Love in Disguise (11 page)

With another sigh she picked up the brush and attacked the tangled mass of copper curls that fell to her shoulders. They were just the color that Fancy remembered her mama’s to have been. She sighed yet again. If Mama and Papa had lived, would her life have been more orderly and calm? There was no way of knowing. She turned from the cheval glass and made her way downstairs to breakfast.

The day was a long one for Fancy, especially since she had risen early - long before her fashionable neighbors, she was sure.

She had studied her lines till she was sick to death of them. She had spent some time admiring the paintings and carvings that the house had been so liberally decorated with. Finally she settled with the book about Robert Adam and his architectural innovations that Henry had just lately found for her at some bookseller’s.

Let that arrogant Earl come back again and she would be ready for him! More than ready. She could discourse on the new shapes of rooms Adam had introduced, on his use of stucco for exteriors, on the way he incorporated wrought-iron balconies into the overall design of his creations, and far more.

What had begun for Fancy as a way to pass a restless hour became an absorbing task. Book in hand, she wandered from room to room, marveling in each fresh glory. With infinite care she traced each of his influences through a given room.

She was thus involved in studying the front hall, much to the curiosity of several idle footmen there, when the sound of the knocker startled her.

She turned as Henry opened the door to admit Lord Castleford. The Marquis was glowing with good health. His cheerful ruddy face beamed at her as he advanced with hands outstretched. “Miss Harper, I have come to call.”

“So I see,” replied Fancy, more than a little amused at the Marquis’s assumed tone of heartiness. Finding her hands already occupied by the book, Castleford seemed at a loss, but he recovered rather quickly.

“The sun is shining brightly. It seems a shame to be cooped up. Get your bonnet and take a turn with me in Hyde Park.”

“Oh, I can’t go there.”

Castleford seemed amazed. “Not go to Hyde Park? And on a Sunday. Why, all the world will be there.”

Fancy was sorely tempted. She hated being cooped up and she was longing for some fresh air and sunshine. “Your friend - I do not want to come between you.”

Castleford smiled cheerfully. “He has given me
carte
blanche
. He has conceded the field to me.” The Marquis seemed extremely pleased at this prospect.

Fancy managed a smile. “I fear you did not hear me the other day. I do not want a husband - or a protector. I sincerely mean that.”

Castleford shook his great blond head. “That’s all right, Miss Harper. Thinking that way you’re not likely to go off with some other man. And as long as you don’t - why, I’ve still got a chance.”

Fancy could only shake her head at this great optimism.

“Please,” begged Castleford. “I promise to be good. It’s deuced lonely driving in the park by myself.”

Suddenly Fancy giggled. “I should like a ride in the park, milord. But I must warn you - I have in mind to wear my newest bonnet, a great straw affair that ties with white ribbons and is adorned with pink flowers.”

The Marquis smiled amiably. “I should be delighted to attend you no matter what your choice of bonnet. Your beauty makes anything you wear seem quite lovely.”

This was said so easily that Fancy was quite sure that the Marquis had made use of it on more than one occasion. Apparently he was not exactly a novice in the petticoat line. And certainly with his tall good looks and affable nature Castleford would make any young lady a dashing admirer.

Fancy contented herself with a demure thank you and raced, not so demurely, up the stairs, to find the aforementioned bonnet.

When she descended, a few minutes later, the bonnet was fastened securely over her copper curls, framing a face in which green eyes danced mischievously.

“Henry, I believe I shall take my cashmere shawl - the white one with the green border.”

“Yes, Miss Fancy.” It was impossible to tell, from his impassive face, what Henry’s thoughts were, but Fancy thought she detected a gleam of approval in his eyes. She pulled on her stone-colored gloves and turned to the Marquis.

“I am ready for my first ride in Hyde Park,” said she gaily.

“And it shall be a fine one, I promise you that,” said Castleford heartily. “I shall be the envy of all the bucks when I arrive with such a beauty in my barouche.”

Fancy was momentarily taken aback by this comment and her feelings must have been reflected in her face. Castleford laughed.

