Love in Disguise (17 page)

Fancy sniffed disdainfully. “They can have their stupid men. I don’t want them.”

“But, my pet,” explained the Earl, feigning not to notice Fancy’s adverse reaction to his endearment,
“they
do not know that and therefore they view you with somewhat jaundiced eye.”

Fancy shook her head defiantly. “If they choose to bother themselves about me, that is their concern, not mine.”

“Certainly an admirable attitude. Very like my own,” agreed Morgane. “But not one calculated to bring one many friends.”

“You know very well,” declared Fancy hotly, “that no
lady
in this neighborhood would ever be
my
friend no matter how circumspectly I conducted myself.”

Morgane nodded. “Your understanding is quite good. You have brains as well as beauty.”

Fancy stirred restlessly in the chair. “If you have no other orders to give me,” she said with some sarcasm, “then may I go? I am excessively tired.”

“Of course,” said the Earl in his most solicitous tones. “The theater is too much for you.”

Fancy felt the tears of frustration rising to her eyes. Would he never stop pinching at her? “I
love
the theater,” she cried. “How many times must I tell you that?”

“Gently, gently, child,” said the Earl, helping her to her feet. “I do not mistake your love for the stage. I merely think it love misplaced, better given to a man who could return it. Not to a bunch of rabble-rousing monkeys whose idea of fun is to throw orange peels and apple cores, who will never appreciate you.”

Some strange emotion glimmered in the Earl’s eyes as he spoke, but Fancy could not fathom it. She was very conscious that her hand still lay in his and that he was far too close to her for comfort.

She pulled her hand away. “I must go now,” she muttered. “Henry is waiting for me.”

Morgane’s eyes met and held hers for a long moment. Then he smiled lazily. “Of course.  An inestimable retainer, Henry.”

With his hand on her elbow the Earl guided her to the front door. “Do not be concerned over Hercules,” said he. “Actually he is quite happy here. Prefers my establishment to yours in point of fact. At least, that seems to be indicated by his efforts to enter it.”

Fancy was feeling extremely exhausted. She and the Earl did not deal together at all well and being for long in his company made her excessively vexed.

He opened the door for her with an indolent smile. “Till Monday next, my pet.”

With great effort Fancy kept her tongue between her teeth. The best thing to do was to take herself home, outside the Earl’s purview. It was worse than useless to remonstrate with him.

So with an icy nod she made her way past him and down the steps. It seemed to take forever to traverse the short distance between the houses and every step she took seemed to Fancy to be subject to the ridicule of the arrogant man who stood in his open doorway watching her with that irritating lazy smile.

When finally she reached her own knocker, her barely suppressed fury caused her to knock much louder than she had intended. Henry opened the door, took one look at her face, and prudently refrained from comment.

“Hercules will remain at the Earl’s until Monday next,” she exclaimed. “I am excessively angry. Do not let anyone near me for at least an hour.”

“Yes, Miss Fancy,” Henry replied as she stamped up the great stairs.

Fancy entered her room, yanked savagely at the strings of her bonnet, threw it roughly in a chair, and cast herself between the deep green curtains onto the great bed.

He was arrogant, tyrannical, haughty, toplofty, odious, the most despicable creature she had ever had the misfortune to know. Yet in that brief moment in which their eyes met she had wanted him to kiss her again, wanted it quite badly, in fact.

With a sob Fancy rolled over and buried her face in the pillow. And now she had promised to spend a whole evening in his company!

Chapter Twelve

Fancy hardly knew how she got through the intervening days. She continued to rehearse and to play her parts. And every night she could not refrain from peeking out of the wings to see if the Earl had arrived yet. Her heart beat in trepidation when she thought of sitting in a similar box with Morgane beside her.

When she considered such a thing, she was conscious of very mixed feelings. Some ridiculous childish part of her insisted that it would be fun to be escorted to the opera by the Earl. And he had even promised to be charming! That, thought Fancy, would certainly be unusual.

She was aware, too, that any woman who graced the arm of the Earl of Morgane would be the object of envy from other women. Though she had never seen Morgane with a woman - he and Castleford were the only occupants of their box - Fancy had known without being told that women were attracted to the darkly handsome Earl. Probably all kinds of women - from young girls at their first come-outs to respectable married women - felt that strange power that emanated from the Earl. And if he really could be charming, how could any normal woman fail to succumb?

