by Mary Balogh
"Phooey! I do see your point about not being able to broach the topic, though, Meg." Charlotte's brow puckered with concentration. "I am going to return to my room and think. We need a plan! I think it might be necessary to resurrect Marie Antoinette." And she skipped lightly from the room, closing the door behind her.
Margaret let her hands relax in her lap, her embroidery forgotten. Why had she told Charlotte? She was not sure. Some compulsion, perhaps, to share her pain. Or was it that Charlotte's come-out had reminded her so strongly of her own?
Despite what Charlotte had said, Margaret was not actively unhappy. After that first traumatic night of her honeymoon, she had gradually picked up the pieces of her dignity and retreated behind her usual facade of quiet serenity. Her husband was neither cruel not neglectful. For the two weeks of their honeymoon, she had spent much time alone or with the housekeeper. But she had also spent more time with her husband than she had expected. He had taken pains to show her his estate and to introduce her to all his tenants, as well as to his neighbors, the Northcotts.
Margaret had drawn a secret pleasure from the fact that he always introduced her not just as the countess, but as "my wife, the Countess of Brampton."
She found it very hard to adjust to her bitter disappointment over their sexual relations. Each night was an exact repetition of the first, except that there was never again the pain and that he never again made the almost tender gesture of touching her cheek. He never kissed her, never talked to her, never caressed any part of her, never lingered longer than one minute after his business had been completed.
She had to convince herself that most wives probably had little more than she had. Her mother, in fact, in a speech of advice on her wedding morning, had warned that marriage would be very pleasant if she were a dutiful wife. She must learn, in exchange for all the contentment, to endure her husband's "attentions" at night "for a few minutes only, my love." Margaret admitted that, had she behaved with propriety at the masquerade ball, she would not even know that physical contact with a man might be exciting.
She trained herself to enjoy those few minutes for what they were worth. For that short span of time each night, her husband was all hers. Sometimes, if he was later than usual coming to her room, she would find her body aroused from just thinking of what was about to happen. And then his arrival was an agony. She had to keep every physical sign of her arousal strictly concealed and she had to endure the terrible frustration of having neither the time nor the freedom to reach for the unknown something that the weight of his body and his brief lovemaking made her own body ache for.
No, Margaret was not unhappy. She resumed her embroidery.
Charlotte perfected the plan the next day while driving in Hyde Park with Devin Northcott. She had puzzled over it so much after leaving Margaret in the drawing room that she had given herself a headache. So quiet was she at dinner that night, in fact, that Brampton commented on it.
"Are you feeling quite well, Charlotte?" he asked with concern.
"What? Oh, yes, my lord," she answered. "Just a little tired, maybe, after last night's ball."
"And did you enjoy yourself?" he asked. "You most certainly did not lack for partners."
"Oh, it was ever so much fun, my lord," Charlotte began, her natural enthusiasm for life beginning to bubble again. But she was immediately struck by a thought that had her once more silent and dreaming.
Should she suggest that Lord Brampton give a masquerade ball in his home so that Meg could appear mysteriously as Marie Antoinette and bowl him off his feet? No, it would not work. How would anyone explain away the disappearance of the hostess?
"Northcott informs me that he is to take you driving tomorrow," Brampton commented. Having broken off his relationship with Lisa just that afternoon, he felt somewhat ill-at-ease with his wife, and was anxious to keep Charlotte talking. Usually she chattered on without any encouragement.
"Yes, my lord. He has a new high-perch phaeton, and I have a new bonnet," Charlotte explained, as if these facts justified the situation entirely. "And Meg says that it would be quite unexceptionable for me to accept the invitation."
"Oh, quite," replied Brampton, glancing down the table to his wife. She was smiling affectionately at her sister, her usual quiet, calm self.
