Love in Disguise (8 page)

Fancy chose to ignore this. “Did my dog do any damage to your door?” she asked.

The Earl shook his head. “To the best of my knowledge,” said he, “my door is intact. The damage to my nerves, however -”

Fancy suddenly found herself breaking into laughter.

Morgane eyed her quizzically.

“I am sorry, milord, but you do not play the part at all well. Your nerves, if you have
any,
are undoubtedly made of iron. That anything should distress you seems to me quite unimaginable. You simply cannot play the nervous
beau
.”

Since the Earl did not seem to take any of this amiss, Fancy continued. “You might make a rather good hero,” she mused, “but I believe that it is in the part of the villain that you would undoubtedly excel.” She rose, hoping that the Earl would do likewise.

Fancy shifted nervously backward as the Earl rose suddenly to his feet and moved swiftly toward her. His eyes, when they met hers, were still cool and gray, but the scar had taken on that peculiar hue that marked his anger. “If I were you,” he said evenly, stopping less than a foot from her and holding her eyes with his, “I should be more careful what I said to a man of such vicious temper and villainous character as you believe me to have.”

Fancy, her eyes locked in the grip of those gray ones, found herself trembling. He was so close and so powerful. And the drawing room door was closed. If he reached out for her, if he swept her into his arms, would she have time to cry out before his savage brutal kiss claimed her lips?

She tried to tear her eyes away from his, but she was unable to do so. For long moments he kept her captive with that overpowering gaze. And then a cynical smile curved his thin lips. “No need to play the startled maiden,” he remarked sarcastically. “This evening I am not in the mood to play the villain. So you are safe - for the moment.”

Fancy dropped her eyes in confusion. She had been foolish to antagonize the man. But she would not apologize.

As she raised her eyes, he spoke again. “I must thank you for a very pleasant visit. Perhaps at some future date I shall be invited to return for a tour of the whole house. In the meantime I trust you will keep that door-wrecker under lock and key.”

With that the Earl turned away and, bowing ironically, let himself out of the drawing room. Fancy could hear him in the hall, urbanely bidding Henry farewell. For long minutes after she heard the heavy door close behind him she stood unseeing, staring at one of the chiaroscuro paintings. Then she shook her head and spoke sharply to herself. The Earl of Morgane was no concern others. No concern at all. She would just keep Hercules at home and she would not see the Earl again.

The thought sounded good, but as she picked up her script and began to review her lines, Fancy was aware of a feeling strangely like disappointment. It could not
be
disappointment, she told herself sternly. For she would not be at all unhappy should the Earl of Morgane never again bring his handsome self into her presence. And with that she again resumed her practice, determined to keep all further thoughts of his darkly handsome features from her mind.

Chapter Six

The next several days found Fancy busy practicing her lines.
The School of Reform
was an addition to her repertoire and since she was also going to play Mrs. Kitely in
Every Man in His Humour
and had small parts in other plays, she had a great deal to do, reviewing her lines and refreshing her characters. Morning rehearsals, afternoon rehearsals, costume fittings, these things took time too.

She did not go to the theater to see Mr. Shuffleton in
John Bull
on Friday, since she had no part in that play. Nor did she attend on Saturday, Henry and Ethel having prevailed upon her to stay home. As Ethel had so succinctly put it, “Ain’t no use asking for trouble. They don’t need you for nothing down there. No use in going.”

So Fancy had remained at home, immuring herself in her lines. Knowing that soon she would be facing an audience again, she was able to handle her loneliness. Living in the great house, actually very much alone in spite of all the people surrounding her, did not suit Fancy’s temperament. From childhood she had known the hustle and bustle of stage life, always surrounded by busy, active people, always a part of something exciting.

Here in this great house she felt very alone. Even Henry and Ethel, who had always been her friends, now seemed distant. Sometimes Fancy found herself wishing for the jolly old days in Bath when she had been just another struggling young player.

It was in this not so joyful mood that Cooke found her when Henry ushered him into the little sitting room that she most often used. “Uncle George!” Fancy rushed to throw herself into his arms. He held her briefly and then stepped back. Fancy breathed a sigh of relief: he did not smell of gin. That day he had not been drinking. “Come and sit down, Uncle George. Or would you like to see the house first?”

