The Masquerade

by Brenda Joyce

“I knew you when you were just a baby,” Lizzie said. She reached out and touched his soft cheek; he did not move. “I have brought you a present. Do you want to see it?”

  He nodded. “Don’t cry.”

  “I will try not to, but your father is right, I am so very happy to see you again.”

  Ned took her hand.

  Lizzie laughed shakily and clung to his tiny hand. She looked up and met Tyrell’s steady gaze. He smiled a little at her and she gave up. She knelt on the floor, facing Ned, the tears streaming. “May I give you a hug?”

  Ned didn’t hesitate; he nodded.

  Lizzie took him into her arms. She knew she must not overdo it, but he put his arms around her instantly and hugged her back. She swallowed the lump of anguish, holding him tightly, cherishing that single moment, the greatest in her life. Then she swiftly rose to her feet. “Here.” She could barely speak and she handed him one of the parcels.

  He tore open the paper wrapping, producing a jack-in-the-box. He had clearly seen one before, as he hit the lid and the colorful clown popped out. Ned laughed with delight, stuffed him back down in the box, and sat on the floor, releasing the figure again. Wolf wagged his tail in excitement.

  Lizzie wiped the last of her tears from her face. She was acutely aware of Ned playing on the floor, not far from where she stood, and Tyrell standing behind her, watching them both. How had her life come to this? She looked at Rosie, who had stood up. “Rosie,” she said.

  Rosie was crying. “Mum.”

  Lizzie rushed to her and she and Rosie embraced.

  “How are you?” Lizzie cried, releasing her.

  Rosie wiped her eyes. “Very well, mum. His lordship has been nothing but good to me. But we have missed you, we have, me and Little Ned.”

  Lizzie could only nod, hoping that Ned had not missed her for very long. “I am so proud of the little boy he has become,” she said. “He is so grown-up! Thank you, Rosie. Thank you for staying with Ned. Thank you for everything.”

  Rosie smiled at her.

  Feeling his regard, Lizzie turned and looked at Tyrell. His eyes were intent and filled with speculation. Lizzie’s heart lurched as she wondered exactly what he was thinking. “He has gotten so tall!”

  “Yes, he has been growing like a little weed.”

  “I am happy for you,” Lizzie managed to say, meaning it with all of her heart.

  Ned continued to play with the jack-in-the-box, the big dog as fascinated with the clown as he was. “Thank you for the gift,” Tyrell said.

  “I have something else for Ned, as well,” Lizzie said quickly, now unnerved by his regard. She rushed back to the room’s threshold and took a very small parcel from the bag. She paused there, breathing deeply, recalling every day and night they had spent together with Ned at Wicklowe as a family. It was almost as if the five months apart had not existed—yet it was also as if those months had been an entire lifetime.

  “Elizabeth?” He had come to stand directly behind her and she jumped, thrown off balance.

  He steadied her, lightly grasping her elbows, and Lizzie stilled. She could feel his attention and interest, and she knew it would only take a single kiss for them to wind up exactly as they had once been. She pulled away and handed the parcel to Tyrell.

  “Is this for me?”

  “No, it is for Ned,” she began, and then she saw the light in his eyes and realized he was teasing her. She blushed and stepped back another pace, knowing she must put more distance between them.

  Tyrell opened the parcel, no longer smiling, as if sensing her thoughts. But when it came to her feelings, he was so incredibly astute. He touched the cover of the illustrated book of fairy tales. “I will enjoy reading this to Ned at night,” he said.

  Lizzie could see him, less formally attired, perhaps in a smoking jacket, sitting with Ned on the sofa, reading softly to him, the rest of the house dark. The image was too painful.

  “Would you mind if I stayed and played with Ned for a while?” she asked.

  His gaze was very direct. “Only if you promise to visit us again.”

  Her heart leapt. He had used the word us. It wasn’t fair. And what did he really mean?

  “You will come again,” he said quietly, and it was not a question.

  Lizzie gave up. “I should love to come again.”

