The Masked Heart (Sweet Deception Regency #2) (18 page)

"It is just for that reason that I can risk accepting his offer. He is the only man I know well enough to know that I will be safe. Despite his pursuit of La Solitaire, he is a gentleman, not prone to violence or drink. He would never force his attentions on me," Blaine argued.

"Some men needn't use force," Tate opined darkly.

The dresser was aware of something that made her extremely uneasy about the assignation. She had guessed the identity of the man who sent the white roses and she had watched the expression in Blaine's eyes soften when she received Lord Farrington's flowers. She did not know if Blaine realized her own feelings for the young lord, but Tate knew. Blaine was in love with Drew Farrington.

The thought of the pain that Blaine would endure when she came to terms with her own emotions, was frightening for Tate. There was no possibility that anything other than a brief liaison could come out of this relationship. Men of Drew Farrington's background did not marry actresses and Blaine believed in the sanctity of marriage. Any other arrangement would destroy her since she would never be able to live with the realization that she had compromised all of her values.

"Please, Tate, won't you help me?"

Love made you weak, the dresser muttered under her breath as she stared at the eyes of her mistress. "All right," she sighed. "I have a feeling in my bones that this is the greatest of follies, but I will do what I can."

"Oh, thank you. Thank you," Blaine said, hugging the glowering woman. "You shan't regret it, I promise. It will only be for one night and then I shall go back to being Maggie Mason without a grumble."

Tate was far too old to believe such rubbish. "I doubt that, my girl," she snorted. "All right, miss. What do you want me to do?"

Blaine was silent as she stared bleakly out the window onto the square. She wondered for a moment if one evening was worth so much trouble. Then Drew's face, as she had seen it last, appeared before her eyes. He had been smiling then, in recognition of her acceptance of his invitation. His eyes had sparkled with happiness and his face bore a curiously touching look of joy. She would not fail him. Blaine bit her lip, knowing the hardest part was tackling Tate. She could just imagine the expression on the dresser's face when she announced that she wanted help to dye her hair.

When she had decided to accept Drew's invitation to dinner, her only qualms were that he might recognize similarities between La Solitaire and Lady Yates. The makeup she used for her role as Aunt Haydie covered her skin completely and gave the impression of a lined and wrinkled face beneath the white paste. Tate had even changed the curve of her eyebrows for the part. Since she could do nothing to eradicate the telltale color of her eyes, Blaine had made it a practice to squint or use her lorgnette when in Drew's company.

Her white blond hair was the problem. She was afraid that it might remind him of Lady Yates' white ringlets and even this small oversight might cause him to become suspicious. Too much rested on the continuation of her masquerade as Aunt Haydie, to leave things to chance. As an actress, Blaine had learned that many times it was the small inconsistencies in a role that made the character unbelievable in the eyes of the audience. With a heavy heart, she determined that dying her hair would be the only possible way to prevent any possible comparisons.

Blaine turned away from the window and braced herself. Taking a deep breath, she told Tate her plan and, true to form, the woman was not silent in her disapproval. Much to Blaine's relief, the catalogue of dire predictions, pointed barbs and general disapproval did not last long. Once the woman had decided to help Blaine, she set to work with a vengeance.

They spent the afternoon dying her hair and fitting a dress Tate had borrowed from the wardrobe mistress at the theatre. They were uninterrupted since Fleur, with the indefatigable Puff in toe, was happily engaged for a day of shopping with one of the girls she had met in London. Timing things to a nicety, the dying was completed and Blaine's damp hair covered with a turban before Fleur knocked on her door and flew into the room with an armload of packages.

"Is there anything left in the shops after your adventurous day?" Blaine asked, from the comfort of her chaise longue.

"It was ever so much fun. Constance Flannery is such fun to be with. She knows everyone and is quite generous in her introductions." Fleur ignored Tate's sour expression as she dumped her packages on the floor. "No need to frown. Ellen will come to take these to my room."

"Since Ellen has become your Abigail your habit of neatness has become far too lax," Blaine chided. "I trust when you return to Wiltshire, you will not expect the servants to pick up after you."

