A Masked Deception

Chapter 12

After the large banquet was over and the men, who had lingered over their port and cigars, had rejoined the ladies in the drawing room, the whole party decided that it was time to move out of doors. A dance that was to take place in the open air and that involved the mingling of upper and lower classes was novelty enough to arouse a great deal of excitement.

Darkness had fallen, and the grounds before the house were transformed. The trees at either side of the lawns were strung with hundreds of lanterns. Poles had been set around the huge dancing floor. Each had been wreathed with leaves and flowers, and more lanterns, all a deep rose pink. Similar lamps had been set around the orchestra stand.

Long tables covered with crisp white cloths had been set on the upper lawn and were laden with refreshments of all kinds. Liveried footmen stood close to the tables to help any guests who needed assistance and to replenish any platters or bowls that were emptying too fast.

Lord Brampton held out his arm formally to escort his wife from the house. She placed a white-gloved hand on his arm. His eyes appreciated her careful appearance. She wore a rose-pink silk gown, deceptively simple. The ribbons that fell from below her breasts almost to the hemline, and the rosebuds that were entwined in the knot were of a paler pink, and rosebuds of the same shade had been embroidered around the scalloped hem. Margaret had been very tempted to give in to Kitty's coaxings and allow her hair to be dressed more becomingly. But at the last moment she had lost her courage, and still wore the usual braids coiled at the back of her head, though she had allowed Kitty to push the stems of two rosebuds into the coils.

"You are looking very lovely, my dear," Brampton commented softly close to her ear.

"Thank you, Richard," she said calmly.

The tenants of the estate clustered on the lower lawn, close to the dance floor, watching eagerly the rare spectacle of a large gathering of the upper classes in all their evening finery. They set up an impromptu cheer as the earl and countess approached, leading the way.

Brampton signaled the orchestra and the dancing began. He led Margaret onto the floor to begin the first country dance. The musicians had been instructed to play far more country dances than was usual at a ball, so that everyone would have a chance to know the steps. Soon the floor was crowded with dancers making up sets, simple starched country gowns jostling the finest satins and lace.

Charles danced the first set with Charlotte, then danced in turn with each of the ladies of the house party and of the other invited families. He was desperately avoiding the clutches of Susanna Kemp. Annabelle, meanwhile, was dancing more frequently with Ted Kemp than would have been allowed at a formal London ball. She might have been surprised had she known that the male house guests had a bet on as to how soon a betrothal announcement would be made.

Charlotte was in a determinedly gay mood. As usual, she did not lack for partners. She danced every dance, including one with Devin Northcott. It was a country dance; inevitably they were separated frequently by the various movements of the dance. It was most frustrating. There seemed to be as little chance for conversation as there had been that afternoon, when they had been lying side by side on the grass.

"You are looking particularly delightful this evening, Miss Wells," he said as the music first struck up.

"Thank you, sir," she replied. "You are very kind."

And the dance steps forced them to move off in different directions.

"Your sister and brother-in-law have excelled themselves today," he commented the next time they were together. "This is a magnificent gala."

"Yes, is it not?" she replied brightly.

And again they were headed in opposite directions. And so it continued. It was not a situation conducive of the growth of a courtship.

Charlotte waited with barely concealed impatience for a waltz. Finally the musicians began to play one. She looked quite brazenly across the floor to where Devin was conversing with the town doctor and his wife. He turned in her direction and began to move away from his companions. Her heartbeat accelerated.

"Miss Wells, I have been waiting for a waltz so that I might ask you for the honor," announced a smiling Rodney Langford, stepping into her line of vision.

She turned on him a bright smile. "How delightful!" she lied. "It would be my pleasure, sir."

She watched with chagrin over her partner's shoulder as Devin waltzed by with Meg in his arms.

At least she was glad it was Meg, rather than some simpering miss who would be batting her eyelids at him. Charlotte could have screamed as she smiled affably and chatted gaily to the unsuspecting Rodney.

