I don’t think I want to hear it.”

  “There is no other possible explanation for his loss of control, for his flaunting of propriety. And we both saw them together the other day, when she first arrived here.”

  Edward met her gaze. “Very well. I will confess that I have had these exact same thoughts. Mary, I want so much for my son—and even more for his sons. I want Ty’s children, and Rex’s, Cliff’s and Eleanor’s, to be secure. I don’t want them to ever have to worry about making a living!”

  “But would it be so bad? Look at the fortune Devlin has made, and it seems to me that Cliff has acquired a few treasures on the Barbary Coast. I have confidence, Edward, in our children. I do not think they will ever starve.”

  “We have just sold off Brentwood, our last English estate!” he exclaimed. “This marriage reestablishes our position in England. Mary…” He took her hands. “I want him to be happy—I want all our children to be happy—and I want them to be privileged. Do you recall Eleanor’s distress when she came home from Bath? As beautiful and wealthy as she is, she was still second-rate, an Irishwoman. I want my children to be treated as equals by every Englishman he or she encounters.”

  Mary was silent for a moment. “No one knows better than I the powerlessness of being Irish,” she whispered, and they both knew she referred to when her first husband was killed and she was taken captive. “But I survived. We all survive such tyranny and bigotry, Edward. And I am not sure any of our children care about the respect of the English. We have raised five very strong young men and one strong and beautiful young woman,” she said with a smile.

  Edward did not speak.

  “Darling, Tyrell will never refuse to do his duty, we both know that. But if he marries Blanche and he is in love with Miss Fitzgerald, he will never be happy the way you wish for him to be.”

  Edward could not bear the subject for another moment. Unusually curt, he said, “Then we should pray that he is not in love with Miss Fitzgerald, now shouldn’t we?”

  Mary flinched at his harsh tone. Wisely, she refused to respond.

  At the unexpected sight of her parents’ carriage parked in the drive, Lizzie was apprehensive. She was eager to see her parents and Georgie, but there was simply no telling how Mama and Papa would behave.

  “Miss Fitzgerald?” a manservant said. “Your sister, Miss Georgina Fitzgerald, is on the terrace outside of the Blue Room.”

  Lizzie was thrilled. She ran through the house and then halted, turning back. “Where is the Blue Room?” she called excitedly.

  “Your first left, madam, and then a right.” The servant hid a smile as he turned away.

  Lizzie raced left and then right, and burst into a stunning blue salon with two fireplaces and a gold-and-white starburst on the ceiling. She began to run across it when she realized the room was occupied. She skidded to a stop.

  Tyrell sat on the sofa, h
is legs crossed. His regard was piercing. “Where have you been?”

  He was incredibly handsome, yet he looked disheveled and dangerously annoyed, like a sleeping lion just woken up. “I…er…your mother invited me to join her and we went to St. Mary’s together,” she said.

  He slowly stood. He had shed his jacket and he wore a beautiful lawn shirt, trimmed with fine lace, nearly white doeskin breeches and his high black riding boots. “The countess invited you—or you finessed an invitation from her?”

  Lizzie became alarmed. “You seem angry. I am sorry about last night. I should have never spied upon Lady Blanche. But I did not finesse an invitation from your mother, my lord. She was kind enough to invite me to join her and we had a very pleasant afternoon.”

  “And what about the child?”

  Lizzie winced. Tyrell had never once called Ned his son. “He was with his nursemaid,” she said softly.

  His gaze raked down the front of her bodice. “Where is your pelisse?”

  Lizzie hesitated, her heart slamming. “I gave it to a poor child who did not seem properly clothed.”

  He stared at her, long and hard.

  Lizzie’s nervous anxiety increased. “Surely you do not object?”

  He strode to her and Lizzie tensed. He loomed over her and kept his voice low. “You have charmed my brother, it seems, and the entire kitchen staff, and now you have charmed my mother. I dearly hope, Elizabeth, that this is not another ploy.”

