Love in Disguise (12 page)

“Why have you made no such connection?” asked Fancy, and then flushed as she realized that this was a personal question.

But Castleford did not seem offended. “I met no suitable young woman for whom I conceived a partiality. And so I thought it wiser to remain alone in my bachelor establishment.”

Fancy chuckled. “I collect, milord, that as a man about town you are not excessively lonely.”

Castleford grinned. “You are quite right, Miss Harper. My situation as a bachelor is one that many of my married friends envy. Though I suppose that someday I shall have to marry to carry on the line, I have given up hoping that I shall find an eligible connection to whom I may really give my heart. Heiresses seem, for some odd reason, to be born proportionately more ugly than most women.”

Fancy could not help laughing at this, but Castleford shook his head. “It is true. I have been on the town these fourteen years and every season the crop of heiresses gets uglier. And,” he added with a shy smile at her, “the actresses seem to get lovelier.”

Fancy smiled. “Thank you, milord. You are very kind.”

Castleford chuckled. “I am not kind. I am truthful.”

The clatter of a carriage coming in the other direction prevented Fancy from replying. A very young man in an immense greatcoat with innumerable pockets came tooling down alongside the road. As he passed them he uttered an oath and spit a great distance through his front teeth.

Fancy stared in surprise and then turned to Castleford. “Do they allow coachmen to drive here?”

The Marquis laughed. “That sprig of fashion was not a coachman, but a young buck. I collect he wants to become a member of the Four-in-Hand Club.”

Fancy shook her head. “I do not understand.”

“It’s all the rage now for a young buck to learn how to drive a coach. They often pay the regular coachman for the privilege. Mr. Akers had his front teeth filed and paid one Dick Vaughan, alias ‘Hell-Fire Dick,’ £50 to teach him how to spit properly.”

“Ugh!” Fancy shivered. “The members of the
ton
are a strange lot.”

Castleford smiled. “Don’t be too hard on the young bucks. They have to have some adventure in their lives. The Grand Tour has been impossible since all this trouble with Bony and the young ones haven’t enough to do with their energies.”

Fancy raised an expressive eyebrow. “There must be something more useful they could do.”

Castleford shook his head. “Young blood is hot. They may kick up a spree in the wee hours and overturn the Charlies in their boxes.”

“But the watchmen are there to protect
them!”

Castleford shrugged. “Or they may get up a match with a pugilist, or learn fencing at Master Angelo’s School of Arms. They may game away whatever allowances their fond papas settle upon them, either at one of the clubs or at a ‘hell’ or at the races. There are cock fights, bear baiting, and Billy the Terrier is reputed to be able to dispatch upwards of 100 rats in an hour.”

“Oh, stop,” cried Fancy. “All those things sound dreadful. Blood and pain - oh! Just savage! How can they call themselves gentlemen?”

Castleford made a face. “I don’t know. But they do. Of course, we also have more civilized amusements, of the kind that Morgane and I now favor. The opera, the theater.”

Fancy smiled. “And the pursuit of bits of muslin?”

The Marquis chuckled. “Perhaps, on occasion. But Morgane and I are really theater enthusiasts. For instance, we are greatly looking forward to seeing
Every Man in His Humour.
We always attend, too, when the great Kemble or Mrs. Siddons is to perform. It is the one disaster of our lives that we were born too late to see the immortal Garrick.”

Fancy nodded. She could understand such a desire, for she, too, had often longed to see some of the greats of bygone days.

“What do you think of Uncle - of Cooke?” she asked curiously.

“The man’s quite an actor,” replied Castleford. “Especially in roles like
Richard III.
He plays evil to perfection. But -” he hesitated, as though sparing her feelings.

“Go on,” said Fancy. “Tell me what you truly think.”

“He is overly fond of blue ruin. If he were not so good, he would have been kept off the stage before this. Is he important to you?”

Fancy nodded. “He was my mama’s friend. Ever since I was a tiny little girl I’ve called him Uncle George.”

“That explains your defense of him that night.”

“Yes.” Fancy heaved a sigh. “And I know he drinks too much and keeps bad company, but there’s nothing I can do to help him.”

