Love in Disguise (13 page)

Fancy stiffened. How very like the Earl! No consideration as to her feelings in the matter. Not even a please. Well, the top-lofty Earl would have to learn that Fancy Harper was not a woman to be pushed around.

But there was still the problem of York. How could she refuse a royal duke’s invitation to supper? Absently, Fancy fingered the two notes.

Then hastily she grabbed up a pen and began to write. To York she conveyed her regrets that she had already accepted an invitation to supper with Morgane. And to Morgane she sent a curt “I do not wish to see you.”

That should keep them both quiet, she thought firmly. Even if York saw her leaving in her own carriage, he would merely assume that, since Morgane lived next door, she was meeting him later.

With a quick glance at the mirror, Fancy hurried out to the greenroom, where she motioned to the boy who ran errands and gave him instructions. Then it was time to return to the stage.

As the play progressed Fancy’s nerves grew raw. Time and time again Cooke faltered and barely recovered. Whenever possible Fancy fed him his lines. At other times the prompter tried, but his words were difficult to hear over the clamor.

And then the crowd began what had been called the O.P. war dance. It began slowly, then swelled into more and more noise, ending in a confusion almost demonical. Rhythmically the crowd clapped, stamped their feet, beat on the benches, while they steadily chanted, “O.P., O.P.”

More than once Fancy feared that Cooke would turn and denounce the audience. But fortunately the play drew to its close and he even managed to make his last exit.

Fancy felt literally exhausted. Every player knew that it was difficult to carry a fellow performer. When that person was someone you cared about, the toll was even more exhausting.

With a sigh Fancy settled once more at her dressing table. Thank goodness she had solved the problem of York’s invitation, she thought, as she began to remove makeup. And as for the haughty Earl of Morgane, perhaps he would take the hint and leave her in peace!

She had cleansed her face, removed her costume, and slipped into her own gown when a brisk knock sounded on the door. Without much thought Fancy called, “Come in.”

She regretted her words instantly for the door opened to admit the Earl. He smiled sardonically as he stepped in and closed the door behind him.

Fancy felt her temper building. She rose from the stool and faced him. “I wrote that I do not wish to see you,” she cried angrily.

Morgane’s eyes glittered with amusement. “So you did. But I wished to see you. So -” He shrugged eloquently.

Fancy found that her hands had curled into fists. How terribly top-lofty the Earl could be! “I do not wish to see you,” she repeated. “Please leave my dressing room.”

The Earl smiled, that sardonic smile that reflected no warmth whatsoever. “I have something to speak to you about. I do not think it-”

Another knock sounded and the door opened to admit a beaming Duke of York. Fancy’s heart rose in her throat. If York said something about her supposed supper with Morgane, she would really be in the suds.

The Duke continued to smile as he surveyed Fancy through his quizzing glass. “You were lovely tonight, my dear,” said he.

“Thank you. Your Highness,” faltered Fancy.

“I simply came to be assured that you were in good hands.”

“Very good hands, sir,” remarked the Earl urbanely. “We were just discussing a rather personal matter.”

Fancy bridled and was about to snap out that she had nothing of a personal nature to discuss with him, and never would, when she remembered her note and held her tongue. With York looking at her questioningly, Fancy managed to nod. The Duke continued to smile. He was a man not easily disconcerted.

“Well,” he observed heartily. “Enjoy yourself, Morgane. You have taken the field - for tonight at least. But there will be other encounters.”

As the door closed behind him, Fancy swallowed a sigh of relief. And then she was aware of Morgane’s cool eyes boring into hers. For long moments they stood silent, eyes locked. Desperately Fancy strove to wrench her eyes free, but something compelled her to remain locked in his gaze.

It was the Earl who finally broke the silence. “Where is your cloak? We can talk on the way home.”

“Home!”

Morgane nodded. “Come, my horses will grow tired of waiting.”

Fancy fought with an intense desire to assault the Earl physically with her fists. “I am not going home with you,” she said from between clenched teeth.

The Earl continued to smile. “I fear you are mistaken, my dear. You and I are supposed to be having a light supper together. Have you forgotten so soon? I am wounded to the core.”

