The Madcap Masquerade

by Nadine Miller

  “On the contrary, I shall write it this very minute and instruct one of the grooms to leave at dawn, deliver it post haste to the lady and wait for her reply. That way, she’ll have ample time to contact the earl.”

  He crossed to the small writing desk in one corner of the room, picked up a pen and began to write. “If you will be so good as to wait while I compose my letter, Mr. Figgins,” he said, glancing up briefly, “I shall read it to you to make certain you concur with my description of the situation.”

  A good hour later, Stepford completed his letter, laid down his pen and read aloud:

  Dear Miss Natoli:

  On advice of Mr. Doddsworth, I am herewith informing you of the rather unusual circumstances surrounding the upcoming wedding of the Earl of Lynley and Miss Margaret Barrington ….

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  The sun had already dipped beneath the western horizon when Theo rode home from his usual inspection of his properties. The last place he’d visited had been the fenced meadow in which his newly acquired cattle grazed.

  He had great hopes for the prosperity the herd would eventually bring to Ravenswood. London markets were crying for beef and he planned to build a herd from this small beginning to keep them supplied with the prime article. He was lucky in that Ravenswood was one of the few estates in Kent that had vast expanses of grassy meadows—something absolutely necessary for the raising of cattle—and he intended to use every inch of the acreage to the best advantage.

  Leaving his stallion in the capable hands of his head groom, he entered the manor house through one of the back entrances and went directly to his suite of rooms by way of the servants’ staircase.

  Figgins was waiting for him, an expectant look on his ruddy face. “So here you be at last, my lord,” he exclaimed. “I’ve a hot bath waiting for you and I’ve laid out your clean clothes.”

  “As you do every night,” Theo said approvingly. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Figs.”

  Figgins cocked his head thoughtfully. “Mayhap I should have laid out your evening clothes.”

  “Nonsense. There’s no need to go to such bother when I’m dining alone.” Looking longingly at the steaming tub in the center of his sitting room floor, Theo took off his jacket, then sat down on the nearest chair and held out his right leg so his valet could remove his boot.

  Figgins caught hold of the boot and tugged it off with an expertise born of long practice. “But that’s the point, my lord,” he declared. “You ain’t alone tonight. Mr. Stepford come looking for you not an hour ago to say you had a visitor waiting in the gold salon on the second floor.”

  “A visitor?” Theo groaned and held out his left leg. “Damn and blast, I’m too tired to entertain a guest. Who the devil is he?”

  Figgins tugged off the second boot with the same ease with which he’d handled the first. “Happens this particular visitor’s a female, my lord, and a fine-looking one too, as I noticed when I passed the open door to the salon a short while ago.”

  Theo’s heart sank. There were only three women he could think of who might have reason to call at Ravenswood. He sincerely doubted his visitor could be his betrothed or his stepmother. That left only his former mistress, and he’d hoped he’d seen the last of Sophie when he set her up in business in Wembley.

  “What does the lady look like?” he asked warily.

  A sly grin spread across Figgin’s face. “Hair black as coal and dark eyes as put me in mind of yours. From what I seen of her, I’d venture to say she’s one of your close relatives come to view your wedding Saturday next.”

  Theo instantly shot to his feet and took off running with Figgins close behind, shouting that he was in no condition to greet a visitor—especially a lady. Theo didn’t care. Rosa was here at Ravenswood and at long last, there was one bright ray of sunshine in the suffocating blackness that had surrounded him this past month.

  She was sitting on a straight-backed chair, calmly reading a book when he burst through the doorway. She quickly put the book aside, stood up and held out her arms. Theo had never in his life been so glad to see anyone. For a long, quiet moment, they simply held each other, basking in the warmth and affection one gave to the other.

  “You changed your mind. You decided to attend my wedding after all,” he said finally, struck by the irony of the situation. She’d flatly refused to do so when he’d looked forward to the ceremony as the beginning of his life with the woman he loved. Now, when he felt nothing but dread for the day, she’d come to join the celebration.