Charlotte's thoughts were on the wing again. Could she ask Mr. Northcott to give a masquerade party? No, he occupied only bachelor rooms. Anyway, she was still a little shy of him because he was so old (somewhere in the region of Lord Bramp-ton's age, she guessed) and was so much the perfect gentleman of fashion. She had found it easy to converse with him during the two dances they had shared the night before and during his visit that afternoon, but she did not think she yet had the courage to ask so great a favor of him.
The London weather cooperated for the afternoon drive. It was a perfect spring day. Charlotte was able to wear her new apple-green muslin dress and the matching parasol with brown fringes. Her brown bonnet was trimmed with green, yellow, and straw-colored leaves and flowers that complemented her auburn hair. Devin Northcott thought she made a perfect picture in his new phaeton and told her so.
Charlotte admired his appearance no less. He wore biscuit-colored buckskins and white-tasseled Hessian boots that shone so brightly she felt she would be able to see her face in them if she leaned forward. His dark-green coat had the perfect cut that only the renowned Weston could have tailored; his snowy-white neckcloth had been arranged in complicated folds, though Charlotte could not put a name to the creation. Was it a waterfall? A mathematical? He wore a dark beaver on his fair hair. Devin Northcott was not a tall man, and he had a slight figure, but Charlotte concluded that she liked his air of kindly gentility.
They arrived at Hyde Park at the fashionable hour of five o'clock. It seemed that half the haut monde were there, most people wheeling around slowly in carriages of various descriptions, some on horseback, a few on foot. Everyone was there to see and to be seen, to nod at acquaintances, to cut enemies, to exchange the latest on-dits with friends.
Charlotte enjoyed herself thoroughly. She found herself admired and ogled by several young bucks, some of whom she had met at the Brampton ball two nights before. She was soon twirling her parasol with confident gaiety.
When they were not exchanging pleasantries with various acquaintances, Northcott entertained Charlotte with an enumeration of all the pleasurable activities she could experience now that she was "out." She listened with one ear while she enjoyed the sights and sensations of the park.
"And you will have to visit Vauxhall Gardens," he was saying. "Beautiful outdoor gardens lit by lanterns: music, food, masked guests…"
The plan was born in Charlotte's brain full-grown. She reacted with lightning promptness.
"Oh, Mr. Northcott," she sighed, giving the parasol a light twirl, "it sounds so heavenly. Alas, I do not think it is the type of entertainment to appeal to Meg and my brother-in-law. They are really dears, you know, but somewhat-"
"Stuffy?" supplied the obliging Mr. Northcott.
"I hate to appear disloyal," Charlotte breathed, lowering her lashes.
"Say no more, Miss Wells," said the gallant Devin. "You would do me a great honor if you would join a party to Vauxhall that I plan to make up. I have some influence with your brother-in-law and will guarantee that he and your sister will be of the party."
"Oh, would you!" Charlotte gushed, hands clasped together over the handle of her parasol, eyes wide and worshipful. "That would be divine."
Devin returned Charlotte to Brampton's house and drove away feeling like public benefactor number one, and convinced that the little chit was not really as silly as the bulk of the new crop of debutantes. Quite a fetching little thing, in fact!
"Meg, Meg." Charlotte took the stairs, with shocking inelegance, two at a time. She burst into the drawing room to find her sister reclining on a chaise longue, reading a book.
"Lottie, my love, what is it?" Margaret asked, laying aside the book and rega
rding her sister with some alarm. "Did Mr. Northcott upset the phaeton?"
"Oh, no, no, nothing like that," Charlotte answered impatiently, tossing parasol, bonnet, and gloves onto the chair closest to the door, "but Mr. Northcott is to see that we all go to Vauxhall one night and you and Lord Brampton are to go too, but you are not to go, but you are to go as Marie Antoinette, but Lord Brampton will think you are not there, but you will be there, of course, although he won't know it, and then he will fall in love with you, though he won't know it's you-and you will live happily ever after!" She finished with a flourish and beamed.
Margaret stared and then laughed. "Lottie, my love, I lost you after 'Vauxhall,' " she said.