Not for years had Fancy had such a desire to stamp her foot and scream, to throw something - anything. With great effort she controlled herself. She would not give the arrogant Earl the chance to laugh at her. “I fear the mistake is yours, milord,” she replied icily.

Morgane shook his head. “Not so. I have it on the best authority that you are planning to sup with me.”

“What authority?”

The Earl’s eyes glittered with sardonic amusement. “The next time you send York a note saying that you plan to take supper with me, best make sure that I am not by when it is delivered.”

Fancy bit her lip in vexation. “But I sent you a note, too.”

Morgane nodded. “Yes, some rubbish about not desiring to see me. But how could that be?” He smiled devilishly. “His Royal Highness looked up from his missive and congratulated me on having supper with you. You would not have wished me to express surprise, I presume.”

Fancy shook her head in aggravation. “I do not want to have supper with either of you.”

“But you did not tell York that.”

“I - I did not wish to offend him.”

“I see.” The Earl gazed at her speculatively. “I presume that you felt no such regret at offending me.”

“Of course not,” replied Fancy quite honestly and was amazed to hear the Earl burst into laughter.

“You are a strange creature, Miss Fancy Harper. But come, where is your cloak?”

“I am going home in my own carriage as I planned,” asserted Fancy.

Morgane shook his head. “I should not do such a foolish thing if I were you,” he commented evenly.

“What is foolish about it?” demanded an angry Fancy.

“His Royal Highness will discover that you lied to him and he will be doubly offended.”

“He will not discover anything,” said Fancy defiantly, reaching for her bonnet. “If he says anything, I will simply tell him that I am taking my own carriage home. Since we are neighbors that should serve.”

“You have forgotten one important factor,” said the Earl.

Fancy frowned. “What is that?”

“Me.”

“Will you stop this flummery,” cried Fancy, “and tell me what you are talking about?”

“It is really quite simple. I desire your company - uncomfortable as it so often is. You have informed York that we will be together.”

“But that was to get rid of him!”

The Earl nodded somberly. “And quite well done, too.” His mouth hardened. “I, however, am not easily gotten rid of. You will either come home in my carriage or I go straightway to York and tell him the truth about your ruse.”

“You wouldn’t!”

“You mistake me, Miss Harper. I very much would. I always get what I want. And I am not averse to using somewhat unpleasant methods of acquiring it.”

“Oh!” Fancy clenched her fists till her nails dug into her palms. “You are a detestable creature,” she cried. “The most reprehensible man I have ever known.”

The Earl smiled sardonically. “At the least, I have gained some distinction in your eyes.”

“Oh!” Fancy came very close to stamping her foot, but fear of the ridicule she would see in his eyes restrained her. “I shall not be very good company,” she snapped.

The Earl bowed slightly. “You forget, my dear. I have seen you at your worst, not once, but several times. I must admit you are not the best companion around, but I will feast my eyes on your beauty and so in part compensate myself for your terrible temper.”

“I do not have a terrible temper!” It was with the greatest difficulty that Fancy kept herself from proving just the opposite. At that moment she would have given anything in the world to throw something at the urbanely smiling face of the arrogant Earl.

“Come, come,” he repeated. “I don’t doubt that York is waiting in the greenroom to see us depart together. A hunter like York doesn’t give up the chase easily.”

Fancy slammed the bonnet on her head and tied the ribbons savagely under her chin. Then she snatched up her cloak and started toward the door. Morgane’s cool voice detained her.

“May I suggest, Miss Harper, that you achieve some degree of complaisance in your features before we leave this room? You are, after all, an actress. This should be a minor chore for you.”

Fancy glowered at him. “I despise you,” she hissed.

“Quite within your rights,” agreed Morgane cheerfully. “But if you expect to deceive York you’ll have to hide it. We are supposed to be en route to a little
tête
-à-tête, not my murder.”

Fancy turned her back on him and took several deep breaths. As horrible as the man was, she had to concede that he was right. But pretending to have pleasant feelings for one she considered the most despicable person of her acquaintance would probably be the most difficult acting role she had ever attempted.

