The Cornish Heiress

by Roberta Gellis

  The weather had improved—at least for land travelers. It was no longer raining bucketsful. Instead the wind was howling with such ferocity that the ornamental trees in the garden were bowed almost to the earth. This did not distress Lady Moreton and her daughters, however, since it would not prevent her guests from traveling. Inside their closed carriages, with fur rugs and heated bricks to keep them warm, the gentry would not be dissuaded from attending a ball by a little wind. If the coachmen, footmen, and horses had had any say in the matter, the decision might have been different, but they did not and the ladies of Moreton Place felt no dissatisfaction about the weather. They hardly paused in their arrangements of the decorations and other details to tell their brother/son and his guest not to be such complainers when they came in nearly blown to pieces from fetching something from the village or some other errand.

  Philip could only hope the tempest would die down a little. If it did not, Meg might not go to the cave and would not get his note and he would not see her until the following day. This was drawing things a bit fine, since he needed to buy a cargo—or at least some items of cargo—for Pierre that would be suitable for public sale at a port from which the road to Paris was short. This meant going to Falmouth, and Philip could hardly bear to think of going alone, not to mention that he would need the support of a good English ‘“wife”. Anti-invasion hysteria was no calmer in spite of the news Philip had brought, and a man with a French accent trying to buy what might be thought supplies for the army or navy might be misunderstood. It was much less likely that an émigré with an English wife would be suspect.

  With regard to the weather Philip got his wish, although Perce warned him that the eye of the storm was passing and it would start up again. This did not trouble him, but he was beginning to worry about whether he would be able to slip away before the ball was over. On this second visit Lady Moreton seemed to have put aside her attempt to treat Philip as the adult acquaintance of her adult son. He was again, as he had been when they were at school, Perce’s little friend—never mind that he towered head and shoulders over the small, plump matron—and was being treated very much as a convenient second son in the household. He could see that Lady Moreton planned to use him as ruthlessly as she used Perce to be sure that no wallflowers would exist at her ball.

  This dismal prognostication became horribly true as the dinner guests—those who had to travel twenty miles or more and would be accommodated overnight at Moreton Place—began to arrive. Philip and Perce were sternly ordered to make themselves pleasant to the blushing maidens who accompanied their parents, and Philip was seated between two sweet and simpering misses whom he labored (with, unfortunately, great success) to entertain. He knew he was successful because of the approving looks he received from his hostess, although he might not have guessed from the behavior of his dinner partners, who did little besides blush and giggle, no matter what subject he introduced.

  Philip had begun, to think that marriage to Meg—which would exclude him from polite society altogether—might be a salvation rather than a damnation. This idea took firmer hold after the party had gone up, changed into their ball clothes, and assumed their masks, after which he was shooed into the ballroom to keep the young ladies occupied until the guests invited only for the ball, who were now arriving, should pass the receiving line and the dancing could begin.

  Rebelliously, Philip went instead to join a group of young bucks, but he was wrenched away from a conversation about the speed with which he had arrived in Cornwall (specially to attend this affair, he said) by the start of the first dance. Here it was his pleasant duty to lead out the eldest of Perce’s unmarried sisters. As she was neither muffin-faced nor simpering and was safely engaged to one of the youngest captains in the navy, Philip had a breather and enjoyed himself. In fact, to his surprise, he continued to enjoy himself. The donning of masks seemed to release the inhibitions of the young ladies to a very great extent. Philip thought it was silly. He recognized each girl he had met previously, and he was reasonably sure they recognized him. Nonetheless, with part of their faces covered they were willing to talk and laugh in a much more natural fashion.

  For the first hour of the ball Philip was too busy doing his duty among the shy, awkward, or ill-dressed girls to look around at those who were more popular and did not need his assistance. On his way back from fetching one of his least attractive but nicest partners a glass of orgeat to quench the thirst engendered by a particularly energetic country dance, Philip’s eyes were drawn to a group of men all earnestly soliciting a lady’s attention. Curious, Philip slowed down to catch a glimpse of the haughty beauty, thinking that the advantage of squiring the less attractive ladies was that one’s attentions were at least received with gratitude.

