A Masked Deception (9 page)

Margaret was sitting alone at the breakfast table when Brampton entered, still in his riding clothes. He looked into her face, but avoided her eyes. He felt strangely embarrassed. But he did notice that she looked paler than usual.

“Good morning, my dear,” he stud. “Do you still have the headache?”

“Yes, Richard,” she replied, thankful that he had turned to the sideboard to fill a plate with food. She found it equally difficult to meet his eyes. “I did not sleep well.” At least she was not forced to lie this morning, she thought with wry humor.

“Did you not take the laudanum?” he asked, frowning.

“I am afraid it did not take effect,” she replied, avoiding the question. “But I shall be fine presently. Charlotte has promised to walk in the park with me.”

“Better still, you will drive there,” he said, “and with me.”

Margaret looked up from her coffee cup in surprise. She would not have expected such an offer on any morning, but especially not on this particular morning.

“Did you enjoy yourself last night?” she asked, watching his bent head closely. He showed no visible reaction.

“I felt like a wallflower.” He glanced up and smiled. “I should have felt more comfortable with you there, my dear.”

“I thought you would have met plenty of acquaintances there,” Margaret quizzed, reluctant to drop the subject.

“Yes, but you had delegated the position of chaperon to me,” he said, still smiling, though she fancied that the smile was rather tight. “I was not at liberty to pursue masked figures and guess identities.” And he winced inwardly at his choice of words, which only accentuated his deception.

“My dear, why don’t I send a message to Dev to see if he would wish to make up a party of four to drive out of the city? We could have a picnic luncheon made up. Would Charlotte enjoy the treat? And would you?”

“Why, Richard, how lovely that would be,” Margaret said in surprise, and Brampton noticed that for once she had color in her cheeks and her eyes glowed. “I must go wake Charlotte.”

“Shall we say one hour from now?” Her husband smiled.

A few minutes later Margaret left a sleepily grumbling Charlotte and returned to her own room, where she rang for Kitty and tried to decide what to wear for the day. She decided upon a simple primrose-yellow muslin gown with a bonnet to match. Kitty drew a tan-colored pelisse out of the closet, insisting that the day was not yet warm enough for her mistress to go outside without a cloak.

Margaret refused to let Kitty dress her hair in any other style but the tight braids coiled at the back of her head; she was soon ready and dismissed her maid. She sat in a chair by the window to wait for the hour to pass.

Richard had taken her by surprise this morning. She had expected him to be preoccupied, to almost totally ignore her for the next week. Yet he was showing her unexpected attention. His manner at the breakfast table had seemed genuinely concerned, almost as if he really cared.

For a while after she had returned home the night before, Margaret had sat on the edge of her bed, the wig and the mask beside her, reliving the events of the last few hours. She had recaptured in her imagination every word he had said, every caress he had given. How she loved him and how alive and desirable he had made her feel! She had not known it possible that mere touches and kisses could arouse in her such an aching desire. She had wanted him as much as he had seemed to want her. She would have allowed him to finish undressing her; she had been almost frantic with the need to feel him in her, bringing ease to her throbbing ache of desire. But his words had startled her back to an awareness of reality.

“I have loved you for so long,” he had said.

Margaret had longed for six years to hear him say those words, but had not dreamed that she ever would. Richard loved her and he wanted her!

Margaret had shivered on the bed, leapt to her feet, and begun to undress hastily. Was she mad? He might be at home any moment. She did not believe that he would visit her that night, but there was always the chance that he might check to see that she slept peacefully. He must not find any trace of her costume.

When everything had been safely stowed away at the back of a closet, Margaret had quickly brushed and braided her hair and climbed into bed. She had told Kitty not to wait up for her.

She had lain in the darkness, feeling a sudden wave of sadness wash over her. Richard did not love her. He loved a faceless phantom without identity. If he knew that it was Margaret that he hungered for, he would turn from her in disgust. He would realize that there was no such person as his angel; that he had been tricked by his dull, unattractive wife. He would hate her then, wouldn’t he? He would never want to touch her again. She would lose even the little of him that she now had.

She had felt rather sick too when she remembered the ease with which she had been able to draw his attention. He would have made love to her, believing her to be a stranger. He had made an assignation to see her the following week. And he had believed that he had a wife at home. She had always realized that he must have mistresses, that he slept with other women as well as with her. But this very real evidence that she was right left a sick feeling of depression in her stomach. It was small consolation that this time he was planning to be unfaithful
with
his own wife.

Should she meet him the following week? Strangely enough, neither she nor Charlotte had looked this far ahead in their plans. All they had thought of was deceiving Richard and finding out if she still had the power to attract him in the costume of Marie Antoinette and with the voice and the manner that she had used on that other occasion. Somehow, both had seemed to dream that at the end of a romantic reunion, Margaret’s mask would be whisked aside, they would declare undying love for each other, and live happily ever after. At least, that had been Charlotte’s dream. Margaret had refused to believe that she would make any impact on Richard at all.

She had still been trying to decide what to do the following week when there had been a tap at the bedroom door. Her heart had turned over, though that was not the entrance usually used by her husband. The door had opened quietly and Charlotte had entered, carrying a candle. She had still been wearing the green domino, and her mask had dangled from her free hand.

“Meg, you were wonderful,” she had whispered with enthusiasm. “He did not suspect a thing, did he?”

“No, he did not know me,” Margaret had confirmed.

“But he was gone such a long while. What happened, Meg?”

Margaret was certainly not going to answer that one truthfully. “He wanted to know who I was,” she had replied vaguely. “He remembered me, and wants to see me again.”

“Then he
is
interested. Oh, Meg!” Charlotte had clasped her hands in ecstasy. “Did he kiss you?”