For a few moments Fancy concentrated, using all her resources. Then she turned and smiled sweetly. “I am quite ready to go home now, milord. Thank you.”

Morgane chuckled. “Admirably done. And now” - he offered her his arm - “let us proceed to my carriage so that the strain on you will not be too great.”

Some moments later Fancy settled back against the velvet squabs of the Earl’s closed carriage. It had, she could not help noticing, his coat of arms painted on the door and was, as carriages go, undoubtedly one of the best. This thought did little to mollify her. A coach completely made of gold could not do that.

She had kept the smile on her face as they passed the greenroom and exited through the crowds to where the Earl’s carriage stood waiting, but she smiled no longer. The Earl could force her to ride home with him. He could not force her to be pleasant!

As he settled on the squabs beside her and the carriage moved forward into the crowded street, Fancy held herself in readiness. Because she had been tricked into riding in his carriage did not mean that she would let him take any liberties with her person. And she intended for him to know that!

“You need not hold yourself so stiffly,” remarked the Earl. “I have never found it necessary to use force.” He turned to face her and in the light of the carriage lamps she saw him smile. “In fact, you are the first woman to have refused me.” He paused as though considering. “Perhaps it is that that piques me so.”

“I do not see what pleasure you can get from persecuting me,” Fancy declared.

The Earl looked surprised. “Is that not rather strong language? I simply desire your company.”

“To bait me!” Fancy cried.

Morgane shook his head. “I had thought I was offering you worthwhile advice, not insult. The theater is not the place for innocents.” He raised an eyebrow. “If you
are
the innocent you declare you are.”

Fancy glared at him. “I do not lie.”

“Softly, softly. Has it not occurred to you that I might be legitimately concerned for your happiness?”

Fancy was about to snap out an angry no, but suddenly she stopped, her anger strangely dissipated. “I’m afraid it has not,” she said evenly, not sure if this were another trick of the Earl’s.

“I think it may be conceded by the
ton
that I am not a complete blackguard. You are young and beautiful. In the theater you will always be subject to the advances of men of wealth and position. Such is the nature of the world. Sooner or later you will succumb and lose that innocence which you value so highly.”

Fancy shook her head. “I think not, milord. Perhaps you do not understand how I feel about the theater. It’s a world apart, a world of beauty and truth.”

“It is a world of tinsel and illusion,” replied Morgane in the same even tone. “You are deluding yourself by thinking otherwise. Since women first took to the stage after the Restoration they have used it as a marketplace for puffing themselves.”

“But I am not like that,” Fancy protested. “I love the theater for itself. We make people happy, we entertain them.”

The Earl shrugged. “And then they go back to the same life of
ennui
. You would do better to ‘entertain’ in another fashion.”

Fancy felt herself bristling up again. “There have been greats in the theater:

Garrick, Kemble, Peg Woffington, Kitty Clive, Mrs. Siddons.”

“I do not presume to speak of Mrs. Siddons’s private life,” interposed the Earl, “but that of Woffington and Clive was certainly of the very kind you disdain.”

Fancy shook her head. “You don’t understand. I don’t
care
about their private lives. They were great
actresses.
They gave themselves to the theater.”

“And the point I wish to make is that they did not find it necessary to forgo certain other aspects of life.”

Fancy’s heart began to pound. “I do not wish to marry,” she said firmly. “I do not wish to have a protector. I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”

The Earl smiled dryly. “For one so innocent you are dreadfully cynical. Is it not possible for an actress to form an attachment or make a connection for other than mercenary purposes?”

Fancy glared at him. “Of course it is possible.”

“But not in your case.”

Fancy nodded. “I do not find the company of men very satisfying,” she said quite bluntly.

Morgane chuckled. “I believe you are guilty of somewhat faulty reasoning. Never having formed an attachment for a man how can you honestly say you would not like it?”

Fancy shrugged. “I do not care about reasoning - faulty or otherwise. I only know what I want.”

“Or don’t want.”

“Can’t you understand how I might love the theater?” asked Fancy. “Have you no overwhelming abiding interest in something?”