Brampton was also watching his wife and Devin circle the floor, his feelings very similar to those of Charlotte. He had given the instructions for mostly country dances, yet he had insisted on a few waltzes. And he had had his wife very much in mind when he had given those orders. He wanted to make this evening a very special one for him and her. Tonight, against this unusual and magical setting, he hoped to begin wooing her love. And he had very much wanted that first waltz. He let his eyes stray along the edge of the dancing floor until they lit on the plump and pasty daughter of Sir Leonard Petrie, a fairly distant neighbor. A few moments later he was bowing gracefully over her hand and leading her into the dance.

Devin succeeded in securing the next waltz with Charlotte by the simple expedient of reserving it with her ahead of time. He held her formally, almost at arm's length. She danced with eyes lowered, quite unlike the vivacious and friendly Charlotte he had known before Bram's infernal brother had returned from the wars. Was she embarrassed, or was she just uninterested, dreaming of the younger, dashing soldier?

He inclined his head in the direction of Bram, who danced by holding his wife rather indecently close. Neither of them appeared to notice either him or his partner. Were matters improving in that strange relationship? He hoped so. He liked the sweet little countess and he certainly did not like to think of her running around London in disguise, without proper escort. Nor did he like to think of her in his own bed with Bram, like a common lightskirt.

Devin had made several unsuccessful attempts to initiate a conversation with Charlotte. Desperate, and knowing that the dance would soon end, he suggested that they take a walk-"to get away from this dreadful squeeze for a little while." He was almost surprised when Charlotte agreed without argument.

Her heart, in fact, was thumping so painfully that she was having a hard time catching her breath. She had been so anxious to catch his attention tonight, yet she had found herself stupidly tongue-tied whenever he had tried to draw her into conversation. Perhaps she would find it easier if they strolled away from the crowds. She placed her hand through Devin's arm and felt safe and protected.

Devin had known Brampton Court since childhood, almost as well as he knew his father's estate. He knew where there was a path through those nearby trees leading to the lake half a mile distant. And he knew that a little way into the trees was a small lily pond, with a rustic bench close by. Given the picturesque setting and the moonlight and the glow from the lanterns, which would extend that far, he felt that he had a good chance to find out if Charlotte's affections could be reclaimed from Charles Adair.

Charlotte also knew about the lily pond and the bench; she had been at the court for a few weeks. She also knew that it was not proper to go walking with a man unchaperoned in such a place. But it was a night when many of the rules seemed to have been relaxed. She allowed herself to be led.

They walked among the trees and immediately entered a different world. Lantern light and starlight were filtered darkly through the high branches; the sounds of music, voices, and laughter, though not blocked out, were muted. Everywhere was the smell of wood and leaves.

Devin held his arm close to his side, Charlotte's trapped beneath it. They became more and more aware of each other, their soft footsteps and the faint rustle of her gown the only nearby sounds. By unspoken consent, neither of them said a word. The pond was not far into the trees. Devin would not have been so indiscreet as to lead her far from the company.

When they reached the small clearing, Charlotte detached her arm from Devin's and sat down on the bench. He seated himself beside her and took her hand in his. They sat so for a few minutes.

"Miss Wells-Charlotte, did I embarrass you this afternoon?" he asked finally, breaking the silence with an abrupt and nervous voice.

"In the race?" she asked, raising her eyes to him. "That was not your fault, sir. It was just Charles being mischievous."

"Would not for the world cause you pain," he said, and when she kept her eyes lowered to her lap, he raised her hand to his lips.

Charlotte looked up at him, her lips parting in unconscious invitation.

"I always knew that," she whispered, and waited in terror and excitement for the inevitable.

