A Masked Deception (6 page)

“Stuffy?” supplied the obliging Mr. Northcott.

“I hate to appear disloyal,” Charlotte breathed, lowering her lashes.

“Say no more. Miss Wells,” said the gallant Devin. “You would do me a great honor if you would join a party to Vauxhall that I plan to make up. I have some influence with your brother-in-law and will guarantee that he and your sister will be of the party.”

“Oh, would you!" Charlotte gushed, hands clasped together over the handle of her parasol, eyes wide and worshipful. “That would be divine.”

Devin returned Charlotte to Brampton’s house and drove away feeling like public benefactor number one, and convinced that the little chit was not really as silly as the bulk of the new crop of debutantes. Quite a fetching little thing, in fact!

* * *

“Meg, Meg.” Charlotte took the stairs, with shocking inelegance, two at a time. She burst into the drawing room to find her sister reclining on a chaise lounge, reading a book.

“Lottie, my love, what is it?” Margaret asked, laying aside the book and regarding her sister with some alarm. “Did Mr. Northcott upset the phaeton?”

“Oh, no, no, nothing like that,” Charlotte answered impatiently, tossing parasol, bonnet, and gloves onto the chair closest to the door, “but Mr. Northcott is to see that we all go to Vauxhall one night and you and Lord Brampton are to go too, but you are not to go, but you are to go as Marie Antoinette, but Lord Brampton will think you are not there, but you will be there, of course, although he won’t know it, and then he will fall in love with you, though he won’t know it’s you—and you will live happily ever after!” She finished with a flourish and beamed.

Margaret stared and then laughed. “Lottie, my love, I lost you after ‘Vauxhall,’ ” she said.

Charlotte sank down onto the sofa with a resigned sigh. “I shall explain again,” she said. “Oh, Meg, please, could we ring for tea?”

Margaret got to her feet and obligingly rang the bell.

Charlotte began again. “Mr. Northcott has promised to make up a party to go to Vauxhall Gardens one night,” she said. “He told me that almost everyone goes there wearing masks. The thing is, Meg, that you and Lord Brampton must accept the invitation, but at the last moment you must stay behind—you must have the headache, I think. Lord Brampton must go, of course, to accompany me.

“When we are gone, you will dress as Marie Antoinette again, with a mask; then you must follow us to the gardens and made sure that Lord Brampton sees you. Then he will fall in love with you and you can reveal your real identity. It can’t fail, Meg.”

“It is quite the most absurd plan I ever heard in my life,” said Margaret.

“Name one thing wrong with it.”

“I can name several,” she said. “For one thing, I am no longer a girl to play games. Second, I do not still have the costume of Marie Antoinette. Third, how would I get to Vauxhall alone at night? Fourth, Richard would probably not give me a second glance even if I were dressed as before. Fifth, if he
did
pursue me, he would recognize me immediately. Sixth, it is wrong to play such tricks on my husband. And seventh, it couldn’t possibly work—could it, Lottie?”

“Of course it would work,” Charlotte replied, quite undaunted by the list of objections. And she crossed to the chaise lounge, sat beside her sister, poured the tea, which had arrived a few minutes before, and proceeded to hammer out an ironproof battle plan.

“Oh, Lottie, do you
really
think it might work?” Margaret asked anxiously fifteen minutes later, her voice almost pleading. “I really do not believe I
could.
”

“Phooey!” her sister replied.

T
he date for the visit to Vauxhall Gardens was set for three weeks in the future. Devin Northcott had wanted to make it sooner, but the ladies of the Brampton household were strangely full of excuses. There could be no doubt, though, that they wanted very much to go. The party was to be made up of Devin, the Earl and Countess of Brampton, Charlotte, and Sir Henry and Lady Lucy Wood, the latter being Brampton’s youngest sister.