Margaret had hesitated. “Yes, he kissed me.”

“Meg! I just knew the two of you were meant for each other. You are going to see him again, are you not?”

“I don’t know, Lottie. I think this charade has gone far enough,” Margaret had said firmly, and no amount of coaxing or protesting from her sister had , been able to change her mind.

“Oh, Meg,” Charlotte had said finally, “Mr. Northcott knows.”

“What?”

“He recognized you immediately, Meg, and I was forced to tell him the whole story.”

“Lottie!”

“Oh, he promised not to breathe a word to Lord Brampton,” Charlotte hastened to assure her sister, “and he promised to help if he could.”

“Lottie!”

“I am sorry, Meg,” Charlotte said in a small voice. “But if I had said it was not you, you see, he would surely have gone after Lord Brampton to see what was going on.”

Margaret had covered her face with her hands, overpowered by humiliation and doubly determined that this mad escapade must end.

On the morning after, though, as she sat at the window waiting for the appointed time for the picnic, she knew that she would don that costume one more time the following week and go to Vauxhall to keep her tryst with Richard. She had to know just once what it would be like to have him make real love to her. And she knew without a doubt that that was what would happen the following week. After that, she would be contented to resume her married life as she had known it so far. Richard’s angel would die a natural death.

They drove up into the hills north of the city, the ladies in an open landau, a wicker picnic hamper on the seat opposite them, the men riding alongside. Margaret found the day to be a delightful interlude in a life that kept her apart from her husband a great deal. He and Devin Northcott rode close to the carriage, carrying on a gay conversation, mainly with Charlotte, who looked her best in a sky blue high-waisted dress and darker-blue pelisse and bonnet.

They stopped for lunch on a delightful grassy slope that overlooked the city of London. Brampton’s cook had packed them a meal of chicken pieces, lobster patties, bread rolls, cheese, eggs, salad, jellies, and cakes—and bottles of wine.

Devin was the first to rise from the blanket on which they all sat.

“Lady Brampton, would you care to walk?” he asked, bowing in her direction and extending his arm.

Margaret felt embarrassed, knowing that he was aware of her adventure of the night before, but her usual calm demeanor came to her aid. She rose to her feet and took his arm. They walked slowly up the slope away from the panoramic view.

“Is your headache better, ma’am?” he began.

“Yes, thank you, Mr. Northcott, but I believe you know that was a piece of deception,” she replied calmly.

He gave her a sidelong glance and coughed delicately. “Quite so, ma’am,” he agreed. “Afraid I forced the story out of Miss Wells.”

“That is quite all right, sir,” Margaret said, “but I would beg of you not to breathe a word of the matter to my husband.” She kept her face pointing forward, feeling the color rising to her cheeks.

“Wouldn’t dream of doing any such thing, ma’am,” he replied, eyebrows raised, “and wouldn’t be so indelicate as to raise the matter now. But felt you should know one thing.” Devin coughed again.

Margaret looked inquiringly into his face. “Yes?” she prompted.

“Bram ain’t usually into this sort of thing,” Devin said, reddening himself. “Females, I mean. Not since his marriage, that is.”

“Pray do not trouble yourself, sir,” Margaret cut in hastily. “I do not pry into Richard’s private life.”

“No, but that’s the point, ma’am,” Devin said earnestly. “Ain’t been anything to pry into.”

“Until now?”

“Until now, ma’am. And I b’lieve he’s drawn to you now just because it’s you, if you know what I mean, though he don’t know it himself.”

They continued their walk in silence for a while as Margaret digested what he had been saying to her. She could hear the approaching voices of Charlotte and her husband.

“Thank you, Mr. Northcott,” she said, smiling up at him.

“M’ pleasure, ma’am,” he replied seriously.

“You two look like a staid old couple,” Charlotte called gaily. They looked back to see her approaching with Lord Brampton.

“Come, Mr. Northcott,” Charlotte said, taking the arm that Margaret was relinquishing, “let us see if we can spot St. Paul’s Cathedral from the top of this rise.” And they moved ahead at a brisk pace.

Margaret took Brampton’s proffered arm.

“Are you feeling more the thing, my dear?” he asked.

“Yes, thank you, Richard,” she replied with a placid smile.

They walked together in companionable silence, viewed the city with the others, and started on their way back to the carriage and the horses. Margaret noticed the way Charlotte clung to Devin Northcott’s arm and the animated way in which she talked to him. She noticed the warmth of his smile as he listened to and replied to her sister.

Was Charlotte spending too much time with Devin Northcott? Margaret wondered. Only a few weeks before, she had had great dreams of introducing her sister to the
ton,
of ensuring that she met a large number of eligible young men. Margaret hoped that her sister would make a sound love match within the next year or two. She did not wish to see her sister suffer the years of pain and loneliness that she had suffered. And Charlotte had been quite a hit. A number of young men came to call on her and take her driving in the park; Charlotte never lacked for partners at a ball.

But somehow Mr. Northcott had come to be her accepted regular escort. And Margaret wondered if she and Richard were responsible for that. It was very convenient to have Richard’s closest friend as a partner for her sister. But was it a good thing for Charlotte? Devin Northcott must be almost of an age with Richard, certainly well over a decade older than Charlotte.

Margaret came to the conclusion that she had been so preoccupied with her own affairs in the last few weeks that she had been neglecting her duties as chaperone to her sister. She must redouble her efforts to see that Charlotte met more eligible young men from her own age group.

As the earl, Margaret, and Charlotte entered the house on Grosvenor Square late in the afternoon, Chalmer met them in the hallway with the news that the Dowager Countess of Brampton and Lady Rosalind Crowthers were awaiting their return in the drawing room.