Castleford nodded sagely. “Well, perhaps he will come to his senses before it is too late.”

Fancy did not put much faith in such a hope, but, since she knew the Marquis was trying to cheer her up, she did not say so.

“Ah,” said Castleford with a smile of satisfaction, “there is Prinny.”

“The Prince of Wales? Where?” asked Fancy.

“Over there in the flaring yellow barouche with Lady Hertford.”

Fancy could not help staring. The Prince of Wales had been much talked about at Bath, though he seldom came there. The seashore was his favorite and there was much talk of that magnificent pavilion at Brighton. But the Prince did not seem princely to Fancy, whose ideals of royalty were based on the theater. His Royal Highness’s corpulence distressed her. His sumptuous clothes could not hide his bulk. And the plump and matronly woman beside him looked exactly like someone’s grandmother.

“Why,” cried Fancy in disappointment, “he’s fat!”

“Hush.” Castleford looked a little worried. “Miss Harper, we don’t say things like that about our sovereign-to-be.”

Fancy frowned. “I don’t know what good that does. Not saying anything isn’t going to make him any leaner.”

Castleford smiled as the Prince’s carriage passed out of sight. “Perhaps not, but it will keep us in his good graces. Prinny is not a bad sort, but like all royalty he doesn’t take well to insult. Only Beau Brummell can do that with impunity. Only the Beau has that much nerve.”

“Is
he
here?” asked Fancy.

Castleford quickly surveyed the park - or as much of it as he could see through the rapidly rising dust. “I don’t see him anywhere. He probably left early. The dust plays the devil with his looks. What’s the use of a man spending three or four hours to get his cravat tied just right if he’s going to get it dusty right off?”

Fancy’s forehead wrinkled in distaste. What a waste it seemed. All that time just to get dressed. “It doesn’t take me that long to get into makeup for a play,” she replied. “Milord, are there no gentlemen who devote themselves to anything worthwhile?”

Castleford considered this for several minutes. “Yes, I suppose there are.”

“What do they do?”

“Well, some are very concerned with business in the House, passing bills, and such. And some have taken to managing their own estates instead of leaving them in the hands of stewards. But that takes a good deal of time, managing rent rolls and all. Ask Morgane sometime. He does that.”

“He manages his own estates?”

  “Yes, though it takes him a devil of a lot of work. He’s always visiting this one or that one. I tell him it leaves him little time for the gaming tables - and the ladybirds. But then, he was never much of a gamester, not Morgane. Not that he didn’t have the nerve for it. Never saw a cooler man anywhere. He just said it was boring.” Castleford grinned. “On the other hand, he’s always had an eye out for the ladybirds - and they for him.”

Fancy found that she did not like this piece of information, though why she should care anything about the Earl’s personal life and habits she had no idea. He certainly meant nothing to her. Nothing at all.

The dust was getting wearisome and the sun seemed to have gone behind some clouds. Fancy sighed. “I am getting rather tired, Castleford. Could we please go home?”

“Of course, Miss Harper. Of course. I didn’t mean to fatigue you.”

Fancy managed a smile. “You have not fatigued me. I have been working rather hard learning my lines and the drive was good for me. But I find that I am tired now.”

Castleford gave the necessary orders and not long afterward Fancy found herself deposited at her door. “I hope you will accompany me again soon,” said the Marquis.

“Thank you,” replied Fancy. “You are most kind.”

As she turned to pass through the door that Henry held for her, Castleford spoke again. “I shall be in our box for
Every Man in His Humour
and hope that the audience will behave itself.”

“Thank you, milord.”

As Henry closed the door behind her, he spoke softly. “He seems a nice sort, the Marquis.”

“Very nice,” said Fancy with a smile as she removed the new straw bonnet and trudged up the stairs. Castleford was indeed very nice, but it was the sardonic face of the dark Earl that kept appearing in her mind at the oddest moments. He was impossible, that man, intruding, she thought angrily, even into her thoughts!

Chapter Nine

The next Wednesday evening found an excited Fancy in her dressing room again. She had rehearsed till she knew her lines to perfection and now she looked forward eagerly to the moment when she would face the audience as Mrs. Kitely. She only hoped that the rioters would be not so much in evidence.