Margaret and Charlotte were extremely busy with all the activities of the latter’s come-out. The days were filled with shopping expeditions, visits, rides in the park; almost every evening had its activity—the theater, the opera, musicales, balls, dinners. Now they found that preparations for the evening at Vauxhall had to be fitted into the busy schedule.

Charlotte was easily accommodated. Madame Dumont undertook the not-too-demanding task of making her a domino and a frilled mask, both of emerald-green satin. Margaret visited the costumier from whom she had hired her costume six years before, not at all hopeful that the Marie Antoinette outfit would still be available. Even so, she was disappointed to discover that she was right.

She was ready to abandon the scheme there and then. Charlotte, however, was more resourceful. She found out from Kitty the name of the dressmaker who had her workrooms in a street of London not quite as fashionable as Bond Street. She dragged her sister there the following afternoon and together Margaret and Miss Thomas sketched a dress that closely resembled the one Margaret had worn before. She chose a similar fabric, too—a heavy silver brocaded silk. She also agreed to Miss Thomas’ suggestion that the full skirt be decorated with seed pearls to give it extra weight and sparkle.

A mask was also agreed upon—silver silk, as before, to cover her forehead, cheeks, and most of her nose.

Then the sisters had to visit a wigmaker’s, not so easy to find now that wigs for everyday use had fallen out of fashion. Margaret was fitted for an elaborate powdered creation, typical of those worn by the ladies of a couple of decades before, high on the crown, one ringlet to drape over a shoulder.

To complete the outfit, they shopped for bright wine-colored slippers to match the fan that Margaret had used on the previous occasion and that she still possessed. She also bought some lip rouge, feeling very daring. She had never owned cosmetics before, but felt that the silver-and-white garments would need a little color. The lips, fan, and shoes would add just the necessary touch.

Kitty had to be taken into Margaret’s confidence. She was going to need help on the night of Vauxhall, and Charlotte would not be available. She had expected Kitty to be downright disapproving. She had even been a little afraid that Kitty would rush off to tell Richard. She reckoned without the fierce love of her maid, who had appeared tight-lipped and disapproving for the last couple of years because she felt that her mistress was deliberately hiding her charm and beauty. Her own husband, for example, had never seen her hair except in its tight braids. And Margaret’s hair, under the loving strokes of Kitty’s brush hand, was her crowning glory—thick, shining, wavy, and waist-length.

Kitty was as excited as Charlotte by the plan. But she did veto one of the details. She was horrified by the idea of having her mistress hire a hackney cab to take her to Vauxhall and bring her back again.

“No, my lady,” she had said, her lips setting in a thin line of obstinacy, “it just won’t do. I’m not going to have my lady jaunting all over London alone at night, so don’t you think it.”

But it was Kitty who finally hit on the solution. She was “stepping out” with Jem, one of his lordship’s grooms. She had a private conference with him and he declared that he would have no problem in taking out his lordship’s plain town carriage on that night and driving her ladyship to Vauxhall himself. He added another suggestion of his own. He would wear a plain domino and mask so that he could accompany the countess into the gardens and make sure that no harm came to her before she met the earl.

Both Kitty and Jem were told that the whole escapade was to be a prank to see if the Earl of Brampton would recognize his wife in costume. Kitty, though, who remembered another Marie Antoinette costume years before and who knew that her mistress and his lordship did not have as close and loving a relationship as Kitty would have liked, put two and two together and came up with four. She kept her own counsel, though. She said nothing either to the countess or to Jem.

Brampton looked forward with some amusement to the party to Vauxhall. He had been observing with curiosity his friend coming more and more under the spell of Charlotte’s charms.

“If you do not have a care,” he warned his friend one morning at White’s while both were supposedly perusing the daily newspaper, “you are going to be the next one to be leg-shackled, Dev!”

“The devil!” his companion replied. “You mean Miss Wells? No, no, Bram, just being kind to the chit. Her being Lady Bram’s sister, y’know.”

