The Magnificent Masquerade Part 13

"Emily Pratt, what you need is a good shaking! You're not the sort to be a ... a fancy piece-anyone's fancy piece!-so put that idea out of your head once and for all!" He took a few angry turns around the room, and then, feeling calmer, he turned back to her. The sight of her sitting in woebegone despair on his table, her legs dangling listlessly below, cut him to the quick. "This has been all my fault, my dear," he said, taking her bandaged hand in his. "I don't know what came over me. Believe me, I don't make a habit of kissing the housemaids."

"It d-doesn't m-matter," she said, trying to revive her pride despite the two tears that spilled from her eyes and dribbled down her cheeks. "I'll und-d-doubtedly recover." "Within a month, I'd wager," he said with a rueful smile. "Meanwhile, Emily, I'd like you to forgive me and to forget everything we said and did in this room this evening. Will you try to do that, please?"

Kitty looked down at the hand he held. "I'll't-try, if you wish," she said, utterly crestfallen.

He lifted her down and set her on her feet. "Very well, then, go on your way."

He watched her walk slowly to the door. "Good evening, my lord," she said glumly from the doorway. "Yes, yes, good evening," he muttered, waving her away. "Thank you once again for t-treating my burn," she added in a brave attempt to show him that she bore him no rancor.

"Ah, yes, that reminds me," he said in the firm, strong tone of voice befitting the master of the household, "you're not to do a single ch.o.r.e until that hand has healed. Tell Naismith those are my orders."

She dropped one of her ironic little curtseys. "Yes, my lord."

He narrowed his eyes. "I mean it, miss! The fact that we exchanged some intimacies here this evening doesn't give you license to be disobedient. If I catch you so much as lifting a bowl, I will throw you down the coal hole."

Chapter Twenty-One.

Back in London, Kitty's parents were complacently awaiting word from Lord Edgerton that their daughter's betrothal to his brother had been arranged. Although Hermione Jessup, Lady Birkinshaw, had promised her husband (on pain of withdrawal of all spending privileges for a month) not to say a word to anyone about the match until Edgerton said it was a fait accompli, she did permit herself the luxury of making plans for the elaborate wedding breakfast she intended to give when the time came. She daydreamed about the gowns she would order for her daughter and for herself. She tried to estimate the number of crates of champagne they would need to serve the two hundred guests she intended to invite. She even went so far as to speak (secretly of course) to the manager of Gunthers, the famous patisserie in Berkeley Square, about the design of the wedding cake.

It therefore came as a cruel shock when she overheard some dreadful gossip concerning her prospective son-in-law. She was attending her regular Tuesday afternoon tea-and whist party at Countess Lieven's when the usual gossip over the cards turned to the subject of young men of the ton who kept their doxies in permanent rooms at Limmer's Hotel. "It's an utter disgrace," Lady Upton declared, taking in a trick as she spoke. "Lord Jarmies has installed his fancy piece there, and so has Francis Tarrington. And Beatrix Simmons suspects that her prissy-faced son keeps his chere amie in rooms at Stephen's Hotel in Bond Street, where Beatrix might run into her any time she visits her milliner!"

"Shocking!" declared Lady Westbrook, shaking her head with such vigor that the corkscrew curls over her ears danced. "We shall see these libertines parading their game pullets up St. James in broad daylight before long."

"I wouldn't be a bit surprised. There's an on-dit circulating about that Sir Lucas Farling, who's seventy-eight if he's a day, has taken up with a Castle Tavern wench not. yet eighteen," Lady Upton said in disgust. "The disreputable old lecher!"

"Speaking of Castle Tavern wenches," Countess Lieven remarked as she rearranged the cards in her hand, "my brother told me that young Wishart's taken up with one of them, too. Which shows that the young can be as revoltingly lecherous as the old."

Lady Birkinshaw paled. "Did you say Wishart? Toby Wishart?"

"Yes. Edgerton's younger brother. Are you acquainted with him?"

"No," Lady Birkinshaw answered awkwardly, keeping her eyes fixed on her cards, "but I think I've heard Birkinshaw speak of him."

"No doubt," the countess said drily. "The boy has often provided the ingredients for scandal-broth."

Lady Birkinshaw felt faint. "I suppose so," she murmured, "but surely the on-dits concerning him were only of boyish pranks, were they not?"

"Not this time." Countess Lieven, laughing at the tale she was about to reveal, threw out a card. "They say he put his dozy up at Limmer's last month and then left her to stew while he went down to Suffolk to rusticate."

Lady Birkinshaw put a shaking hand to her forehead. Surely her husband could not be such a fool as to give their daughter in marriage to so dastardly a creature! "The story sounds like a hum to me," she declared bravely. "The boy's barely out of school, is he not?"

"Schoolboys can be the most disgraceful of all," Lady Upton said in her obnoxiously decisive manner. "And Toby Wishart has already made himself known as a loose screw."

The countess nodded in agreement. "Dreadful scamp. Gotten himself into all sorts of sc.r.a.pes. Hermione, dear, do play your card. It's your turn."