  The lady must have made her decision at that moment, because there were laughing cries of protest while the circle of men broke up to let her pass. Philip’s heart stopped. Meg! Surely it was Meg! It was her hair, her sweet mouth, her little round chin so delicate and so determined at the same time.

  She passed without seeing him or without recognizing him in his eighteenth century finery and mask. Whatever made her do it, he wondered? She was mad to take such a chance! She would slip and give herself away, be shown out with cold, haughty sneers, perhaps publicly embarrassed, scolded… I will kill them, Philip thought, then realized he was being ridiculous. He was fond of the Moretons, and Meg should not have done such a thing.

  Nonetheless Philip could not bear the thought of Meg being hurt or shamed, no matter how foolish she had been. He had to get her away before the unmasking before anyone realized she had somehow got into the party without being invited. He could not get to her at that moment because she was dancing with the man she had accepted, a vision of loveliness and gaiety, graceful, light as a bird, sure enough of her steps to talk with freedom while she danced. Philip delivered the orgeat and excused himself. He was aware of his partner’s disappointment and sorry for it, but he could barely say what was civil. His mind, his heart, his whole being was following Meg around the floor.

  As soon as he was free he began to follow in fact as well as in fancy, moving as inconspicuously as possible around the floor in pursuit of the dancers. When the dance ended, however, he still had no opportunity to approach her. Apparently her next partner had been watching, as Philip was, and came across to claim her before she could be led to the sidelines. Philip had to go, he had a partner waiting himself. That dance was not a success. Biting his lips with worry, Philip watched every move Meg made and tried to determine from her partner’s expression whether he had noticed anything odd. There was no evidence of it that Philip could see, yet to his terrified mind it seemed suspicious that, as soon as the dance ended, her partner headed quickly toward Lady Moreton.

  If Philip had not been so frantic, it might have occurred to him that the gentleman wanted to find out who the vision of loveliness was. However, in the state he was in, Philip was sure Meg had been recognized as an intruder. Even if he had thought of the other reason it would not have altered his actions, since he was sure that to call Meg to Lady Moreton’s attention would also result in her immediate expulsion. Thus he threw caution to the wind and rid himself of his partner rather abruptly as soon as the dance ended. Then he rushed up to Meg, as if to pass out of the room hurriedly, and instead bumped her hard.

  Since Philip was prepared for the results of his action, he had no trouble catching Meg in his arms and swinging her around, well away from her new partner. “I am sorry, so sorry,” he cried aloud, and whispered fiercely in her ear as he seemed to be steadying her on her feet, “It is Philip, Meg. Come away, quickly.”

  Philip’s shock, which had been bad enough when he first saw her, was nothing compared to Megaera’s. Hers was compounded by the physical blow, which had nearly knocked her down, being seized in the arms of a strange man, who suddenly spoke in Philip’s voice and then recognizing that it was Philip. Philip here! The betrayer, the cully-catcher,
who had doubtless insinuated himself among her friends to seduce another innocent woman or to fleece them by some dishonest dealing. Not only Meg’s heart but her mind stopped too. She stood absolutely frozen staring blankly, fighting with all her strength not to faint.

  “Are you drunk?” Megaera’s partner asked furiously, pushing himself between her and Philip, and then, “Mrs. Devoran, are you all right?”

  “Quite all right,” Megaera said, amazed at the fact that her voice came out quite clear and unshaken.

  Gaining courage from that, she was able to think so far as to recognize the first move necessary. That was to convince Philip she was not Red Meg. She had never wanted him to know, but now it was of major importance that he should not know. Cheat, betrayer that he was, he would surely blackmail her if he ever gained a hold on her. She smiled, at her partner.