  “It’s not,” she gasped. “And I hardly think I have charmed anyone.”

  His stare never wavered. “And now you play the modest one,” he said.

  Lizzie could not comprehend his dark mood. Had he not enjoyed the ball last night? She hesitated, wondering if she dared bring the subject up. “I heard the ball was a huge success.”

  He gave her an unreadable look. “Really? And who, pray tell, told you that bit of fluff?”

  She had to know if something had gone amiss. “Was it not a pleasing evening, my lord?”

  His look of exasperation increased. “No, it was not. It was a matter of duty, that is all.” Without pause, he said, “I am returning to my post in Dublin tomorrow.”

  Lizzie had assumed they would not be leaving for a few days, at least. “Is there an emergency?” she asked, although she really wanted to know if she was going with him.

  “No. In fact, I am not expected back for another week. However, I decided to return to Wicklowe tomorrow. You and the child will accompany me, as we have discussed.”

  Lizzie could barely breathe. Tomorrow, she would become his mistress. In spite of all common sense and better judgment, excitement rippled through her, but so did a vast trepidation.

  “I have already instructed Rosie to pack your belongings,” he said. He inclined his head. “I am sorry if it is inconvenient.” With that, he strode out.

  Lizzie stared after him, covering her racing heart with one hand. She was relieved that he would take her and Ned with him, but his mood was daunting. Clearly something was amiss.

  A form separated itself from the curtain by the terrace doors. Rex de Warenne looked at her, both dark brows lifted. “I have never seen such boorish manners in my life—not from Tyrell,” he said.

  Lizzie cried out, aghast that he had been standing there by the terrace doors, listening, the entire time. Now he hobbled over to her, his gaze intent. “You manage yourself well. Most people, man or woman, would turn tail and run when faced with my brother’s displeasure.”

  “Had I a choice, I surely would have,” Lizzie somehow said. “But I rather think he needs to be stood up to.”

  Rex studied her. “He called his own son the child.”

  Lizzie was instantly overcome with nervous anxiety. “I am sure it was a slip of the tongue.”

  “One would think my brother would be thrilled to have an heir.”

  “I am sure that he is.”

  “Really? He is thrilled that you have presented him with his son. Hence his lack of manners and his black temper.”

  “I should pack,” Lizzie began, hoping to escape.

  But he stepped slightly to the side, barring the way to the door. “You do not have to stay with him and bear his rudeness. You could return to your home.”

  “I would never leave my son!” Lizzie exclaimed.

  “And Tyrell? You will suffer his attentions for the sake of the child?”

  She hesitated, and finally looked Rex right in the eye. “At times he does frighten me, but I know he is kind and that his heart is good. I have upset his life. I do not blame him for any anger. He did not ask for this—for me, for Ned—on the eve of his marriage. This is an inopportune time,” she said, “and I am sorry for it. I am very sorry to cause Tyrell any distress.”

  Rex stared. He finally nodded, and then he smiled at her. “Shall I box his ears and remind him that he must be a gentleman, no matter the provocation?”

  Lizzie began to smile in return, relieved the worst was over. “I should love for you to box his ears, but I do not think he will listen.”

  “For the moment, I think you are right.” His smile vanished. “I have never seen him so conflicted or so torn.”

  “I do not understand.”

  “I didn’t think you would. Knowing Ty as I do, I am sure he would not reveal his real feelings to you.”

  Lizzie had to know what Rex meant. “What feelings?”

  “He is failing his duty, Miss Fitzgerald. Surely you know that. And I believe he is morally failing himself.”

  Lizzie froze. “I am hardly his first mistress.”

  “No, you are not. But he has never been engaged before. Do you love him?”

  Lizzie’s heart lurched. She did not know how to answer and she slowly looked at him.

  He was grim. “I think I can see the answer in your eyes, Miss Fitzgerald.”