Of course, Fancy told herself when she reached this point in her deliberations, she was
not
any woman, and certainly not “normal” in the sense of dangling after a husband, or, at the least, a protector.

Take that young snip, Annie. She had certainly been going around with her nose in the air. Just last week a young Viscount, newly down from Harrow and not yet of age, had languished at Annie’s feet. And the foolish girl had begun to chatter to her friends about leaving the stage and becoming a great lady. Fancy recognized the fact that a young man still under his father’s control had little hope of choosing for himself unless that “choice” coincided with one already made by his zealous parent. The young Viscount might languish all he liked and gaze mournfully with great puppy eyes on the object of his affections. But such love was doomed to an early demise, being not vigorous enough to withstand the onslaught of an irate papa.

With a sigh Fancy saw the Earl enter his box. He was his usual impeccable self and her heart began to flutter at the sight of him. She was being ridiculous, she told herself, quite ridiculous. The Earl of Morgane meant nothing to her, nothing at all. That she did not succeed in convincing herself of this was clearly evident in the continuing flutter of her heart on every subsequent night.

And so the portentous evening arrived and Fancy stood before the cheval glass, radiant in the gown of deep green silk. Its rounded neck exposed a lovely white throat. It was caught high under her bosom and fell in graceful folds to her feet which were clad in matching kid slippers.

Ethel, who had insisted this once on helping her to dress, managed a smile. “You’re a real beauty, you are,” she said in admiration. “Your mama now, wouldn’t she have been that pleased to see you grow into such a beauty.”

Fancy could only nod, silently wishing that Mama was around to give her some much needed advice. For her heart was thumping quite dangerously and the high color on her cheeks was that of nature, not of the rouge pot.

She turned suddenly, unable to bear the sight of her own sparkling eyes. “Ethel, oh Ethel, I’m scared.”

Ethel made a face. “Fancy Harper ain’t afraid of nothing, not especially some highflying lord.”

Fancy gulped. “But all those people, Ethel, lords and ladies of the first stare of fashion.”

“Listen, Miss Fancy, that Earl may be a hard ‘un, but he knows his business with the ladies. He couldn’t of made no better choice than that dark green. And I never did favor them stupid ostrich plumes, make a woman look like a ninny, they do. Yes, sir, you looks the very pink.”

Fancy managed a little smile. “Thank you, Ethel.”

“The two of you’ll be the talk of the town,” said Ethel with obvious satisfaction. “His dark looks is just the thing to set off your fair ones.”

Fancy felt her heart lurch. He
was
extremely good-looking - the Earl of Morgane - the best-looking man she had ever seen. And there was about him that inexplicable thing that spoke of power, power over men - and over women. A shudder ran over Fancy.

“You’ll be needing your shawl all right,” observed Ethel. “There’s a deal of shoulders a hanging out there.”

Fancy flushed. “I mustn’t forget my new kid gloves and my reticule, too.” And she gathered up these items and prepared to descend the great staircase.

She had just reached the bottom when Henry opened the door to a brisk knock and the Earl entered, smiling urbanely. “I see that you are not a woman to keep a man waiting,” he remarked. “A woman after my own heart.”

Fancy scrutinized his face, but there was nothing in his eyes but pleasant warmth and his smile, too, reflected nothing but charm. She moistened her suddenly dry lips. “Thank you, milord. You look rather well yourself this evening.”

She let her eyes wander over his muscular figure. His blue coat with gilt buttons fit his broad shoulders like a second skin. His drab-colored breeches clad a leg that any actor would give his eyeteeth to have. White silk stockings, black slippers, and chapeau completed the picture.

The Earl’s eyes twinkled. “Indeed, as the great Beau once remarked, ‘I am all elegance and propriety.’ It is these two, hand in hand, that give a man distinction, he claims. And of course,” he added mischievously, “the knack of tying a cravat properly.”

Fancy’s eyes went automatically to the stiff white cloth that encompassed his neck. “The mathematical,” revealed his lordship. “And tied in under an hour. That must be some sort of record.”

