Love in Disguise (15 page)

There was no time for more thinking because York was upon her. “My dear Miss Harper,” he boomed. “How well you are looking.”

Fancy could not forbear a small smile of amusement. So York, at least, did not find her hagged.

“Good day, Your Royal Highness, won’t you sit down?”

York sighed and ran a hand through his fair hair now tinged with gray. He settled in a chair, the same one, Fancy could not help noticing, that Castleford had used. At this gesture she dropped into hers.

“I am a blunt man,” said York. “Always have been. Best way to behave.”

Fancy nodded. That was certainly sensible. But it was suddenly borne upon her that the Duke looked strangely serious. With a sinking heart she formed a quick conjecture as to his errand, but she saw no way to forestall him.

“I’ll go right to the point. You’ve heard about the Clarke business.” He shook his head. “That woman disappointed me, sadly. I trusted her. Imagine her adding names to the lists.” The Duke looked so forlorn that Fancy was more than ever assured of his innocence. “At any rate, I have sent her packing. And I’m looking to form a new connection.”

“I am an actress,” said Fancy. “Not a convenience.”

“Don’t have no mind to get your back up,” said he cheerfully. “Like I said, I’m a blunt man. And I’ve never seen a high-flyer with the looks you’ve got. The Clarke was a dark beauty but yours is like fire.”

“Your Royal Highness,” said Fancy. “I have not got my back up. But I am not the sort of woman you suppose me to be. I am an actress. The theater is my life.”

“I don’t figure to meddle in that,” said York quite reasonably. “My brother William has lived happily with his Mrs. Jordan for many years - whenever he’s home from the seas. And often enough it seems by the number of FitzClarences around. And he didn’t mind her being on the stage. Indeed,” said he with a dry smile, “we’re in somewhat similar shakes as far as blunt is concerned. There’s no use me pretending I can set you up in any tremendous great style. I’m a gamester and I never have enough of the ready. But I can give you a lot of patronage. And I’m not a complete pinch-penny.”

Apparently satisfied that he had had his say, York leaned back in his chair with a sigh.

Fancy, fighting an inclination to giggle, gave him a small smile. “I am not offended at your bluntness, sir, but I do not want to form a connection, not of any kind. I am very happy, you see, just as I am.”

The Duke shook his head. “I collect the Earl is giving me some competition.”

“Indeed not!” cried Fancy hastily. “I have no partiality for any man.”

“Good,” said York, rising suddenly. “In that case I will not give up hope. Perhaps at some later date I shall resume my suit. And now I must go. My brother expects me at Carlton House and I have a new nag I must look over first.”

He raised Fancy’s fingers to his lips and beamed down at her. “No need to go to the door with me, my dear.” He glanced down at the script that lay on the table. “I’m sure you’ve work to do. I’ll look forward to seeing you again soon.”

With another smile the Duke exited. For a long moment Fancy stared at the carved figures in the panel above the fireplace, stared without seeing. Then she dropped silently into a chair. Well, this had certainly been a day.

First an offer of marriage - to a marquis yet. And now - an offer to be a royal mistress. Which, thought a bemused Fancy, should be considered the best offer?

She was still considering this rather hypothetical question when Ethel’s voice came cutting through the room. “So - now York’s been here.”

Fancy nodded. “I suppose Henry told you about Castleford.”

Ethel advanced into the room and nodded. “Didn’t he though. Seeing as how York already has a wife I suppose it was something else
he
was offering you,” Ethel remarked dourly.

Fancy’s eyes began to sparkle. “Yes, Ethel. He wants to be my protector. Sit down and discuss this with me. Which do you think is the better offer?”

Ethel had not spent twenty years with her young mistress without being aware of her mischievous streak and merely frowned. “Ain’t no use you asking me them addlepated questions,” she said. “I know you ain’t forming no connection with neither of them. If you was, I’d say the Marquis was your best bet. Ain’t no little thing to be a marchioness. And it’s legal like. But then you’d lose the stage ‘cause I don’t doubt he’d mean to do you up proper. On the other hand, if we was poor in the pocket and not plump as this place makes us and you was set on keeping to the stage, then York would be best. But since we ain’t near starving and you ain’t got no feeling for neither of ‘em, then I think you done right in refusing them both.”