  Lizzie made no attempt at debate.

  “I should like to give you some advice.”

  Lizzie knew she did not want to hear it. “If you must.”

  “Passions are running far too high for you both. I predict no good can come of this arrangement.”

  Lizzie sank into a chair. She knew in her heart that Rex was right.

  “I know this is not my place. But I care deeply about my brother. He cannot give you what you deserve, Miss Fitzgerald, not ever.”

  Lizzie met his gaze. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Come! We both know you are no harlot. We both know that this arrangement does not suit you. Tyrell must marry Lady Blanche. He will never fail his family, Miss Fitzgerald, no matter how high his passions run. You should leave him,” Rex said bluntly. “Sooner is far better than later.”

  Lizzie cried out, closing her eyes, knowing he was right.

  And with that, he limped out.

  Then her sister’s soft voice drifted to her from the terrace outdoors. She had forgotten Georgie! She rubbed her throbbing temples, gathering her composure about her like a cloak. It did not matter what Rex thought, for Tyrell would not let her leave. She then got up and went out onto the terrace. There, Georgie sat sipping tea.

  “Lizzie!” The two sisters embraced. “Are you all right?” Georgie asked.

  Lizzie sat down, clinging to her hand. “I am caught up in a whirlwind of emotion!”

  “What is going on?” Georgie asked, lowering her voice to a whisper. “Tyrell obviously knows that you are not Ned’s mother, yet he claimed him as his own!”

  “No, he thinks I am Ned’s mother, but he does not see that he is the father,” Lizzie said.

  Georgie just sat there, looking stupefied. “Then why would he claim Ned as his son?” she finally asked.

  “He is playing a game, Georgie. In return for his silence, and if I am to stay with Ned, I am to be his mistress. In fact, we are going to Wicklowe tomorrow.”

  “He blackmails you?” She was in disbelief.

  Lizzie winced. “Yes.”

  “But what about his engagement? It was announced last
night.”

  Lizzie tensed. “He is not giving me any choice. I cannot leave Ned.”

  “Oh, Lizzie,” Georgie whispered, squeezing her hand. “I know how much you love him. No one knows more than I do. I cannot help but wish he had ridiculed you and thrown us all out, as we thought he would do.”

  Lizzie said slowly, “I have known him my entire life, but from a distance—and all I know of him has been based on hearsay. Georgie, I am beginning to think that I do not really know him all that well—or at all!”

  “That is because you have created him as a hero. You have glorified him, Lizzie, and he is just a man.”

  “He has such a temper. He is so dictatorial!” Lizzie shivered. “I am not sure he is even half as kind as I thought. He is as arrogant as a real prince.”

  “Do you still love him?” Georgie asked.

  Lizzie nodded. “More than ever, it seems.”

  A long pause ensued. “I think you should know that Rory called on us both yesterday at Raven Hall. I had to entertain him alone,” Georgie added, appearing distraught. “It was very difficult, as you know I cannot tolerate him. He inquired about you.” Georgie threw her hands up. “I am sorry! He so irritated me that I told him you had moved here!”

  Lizzie’s heart began to beat with dread. “Did you tell him about Ned?”

  “No.” Now Georgie was miserable. “I told him you had been invited to stay as a guest. He was utterly suspicious, and it is only a matter of time before he hears the gossip about you, Ned and Tyrell.”

  Lizzie’s head ached. She was certain Rory would show up at Adare and demand to see her. What could she possibly tell him? “It’s not your fault,” she said. “He is a friend of Tyrell’s and I am certain he would learn of my new circumstance sooner or later.”

  “What if he tells the earl or the countess the truth? Tyrell’s game will be over and you will have to leave. They will never allow you to stay, not after such a fraudulent claim, and they will certainly keep Ned.”

  “How long will Rory be in Limerick?” Lizzie asked. If Rory disputed her ever having carried a child, it would be her word against his.