  She stepped back and held him at arm’s length. “No, my dear, I am not here to attend your wedding—but to prevent it, if I can.”

  “Prevent it?” Theo stared at her, dumbfounded.

  “My spies seem to think you’re marrying the wrong twin.”

  Theo gasped. “How in the world did you…”

  Rosa raised a hand to silence him. “Never mind how I came by the story. Can you honestly tell me the judgment my informant made of the situation was incorrect?”

  He couldn’t bring himself to lie to her. Not when he was staring into eyes that were mirror images of his own. “If you’re asking if I’m in love with the real Meg Barrington, the answer is no.”

  “Is she in love with you?”

  “Lord no! The very sight of me sends the timid little mouse skittering off in panic. I see little hope of ever consummating the blasted marriage.”

  Rosa’s finely etched black brows drew together in a puzzled frown. “Then why are you condemning yourself to the same life of misery as your father suffered? Have you learned nothing by his example?”

  “My honor demands it,” Theo said stiffly. “I signed the marriage contract and…” He hesitated, loath to admit the rest of the sordid story.

  “Let me guess. You’ve already spent some of the heiress’s dowry—probably for the impressive herd of cattle I glimpsed from my carriage window when we passed one of the south meadows.”

  “As a matter of fact, I’ve spent more than the mere cost of the cattle,” Theo said, his voice sharp and bitter. “I had my man-of-affairs withdraw sufficient funds to pension off both Doddsworth and the Countess as well. Didn’t your informant tell you my father left Ravenswood in financial shambles? With the exception of his diamond stick pin, everything the late earl left me was debt encumbered.”

  “Doddsworth imparted that bit of information over a year ago. I was waiting to see how you fared on your own before I offered my help.” Rosa stepped closer and laid her soft hand against Theo’s cheek. “Money is no problem, my dear. I am a very wealthy woman. My inn has been successful since the day I opened it. I haven’t needed to spend a cent of the generous quarterly stipend your father sent me for more than twenty-five years. Like the simple Italian peasant I am, I’ve kept it in a strong box for the day I could present it to my son. My dear Claude guards it, as we speak, in a carriage outside your front door. It is yours, to do with as you see fit.”

  “No!” Theo leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her smooth forehead. “Much as I appreciate your generosity, ma’am, I cannot accept your money. Believe it or not, I do have some pride left.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. No matter what, it will all belong to you someday. I have named you my only heir in my will.” She raked him with a look of exasperation that was painfully reminiscent of another strong-minded woman he knew. “You didn’t quibble over the inheritance your father left you. Why should you belittle what I have to offer.”

  Theo couldn’t help but smile. “You are a difficult woman to say no to, ma’am.”

  “And you are a man of strong principle—and a son any woman would be proud to claim.” Rosa touched his cheek again. “Now take the money that is rightfully yours, settle your account with the squire and be done with the dreadful man and his arranged marriage—for your reluctant bride’s sake as well as your own. Then use the rest to rebuild what your spendthrift father so nearly destroyed.”

  Theo could see there was no
use arguing with her. To be completely honest, he didn’t want to. If nothing else, the memory of the terror in Meg Barrington’s eyes when her father demanded he set a wedding date was enough to convince him he should end his hated betrothal.

  “How can I ever thank you?” he asked, hugging Rosa to him. She searched his face with her huge, expressive eyes. “Grant me the one wish that will give me complete peace of mind when I return home—as I must do before your amazing resemblance to me begins to raise questions we cannot safely answer.”

  “Name it, ma’am, and it is done.”

  She stepped back, still holding his gaze with her own. “I want you to promise me you will go to London and seek out the girl I have reason to believe you love.”

  Theo couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “To what purpose, ma’am,” he said stiffly. “I have her own word for it that she deliberately deceived me and demanded a handsome payment for her masquerade. All her seeming pleasure in our shared moments, her innocent passion, even her claim that she loved me, were part of that masquerade. Have I not already made a great enough fool of myself over Miss Maeve Barrington? Would you ask me to play the clown yet once more?”