  He smiled at her. “Would Friday afternoon do?”

  “Yes.” A thrill swept her. In two more days she would be back at Harmon House, visiting Ned—and seeing Tyrell. And in that moment, she knew that her best intentions were in dire jeopardy.

  He was watching her very closely now, as a hunter about to capture his prey. He was waiting, she realized, before making his move. The only question was, what did he actually intend? Lizzie felt certain he wanted to renew their affair.

  It would be so terribly easy to do. But hadn’t she known with every fiber of her being that coming to Harmon House today was inherently dangerous?

  “Would you like a glass of wine?” Tyrell asked quietly.

  Lizzie hesitated. “A glass of wine would be nice,” she said.

  24

  The Swift Hand of Fate

  Blanche was very surprised when she was told that her fiancé had called. She had seen him the other night, when he had joined her and her father for supper. With no idea of what Tyrell could want, she thanked the butler and went into the salon where he was waiting for her. He stood, staring into the fire dancing in the hearth, but upon hearing her approach, he turned.

  They exchanged greetings. Blanche could see that Tyrell was very grim. “I should like a private word,” he said. “May we sit?”

  Blanche nodded, instantly concerned. She sat on a large gold sofa with numerous darker pillows and he took a facing chair. “I do hope your family is well,” she said, having jumped to the conclusion that someone was ill.

  Tyrell regarded her carefully. As carefully, she regarded him. He gave no clue as to his thoughts or why he had come “My family is fine, thank you. And your father? He seemed well the other night. Do you still think he is feeling poorly?”

  She hesitated. “My father is still having moments of fatigue.” Suddenly she was anxious. “Are you here to ask me to return to Harmon House? Because I do feel strongly that I must stay here and attend him.”

  “No, Blanche, I did not come here to ask you to return to my home.” He glanced away, seeming uncomfortable. Suddenly, Blanche thought of his ex-mistress, Elizabeth Fitzgerald. She had been thinking quite a bit about her lately. She had been so pleasant, so proper and so well-bred. Blanche had expected a flamboyant courtesan, but Miss Fitzgerald had not been a raving beauty and she had been kind. Her candor had also been endearing. Had Tyrell learned of her very improper call upon his ex-mistress?

  “Blanche, there is something I must say, no matter how awkward. I do not wish to distress you, but I am afraid I shall.”

  She fingered the tuft on a pillow. “Is this about Miss Fitzgerald?”

  He was surprised “So you have heard about her?”

  She nodded, studying him closely. He remained impossible to read. “Father told me of your…er…past relationship.” She smiled reassuringly at him. “It’s all right, Tyrell, I am not hurt or horrified. I know the affair occurred last summer, before we had been engaged for very long.”

  “Have you never borne anyone any malice at all?”

  “It is not my nature,” she said truthfully, wishing she could, just once, care enough to feel hateful or unkind toward someone. She sighed. “I never get angry.”

  He stood. “I have little doubt that you will become quite angry with me now. Blanche, you are an exemplary lady. You would be a great countess and a credit as my wife. I have given this a great deal of thought. I have no wish to hurt you, but I see no way to avoid it. I cannot marry you.”

  Relief overcame her and she realized she was standing. “You cannot?” she managed to say, stunned that he should wish to end things, just as she did.

  He gravely s
hook his head “Again, I am so sorry. There is nothing you have done to cause this. I gave my heart to someone else before we ever met. I have decided to take her as my wife, in spite of the fortune I am losing. I am prepared to exercise a great deal of economy now to secure the future of Adare, assuming I am not disowned.”

  “You must love Miss Fitzgerald very much!” Blanche exclaimed, absolutely fascinated. She knew he would be disinherited for this great act of his. “You choose love over duty!”

  “I do,” he said grimly. “Are my feelings so terribly obvious?”

  “There is nothing obvious about you,” Blanche said. What was it like, to love that way, she wondered. “I met Miss Fitzgerald the other day, Tyrell,” she said. “She is an extraordinarily kind, selfless woman. I had expected a great beauty, but she is rather plain. I find it obvious that your affair was motivated by true love and not something sordid or base. And, Tyrell, she is obviously so deeply in love with you.”