Cooke shrugged his shoulders. “A house is a house, though this appears to be a mighty fine one.”

Fancy sighed. “It is. Mighty fine and mighty lonely.”

“Then why do you stay here?” Cooke’s eyes regarded her shrewdly.

Fancy shrugged. “It’s a very nice house, Uncle George. And I’ll get used to it. Besides, in a few days I’ll be acting almost every night. That’s what I need. To be on -”

The look on Cooke’s face stopped her. “Uncle George! What is it? What’s wrong?”

Cooke settled heavily into a chair. “They’ve closed the theater. Last night. You won’t be acting for a while, I’m afraid.”

Fancy sank into a nearby chair. “How long?”

Cooke shook his head. “We don’t know. Kemble felt it best to close. He canceled Catalani and the house will be closed till the accounts have been examined by competent gentlemen. There’s no sense in performing for a crowd like that. The rioting’s been bad every night. Though not quite as bad as Wednesday when -” He paused and looked embarrassed.

Fancy hurried to reassure him. “Uncle George, please, you mustn’t feel bad. I wasn’t hurt at all. And it wasn’t your fault. Really, it wasn’t.”

Cooke shook his head, but did not reply to this.

“Why do they have to riot like this?” asked Fancy.

Cooke shrugged. “Obviously the theatergoers are not the enlightened and liberal public that Kemble thought they would be on opening night.” He shook his head. “No one can continue acting under all that tension. The company was all nerves.”

Fancy nodded. “I know. It was very bad.”

Cooke sighed. “That’s one of the worst audiences I’ve ever seen. And I’ve seen plenty in my time.”

“So what did Mr. Kemble do?”

“He addressed the audience, or tried to. He told them that the proprietors were most anxious to do everything in their power to meet the public inclination and restore the public peace. Personally, I don’t think anything’s going to work but a reduction in prices. So he said the proprietors were willing to have a committee of respectable gentlemen appointed to inspect things, including the profits. And to say whether or not the advance was warranted. And until the examination is over the theater will be shut down.”

Fancy sighed. “I hope it doesn’t take too long. I need to be acting.”

Cooke eyed her solemnly. “You’re looking a little peaked. Fancy, m’girl. I don’t think this place agrees with you.”

Fancy laughed. “I suppose I could sell it and move elsewhere, but that would be running.”

“Running? I don’t understand.” Fancy managed a little smile.

“My neighbors are not exactly friendly. The Earl of Morgane, especially, has suggested that I will not be happy in this neighborhood.”

Cooke whistled. “Morgane! Fancy, m’girl, you’d better watch your step with that one. I thought he was being sort of high-handed with you the other night. So you knew him before?”

Fancy nodded. She did not think it wise to give Uncle George a complete picture of her meetings with the conceited Earl. “He is a most exasperating man,” she said, her green eyes flashing. “But I do not intend to let him run
my
life.”

Cooke smiled wearily. “The Earl is used to running things, m’girl. You’d better get that through your noggin immediately. If you mix with him -” Cooke shook his head. “The Earl’s never been known to knuckle under. Why, he boxed Gentleman Jackson when the Earl was just a stripling. He wouldn’t give up, kept struggling to his feet. The man’s no quitter. Fancy, m’girl. Best think carefully before you come to cuffs with him. He can be an ugly customer.”

Fancy tossed her copper curls defiantly. “I don’t care about that the least bit,” she averred. “No man is going to chase me out of this house. I can guarantee it.”

Cooke laughed. “Well, well. child, don’t get that temper up at me. This is old Uncle George, remember?”

Fancy laughed. “I have made great gains in controlling my temper lately,” she said. “Goodness knows I have had enough practice at it. But come, let me give you a tour of the house.”

* * * *

Sometime later Cooke descended the staircase, shaking his head. “You’ve no business in a place like this. It must cost a fortune to run.”

“It does, Uncle George, but that doesn’t signify. The Marquis left me plenty. He must have been a kind old gentleman.”

At this Cooke burst into a great fit of laughter. “Don’t be such an innocent, Fancy, m’girl. Cavendish was very active in the petticoat line. Just as much after the ladies in muslin as your friend the Earl.”