Lady Birkinshaw discarded without looking. "Yes, but none of the sc.r.a.pes that Birkinshaw told me of were more than mere waggishness," she protested, hoping against hope that the countess's story was exaggerated.

"Your husband evidently doesn't gossip as much as my brother William," the countess laughed. "William told me that Wishart chose a girl who was decidedly lacking in tact. When he was called down to rusticate in Suffolk, it seems he left her without funds. Well, the doxy-I think my brother says she goes by the picturesque name of Lolly Matchin-made quite a vulgar row about it until Edgerton paid her off."

"Good G.o.d!" Lady Birkinshaw muttered under breath. "What have I done?"

"You've made a mistake, that's what you've done," Lady Upton chortled, picking up the trick. "I knew you weren't thinking when you discarded that jack of clubs. That mistake, my dear, has cost you the game!"

But whist was the last thing on Lady Birkinshaw's mind. She made her excuses as soon as she could and hurried home. She could hardly wait to give her idiotic husband a piece of her mind.

Lord Birkinshaw, however, was not to be found anywhere in his home. He'd gone to his club, of course. The fact that Lady Birkinshaw should have expected such to be the case in no way eased her frustration. To make matters worse, he didn't return home until well past midnight. By that time his wife was in a rage. "You thoughtless, impulsive, brainless nincomp.o.o.p," she greeted him the moment he stepped in the door, "you've really done it this time!"

Poor Lord Birkinshaw had imbibed a large share of White's liquor stock and was feeling very woozy. "Don' know what y'rjawin' about, m' love," he mumbled, "but tell me all about it in th' mornin'. I'm off't' bed." With that, he pecked her cheek and stumbled cheerfully toward the stairs.

"Stand where you are!" his wife ordered in the dulcet tones of a sergeant of the guard. "You will not go to bed tonight. Instead, you will order the carriage, and we will set off for Suffolk. I've had Jenkins pack your bag already, so there's nothing to keep us from starting out at once."

"Startin' out f' where?" he asked, peering at her from a pair of utterly bewildered eyes.

"Suffolk. The Edgerton place. That's where." "But, my love, we can't go't' Suffolk tonight. It's pas' midnight. Besides, it'll be snowin' before mornin', if I'm any judge. Air smelled like snow't' me."

"I don't care about the hour or the weather. We must go right now to save our daughter from the dreadful fate you wished upon her."

"Drea'ful fate? Wha' drea'ful fate is that, m' dear?"

"Confound it, Thomas Jessup," his wife exploded, throwing up her hands in disgust, "I might have known that you'd be soused just at the moment when I need you most!"

His lordship drew himself up in offense. "Not soused. Just a wee bit vertig'nous. Jus' tell me slowly 'n' calmly ... what drea'ful fate's befallen our Kitty?"

"It hasn't befallen her yet," his wife said impatiently. "We must hurry and keep it from befalling her."

"Yes, m'love ... but what mus' we keep from befallin' her?"

"Marriage is what. Marriage! Toby Wishart must not be permitted to marry Kitty!"

Lord Birkinshaw pursed his lips and tried to concentrate. "Marriage? But ... th' matter's all settled, ain't it? Can't stop it now. Gave m' word. Gave m' hand, hang it all! Settled!" Lady Birkinshaw rounded on him in fury. "I don't care about your word or your hand! We are going to Suffolk to bring our daughter home, do you hear me? We are going whether you will it or not, whether it snows or not, or whether you gave your word or not!" She picked up a bonnet which had been lying on a nearby chair and clapped it on her head.

"I will not have my daughter wed to that cad!" His lordship gaped at her. "Are y' speakin' of young Wishart? He ain't a cad. A bit of a scapegrace, perhaps, but not a cad. After all, he's only a boy!"

"That's just it," his wife declared, s.n.a.t.c.hing up her cloak with one hand and grasping. his arm in a viselike grip with the other. "Just barely of age and already the fellow is reputed to be a ... a d.a.m.nable libertine!" She pulled her poor, confused husband after her to the door. "I can't speak for you," she added as she dragged him, stumbling, out into the cold, "but I, for one, would rather break my word than permit my daughter to wed a man who, even before his twenty-first birthday, has already become a dastardly lecher!"

Chapter Twenty-Two.

Emily dreamed that she was about to perform Beethoven's Sonata Opus 31, Number 3, in an enormous drawing room filled with hundreds of people. She'd taken her place at the piano, a hush had fallen over the crowd, she'd flexed her fingers and was about to place her hands on the keys when, suddenly, her left arm refused to move. She couldn't lift it high enough to reach the keyboard. Something seemed to have imprisoned her arm right at the shoulder. She writhed and moaned and tried to free herself but to no avail. The expression on the faces of the people in the audience changed from polite expectation to disdain. Some of them laughed. She struggled harder to free her arm. "I can play it," she pleaded. "If you will just be patient-!" But her arm would not come loose. The crowd began to jeer. "Kitty can't play a note!" they shouted. "Not a note. Kitty can't play."