Fancy, who was accustomed to the lightning quick changes of a player’s life, found a giggle bubbling in her throat. “You would soon lose your roles if you took that long in the theater.”

The Earl laughed, a pleasant, open sound that quite startled Fancy. “Yes, I expect that thespians must be extremely quick in these matters.” He reached for the fur-lined pelisse that Henry held and before she was aware of his intention he was putting it around her shoulders. As his fingers slid beneath her copper curls to lift them from under the cloak they touched the nape of her neck. An indescribable sense of weakness enveloped her, but, conscious of the presence of Henry, she managed to keep her face from reflecting her inner turmoil. Fancy Harper would never surrender to a man. And most assuredly not to the one who stood so securely before her.

“Shall we go?” he asked.

Fancy nodded and timidly put her hand upon the arm he offered. She was still slightly dazed. If this were an example of the Earl’s charm she had best be careful. The Earl was a new man. Gone were the supercilious curl of his lip, the light of mockery in his eyes, the cynical set of his chin. These were replaced by a warm smile and laughing eyes.

Fancy felt rather inclined to give herself a good sharp pinch. This could not possibly be the Morgane she knew. With the greatest deference he assisted her into his coach, the warmth of his hand reaching hers through both pairs of gloves and causing a strange sensation in her heart.

“You are strangely quiet tonight,” remarked the Earl, after they had driven for some moments in silence. “I hope that the nightly commotion at the theater has not begun to prey upon your nerves. I believe the proprietors will soon be forced to concede.”

His tone was so considerate and concerned that Fancy looked at him in surprise, expecting to find some evidence of mockery in his dark face. But the shadows hid his scarred cheek and in the light of the coach lamps she could see only a pleasant, smiling man.

“Yes, I expect they will,” she returned.

“The experience has been a difficult one for you.”

Fancy nodded. “Yes. I have always loved the theater. As a little girl I pestered my mama for a part.”

“And did she allow you upon the stage?”

Fancy shook her head. “No. Mama said it wasn’t the thing for a nobleman’s daughter. But then, when I was eight, she died. And Papa, too.”

Fancy bit her lip to keep back the quick rush of tears. Lately she had been missing her mama a great deal.

“And you were left an orphan?”

Fancy swallowed hastily. “Yes, but Henry and Ethel were there. And they took care of me. And I went on the stage.”

“And so filled up the empty space in your life.” It was said so quietly that for a moment Fancy doubted her ears. He did seem to understand. How low his voice had been -and how strange.

“Yes,” agreed Fancy. “I made the stage my life. And so - here I am.”

For a moment the quiet was broken only by the sound of the coach moving over the pavement. “How do you suppose your mama would respond to your present way of life?” he asked quietly.

“She -” Fancy stopped suddenly, aware of something that she had never considered. It was quite likely that Mama would not at all approve of her being on the stage. “She - she wanted other things for me,” faltered Fancy. “She didn’t want me to be an actress. But, but,
she
was an actress. And she loved the stage. If she were alive now” - she found she had to swallow hard several times - “she would see how much I love it. And she would understand.”

Surprisingly no objections to this issued from the man beside her. There was a moment’s pause and then, in the gentlest of voices, he inquired, “Did your mama wish for you a life of celibacy, too?”

“No,” said Fancy slowly. “It was not that we discussed it, but I am persuaded that Mama would have wished me to marry.”

“A wise woman, your mama, very much concerned for your welfare.”

“Yes,” replied Fancy. “She loved me a great deal, I am sure.” Fancy no longer felt the strangeness of the Earl’s attitude. She had forgotten his arrogance and pride and was talking to him as though he were a friend.

“Have you never considered matrimony?” asked the Earl, still in that gentle tone.

“Not really,” said Fancy. “For I’ve seen so many examples of marriage - and all bad. People who couldn’t stand each other shackled together for life. Why, it’s enough to frighten anyone.”

“Indeed, it is,” said the Earl soberly. “But I collect your mama and papa were happy.”

“Oh, yes,” agreed Fancy. “Very much so. “

“Then perhaps,” suggested the Earl, still in that strangely gentle voice,
“you
ought to consider the possibility of finding such happiness.”