Fancy sprang from her chair and gave the surprised woman a great hug. “As usual, Ethel, you are quite right. But it was rather pleasant to be asked and it has set me up no end.” She patted at her hair. “Don’t you think I look less hagged?”

“You ain’t never been hagged,” said Ethel, “since the day you was born. And if you ask me - which you ain’t - I’d say I knows quite well
who
it is puts that sparkle in your eye.”

Before Fancy could summon words to deny this outrageous statement Henry coughed discreetly from the doorway. “I’m sorry. Miss Fancy, but the dog - he sneaked out when the Duke left.”

“Oh, no!” Fancy would have liked to let go on someone but prudently kept her tongue between her teeth. Henry could not be supposed to attend to everything and the dog was always waiting by the door.

“I sent the footman after him. You know, Benson.”

Fancy nodded. “Will he come home with him?”

Henry shook his head. “I don’t know. If he don’t, mayhap the Earl will bring him.”

“Oh, no!” repeated Fancy. “I cannot stand to have that abominable man in my house again.”

Ethel uttered a sound that greatly resembled a snort and marched off muttering about speaking to that Frenchman so he would prepare a decent dinner.

Henry, taking a look at Fancy’s flushed countenance, offered a few soothing words. “The Earl ain’t such a bad sort - really. I mean - it would set any man’s back up to have a great dog like that throwing himself against a new door.”

“Henry,” said Fancy with considerable acerbity. “Do not speak to me of the Earl. He is an abominable top-lofty odious creature and I have no wish to see him.”

“In that case,” said a deep voice from the doorway, “I suggest that you do something about
this
odious creature.” As the Earl entered the room, leading Hercules, who was wagging his great tail, Fancy felt her cheeks flood scarlet. She rose quickly. “I am truly sorry. Hercules sneaked out when the D -when one of my callers left.”

The Earl smiled sardonically. “May I suggest to you that for the present your butler might dispose of this giant?”

Fancy looked helplessly toward Henry. But that worthy was already quietly taking the rope from the Earl’s hand and leading Hercules away.

For a moment Fancy stood in silence. “It is customary to ask a visiting gentleman to be seated,” said the Earl in a tone quite above reproach.

Fancy bridled anyway. “I was not aware that you were
here
a visitor,” she said harshly.

The Earl did not seem to take umbrage at this. He merely settled himself, as Fancy observed with a touch of hysterical laughter, in the same chair that had held her earlier callers. There seemed nothing left to do but seat herself.

For a moment the cool gray eyes locked with the fiery green ones. Finally the Earl spoke. “I collect you have had a busy day,” said he in evident amusement.

“I fail to see that that is any concern of yours,” returned Fancy tartly.

“Au  contraire,”
replied Morgane. “Castleford
is
my concern. We have been friends for a long time and I’ve no desire to see him make a gudgeon of himself.”

Fancy felt her hackles rising. “I fail to see how making an offer of marriage to me makes the Marquis a gudgeon.”

“So I was right. He did make you an offer.”

Too late Fancy realized that she had swallowed the bait dangled so temptingly before her. “You tricked me!”

“If you would curb your temper, my dear, you would improve your character considerably,” said the Earl with a cynical smile.

Fancy, vexed beyond measure, made a valiant effort to control herself. “Castle-ford’s affairs are no concern of yours. Besides, he told me himself that you had given him
carte blanche
, relinquished the territory, so to speak.”

The Earl’s eyes kindled, but his tone was even. “I was relying on your known antipathy for male affection. But I did not suppose the fool would offer you marriage. At least, not until lately. I would, of course, wish to prevent him from taking such an ill-advised step.”

“Of course!” cried Fancy hotly. Unable to contain her anger any longer, she rose and began to pace the floor. Her fingers itched to fling something at the Earl’s urbanely smiling face, but she restrained herself. How that man could put her out of temper!

“Come, come,” said the Earl, “did you accept him?”

“I did not!”

“Good, you have earned my approbation. You are more kindhearted than I suppose-ed. Surely you have no aversion to being a marchioness.”