Charlotte sank down onto the sofa with a resigned sigh. "I shall explain again," she said. "Oh, Meg, please, could we ring for tea?"
Margaret got to her feet and obligingly rang the bell.
Charlotte began again. "Mr. Northcott has promised to make up a party to go to Vauxhall Gardens one night," she said. "He told me that almost everyone goes there wearing masks. The thing is, Meg, that you and Lord Brampton must accept the invitation, but at the last moment you must stay behind-you must have the headache, I think. Lord Brampton must go, of course, to accompany me.
"When we are gone, you will dress as Marie Antoinette again, with a mask; then you must follow us to the gardens and made sure that Lord Brampton sees you. Then he will fall in love with you and you can reveal your real identity. It can't fail, Meg."
"It is quite the most absurd plan I ever heard in my life," said Margaret.
"Name one thing wrong with it."
"I can name several," she said. "For one thing, I am no longer a girl to play games. Second, I do not still have the costume of Marie Antoinette. Third, how would I get to Vauxhall alone at night? Fourth, Richard would probably not give me a second glance even if I were dressed as before. Fifth, if he did pursue me, he would recognize me immediately. Sixth, it is wrong to play such tricks on my husband. And seventh, it couldn't possibly work-could it, Lottie?"
"Of course it would work," Charlotte replied, quite undaunted by the list of objections. And she crossed to the chaise longue, sat beside her sister, poured the tea, which had arrived a few minutes before, and proceeded to hammer out an ironproof battle plan.
"Oh, Lottie, do you really think it might work?" Margaret asked anxiously fifteen minutes later, her voice almost pleading. "I really do not believe I could."
"Phooey!" her sister replied.
Chapter 4
The date for the visit to Vauxhall Gardens was set for three weeks in the future. Devin Northcott had wanted to make it sooner, but the ladies of the Brampton household were strangely full of excuses. There could be no doubt, though, that they wanted very much to go. The party was to be made up of Devin, the Earl and Countess of Brampton, Charlotte, and Sir Henry and Lady Lucy Wood, the latter being Brampton's youngest sister.
Margaret and Charlotte were extremely busy with all the activities of the latter's come-out. The days were filled with shopping expeditions, visits, rides in the park; almost every evening had its activity-the theater, the opera, musicales, balls, dinners. Now they found that preparations for the evening at Vauxhall had to be fitted into the busy schedule.
Charlotte was easily accommodated. Madame Dumont undertook the not-too-demanding task of making her a domino and a frilled mask, both of emerald-green satin. Margaret visited the costumier from whom she had hired her costume six years before, not at all hopeful that the Marie Antoinette outfit would still be available. Even so, she was disappointed to discover that she was right.
She was ready to abandon the scheme there and then. Charlotte, however, was more resourceful. She found out from Kitty the name of the dressmaker who had her workrooms in a street of London not quite as fashionable as Bond Street. She dragged her sister there the following afternoon and together Margaret and Miss Thomas sketched a dress that closely resembled the one Margaret had worn before. She chose a similar fabric, too-a heavy silver brocaded silk. She also agreed to Miss Thomas' suggestion that the full skirt be decorated with seed pearls to give it extra weight and sparkle.
A mask was also agreed upon-silver silk, as before, to cover her forehead, cheeks, and most of her nose.
Then the sisters had to visit a wigmaker's, not so easy to find now that wigs for everyday use had fallen out of fashion. Margaret was fitted for an elaborate powdered creation, typical of those worn by the ladies of a couple of decades before, high on the crown, one ringlet to drape over a shoulder.
To complete the outfit, they shopped for bright wine-colored slippers to match the fan that Margaret had used on the previous occasion and that she still possessed. She also bought some lip rouge, feeling very daring. She had never owned cosmetics before, but felt that the silver-and-white garments would need a little color. The lips, fan, and shoes would add just the necessary touch.