Devin kept hold of her hand as he lowered his head to hers and took her lips in a slow kiss. Charlotte became suddenly aware that she was gripping his hand very tightly. She released it and his lips with a little "Oh!" of surprise. They looked into each other's eyes for a few moments; then it was Charlotte who put her arms up around his neck and invited his second kiss, deeper and more fervent than the first. She pillowed her head contentedly on his shoulder when he lifted his head again, and waited expectantly for his declaration. He kissed her temple, her ear, her neck where it joined her shoulder, her throat.

"Tell me you have been only flirting with Charles Adair," he murmured finally, laying his cheek against the soft curls on top of her head.

"Flirting?" Charlotte's body stiffened slightly. Any man who had been more into the petticoat line than Devin Northcott would have immediately recognized the danger signs. Devin was in blissful ignorance.

"You are young and devilish pretty," he continued, running his free hand up and down the soft skin of her arm, "and this is your come-out Season. Ain't unnatural that you should try out your charms on several young men. I am not angry with you. Hope you can tell me, though, that your feelings for Adair are no deeper than simple flirtation."

"I am much obliged to you, sir," Charlotte cried, tearing herself out of his arms and rising from the bench in order to sink into a deep curtsy in front of him. "What charming compliments. I am young and pretty. I beg your pardon, "devilish' pretty, I believe you said. And I am a flirt? And you forgive me, sir? You are not even angry with me? I do wish you had chosen a less dusty spot for these charming declarations, Mr. Northcott, for I feel I should sink to my knees and kiss your feet in gratitude." Her voice was quite shrill by this time.

Devin was by now also on his feet. "Charlotte, my dear," he said aghast, reaching out a hand to her, "believe me, I did not mean-"

"That I am young and devilish pretty? Oh, make no apology, sir. I know it was the night and the moonlight that made you speak so foolishly."

"Charlotte, I-"

"Want a little more flirtation, sir? My apologies, but you have had your quota for tonight. I must rush back to the ball and find more young men to flirt with." She turned with a rustle of skirts and started toward the pathway.

Devin grasped her by the arm and jerked her around, none too gently, to face him. "Charlotte, will you stop behaving like a child and listen to me?" he began, not too wisely.

"Sir, do children flirt?" she asked icily, tossing her head.

"No, but they sometimes get a good thrashing," he parried, matching ice with ice.

"Threats, Mr. Northcott?" Charlotte asked disdainfully.

Devin expelled an exasperated breath. "Women! Deuced if I can understand them," he said.

"Might I suggest that you not even try, sir?" she suggested.

"Miss Wells," he said with a formal bow, having built up a fresh supply of ice, "allow me to escort you back to your friends." He extended his arm, which she ignored. Back straight, shoulders back, chin high, and heart crying in mortal agony, Charlotte stalked along the wooded path ahead of him until they reached open ground. Before Devin could take his leave of her, she was in the midst of a gay crowd of young people, her hand being eagerly solicited for the next country dance.

Lord Brampton had also succeeded in getting the partner of his choice for the second waltz of the evening. For hours, it seemed, he had spent his energies on ensuring that his tenants and his guests were enjoying themselves. He felt no guilt now in devoting himself to his own pleasures. He took his wife in his arms and let the music create its own rhythm in their bodies. She was a divine dancer; he had noticed that on previous occasions. She was so light on her feet, so tiny and slender, so receptive to the guidance of her partner, that a man could relax and lose his fear of treading on her toes or the hem of her gown, or of losing her altogether on an intricate turn.

Brampton held his wife quite close. In the semi-darkness of his own garden and in the midst of people who were bent on having a good time rather than eyeing one another for food for gossip, he did not care if he was being slightly improper. He held her so that their bodily vibrations touched, even if their bodies did not. He noticed with interest and some hope that she made no effort to put a greater distance between them. After a few minutes, in fact, they were both lost to their surroundings, aware only of each other and of the new and fragile rapport between them.

Brampton was brought back to earth when he found himself staring into the toothy grin of one of his younger tenants. The lad yelled over the sounds of the music and the conversation, "We'm hopin' you does this every year, your lordship."