"I won't," the girl assured her, coming over to sit on the foot of the chaise. "I am just taking full advantage of being pampered. Now, no more lectures. Just wait until you see what I bought you. I know you shall love it."

"Let me guess," Blaine said, entering into the light mood. "A new lace shawl and some caps for my role as Aunt Haydie. No? I have it. A tapestry reticule to hold my tatting supplies."

Fleur giggled and shook her head and even Tate's face turned up in a smile at their nonsense.

"A new cane? Or perhaps some more bombazine in a bright cherry red," Blaine continued.

"You may tease me all you like but I know you will love this." The girl pouted but her violet eyes sparkled with mischief. "You are right that it is for your role as Aunt Haydie but I think I have found something that will find approval with even your most exacting standards. It is a hat."

"Oh," Blaine said, torn between annoyance and laughter. It was true that she needed new things for her wardrobe but it was a most lowering thought.

"Give a look, Blaine, do." Fleur opened a bandbox, pulling at the paper that covered her present. "I know how you keep to your room so that you do not have to wear that horrid rig of a costume. Well, I have found just the thing so that we can go jauntering around and at least you won't have to wear that pasty white makeup and yet you will be perfectly safe."

Fleur pulled a black hat out of the depths of the bandbox, flourishing it before Blaine's bemused glance. It was black straw with a wide circular brim. The top of the hat was covered with yards of satin in puffy great bows. However the thing that made it so singular was the black veil that descended all around the brim of the hat to about shoulder height.

"The saleswoman called it a
chapeau de morte
. At least I think that's what she said. Constance was giggling so loudly I could hardly take in the woman's words." With a flourish, Fleur placed the hat on her head and flipped the veil down across her face. "Now this piece of satin is to be tied at the neck so that the veiling won't blow about in the wind."

Tate could not resist being involved in the project and took the band of black satin that the girl was waving about. She tied it around Fleur's neck then pulled and prodded the veiling until satisfied with the effect. She stepped back and Fleur danced over to the chaise so that Blaine could see the genius of her idea.

"I can see perfectly well, but no one can see my face."

Blaine's eyes crinkled with laughter as she took in the truth of the girl's statement. The veiling was not very transparent so that there was only a vague suggestion of the figure behind. It was as concealing as a mask, without being confining.

"Darling child, you have surely given me the best present of all," Blaine said. "I hate wearing all that greasepaint and now I will be free to go out without fear of giving the show away. Take that off and come give me a kiss."

Fleur obeyed enthusiastically and then settled beside her sister to tell her about her plans for the evening.

"Constance told me that the Mayhews are all the thing and that the ball this evening will be a terrible squeeze. I thought, if you approved, I would wear the peach silk. I found some flowers just that shade while we were shopping and Ellen promised to weave them into my hair."

"Sounds just the thing, Fleur. Will Puff be up to the lateness of the evening after a day of gadding about? The good Frau is not quite as young and I would not want her to exhaust herself taking you about."

"Constance's mother has volunteered to take me under her eye. She is almost as strict as Puff," was Fleur's irrepressible reply. "I wish you could go but I know how you relish your time alone on your day off. I do wonder at times if Cousin Lavinia is not working you too hard. Will I be able to meet her soon?"

For a moment a bubble of hysteria rose in Blaine's throat at the possibility of impersonating another old woman for her sister's benefit. She brushed the thought aside with a shudder of distaste. "If only dear Lavinia was well enough for visits. Sometimes she is fair moped, cooped up in the house."

Eventually after showing Blaine the rest of her purchases, Fleur was sent off to her own room. They had agreed to have trays sent up but Blaine assured her sister that she preferred to eat later and then to go immediately to bed. Fleur agreed to join her for breakfast and tell her all the details of the ball. Blaine dozed on the chaise until it was time to prepare for her own evening.

"Just look at your lovely hair! It's surely a nasty color," Tate wailed as she settled the last hairpin in place.

"It's not so dreadful. It's different," Blaine said as she stared into the mirror. "I hope you're right, that this will wash out. I much prefer my own hair."