Kitty had to be taken into Margaret's confidence. She was going to need help on the night of Vauxhall, and Charlotte would not be available. She had expected Kitty to be downright disapproving. She had even been a little afraid that Kitty would rush off to tell Richard. She reckoned without the fierce love of her maid, who had appeared tight-lipped and disapproving for the last couple of years because she felt that her mistress was deliberately hiding her charm and beauty. Her own husband, for example, had never seen her hair except in its tight braids. And Margaret's hair, under the loving strokes of Kitty's brush hand, was her crowning glory-thick, shining, wavy, and waist-length.
Kitty was as excited as Charlotte by the plan. But she did veto one of the details. She was horrified by the idea of having her mistress hire a hackney cab to take her to Vauxhall and bring her back again.
"No, my lady," she had said, her lips setting in a thin line of obstinacy, "it just won't do. I'm not going to have my lady jaunting all over London alone at night, so don't you think it."
But it was Kitty who finally hit on the solution. She was "stepping out" with Jem, one of his lordship's grooms. She had a private conference with him and he declared that he would have no problem in taking out his lordship's plain town carriage on that night and driving her ladyship to Vauxhall himself. He added another suggestion of his own. He would wear a plain domino and mask so that he could accompany the countess into the gardens and make sure that no harm came to her before she met the earl.
Both Kitty and Jem were told that the whole escapade was to be a prank to see if the Earl of Brampton would recognize his wife in costume. Kitty, though, who remembered another Marie Antoinette costume years before and who knew that her mistress and his lordship did not have as close and loving a relationship as Kitty would have liked, put two and two together and came up with four. She kept her own counsel, though. She said nothing either to the countess or to Jem.
Brampton looked forward with some amusement to the party to Vauxhall. He had been observing with curiosity his friend coming more and more under the spell of Charlotte's charms.
"If you do not have a care," he warned his friend one morning at White's while both were supposedly perusing the daily newspaper, "you are going to be the next one to be leg-shackled, Dev!"
"The devil!" his companion replied. "You mean Miss Wells? No, no, Bram, just being kind to the chit. Her being Lady Bram's sister, y'know."
"It seems to me she does not need kindness," Brampton replied dryly. "The young bucks are lined up three deep for half a block waiting to pay their respects."
"No good, Bram," Devin protested. "Such a young, innocent little thing. Needs someone older and steadier to protect her from all those sparks."
Brampton laughed. "You are doing it too brown, Dev. You steady? You the protector of innocence? I tell you, Dev, it's love pure and simple." And he returned, smiling, to his newspaper while his companion sputtered his protests.
Brampton had no particular objection to spending a whole evening in his wife's company. Ever since his breakup with Lisa, he had been determined at le
ast to try to make something of his marriage. He could not imagine that there would ever be any deep feeling between them. She was not lively enough to excite any great interest in him; she obviously was not a woman who could feel deep passion and she would certainly not welcome any demonstration of feeling from him beyond a mild affection.
But that mild affection he was prepared to give. She had really interfered hardly at all with his life. He had feared that he would never again feel at home in his own house after his wedding. Yet he found that he felt more so. His wife never invaded his own sanctuary, the library. She did not litter the house with her possessions. She did not fill the house with noise and bustle. But he did notice that his favorite foods were served far more frequently than they used to be, that his brandy decanter and the snuff box in the library were always well supplied, that his comings and goings were never questioned.
Brampton felt rather ashamed, in fact, of ever having thought of his wife as an antidote. She was not a beauty and her face lacked vivacity, but it was a sweet face and she had eyes that could have transformed her into a beauty if they would only sparkle.
He sometimes wished that she did have some vitality. He would have liked to see her smile more often. He would have liked to touch her with his hands, to explore the quiet, disciplined little body, to touch that sweet mouth with his own. But he never overindulged in such thoughts. He did not wish to arouse loathing or disgust in his wife. And he was quite convinced that she would be disgusted by such physical advances. So he made an effort in her bed to cover her body with his without invading her privacy more than was necessary, and to occupy her body for as short a time as possible.
Brampton was, in fact, working hard at his marriage.