Though the members of the company, including Fancy, were becoming a little more accustomed to the continued clamor, she couldn’t help wishing that for a change she might give a performance that could be heard.

As the players began to gather, Fancy looked around for Cooke. When the time for curtain call grew nearer and nearer, Fancy’s anxiety increased. Oh, she begged silently, Uncle George couldn’t be bosky this night. There was never any way of knowing how - or even when - he was going to show up.

Fancy suppressed a sigh. George Cooke was a difficult man to care about. She saw the young actress Annie glance her way and elevate her pert nose in distaste. With difficulty Fancy refrained from scowling back. Until the intrusion of the Earl into the greenroom she and Annie had gotten along quite well. For in spite of her fiery hair Fancy was usually quite even-tempered. But since the evening that the Earl had snubbed her, Annie had not had as much as a hello for her rival. Another place where the Earl was intruding in her life, and as always, she thought grimly, altering it for the worse.

Well, she was not going to let Annie spoil the evening, no more than she would let the Earl.

From her place in the wings Fancy surveyed the audience. They did not look too riotously inclined, though the hum of noise was incessant and here and there O.P. placards and banners were apparent. Fancy picked out the burly forms of several pugilists scattered here and there in the pit. She raised her eyes to scan the boxes, unconsciously letting them skim over the one that Castleford shared with his friend Morgane. The two were not yet in their seats, but Fancy knew from experience that they would arrive at the theater. Why they should want to see the same play three or four nights running, she could not imagine. But she knew that they had been there every night since the ruffians had almost carried her away. And so it seemed quite likely that they would be there this night also.

A slight commotion in another part of the theater caused her to turn her attention in that direction. His Royal Highness, the Duke of York, was being ushered to his seat by the theater managers. Bare-headed and carrying lighted candles they led York to his box.

Fancy stifled a sigh. She supposed it had been too much to hope that the Duke would forget about her. She did not want to offend royalty, but she knew she would remain adamant in her decision to have no protector. And all this would not help her any with the rest of the company. No one would understand her refusing the attentions of a man who could bring the theater so much patronage.

They would think it foolish, even stupid, of her to turn down an offer from such a man. The recent scandal had not tarnished his image among the players. After all, a world in which intangible things were sold was familiar to them. This man sold his talent, that man his influence. A person had to get by the best way possible. And no one would condemn Fancy for selling her beauty in this fashion. Indeed, they would think it strange if she didn’t. Annie, in particular, would be sure to circulate nasty stories of some kind.

Moving back from the curtain, Fancy shrugged. Annie’s animosity was nothing new. Many an aspiring actress had envied Fancy her looks and her talent. But she had always managed to stay cool and go on her own way. Now, of course, she had the Earl to deal with and Annie’s pinpricks were so many little annoyances added to the big one.

Just then a small bustle to the side of the stage attracted her attention. With relief Fancy saw that Cooke had arrived. His gait was steady enough, but she was too far away to see his eyes. Sometimes he looked like this, perfectly capable, and then right in the middle of the performance the alcohol would hit him like a great blow. All she could do was hope that this was not to be one of those nights.

Some time later, when she returned to the dressing room during the intermission, she was still hoping. She did not like the blue-ruin gleam in his eye, but so far his performance had been adequate. Some-times he could even be heard above the clamor of the rioters.

With a sigh Fancy plopped onto a stool to examine her makeup, and there on her dressing table lay not one but two notes. With trembling fingers she picked up the first and tore it open. His Royal Highness, the Duke of York, would be pleased to have her as his guest at a small private supper after the performance, she read.

Fancy’s shoulders drooped dispiritedly. For a moment she wished herself rid of such troublesome beauty. But common sense soon asserted itself. She must think of some excuse to offer York, but for the moment she would read her other note.

There was no need to look for the signature at the bottom. The bold heavy strokes of the pen left no doubt in her mind that the writer of this note was the arrogant Earl. “I have something of importance to discuss with you privately. Wait for me in your dressing room after the performance.”