Brampton grinned. "I am glad to know you have enjoyed the day, Tad," he said.

He looked down into his wife's quiet face. "Do you have any pressing duties to perform after this dance, my dear? Shall we walk up into the rose garden? I believe we might find some solitude there."

Margaret was surprised, though she did not show her feelings. "It would be good to get away from the press of people for a while, Richard," she said. She took his arm and leaned on him as they strolled from the dance floor up the sloping lawn toward the house, past the refreshment tables, where they smiled and nodded to friends, and finally angled off into the rose garden.

It was one area that had not been lit for the evening. Brampton knew that it was a favorite spot of his wife's. He had not wanted it to become public property on that evening. But it was still an area of great beauty. The heady perfume of roses hung on the night air. Bushes and blooms were caught by the moonlight and the fountain of water spouting from the mouth of a fat and naked cherub and falling into a stone basin sparkled.

They walked arm in arm along the quiet gravel walk until they came to the fountain. They stood looking at it; Brampton trailed a hand in the water of the basin.

"Well, my dear," he said, "do you feel that the day has been a success?"

"Yes, I do, Richard," she replied. "I believe everyone has had an enjoyable time."

"And that is very important to you, is it not?" he said, smiling down at her.

"Of course it is. It seems to me to be a responsibility to be one of the rich and privileged. In some ways it is not fair, is it? We should share when we have the chance."

"And do you feel privileged, my dear?"

"Indeed I do," she said earnestly. "Look at all I have." She indicated, with a sweep of her arm, the garden, the grounds beyond, and the house.

"And what about your own happiness?" he asked. "Do you ever think of yourself?"

"Of course," she replied, looking up at him wide-eyed.

He framed her face with his hands and kept it turned up toward him. He gazed down into those large gray eyes that always made him somehow catch his breath. "I wonder," he mused. "Am I the husband you would have chosen for yourself, my dear?"

She stared back into his eyes and swallowed painfully. "I did choose you, Richard," she said. "I refused three offers before you. I was not afraid of being an old maid."

"My dear, sweet little Meg," he said, his voice low and unsteady, "I do not deserve you, you know." He continued to hold her head in gentle hands as he brought his mouth down to cover hers.

Margaret was frightened. Now he would know; he would recognize her. But thoughts and feelings were soon dulled as she realized how different this kiss was from any others she had shared with him. It was a kiss of infinite gentleness and warmth and tenderness. She allowed her hands to spread from his chest to his shoulders so that she could rest her body against his. She felt safe, protected. Loved!

Brampton lifted his head and she noticed that his eyes were heavy-lidded and dreamy rather than blazing with passion as on other occasions. He moved his hands away from her face and wrapped his arms protectively around her. She rested her head against his shoulder, her face buried in the snowy folds of his neckcloth. They both closed their eyes and gave themselves up to the sensation of warmth and comfort.

Brampton should have noticed the similarity between the slender little body that he now held against him and the one he had made love to just a few weeks previously. But, truth to tell, he had hardly spared a thought to his angel in the last week. All he knew at the moment was that he held his wife, that she was his, and that he loved her.

He kissed the side of her face. She did not move. "Meg," he said softly against her ear, "will you look up at me?"

She moved her head from its comfortable resting place and looked up, her hands still holding his shoulders. But suddenly everything was not so peaceful. The stars were wheeling with dizzying motion above his head, dizzying enough to bring on a wave of nausea. Margaret grabbed at the tightly stretched fabric of Brampton's coat and felt herself buckle at the knees.

With an exclamation of alarm, Brampton held his wife against him with one arm while he slid the other beneath her knees and lifted her from the ground. His mind registered in dismay her tininess and lightness. She could so easily slip away from him altogether just at a time when he had realized that she was everything that was valuable in his world. He strode off with her in the direction of the house, ignoring the concerned exclamations of those guests who saw him pass, and barking out commands to a startled footman as soon as he reached the hallway.

