Unmasked by her Lover, page 10
The vicar looked flabbergasted, stammering, “No, indeed, my lady, of course, no one should ever think such a thing of your…again, I offer to serve in any way I can…”
Which Meg hoped devoutly would be to help scotch the rumors of her ruin. As Mr. Ives appeared on her other side, Mr. Sanhurst effaced himself.
Meg sighed but did not deign to speak.
“Then it’s true,” Mr. Ives mourned. “I still languish in the cold of your disapproval.”
“Yes, you do.”
“I hope it’s nothing to do with that fellow,” he said, nodding in front where Harry walked with Mrs. Garrow on his arm.
“What fellow?” she asked repressively.
“Lord Harry de Vere, the marquess’s son who plays at soldiers.”
Meg stared at him. “Plays? My dear sir, he has fought his way through Iberia and France for five years, was mentioned in dispatches three times, and nearly died of his wounds. You, from your armchair, would do better to alter your tone.”
She stalked away from him, almost striding past Harry and Mrs. Garrow until she came to Calvert and one of the Knowles sisters.
Well, she thought, that should put an end to Martha’s flirtation.
*
Sadly, it did not appear to do so. During Mrs. Knowles’s informal supper, Ives’s gaze was frequently upon her, warm, amused, and uncomfortably predatory. It seemed her show of spirit had merely further aroused his ardor.
“I hope,” he said boldly as they departed, “you will save a dance for me.” And he raised her hand to his lips.
She itched to snatch it back and had to remind herself quite forcefully that she was Martha. So, she merely accepted his gesture as her due and laughed. “The ball is more than a se’nnight away, and you know perfectly well a hostess rarely has time to dance.”
“That is very unfair, but in fact, I meant your informal waltzing party, which is only five nights from now.”
Oh, the devil, I had forgotten that! Martha had better be back by then… “Well, we shall see then. Good night, Mr. Ives.” She gave a last wave to her hosts and allowed Captain Garrow to hand her into the carriage.
Her nerves somewhat frayed, she would have preferred to share a carriage with those she could relax with—Harry or Johnny or even Calvert. As it was, she had to continue to play Martha.
Perhaps she did not do it very well, for Garrow murmured, “Forgive me, my lady, but are you quite well?”
“Oh, yes, perfectly,” she said brightly. “Just a little tired, perhaps.”
“Oh good,” Garrow said, “I was beginning to fear you had caught the same indisposition as your sister and de Vere.”
“Oh, no, Meg has always been subject to sick headaches. She will be right as rain by to—” She broke off, frowning. “Harry? He is not ill.”
“No? I am very glad to hear it. He seemed a little off-color to me. Perhaps his wounds trouble him still. Or he is mourning poor Dewar.”
Beside her, Mrs. Garrow did not move, and yet Meg felt a sudden tension,
“His friend who died,” Meg murmured. “I imagine he is, but he rarely speaks of the war or its effects.”
“Not even to you?” Garrow smiled. “You are such old friends, and I sincerely believe he needs to speak of Major Dewar’s death to someone. I have tried, but he tends to clam up… They were very close, you know, served together for many years. Has he said nothing of him to you?”
“That they were in the hospital together and his friend did not survive,” Meg replied, instinctively keeping to herself the matter of the ring which Harry meant to carry to Mrs. Dewar. “He feels the tragedy, but it does not break him.”
“Oh, of course not. But still, he concerns me.”
“How kind of you,” Meg said politely. In fact, she found his concern almost jarring, for she knew he and Harry were not friends. Harry did not care for him and Garrow, from all she had gathered and observed, was a selfish and entitled man.
“I found this evening most pleasant,” Mrs. Garrow said, yawning. “And I won a whole shilling.”
Meg laughed. “Which is two more than I!”
*
As everyone went to bed, Meg was dragged by her brother into a “family” meeting in the library, along with Calvert and Harry.
“Someone has spread this rubbish about Meg,” Johnny said abruptly.