“Come, come, you are not afraid of a little ogling, are you? You who’ve faced a rioting crowd at Covent Garden for these many nights?”

“No-o,” she replied with such hesitation that the Marquis laughed again.

“You must learn better delivery if you wish to fool anyone with a line like that,” said he.

Fancy smiled cheerfully. “I will confess to you,” she said in a stage whisper. “At the theater, you see, I am not myself. The audience responds to the character I am playing, not to me. But in Hyde Park I will be Fancy Harper, ‘that actress’!”

Castleford roared with laughter. “Oh, that is rich. Why, all the
beaux
will envy me no end. They’ll swarm around like bees just for the sight of you.”

Fancy chuckled. The picture of herself surrounded by elegant
beau
x was a pleasant one. She knew from experience how enjoyable such admiration could be.

“But will they not be surprised to find you accompanied by an actress?”

“Who? Me? What else would they expe-” Castleford seemed to suddenly recollect himself. “That is, no, they won’t.” He grinned rather sheepishly. “It won’t matter where you come from - not a looker like you.”

Fancy suppressed a giggle and took the arm that he offered her. “I shall be home later,” she said to Henry, and then with great dignity she allowed the Marquis to lead her to his carriage and hand her up.

The sun was warm and bright and Fancy felt very happy - carefree and joyful in a childish way. She basked in the warmth of the sun. “My, but it’s a lovely day for a ride.”

“Indeed, it is. It’s a shame to keep such beauty under wraps. You were meant to grace the world.”

Fancy smiled to herself. Castleford had quite a collection of compliments for the ladies. And they were all so nicely vague that they were universally applicable. There was an art, she was beginning to see, to this business of being a man about town. A certain mode of dress was required - not too elegant and not too ordinary, a certain style of conversation was designed to impress the lady without really implicating the gentleman, and a certain charm and
éclat
were necessary to carry the whole thing off.

For a moment Fancy was puzzled. How was it that the Earl had acquired so many various ladybirds? It must be that the irascibility that he evidenced in her presence was not his usual manner with the ladies.

As the carriage moved briskly along the London streets, Fancy fell to wondering what the Earl was like when he was intent on charming a bit of muslin. Certainly he did not let that hot temper of his loose on them!

She was disturbed in this reverie by Castleford saying, “Ah, Hyde Park. And just in time.”

Fancy raised her eyes to survey the scene before her. Here was the strangest thing. The park was quite large. In the far distance cows and deer grazed peacefully near each other; no people around at all. But close at hand it seemed that all the people in London had decided they must visit the park at once. In a sort of ring well-dressed people were promenading, apparently oblivious to the crowd around them except when they met someone they knew. In another place, along a road, horses and carriages met and passed, their drivers and passengers nodding briskly or staring each other down.

The dust that all this activity raised hung heavy in the air. “Can’t we drive over there?” asked Fancy, pointing in a direction away from the scene of turmoil and confusion.

The Marquis raised a startled eyebrow. “Miss Harper, how can you say such a thing? In Hyde Park one rides where everyone else does. It is not
haut ton
to go off by oneself.”

The
haut ton,
thought Fancy, though she did not voice her opinion aloud, must be a stupid sort to consent to milling round and round in such senseless fashion. It was inconceivable that anyone could enjoy swallowing all that dust. And conversation with anyone one met was rendered very difficult by the press of carriages or people before and behind. Nevertheless, since the Marquis was the one running this show, she nodded.

Castleford’s driver, obviously well versed in the ways of the park, maneuvered their carriage into the line that came and went upon the road. “This is Rotten Row,” observed the Marquis. He chuckled at Fancy’s look of inquiry. “So called, I believe, because of the character of the road, and not of those who ride upon it.”

Fancy chuckled, too. Castleford was a pleasant companion, easy to get along with, not like that arrogant irritating man who thought he could run her life. Her eyes swept up and down the road and suddenly she realized that she was looking for the Earl’s dark locks among the dense throng.

How stupid, she told herself. Morgane was the last man she wanted to see - ever. But what had he meant by giving his friend
carte
blanche
in that way? To her surprise she discovered that she was annoyed.