  “You are not supposed to have recognized me,” she said, playfully scolding. “I am not the only redhead in the neighborhood.” Then, coldly, she curtsied to Philip. “You will excuse us, sir, I hope. Allow me to suggest that you do not visit the punchbowl quite so often—or even better, that you simply stay in its neighborhood, for you are clearly quite incapable of dancing.”

  The voice was not Meg’s! Philip gulped with combined disbelief and relief as he bowed and backed away, still apologizing. The high, nasal, haughty tones were not those of his Meg. Philip’s bewildered eyes were still fixed on her, not seeing the surprise on her partner’s face that suggested he did not recognize the voice either. Meanwhile Perce had come across the floor to see what the disturbance was. He had heard the comment Meg’s partner had made and although he had not seen Philip drink more than the minimum socially necessary, he remembered vividly how often his friend had overindulged in the recent past. It was clear as soon as he looked at Philip, however, that he was not drunk.

  “What the devil’s wrong?” Perce asked softly. “Seen a ghost?”

  “Yes—sort of,” Philip replied, taking a deep breath. “I—I thought I recognized someone, the woman with red hair. But it was not the person I thought—at least…”

  “Which woman with red hair? There are five here although three are wigs.”

  “Not the wigs. There, the one who is going out toward the refreshment room. Do you know who she is?”

  “Oh, Mrs. Devoran, yes. I wouldn’t have recognized her myself except that my mother made such a fuss when she came in. Her husband died—” Perce hesitated, but it hardly seemed the right time or place to explain how and why Edward had been murdered. “He died about a year and a half ago, and she’s been—well, not a recluse but not going to any social events except afternoon teas.”

  Then it was not Meg. Philip made no connection between the nighttime deliveries and the afternoon tea parties. Oddly, he did not feel in the least attracted to the woman either, although she still looked so much like Meg—what he could see of her face—that he was amazed. He noted that her body was different. She carried herself very stiffly, too proudly erect, no longer graceful as she had been when she was dancing. A real puzzle, Philip thought, but Lady Moreton claimed him just then to rescue another maiden in distress, and Philip had to put the matter aside to be decently attentive and polite.

  The stiff carriage Meg had assumed was not any attempt to deceive Philip but only a defense against shaking all over with shock and terror. She had no idea what she said to her partner, who guided her solicitously into the refreshment room and begged her to take some wine to restore herself. Desiring only to be rid of him, Megaera agreed. She would have been glad to take poison to gain a moment’s quiet in which to regain control over herself. He seated her on a settee some distance from the tables and left her.

  Megara’s first impulse was to run away, simply to slip out of the house and find her coachman and order him to take her home. She knew even as the desire racked her that it was not possible. Almost certainly the carriage was a long way off; possibly the horses had been unhitched and placed in a sheltered area.

  The coachman was probably down in the servants’ hall or in the quarters of Lord Moreton’s coachman, enjoying a “heavy wet” and a lively exchange of opinions with the other men of his ilk. Those were not places where Mrs. Edward Devoran could intrude. A footman must be sent to order her horses put to and to summon her coachman. Even so simple a matter as finding her own cloak was not possible without the intervention of a maid or footman. And to be so rude as to run away without taking leave of Lady Moreton and thanking her—no, that was impossible for Mrs. Edward Devoran.

  Nonetheless, Megaera had to leave before the unmasking at midnight. She might have fooled Philip for the moment; he had retreated looking puzzled, but when her face was fully exposed no alteration in voice or manner would continue to fool him. Yet she could not leave without explaining why to Lady Moreton. For one instant Megaera’s sense of humor loosened the bonds of terror that held her. She had a vision of Lady Moreton’s face as she said, “I’m sorry to go, but I have just run into my smuggling partner’s bastard. I must leave before he recognizes me. No, he can’t be mistaken. He knows me too well because he’s been my lover.”