“It seems to me she does not need kindness,” Brampton replied dryly. “The young bucks are lined up three deep outside my door waiting to pay their respects.”

“No good, Bram,” Devin protested. “Such a young, innocent little thing. Needs someone older and steadier to protect her from all those sparks.” 

Brampton laughed. “You are doing it too brown, Dev. You steady? You the protector of innocence? I tell you, Dev, it’s love pure and simple.” And he returned, smiling, to his newspaper while his companion sputtered his protests.

Brampton had no particular objection to spending a whole evening in his wife’s company. Ever since his breakup with Lisa, he had been determined at least to try to make something of his marriage. He could not imagine that there would ever be any deep feeling between them. She was not lively enough to excite any great interest in him; she obviously was not a woman who could feel deep passion and she would certainly not welcome any demonstration of feeling from him beyond a mild affection.

But that mild affection he was prepared to give. She had really interfered hardly at all with his life. He had feared that he would never again feel at home in his own house after his wedding. Yet he found that he felt more so. His wife never invaded his own sanctuary, the library. She did not litter the house with her possessions. She did not fill the house with noise and bustle. But he did notice that his favorite foods were served far more frequently than they used to be, that his brandy decanter and the snuff box in the library were always well supplied, that his comings and goings were never questioned.

Brampton felt rather ashamed, in fact, of ever having thought of his wife as an antidote. She was not a beauty and her face lacked vivacity, but it was a sweet face and she had eyes that could have transformed her into a beauty if they would only sparkle.

He sometimes wished that she did have some vitality. He would have liked to see her smile more often. He would have liked to touch her with his hands, to explore the quiet, disciplined little body, to touch that sweet mouth with his own. But he never overindulged in such thoughts. He did not wish to arouse loathing or disgust in his wife. And he was quite convinced that she would be disgusted by such physical advances. So he made an effort in her bed to cover her body with his without invading her privacy more than was necessary, and to occupy her body for as short a time as possible.

Brampton was, in fact, working hard at his marriage.

Sir Henry, Lady Lucy, and Devin Northcott had been invited to dine with the earl and his countess on the night of the outing to Vauxhall.

Margaret made sure that she was late entering the drawing room before dinner. The guests had all arrived. She noticed only, in her mood of tense excitement, that Richard was looking more than usually magnificent in dark gold-colored knee breeches and coat, a chocolate-brown waistcoat making his shirt and intricately styled neckcloth seem startlingly white in contrast.

When he raised a hand to signal a footman to bring her a drink, Margaret was careful to raise heavy-lidded eyes to him.

“Nothing, thank you, Richard,” she said.

His eyes searched her face. “Are you all right, my dear?” he asked quietly.

“Yes, of course, Richard,” she replied brightly and a little too quickly.

A few minutes later, when Chalmer announced dinner, Brampton offered his arm to his wife, instead of to his sister, as strict good manners would have dictated, and escorted her into the dining room.

Margaret was listless throughout the meal. She said little, toyed with the food on her plate, drank no wine, and put two fingertips to her temples a few times, removing them hastily and smiling vaguely when she caught Richard’s eye.

After the meal, the men rejoined the ladies in the drawing room without much delay, as they wished to make a prompt departure for Vauxhall. Brampton immediately seated himself beside his wife on a love seat.

“My dear, you are unwell?” he asked, concerned.

“Just a little headache, Richard,” she replied, smiling wanly. “I shall be fine.”

“We must stay at home, then,” he said. “You must have some laudanum, my dear, and retire to bed.”

“Oh, no, Richard,” Margaret protested, “it is really nothing. I cannot spoil the entertainment for everyone.”

“Your health is of more importance than other people’s entertainment,” her husband said decisively. “We shall remain at home. There is still a party of four.”

“But, Richard,” Margaret pleaded, “I cannot like Charlotte going out without us to chaperon her. I know that Lucy will take care of her, but I really feel the responsibility left with me by Mama and Papa.”