“So, I discovered.” Calvert tightened his lips. “I mentioned several times that Meg was with us and not even in London at the time, so hopefully that will make people stop and think.”
“Harry and I did likewise,” Johnny said, scowling. “But I don’t like this. It’s as if someone is deliberately out to ruin Meg, and it makes no sense.”
“Oh, well,” Meg said, trying to make the best of it. “Maybe it serves as an excuse for Meg to keep to her room a while longer, and I shall only be obliged to play Martha.”
“On no account,” Johnny declared. “It would look as if you were hiding and give credence to the lies. No, Meg must emerge from her sick room tomorrow.”
Meg sighed. “Very well, but we can’t keep it up forever, you know. People will notice that we never appear at the same time.”
“As to that,” Harry said, “we could have you together at a distance.”
“With mirrors?” Meg said flippantly.
“No, I was thinking more of dressing someone else in Martha’s clothes and one or more of us having a conversation with you both—at the end of the gallery perhaps, where you could be seen by anyone entering the drawing room. If your accomplice kept her back to the gallery, no one would guess.”
Meg closed her mouth.
“And if anyone tried to join the conversation?” Calvert asked, fascinated.
Harry shrugged. “Then, the accomplice merely hurries away about her business.”
“It would be better than nothing,” Meg agreed, “but only Mathews is in our confidence, and she is a head taller than we are.”
“Aline Garrow also knows,” Harry pointed out. “She is near to your size and figure, and I’m sure she could carry it off.”
Meg frowned. “I thought we did not trust Aline Garrow.”
“Don’t we?” Johnny said in surprise. “She was telling Mrs. Sanhurst about all the sketches you had made in the last week, showing rather cleverly, I thought, that you had been here longer than you actually have.”
“Then let’s pray Mrs. Sanhurst doesn’t ask to see them,” Meg said fervently.
Harry cast her a quick grin. “She didn’t say they were good.”
Reminded of childhood, Meg stuck her tongue out at him. But the smile in his eyes aroused feelings that were decidedly not childish.
“We are straying from the point,” Calvert said impatiently, “which is that Martha is still not home. We need to find her. Do any of you have any idea where she could be?”
Meg jumped up, walking to the dark window so that she didn’t have to meet his gaze. “She will come home when she is ready, Selwyn.”
“You said that before. How long will it take her to be ready? How do I even know you are right? How can I take that chance?”
“I don’t see that you’ve any choice, old fellow,” Johnny said sympathetically. “Not saying she’s behaving well, because she isn’t, but if she’s playing off her tricks, you’ve only yourself to blame. And,” he added with less clarity, “I’ve never known either of them to be wrong about the other.”
“I should be out looking for her,” Calvert muttered. “Damn it! And Meg, was that fellow Ives annoying you?”
“A little,” Meg confessed, glad to have the subject changed. “I think I might have played that badly. I gave him a set down which seemed only to inflame him.”
Johnny scowled. “Time someone set him straight. Dashed loose fish. What?” he added as they all stared at him.
Meg patted his shoulder. “Nothing. Papa will be delighted to see how moral you have become. And Selwyn, I don’t think you need to worry. You are holding a waltzing party on Wednesday evening. Is Martha likely to miss such a thing?”
“No,” Calvert allowed, a spark of hope lighting his anxious eyes. “No, she will be in her element, for we shall have many more guests by then, and she does love to dance. Especially the waltz, which is still too daring for some! Of course, she will be home for that.”
*
However, as the next few days passed without any sign of Martha, Meg’s doubts began in earnest. Added to that, the stress of playing both twins—Meg reappeared at breakfast the morning after the card party—grew increasingly exhausting.
On Harry’s advice, she took Aline Garrow into her confidence when they met during a morning ride. Since they both rode without a groom in attendance, they agreed cordially to chaperone each other, and Meg blurted the tale of her sister’s disappearance and her own deception.
Instead of being angry, Aline crowed, “I knew it! I knew there could not be two of you quite so similar!”