  She finally saw an emotion she could read in his eyes. It was hope. “She told you that?”

  “She didn’t have to.” Blanche thought of what her father had done. It seemed terribly important to let Tyrell know. “Tyrell, Father told me that he deliberately interfered in your relationship with Miss Fitzgerald. Apparently he encouraged her to leave you. He also said she had written you a love letter before she left. He admitted that he destroyed it. He was afraid of what you might do if you read it.”

  He stared at her for a long moment, both angry and surprised. “Thank you for telling me that,” he finally said. Then he softened. “And you, Blanche? How are you?”

  “I am fine.”

  He was thoughtful as he studied her. “Any other woman would be in hysterics by now. And while I know your nature might preclude that, you do not seem distressed at all.”

  “I am not upset that you wish to marry someone else and that I shall stay here at Harrington Hall. In fact, I am relieved.”

  He seemed astonished. “I simply cannot understand you!”

  Suddenly she realized what he might think. “I do not mean to insult you, Tyrell! Just as you said that this is not my fault, my relief is not due to anything you have done, either.”

  “You are in love with someone else.”

  Her relief vanished and in its place was despair. She turned away. “No, I am afraid not.”

  Tyrell came to stand behind her then, and he laid one large hand on her arm. In the four months she had known him, he never touched her, not even to walk her out of a room, except for those two times when he had kissed her, leaving her cold and unmoved. Not liking his touch, she slipped free and turned to him. He was studying her.

  “You are being very generous with me. I should like to return the favor, if ever the occasion should present itself. Why are you distraught now, when my ending our engagement did not move you at all?”

  Blanche glanced away. She felt herself smile sadly. “I am not capable of love, Tyrell. Haven’t you guessed that?”

  “Everyone is capable of love.”

  She felt moisture in her eyes. “I am happy, but never overjoyed. I am sad, but never grief-stricken. Something is wrong with my heart—it beats, but refuses to entertain me with more than the mere shadow of emotion.”

  He was stunned. “I am certain, one day, the right man will awaken you.”

  “It has been this way almost my entire life,” she said. She closed her eyes. The riot. There were vague, violent, unfocused images and unspeakable acts dancing in the dark shadows of her mind, and she forced them back to wherever it was that they lived. When the monsters had retreated into the cobwebs of lost memory, she opened her eyes and looked at Tyrell. “How does it feel, Tyrell? How does it feel to be in love?”

  “It is a feeling of wonder,” he said slowly, grasping for the right words. “Of wonder and amazement, that there could be so much joy and such a deep connection between two people. It is a feeling, of great love and devotion, and of utter completion.”

  She smiled. “I am very happy for you, for you both.”

  “And I am very grateful to you. Blanche, I meant what I said. If you ever need me, I will be there for you, no matter how great or small your request. I am in your debt.”

  She nodded. “That is kind of you.”

  “I will speak with my father now, and later, with yours.”

  “You do not have to worry about Father. He will be extremely angry at first, but he has never forced me to do anything against my will. If you wish, I will actually speak to him first.”

  “Absolutely not. It is my duty to take care of this and I shall.”

  Blanche inclined her head. She understood.

  Tyrell had requested an audience with his father. The earl was at his desk in the library, immersed in the London Times, a copy of the Dublin Times beside that. Tyrell hesitated upon entering the room.

  He remained surprised by Blanche’s cooperation, but she was now the least of his worries. He had some doubt about his ability to convince Elizabeth to marry him, after all they had been through, but he had never been more determined. He would woo her, no matter how long it took. Now, however, he had a different battle to wage. He felt very certain that he was about to be disowned.