In place of her white-blond color, Blaine's hair was brown. It had the look of old oak but not near the deep tones of old wood. At least the hair had a sheen of sorts and Tate had arranged it in a bundle of curls pulled high on her head and cascading down to her shoulders. Ignoring the frowning dresser, Blaine got up from the vanity bench and crossed the room to the cheval glass.

Her gown, a cool column of heavy ivory satin, was magnificent. Tate had purloined it from the theatre's wardrobe where it had been placed after she had played Mary Queen of Scots last season. The lines were simple and it was unadorned with the exception of a band of lace along the low décolletage and at the edge of the puffed sleeves. A sash of softer satin caught the material beneath her breasts and tied in the back in a shimmering pouf. She wore no jewelry at her neck only a wide band of ivory satin. Pearls dangled from her ears and swung gently against the side of her neck.

"You needn't look so satisfied, miss," Tate sniffed. "It's true you're a beauty but remember most gentlemen are beasts at heart."

Blaine laughed at the vision of Drew as a drooling, snarling animal but she sobered quickly reminded that her assignation this evening was dangerous and most probably a dreadful mistake. She raised her chin in defiance. She had promised herself one magical evening and now was not the time to cry craven.

"That's enough, Tate. My mind is quite made up so there's no point in nattering at me. I shall be perfectly safe under Sarge's protection. I do not consider Lord Farrington a raving lunatic. I am sure he will conduct himself as a gentleman."

"I suppose you know best. My lips are sealed, miss," Tate said but could not resist one last reminder. "Keep your hood well forward and watch your step."

Sarge assisted her into the carriage, glowering darkly over what he considered the greatest folly. When she told him their destination he balked and, it was only after she ordered him that, he slammed the door and stomped around to take the reins. As the carriage got under way, Blaine smoothed out her skirts and leaned back against the squabs, exhausted by her preparations and the nagging of the servants. She had a strong feeling of ill usage until she reminded herself that both Sarge and Tate were only trying to protect her. When she thought about the evening ahead, she found it was difficult to breath naturally. Her chest felt constricted and she found herself more nearly panting. Her heart was pounding in a most exaggerated fashion. Overcome by nervousness, she pressed her hands together in her lap to keep them from trembling.

She had to admit she felt frightened. Having never been involved in such a venture before, she was worried that something would go wrong. Drew's instructions had been explicit to assure her of secrecy and for that very reason she could not ignore the feeling of shame at the clandestine nature of their meeting. Once more she was caught up in a series of lies.

The servants at Portman Square knew her only as Lady Yates. In order to explain her absence in the evenings, she had told the housekeeper that she would be staying most nights with an old friend who was unwell. At the times when she had no performance at the theatre, she stayed at Portman Square, keeping to her room with the explanation that she was overtired. Tonight after she was dressed, Tate had had to smuggle her out of the house and would be waiting to admit her on her return.

The coach arrived much too quickly at the Rose and Trellis. From the name, Blaine had expected a charming wayside inn but the place was tucked into a copse of trees, looking timeworn and rather disreputable. She shuddered as she stepped to the ground and pulled her hood more securely around her face. Before she could lose courage, she walked quickly across the yard to the side door, leaving a sullen and disgruntled Sarge beside the carriage.

The door closed with a sharp rattle of the latch and Blaine was plunged into darkness. Through the walls she could hear the sounds of revelry from the public rooms of the inn which did little to encourage her. Her heart tripped with fear in the darkened stairwell and she clamped her teeth together to keep them from chattering. She fumbled around in the darkness for the railing. When her hand touched the rough wood, she clung to it.

She smiled grimly in the darkness, telling herself not to be such a ninny and took a deep steadying breath. Her heart still pounded in an erratic manner but she grasped the railing firmly and began to climb the stairs. At the first door on the right, she raised her hand, scratching lightly on the panel. The door swung open and firm fingers grasped her arm and swung her inside the room. Her hood fell forward blinding her and she struggled to pull herself from the binding fingers, gasping as the door closed with a sharp click of the latch.