Fancy stopped her pacing to glare down at him as he lazed in the chair. “You may make yourself easy on
that
head. I have an aversion to marrying a man for whom I have no strong feelings of affection,” she declared hotly. “As I have imparted this information to you on several previous occasions I should think that it would come as no surprise to you.”

“Perhaps you prefer to be York’s favorite,” suggested Morgane in even tones. “He would not ask you to leave the stage. However, I feel that I should remind you, as I have already done, that my terms are better than York’s. For whatever he promised you I am confident that in the long run you should do better with me.”

Fancy could bear it no longer. Out of reason cross, she stamped her foot on the floor. “You are insufferable,” she screamed.

“Of course I am,” interjected Morgane. “But is it necessary to inform the whole world of the fact?”

Fancy fought to control herself. She would not let this odious creature so wind her up that she would make a spectacle of herself before her household.

“The Duke of York’s business with me is of no concern to you,” she said between clenched teeth. “And I will thank you to keep your nose out of my business.”

The Earl smiled. “In your present incensed condition I hesitate to disagree with you, but I find the whole affair of great concern to me.”

Fancy’s hands clenched into fists, but she managed to keep her voice low. “I fail to see how that can be so.”

The Earl rose suddenly, causing her to step backward so precipitately that she would have fallen over a chair had he not reached out to steady her. At his touch Fancy found a strange weakness assailing her. She summoned a look of icy hauteur. “I have quite recovered my balance, thank you, milord.”

For several long minutes the Earl did not remove his hands from her arm. His face was disturbingly close to hers. For a moment Fancy feared that he would kiss her again -feared and longed for what she feared.

Then, with a sharp laugh, the Earl released her. “Since the day I laid eyes on you in Bath,” he said dryly, “you have been much on my mind.”

Fancy drew herself up hotly. “I have told you more than once. I - am - not - for -sale!”

The Earl’s handsome features took on a look of harsh determination. “And I have told you - I always get what I want. Always.”

The Earl’s eyes held hers for several seconds and then he bowed ironically. “No need to see me to the door, my dear. I know my way by now.”

And then he was gone. Fancy stood for several more minutes and then, her legs suddenly unwilling to support her, sank into a chair and dropped her head into her hands. He was top-lofty, arrogant, odious, tyrannical - the most horrible, detestable man she had ever had the misfortune to know. She would never go willingly into his arms as he had said she would. Never. But oh. God, she thought, quivering with fright as the sudden knowledge struck her, she
wanted
to.

Chapter Eleven

The days passed quickly. Morning rehearsals, afternoon rehearsals, fitting of costumes, visits with the dressmaker came and went. Fancy played her part in
The Blind Boy,
reviewed her lines for
The Busybody
and
The Successful Husband.

The crowds continued to riot. It seemed to Fancy that nothing would be right again. Placards and banners hung everywhere. Fruit, eggs, peas showered upon the stage. Bow Street Runners, lent to the managers, sat among the crowds armed with bludgeons and from time to time charged and overwhelmed some particular rioter before they dragged him off to prison.

The pugilists, under the direction of Dutch Sam and Mendoza, also attacked the rioters. But it was like trying to hold back the ocean with a meager strip of sand. The swell of rioters rose and fell, pushing out around those intent on restraining them. And to Fancy’s horrified eyes it seemed that for every rioter that was dragged away two more magically appeared to add to the general harassment.

Every evening Castleford and Morgane appeared in their box. Occasionally Castle-ford came back to the greenroom to congratulate her on her performance, but Morgane remained away. Fancy was quite grateful for this. She told herself so with considerable firmness. But still, every evening she crept to the wings to look out at the box that held the impeccably dressed, top-lofty Earl of Morgane. Sometimes she raked herself over for doing such an addlepated thing, but nevertheless she could not help it. She must know, before she set foot on that stage, that the dark Earl was there. And when inevitably he was, she felt a considerable sense of relief.

Even the jibes that Annie threw her way on every possible occasion now failed to set her back up. She could not, Fancy told herself, be bothered with such nit-picking. There were considerably more serious things to be considered.

She would not, of course, concede it to the Earl, but it was puzzling how he had managed to make such a deep impression on her heart. He was certainly, in spite of his friend’s protestations, an ill-mannered man. Every time they spoke to each other they seemed to come instantly to dagger-drawing.