  Rosa frowned thoughtfully. “My informant believed she confessed her sins to you because she loved you and couldn’t bear to gain your love by trickery.”

  She shook her head at his automatic protest. “I know, it sounded improbable to me at first, too. But the more I thought of it, the more sense it made. You once told me she was the most honest and forthright person you had ever met.”

  Theo stared at his mother, his mind reeling with a mixture of hope and incredulity. Could there be some truth in what she said?

  I vow I will always believe that the words my beloved spoke came from her heart. Maeve had insisted he say those puzzling words before she declared her love for him. Could that have been her way of telling him that in spite of everything she’d done, she did truly love him? He had made the strange vow with all the passion and sincerity of the moonlit moment, then discounted it as just another of her clever ploys once he read her letter.

  “The girl bared her soul to you, Theo,” Rosa said. “Both a foolish and a courageous thing to do, you must admit. Now it is up to you to decide if you can only love the perfect woman you thought her to be, or if you’re capable of loving her in spite of her flaws.”

  Her smile had a faraway look, her voice a touch of profound sadness. “That is, after all, the true test of the depth of your feelings, my son.”

  Once again, it was the housekeeper who answered when Theo pounded the door knocker at Barrington Hall. “The squire’s out in the kennels,” she declared before Theo could state his business. “Go around to the back of the house and you’ll see it soon enough. But best you hurry before he’s taken with the sickness. He’s had a bad morning, poor love.”

  Theo found the man he sought, drink in hand, surrounded by his prize hounds. He looked every bit as down in the mouth as the housekeeper had warned. “Well, me lord, it didn’t take ye long to come gloat over me misfortune,” he said sourly the minute Theo stepped through the open door.

  “I’m afraid you have the advantage of me, sir.”

  “Ye mean ye haven’t heard. I thought sure the news would be all over Kent by now.” He kicked at a cinnamon-colored hound which was slobbering on his left boot. “Me stupid daughter’s run away again, and the wedding not but a se’enight off.”

  By sheer willpower, Theo managed to keep from laughing out loud. “Back to the Highlands, is she, sir?”

  “Don’t I wish. No, it’s Scotland she’s heading for all right, but this time it’s to Gretna Green with that sneaky twit of a vicar.” He gave the hound another shove, this time off his right boot. “There was no stopping the pair of them; they’d been gone all of ten hours by the time I read Meg’s note.”

  “Richard and Miss Barrington? How extraordinary.” So that was what Maeve had meant when she’d said Richard was in love, but not with her.

  “Aye, the mealy-mouthed psalm-singer’s been sneaking around behind me back all the time. Fat chance I has of getting a grandchild out of that union. I knows me daughter. First time the vicar drops his breeches, the silly prude will head fer the hills.”

  “Don’t take it too hard, sir,” Theo said with a straight face. “Her wedding to me would never have taken place anyway.” He withdrew a sheaf of pound notes from his pocket and handed them to the squire. “My purpose in coming here today was to pay back what I’ve spent of her dowry and cancel our engagement.”

  “The devil you say. Well I guess that tears it twixt you and me then.”

  “Not entirely.” Theo cleared his throat self-consciously. “As a matter of fact, I would like to take you up on the invitation you offered some time ago to go with you when you seek out your daughter, Maeve, in London.”

  He had made his mother a promise, and he would keep it, but he suspected he was simply setting himself up for more humiliation and heartbreak. How could Maeve have left him so easily if she did, indeed, love him?

  The squire instantly perked up. “What ho! Don’t tell me ye’re still swatting at that fly! I’ll say one thing fer ye, lad—ye’re a glutton fer punishment. There’s not many men I know who’d take on that razor-tongued witch.”

  He bent to scratch behind the ears of the cinnamon hound, now sprawled across both of his boots. “Hear that, ye worthless rascal. Things is looking up. It’s off to London town I be at first light and with his high and mighty lordship, here, in tow.” Straightening up, he surveyed Theo with a benevolent look. “I can tell ye right now, yere lordship, I’ll be rooting fer ye all the way, on account of it don’t matter a horse’s hind end to me which of me daughters produces a brat afore she reaches the age of five and twenty.”