  Adare meant everything to him—yet Elizabeth meant more. As a last resort, he would give up his inheritance in order to have Elizabeth. As Blanche had said, he was choosing love. But he was also prepared to fight. He wanted Elizabeth, but he did not want to lose Adare. He was prepared to do battle with his father now to ensure that he had both. He did not think to attain any victory that day—in fact, he was certain it might take some months. He would surely have to enlist the aid of the countess and all of his brothers to persuade the earl to his cause.

  Oddly, there was no guilt.

  Now that he had made up his mind to follow his heart, there was only relief and determination. He had never known more determination, in fact. He was aware that the battle was an uphill one, but then, weren’t life’s greatest battles the most difficult and treacherous ones?

  If he somehow succeeded, there was the future to think of. But he had given the family finances a great deal of thought, and while it might not be easy, he had more than one economic plan.

  “Tyrell?”

  Tyrell turned at the sound of his father’s voice. From across the room, their gazes met and locked. Slowly, as if sensing the battle to come, the earl stood. “You asked to see me?” he said.

  “Yes.” Tyrell walked over to the desk, which remained between them now. “How have you managed, all of these years, as the earl of Adare?” he asked quietly. It was a question he had wanted to ask for years.

  The earl did not seem surprised. “When I was your age, it was a different world. Machines and trade had yet to really make their mark on society. My focus was on Ireland. My struggle was with the British, Tyrell, and it was a huge struggle in those days. I was determined to protect my tenants and guard their few rights, while keeping the British at bay.”

  “But that was a huge burden, was it not?” Tyrell knew the history of Ireland intimately.

  “There were times,” Edward admitted, “when I felt far too small and insignificant for such a great responsibility. Unlike you, I had no brothers and my only sister had married an Englishman. But then I met and married your stepmother. Mary’s love enabled me to bear the burden that is Adare.”

  Tyrell stared at his father. “I am deeply in love with Miss Fitzgerald, and it is my greatest hope that her love and strength will also enable me to bear the great burden of Adare.”

  The earl stared back. He finally said, “Mary warned me that it would come to this.”

  “I have never in my life dreamed that the day would come when I should disappoint you,” Tyrell said passionately. “There is no one I admire more than you, Father. But I can protect Adare and secure its future with Elizabeth at my side, as my wife.”

  A shadow fell across the earl’s face and he sat down. “I have never seen you so dark and moo
dy as I have these past months since the summer’s end. Since she left.”

  Tyrell leaned on the table. “I have something to tell you.”

  The earl looked up.

  “Elizabeth is not Ned’s real mother.”

  The earl was obviously stunned. “What are you saying?”

  “Elizabeth claimed my son as her own, sacrificing her name, her reputation, her life in order to give him a home. And when she left me at Wicklowe, once again she had the courage to sacrifice everything to do what was best for Ned. She broke her own heart to do so. She is a woman of great selflessness and even greater courage.”

  Edward slowly stood. “I had no idea, Tyrell. And I begin to see where you are leading. I am not surprised by her courage and charity, though. How could I be? She is well-known for her good deeds.”

  “She will be a great countess,” Tyrell said fervently. “Can you possibly deny that?”

  “No, I cannot.” Edward studied his son. “I feel certain that you are prepared to give up everything for her.”

  “I do not want to fight you, Father, for the earldom,” Tyrell said. “But I will. One stroke of the pen could change everything, but I know you would never act in that kind of haste. I believe that if the countess, my brothers, and Devlin and Sean all rally to my cause, you can and shall be won over. I am not trying to turn the family against you, but I am the best suited to protect and secure the earldom. I have been raised to do so. Even without Blanche’s fortune, we can survive. In fact, I have decided the first order of business will be to sell Wicklowe, as it is an extravagance now that serves no real purpose.”

  The earl’s gaze became moist. “I could never do battle with you, Tyrell. You are my pride and joy. I understand. I understand that you have found a great and enduring love, the kind I share with Mary. I understand that this decision was not easy for you and the matter of fortunes aside, I think Miss Fitzgerald far more suited to being the next countess than Lady Blanche.”

  Tyrell was amazed. “Father! What are you saying? Are you telling me, here and now, that you will agree to a union with Elizabeth?”