"Fetch Doctor Pearson to my wife's room immediately, Smithers," he said. "He is somewhere in the garden. And send up Kitty."

Margaret returned to consciousness as Brampton was carrying her up the stairs. She did not move. It felt so comfortable to be held in his strong arms, her head pillowed comfortably on his broad shoulder. She reached out for him when he put her down gently on her bed, feeling bereft.

"Lie still, my love," he told her. "Kitty will be here in a moment to put you comfortable and I have sent for Doctor Pearson." His fingers were ineffectively tackling her hairdo in an attempt to unwrap the braids from the back of her head so that she could rest more comfortably against the pillows.

"There was really no need, Richard," she said. "I am just very tired. But I am sorry to have spoiled the evening."

"You have spoiled nothing, my dear," he said. "It is well past midnight, and our guests do not need us to ensure their enjoyment."

Kitty came rushing into the room at that moment, breathless and embarrassed to find Lord Brampton sitting on the edge of her lady's bed, his hands in her hair. She curtsied hastily.

"Ah, Kitty," he said, "your mistress is unwell. She just fainted in the garden. Help her to undress, please. I shall bring the doctor here as soon as Smithers has found him."

"Yes, my lord," Kitty said, and bustled to the bed where Margaret was lying very still and very pale. "What is it, my lady?" she scolded. "I told you you should have rested this afternoon. You have been overdoing things in the last week or two."

Margaret smiled wanly and allowed Kitty to remove her clothing and help her into her nightgown. She also lifted her head while Kitty unpinned the coils of braids and laid one plait over each shoulder.

Margaret lay outwardly placid when Brampton led Doctor Pearson into the room. Somehow the doctor was carrying his black bag. She felt an inward wave of amusement, realizing that the doctor must be in the habit of taking it with him wherever he went, even when he was invited out to dine and to dance. Brampton left the room again.

It seemed to Margaret a strangely inopportune time to find out for certain that she was with child-during the early hours of the morning, the windows bright with lantern light, the outdoors loud with voices and music, the doctor in evening clothes.

She stole a glance at Kitty, standing stolidly in the background. Her lips were pursed knowingly. It was impossible to fool one's lady's maid, she reflected. Kitty had probably known before she did!

"Well, your ladyship," Doctor Pearson said heartily as he repacked his bag, "I wager your husband will be the proudest man in the county by tomorrow morning."

Margaret blushed. "Doctor Pearson," she said, "please, will you say nothing to my husband? I wish to tell him myself."

He laughed jovially. "I know all about young love, your ladyship," he said. "I shall not spoil your secret."

"Thank you," she said, and closed her eyes.

Kitty led the doctor from the room. Margaret lay in quietness for a few minutes, until she heard the door open again. She opened her eyes as Brampton approached the bed.

"How do you feel, my dear?" he asked.

"Better, thank you, Richard," she said.

"Doctor Pearson seems to think all you need is rest," he said. "I am sorry, my dear. I should have insisted sooner that you not work so hard. For tomorrow, I must insist that you remain in bed."

"But our guests are still here, Richard."

"They are not children. They can amuse themselves. And I have a feeling that everyone will be too tired tomorrow to need much amusing. No, my dear, you will stay here. Consider it a command, if you will." He smiled faintly.

"Yes, Richard."

"You must sleep now, my dear. And do not worry about the ball. I shall return outside and play the host." He turned to leave the room.

"Richard?" she said on impulse.

He turned. "Yes, my dear?"

"Richard… It has been a lovely day, has it not?"

"Yes," he agreed softly. He hesitated, then leaned over her and kissed her forehead. "Good night," he said.

"Good night, Richard."

The draft Doctor Pearson had given her was taking effect almost before Brampton left the room. Margaret felt herself sink into a welcome fuzziness. Of all the teeming details of the day's happenings, her mind latched on to a very minor one for its last conscious thought.

He called me Meg, she thought, and plunged into a deep sleep.