  He rubbed his hands together in obvious glee. “And I’ll be willing to wager ye won’t have to chase Maeve twice round the bed post to get her between the sheets.”

  Maeve had been back in London a full month and she still hadn’t become accustomed to the constant noise and the dirt and the smoke-filled air that sometimes seemed dense enough to chew. How, she wondered, could a mere fortnight in the Kent countryside have spoiled her for the city life she’d once found so satisfying?

  So far, she’d managed to survive on the payment she’d received for her cartoon of George Brummell—a surprise, since she’d drawn the exact opposite of what the Times editor had requested. When it came down to it, she couldn’t rejoice in the downfall of her friend, the Beau, as the other London cartoonists had. She’d betrayed one man in the most abominable way; she couldn’t bring herself to betray another.

  She’d drawn him standing proud and tall with his back to Watier’s, the men’s club he’d help bring into vogue, and surrounded him with seven vicious-looking wolves, six with the recognizable faces of the sycophants who clung to the Prince Regent’s coattails and one with the face everyone in London would know belonged to Prinny himself. She’d entitled it simply, “The Wolf Pack Closes In.”

  Luckily, the editor had been on holiday when the cartoon reached his desk, and his assistant had automatically passed on it since it was one solicited by his superior. Like her Earlier cartoon of the Duke of Kent, it had raised an uproar heard all the way from the elegant salons of Carlton House to the dingiest whore house in Seven Dials. Once again, Marcus Browne was the most controversial, and the most popular, cartoonist in London.

  But now her money was running out and her cupboard was as bare as Mother Hubbard’s. Furthermore, the tradesmen Lily had owed were banging on her door again. Unless her father contacted her soon, she, like the Beau, would soon be faced with the necessity of hiding out from her creditors.

  It was late one afternoon in the first week of July when Lady Hermione’s footman finally knocked at Maeve’s door with a note stating that her father awaited her at the Mayfair townhouse. The pasty-faced fellow wore the same supercilious expression as when he’d made his first call on her. She didn’t care. She
could have hugged him from sheer relief. Before he could blink his eyes, she’d donned her bonnet, pelisse and gloves, grabbed up her reticule and climbed into Lady Hermione’s elegant green and gold carriage.

  The stiff-necked butler, who’d greeted her on her last visit, showed her into the salon where Lady Hermione and the squire awaited her.

  “So, daughter, ye’re quick to heed me beck and call when there’s money to pass hands,” the squire remarked in his usual surly manner. Without further ado, he slapped a bank draft into her hand. “There now, take yer blood money and may ye never have a minute’s joy of it.”

  Lady Hermione laid a hand on his arm. “Behave yourself, Harry,” she admonished the red-faced squire, then turned to Maeve with a smile that looked almost genuine. “Let’s all sit down, like the civilized people we are, and have a cup of tea,” she said sweetly. “I’ve instructed my butler to bring the tea tray at precisely five o’clock.”

  Maeve felt anything but civilized at the moment. Nor did she have the slightest wish to share a cup of tea with these two conspirators who had turned her life upside down with their wicked scheming. But she stuffed the bank draft into her reticule, took the chair Lady Hermione had indicated and watched the squire and her hostess settle onto an oversized sofa opposite her.

  “Now, Harry, I want to make one thing clear,” Lady Hermione said once they were all properly seated. “The business with Meg and the earl is over and done with, and I’ll tolerate no more of your everlasting complaining. You agreed to the terms Maeve demanded, and from the look of things, you’ll more than get your money’s worth.”

  Maeve felt as if someone had just driven a knife into her heart. “Meg did go through with the wedding then?”

  “She did that,” the squire said. “But not the way I’d planned, in the village church with all me friends looking on. Once she made up her mind to marry the poor sod, she talked him into running off to Gretna Green with her, like she was no better than one of the local farmers’ daughters.”