"Let me go!" she cried, twisting herself about desperately.

"I'm not Kitty!"

But they kept calling "Kitty! Kitty!" until the din was unbearable.

"Stop calling me that!" she screamed at them so loudly that she woke herself up.

She opened her eyes to a darkened room. Someone was bending over her, calling her name. "Kitty," he urged with worried tenderness, "wake up!"

"Toby?" Her voice was thick with sleep. "Is that you?"

"Are you in pain, my love?" he asked, stroking her forehead. "I can give you a dose of laudanum if you are."

She shook her head. "No, thank you, I'm all right."

"You were moaning in your sleep, so I thought-" "I'm fine really. What are you doing here?"

"Just watching over you. I made your abigail go to bed. She looked a little red about the eyes."

Emily rubbed her eyes. "That was good of you, sir. Very kind."

His eyebrows rose. "Sir? We're back to sir?" "Very well, then, Toby." She tried to sit up. "I a.s.sure you, Toby, that there's no need to stay. I don't need watching over."

"Here, let me help you," he said, sitting down on the edge of the bed and propping her up so that her back rested on his shoulder. "I like watching over you, you know. You're beautiful when you're asleep."

"Don't be so silly," she said, blushing. "You shouldn't be watching me sleep. You shouldn't be here at all." "Yes I should. I'm the one who got you into this fix, and I'm the one who's going to help you get well." Emily frowned. "Is that why you're here? Doing penance? How many times must I tell you that the accident was not your fault? And I'm only a little bruised. I shall soon be all over it.

So you may take your unnecessary guilt and go to bed." "Do you really believe that I'm here doing penance?" he asked, brushing back her sleep-tousled hair with his fingers.

"Have you forgotten what I told you this afternoon when I left you at the door?"

Emily sighed deeply. "I haven't forgotten. You said you may be falling in love with me."

"Did I say that? If I did, it was only because of shyness." He bent his head and put his lips on her forehead. "There is no may be' about it, my girl. I am in love with you." She couldn't help smiling. "Shyness? You haven't an ounce of shyness in your makeup."

"Yes, I have. You make me shy." He took her chin in his hand and tilted her head toward him. "You are so much above me in every way that I'm in constant awe of you." Her smile faded. "You mustn't say that, Toby. It's not true at all. When you learn the truth, you'll discover that it's you who are above me."

"I don't know what you mean," he said, his brows knitting together. "You've said something like that before. What truth is there to discover?"

"The truth about me."

"Confound it, what's the mystery? What truth? Tell me!"

She shook her head. "I can't, Toby. It's not my secret to reveal."

He looked down at her, puzzled. "Is it some skeleton in the family closet? A mad uncle? A feeble-minded brother? A drunken sot of a cousin who makes scenes at the family dinners?"

"Oh, Toby, you clown, don't make me laugh. It hurts."

"I'm sorry, my love. I'll try not to. But if it's none of those things, then-"

"I wish it were one of those things. But this is even worse."

"Worse? What could be worse? Unless-" He gasped, clapped a hand to his forehead in exaggerated alarm and groaned. "Oh, horror of horrors! Unless-can it be that you're hideously disfigured somewhere under your clothes?" His eyes laughed down at her, but his expression remained one of horrified revulsion. "Aha, that's it! You have a huge and ugly strawberry mark on your left thigh!"

She bit her lip but couldn't hold back the giggles that shook her sides painfully. "Please, Toby," she gasped, "you said you wouldn't make me laugh."

He turned serious at once. "I'm sorry, my love. But I have to make you see that even if there is a secret, it can't make any difference to my feelings for you. Do you think there is anything you could tell me that would make me stop loving you?"

"You mustn't even start loving me, Toby. You mustn't."

"Yes, so you've said. But you're too late." And to prove it, he bent his head and kissed her gently.

"Oh, Toby!" she moaned, holding him off with her good arm. "Don't-!"

He let her go, placed her carefully against the pillows, and rose. "If you really want me to hold back, then you must explain why," he said reasonably.

She lowered her head. "I can't."

"You don't trust me, is that it? Or you don't love me enough. Come to think of it, you've never said you love me."

He sat down on the edge of the bed and took her hands in his. "Do you?"

She looked at him tearfully. "Please, Toby, don't make me-"

"Do you?"

She pulled her hands from his grasp and buried her face in them. "Yes, I do. I do! More than I can's-say!"

"Then we have no problem. We'll be married, just as our families wish."

She lifted her head, stared at him hopelessly for a moment, and then turned her head into the pillows. "No, we won't," she said flatly.

"But why not? Why won't you tell me?"

She didn't look up. "Let's not go round and round the same circle, my dear. Just ... go away."

"Go away?" he echoed furiously. "Is that all you can say to me?"

"Yes. That's all. Except that I'm ... very tired." He threw up his hands in frustration. "Very well, if that's what you wish, I'll go. Shall I help you lie down first?"

"No, thank you."

"Shall I fix you a laudanum mixture to help you sleep?"

"No, thank you."