  Tears came into her eyes instead of laughter when she realized Philip would be her lover no longer. Never again would she caress his smooth, dark skin with its triangular mat of black hair, harsh and curly on his chest, silken smooth on his belly, tight curled and springy around his manhood. Never again feel has lips, hot and hard, passing over her body or hear his voice husky with passion telling her that each time he saw her she was more beautiful than before.

  “My dear Mrs. Devoran,” her partner murmured, bending over her, “that fool must have hurt you.”

  “Yes,” Megaera whispered, then caught her breath.

  “Did he tread on your foot? Bruise your shoulder?”

  The anxious questions so far removed from what Megaera was thinking, recalled her to reality and provided a solution to her problem. She shook her head and smiled “bravely”.

  “I must have twisted myself somehow when we bumped. I didn’t feel it at all at first, but now… If you could find Lady Moreton…”

  He was off at once, which provided the double benefit of allowing Megaera to remain hidden in her quiet corner and of giving her another few moments to work on her story. She had been afraid at first that Philip would follow her into the refreshment room, but even if that happened, she would prefer to confront him alone. Philip had missed her partner’s look of surprise when she changed her voice, but Megaera had not. Since her escort had said nothing, she assumed he put it down to her being so startled or perhaps hurt, however, she didn’t wish to need to use that false voice again in his presence.

  She didn’t need to do so. Philip was still engaged with the graceless girl Lady Moreton had wished on him when Megaera was begging to be excused and to have her coachman called to take her home. At first Lady Moreton would not hear of it. Megaera must come above and lie down. Dr. Partridge would be summoned to her at once. She must stay the night. It was unthinkable that she should be jolted over the rough roads in the dark when she was hurt.

  “Papa,” Megaera said, “I cannot leave him for too long. If I should not be there in the morning…”

  She allowed her voice to drift away. Everyone local knew her father’s problem. Lady Moreton could not guess exactly what Megaera meant her father would do if he found himself unsupervised, but she felt it would be a disaster. Megaera didn’t know what she meant either, since Lord Bolliet was no longer capable of getting out of bed until well after noon. However, Lady Moreton began to waver and Megaera sprang in with assurances that she would rest quietly in Lady Moreton’s dressing room until her carriage was ready and that she would send for Dr. Partridge as soon as she arrived. He would come to Bolliet quicker, Megaera pointed out, since he was closer to the manor.

  At last, seeing that Megaera’s color was returning and her voice sounded strong and sure, Lady Moreton agreed. It did not seem that Megaera was badly h
urt, but if she had sprained herself, she would not be able to dance and, really it was very dull to need to sit out all the dances. Megaera was helped tenderly up the stairs and tucked into a luxurious chaise longue with Lady Moreton’s maid in attendance until the coach and horses could be readied. Lady Moreton had offered herself or her daughters to sit with Megaera, but she civilly refused, saying, quite truthfully, that as long as she did not move much she had no pain at all. Of course, she had no pain when she moved violently either—but no one asked about that so she did not need to tell any lies.

  The half hour’s quiet that Megaera procured while preparations for her departure were made did not do her any good. Her mind seemed unable to get beyond the need to flee. After that it was blank. No Philip, never again Philip—and no other man either. Now that she had seen him again all the others became nothing, pale shadows without substance, unable to raise a flicker of response in her. That pain was so fierce that she could not fix her attention on anything but getting away, hiding where she could express her grief and despair.

  Once ensconced in her coach Megaera noted that the wind had risen again but was coming from a different quarter. In the back of her mind she knew that the storm would be renewed in full force before morning. Slowly that thought made its way forward through her misery and connected with it so that Pierre came into her mind. Pierre had said Philip would come as soon as he could, but Philip had not come to her. Had Pierre misunderstood him? Was Pierre false also? Had he sent Philip to find a new partner? But that was going too far. Even in her disordered state Megaera knew it was ridiculous. One did not go to a masked ball at the Justice of Peace’s estate to seek out a prospective smuggler.