“Really?” Meg said in dismay. “Oh dear, I said this was a foolish idea! If anyone else suspects—”
“Be at ease,” Mrs. Garrow soothed. “Even I did not truly suspect you weren’t Lady Calvert. She was so completely different in speech and mannerisms, even the way she walked. I merely marveled at every tiny detail of your face and hands being the same.”
“And you must have noticed that we never appear together. I am running out of excuses not to attend dinner with my sister’s guests. Now, there are so many people here, and I have to rely on Calvert, not the most attentive of men, to tell me how well I know each of them! I wish I had seen more of Martha in the last year or two.”
“Never mind,” Mrs. Garrow said. “You have managed very well. I’m sure no one else suspects. And if anyone has noticed Lady Meg’s frequent absences, they probably think you have quarreled. Or put them down to her—your!—trouble concerning the party at Connaught Place.”
“Oh dear, that does not make me feel better,” Meg said ruefully. “At this rate, we shall both be ruined. However, Harry had this notion that someone should dress up as Martha—or me—and be seen with me at a distance, possibly quarreling, to give us a reason to be avoiding each other. He seemed to think you might be persuadable. And you do have the advantage of similar height and hair color…”
Aline gave a crow of delight. “Why, I would love to be part of your intrigue! Though I am surprised Lord Harry suggested it. He always struck me as such an honorable man.”
“You make it sound like an insult,” Meg observed.
“No, but it can be tedious not to be trusted.” Aline glanced at her. “What does he say about me?”
Meg hesitated. “Very little. But I think he is wary of you. On account of your previous encounters in Spain that I know nothing about.”
“He was never my lover, if that is what troubles you.”
Meg flushed. “Why should it trouble me?” she said as carelessly as she could.
“I am not blind, Lady Meg.”
“But you are mistaken,” Meg insisted with a hint of panic. “Harry is like another brother to me.”
“Once, perhaps.” Aline caught her gaze. “Since you are wondering, I believe he was no angel in Iberia. A man of charm and passion, he did not lack female…admiration. But no one won his heart that I ever heard.”
“I am not wondering,” Meg said with dignity.
“Good, because it would only waste your time. A man like Lord Harry has no need to wait around forever. And you would be foolish to let him slip away into someone else’s arms.”
As I did before… Meg tugged a little desperately at the high neck of her riding habit. Her other hand must have tightened on the reins for her horse sidled and had to be brought back into line beside Mrs. Garrow’s.
“I cannot think of such foolishness just now,” Meg said hastily. “Will you agree to help me with my masquerade?”
“Of course! It goes without saying.”
*
Although Mathews was inclined to be indignant, she excelled in styling Mrs. Garrow’s hair to closely resemble Meg’s, with just that hint of carelessness that caused the odd strand to stray from confinement. Aline, it seemed, was a natural actress and must have been observing Meg quite closely, for she walked, stalked, and jerked up her chin in an alarmingly familiar manner.
“I might be looking at my sister,” Meg blurted.
“Lord, don’t confuse us any further!” Mathews scolded, and Mrs. Garrow laughed.
And so, they set the scene at the end of the gallery, in good time to catch guests gathering in the drawing room before dinner. Meg raised her voice just a little, gesticulating with all Martha’s drama. Mrs. Garrow tossed her head, half-turned away, and then back again to continue the “quarrel,” while always keeping her back to the gallery.
They both ignored Johnny and Harry, who strolled around from the family side of the house. Several guests glanced surreptitiously in their direction before moving reluctantly into the drawing room.
Johnny called over his shoulder. “Leave off, the pair of you. You’re not ten years old anymore!”
Mrs. Wrexham, sending her daughter into the drawing room, flitted along the gallery toward them, perhaps with the intention of negotiating peace between them.
“Time to go,” Meg murmured, and Mrs. Garrow winked and flounced off. Meg forced a smile and hurried to meet Mrs. Wrexham.