Fancy bridled.
“He is
not
my friend. And I never even saw the Marquis. Besides, he was an
old man.”

Cooke chuckled dryly. “For a girl your age you’ve a lot to learn. A man’s years have nothing to do with his desire for a pretty young dasher.”

Fancy flushed. “Uncle George, you are embarrassing me.”

“Best to know the way the world is,” observed Cooke wisely. “That way it can’t take you by surprise. Speaking of which, I’ve some friends awaiting my arrival. I had a hankering to see your great house so I told Kemble I’d bring you the word. You’re to keep learning your lines, he says. For he expects to reopen as soon as the committee makes its report.”

Fancy nodded. She very much wanted to keep Uncle George from the low tavern where she suspected his friends were awaiting him with bumpers of blue ruin, but she knew that no words of hers would deter him. And so she simply said, “Take care of yourself now, Uncle George. And come back to see me.”

Cooke’s smile was warm, but he shook his head. “This is too much house for the likes of me. I can’t be comfortable in it. But I’ll see you when we reopen.”

As Fancy watched him make his way to the street, she sighed heavily. Uncle George was really a nice person - except when he was in his altitudes - and he was there much too often.

She turned away with another sigh. Now she would have to stay cooped up in this big old house for how many days longer. It just wasn’t fair.

Making her way toward the sitting room, Fancy rubbed at her temple absently. Life was all a muddle these days. When she’d first come to London, it had been with high spirits. There she was - with a great house and a season at Covent Garden. What more could she ask for?

But everything had suddenly gone sour. Those stupid rioters had ruined the theater and the dark man next door had spoiled her joy in this house.

Suddenly Fancy straightened her slumping shoulders. She would not allow herself to be overcome by despair. The theater would open again eventually. The committee must come to some conclusion, and then she would be back on the stage.

And she would not let the Earl browbeat her into obedience. Earls had no say over her life, she told herself defiantly. None at all.

She turned back from the sitting-room door. Enough of scripts for one day. She needed a breath of fresh air. “Henry, have you had Hercules fitted with a new collar?”

“Yes, miss.”

“Good, then fetch his leash while I go for my bonnet. I want to take a walk.”

“Miss Fancy-”

But Fancy was already running lightly up the stairs to fetch her new straw bonnet. As she stood before the cheval glass and tied the wide blue ribbons in a big bow under her chin, she couldn’t help smiling. The bonnet was huge and the blue daisies on it seemed to nod at her. It was really a rather extreme bonnet, though entirely fashionable, but in her present intransigent mood it was just what she wanted. She scooped up a cream-colored cashmere shawl and hurried down the stairs.

“Miss Fancy, the weather’s not so good. It looks like it might rain.”

Fancy nodded, her green eyes gleaming with mischief. “Then I shall get wet. But in the meantime we shall have had our walk. You’ll like that, won’t you, Hercules?”

The great dog thumped the floor loudly with his tail and eyed the door with obvious longing, his huge pink tongue lolling from his mouth.

Fancy pulled on a pair of York tan gloves and extended a hand for the leash. “Well, Hercules, let us go.”

Henry, his lips set in disapproval, opened the door. As she descended the steps and set off in the opposite direction from the Earl’s house. Fancy carefully kept her eyes averted. She had no wish to give any thought at all to her horrible neighbor.

Twice around the square Fancy proceeded at a leisurely pace, taking a great interest in her surroundings. Several times gentlemen tipped their hats or nodded. They were obviously inhabitants of the neighborhood and she returned their greetings with a modest smile.

Inevitably as they passed the iron railing and the steps leading up to the Earl’s great mahogany door, Hercules would begin tugging on his leash. Fancy found it difficult to account for the dog’s actions. But she would set her teeth and pass resolutely on, never deigning by as much as a single glance to recognize the existence of the Earl’s abode.

For all the proud set of her head and the resolute way she forced Hercules to follow her, she was intensely aware that behind the white curtained windows of the great house a pair of cool gray eyes might be following her every motion.

They were making their third round when the clatter of approaching hooves caused Fancy to turn startled eyes to the street. She turned them away again as soon as they sighted the occupant of the carriage, but not before they had been met by a pair of cool gray ones.