It was not, she hastened to assure herself, that the Earl meant anything to her, but simply that she did not like his offhand way of doing things. What right had he to give her to Castleford? It was almost as though, knowing he could have her whenever he chose, he had magnanimously given up the field to his friend. The nerve of the man!

Fancy began to bristle up. The Earl had better not show his darkly handsome face, or she would give it another smack, she thought defiantly.

Castleford, completely oblivious to what was going on in her mind, was occupied with nodding and returning greetings. He turned to her. “You are getting a lot of attention. Just as I said.”

Suddenly brought back to her present situation, Fancy hoped that she had not let her anger be reflected on her face. Certainly Castleford’s friends would think it strange that he should be squiring a scowling young woman through the Park.

A tall handsome man in uniform in a passing carriage fixed his eyeglass and ogled Fancy approvingly. “Who is he?” she asked curiously.

Castleford shrugged. “That’s Colonel Dan Mackinnon. A great swell. And a great man with the ladies. But hardhearted,” added the Marquis. “And fickle.”

“How so?” Fancy found Castleford very amusing. In the theater it had been assumed among the actresses that men, at least rich aristocratic ones, were always fickle. Yet the Marquis was talking as though most lords were men of honor in regard to affairs of the heart.

“He’s a great favorite with the fair sex, but not long ago he decided to end an affair with a lady, a highborn lady. When he failed to visit her, she wrote, demanding that he return a lock of hair she had given him.”

  Fancy shook her head. “That was foolish.”

  “Indeed, it was,” agreed Castleford. “For Mackinnon sent round his orderly with a large packet of locks of hair - of every color - and a message telling her to choose her

own.”

Fancy frowned. “She was doubly foolish to care for such a man. After hearing this I am even more certain that I do not wish to get emotionally tangled with a man.”

Castleford looked crestfallen. “I thought to warn you against Mackinnon’s black eyes and splendid figure, not against all men. We are not all the same.”

“I am sure you are not,” returned Fancy in a soothing tone. “But tell me truthfully, milord, have you not indicated to me that your desire in regard to me is rather like that of Mackinnon when he meets a new ladybird?”

The Marquis flushed. “Yes, but - but I should do well by you. Give you an establishment. Take care of you. And I should intend our liaison to be a lasting one. After all, look how long William, Duke of Clarence, has been living with Mrs. Jordan and they get along famously.”

“I realize that your intentions are good,” said Fancy gently. “But recollect, Lord Castleford, I
have
an establishment.”

“But you do not have a friend and protector,” stammered Castleford.

“No, I do not. But I have no need for one.”

The Marquis shook his head dismally. “To live without love is unhealthy. I can accept that you have no partiality for me. But that you should never care for anyone - that concerns me, for your sake.”

Fancy smiled. “Do not upset yourself about me, milord. I have not met any man for whom I can conceive a partiality. I have not been, like most girls, raised to think of matrimony. My life is the stage. It has been so since before I was eight.”

Castleford smiled. “The stage need not preclude your having an alliance. Most actresses do.”

Fancy could only agree with this, but she did not like to say so. Fortunately, at that moment they passed a carriage containing a slight dark-haired woman, whose deep-fringed eyes surveyed Fancy coldly before they moved on to Castleford and warmed into a seductive smile.

Fancy fought off a shiver of dread. That woman hated other women; she could feel it in her bones.

“That was Lady Jersey,” commented Castleford. “An elegant-looking woman. One of the patronesses of Almack’s.”

Fancy shrugged inwardly. So, that was the haughty Lady Jersey to whom the
ton
must bow. How happy she was not to be bothered by such absurdity.

“Do you go often to Almack’s?” she asked. Not because she was interested in that place, but because she wished to move the conversation away from alliances.

Castleford nodded. “Yes, Jersey has me on her books. But it is actually a rather stuffy place. The refreshments are abominable. And it abounds in fat dowager mamas with shy young daughters who wish to make suitable marriages.” The Marquis frowned. “I suppose one might say that it is actually a marriage mart. The young heiresses, the extent of whose fortunes has been whispered about, are put on display for the selection of those men interested in an eligible connection.”