“Is everything well, my dear Lady Calvert?” Mrs. Wrexham asked, concerned.
Meg waved her hand and laughed. “Families!” she said dismissively.
Of course, “Lady Meg” did not make an appearance that evening. But the following day, she appeared in the garden, walking away from the house, arm in arm with “Lady Calvert” while several people could see them from the terrace or the windows.
Mrs. Garrow entered thoroughly into the spirit of the masquerade, and Meg found it quite fun to achieve. On the other hand, she was only too aware of the risks of being caught and the impossibility of explaining such a deception.
The waltzing party loomed. Her parents and the Stauntons were due to arrive on that day, and there was still no sign of Martha.
It was past time she came home. It was growing increasingly difficult to be both twins, and she had no idea how she would bring it off at a party where both were meant to be present. Besides such trivia, Meg began to fear she had been wrong about her sister’s condition, about her state of mind, even about where she was. Her absence was simply too long.
It was not too far to go to find out, Meg thought, pacing in her sister’s bedchamber before dinner on the evening before the ball. She could ride there and back tomorrow. Only she would be missed for a whole day. She would have Calvert and Johnny and Harry refusing to let her go.
I could send Johnny. But that would involve betraying Martha.
Harry? The same applied. Someone would notice them gone at the same time. She could not even send Mathews or one of the other servants.
She would have to go herself. Secretly. Alone. Without even a groom to protect her.
Her breath caught. Now, at last, she knew what to do.
Chapter Eleven
Dinner was yet another meal for which Lady Meg presented her apologies, with an excuse of having fallen asleep. Afterward came a rather excruciating evening listening to debutantes display their skills on the pianoforte. Meg made an appearance for that and then retired with some relief. Only to return to the drawing room as a slightly flustered Martha in order to say goodnight to the Calverts’ guests as their hostess.
She managed it all with an air of amiable distraction, avoiding Harry, who might have guessed something was afoot, and Calvert, whom she blamed for the whole mess in the first place. As soon as Mathews had unlaced her, she sent the maid to bed. Then she went to the wardrobe, reaching to the very back, and took out the small valise she had been delighted to discover there before dinner.
Inside, as she already knew, was a suit of clothes that had once belonged to their brother Peter. It had been used in many a trick and adventure, usually with Martha, and once with Harry. Meg had something similar stuffed behind her clothes at Dearham, only they had been Johnny’s and were always much too large. When they had both dressed as boys. Meg had rolled up Johnny’s pantaloons and coat and pretended to be Martha’s servant. Peter’s clothes had fitted very well five years ago, and Meg had been delighted to discover her sister had kept them.
While the house quieted and settled for the night, Meg changed into Peter’s old clothes and pinned her hair ruthlessly enough to squash it under her brother’s hat.
When she eventually crept out of the bedchamber, she was annoyed to hear faint voices coming from downstairs. The voices, and the odd burst of laughter, were all male. Some, presumably, had stayed up late to play cards or drink wine or both. Which was extremely irritating.
However, she only hesitated a moment. If she were going to get to the coast and back by tomorrow and achieve what she wished, she needed to go now. No one would be near the stables. The grooms would all be asleep.
Clutching her bundle, she flitted along the passage to the west staircase and hurried down to the side door. She slid back the bolts very gingerly in case they screeched. Fortunately, they didn’t, and she was able to close the door silently behind her and hurry through the night to the stables.
As she had hoped, they were in darkness, but the door to the stalls was not locked. The horses shifted and snorted when she entered, but otherwise were undisturbed by her presence. She had to risk lighting the lantern, which she found in its usual place on the right-hand shelf, with the flint helpfully beside it.
By its light, she found Martha’s second-best mount and led it from its stall. It came willingly enough and allowed her to saddle and bridle it. Then she stuffed the women’s clothing from her bundle into saddlebags and added the pistol she had stolen from Calvert’s study. With difficulty, she managed to strap on the lantern, too, for she didn’t want to miss her way in the dark.
