“Perhaps I ought,” agreed Fancy. “But happiness is not found in the marriage, but in the partner. And how can one be sure she has chosen wisely?”
“How indeed?” asked the Earl.
The coach now approached the King’s Theatre in the Haymarket and slowed down. From outside could be heard the sounds of hooves, rumbling wheels, and shouting coachmen, each intent on gaining way for
his
master.
“Before we arrive at the theater I have a request to make of you.”
Fancy was instantly on the alert. She may have let his gentle tone lull her into speaking honestly of her mama, but that did not mean that she had forgotten who he was! “What is it?”
The Earl chose to ignore the sharpness of the query and continued. “I have recently taken on approval a small set of emeralds. I should very much like to have you wear them this evening so I may observe their effect.”
For a moment Fancy considered. As he had asked, she had worn no jewels. And out there in the lamplight were descending many lords and ladies, each of whom glittered with diamonds and decorations. With emeralds at her throat and wrist, she would feel more able to hold her own. With emeralds she realized suddenly, she could take on the role of lady. And then no one could touch her.
It occurred to her to wonder for whom the emeralds were destined; perhaps Morgane was giving up the pursuit of her and had settled on some other inamorata. However, that seemed unlikely, though perhaps he had an old one that he was keeping in hiding. Well, thought Fancy, that was certainly no concern others. None at all.
She gave him a small smile. “I will wear the emeralds, milord.”
“Fine.” From beside him on the seat he drew a velvet-covered box. “If you will turn your back to me, I will adjust the neck-lace.”
Obediently Fancy turned. The jewels lay cold against her skin, but his fingers, as they touched the nape of her neck, were exceedingly warm. They seemed to linger there overlong and when, involuntarily, she made a small movement to escape them, he merely said, “Just a moment longer. The clasp is difficult in the darkness. There.”
As his fingers left her neck she swung back around to face him. “Can you manage the earrings?” he asked.
“Of course.” Quickly Fancy drew the wires through her ears. The earrings were long, she saw, long and narrow, and they sparkled in the lamplight. She had barely fastened them when the Earl was clasping something around her wrist. But there was little time to look.
The coach had halted and Morgane sprang out to help her down. For a moment she stood shivering on the pavement and then he was beside her, wrapping her more carefully in the cloak and guiding her toward the door.
The inside of the opera house was every bit as grand as the crowds entering it, but to Fancy it did not seem unusual. She was used to the grand insides of theaters. What was strange was to be on this side of the curtain, she thought. If she were at Covent Garden now, she would be in the dressing room, getting made up and costumed, her heart beating fast at the prospect of facing that howling, raging mob that served for an audience. Curiously Fancy looked down into the pit. Here dandies pranced back and forth with mincing steps, nodding to their acquaintances and ogling unknown ladies. There, others were busy cracking nuts or peeling oranges, cheerfully consigning the debris to the floor or just as cheerfully tossing it at a fellow swell.
With a great sigh of contentment Fancy leaned back in her seat. The whole world had not gone mad. It was only at Covent Garden that the crowd was vicious and angry. Here was the same spirit of camaraderie and fun that she had known at Bath.
“You sigh very deeply,” observed the Earl as his hands moved to adjust the shawl which he had carried in for her.
Fancy smiled. “It is like coming home,” she said. “This is the kind of audience I used to know. I had almost forgotten what it was like.”
The Earl smiled, too. “I am glad you are enjoying the evening.” His eyes lingered on her throat. “I must thank you for wearing the emeralds for me. Though they are so dimmed by your beauty that I doubt I can judge them adequately.”
Fancy flushed at this compliment given with great sincerity and lowered her eyes. They fell upon the bracelet clasped around her wrist and an exclamation of surprise escaped her lips. A small set of emeralds? The stones were very large and very lustrous and they were surrounded by what could only be diamonds. “Milord!” Fancy faltered, her other hand flying to her throat where the equivalent of a king’s ransom must be hanging.
“Yes?” The Earl’s eyes were full of laughter, but it was warm laughter.
“A
small
set of emeralds!” protested Fancy. “I - I cannot wear these. They are too fine.”
“Nothing is too fine for your beauty,” replied the Earl solemnly. “And the jeweler from whom I had them will be most disappointed if you remove them now.” He laid his gloved hand over hers as she strove unsuccessfully to undo the clasp of the bracelet. “You see, I promised him that they would be worn by the most beautiful woman in London - and I do not want to go back on my word.”
His hand still clasped hers and Fancy tried unsuccessfully to keep down the flood of color that rose to her cheeks. “You - you flatter me.”
Morgane shook his head. “You are wrong. Look across the way. See the box with the auburn-haired charmer?”
Fancy looked and nodded. The woman was indeed a beauty, dressed in off-white satin, her only adornment a pair of dangling ruby earrings. “She is very lovely,” whispered Fancy in awe, seeing the many
beau
x congregated around her.
“That is Harriette Wilson, London’s leading demi-rep,” said the Earl. “And any of those bucks clustering at her sides like so many bees around a flower would give half his estate to change places with me.”
Fancy colored up again. She could not be that beautiful. “You must be mistaken, milord,” she faltered.
Morgane shook his head. “I think not. Intermission will prove me right. This box will be swamped by bucks of every age and description, endeavoring to get close to my goddess in green.” And his eyes warmed in admiration of her.
Again Fancy felt that thrill go over her. Now it was crystal clear to her why the Earl could have any woman in London. “Milord,” she stammered. “You embarrass me with such praise.”
The Earl shrugged a nonchalant shoulder. “Over there, in the brown suit, the
beau
with the beaky nose, is Lord Petersham. He has been ogling you these ten minutes. To your right in the box with the blonde is Poodle Byng, so-called because of his curly locks. He, too, has been ogling.”
“And there is Colonel Mackinnon,” cried Fancy, quite forgetting herself.
The Earl eyed her sharply. “Have you met the Colonel?”
“Oh, no,” replied Fancy, gazing around her in admiration and quite impervious to the steely look that had crept into his eyes. “I saw him in the park the day -” She stopped suddenly, unsure how to avoid mentioning his friend.
The steel left the Earl’s eyes as quickly as it had come. “I collect that was when you went riding in Hyde Park with Castleford.”
Fancy turned startled eyes toward him. “How did you know that?”
Morgane chuckled. “The whole
ton
knew before the day was out. All the bucks were abuzz to discover who was the new charmer. But I knew. There could only be one woman as beautiful as those descriptions said.”
Fancy felt her color rising again. And when, in her confusion, she turned away to look out over the theater, she realized that she was being ogled by more than one pair of male eyes. In even greater confusion she turned back to the Earl. “Milord!”
Morgane’s hand reached out to cover hers in a gesture that was strangely comforting. “Play your part,” he whispered. “You are the most beautiful woman in England, wearing emeralds and diamonds to the value of £50,000. Now act it.”
For one short moment Fancy panicked. Fifty thousand pounds! The thought frightened her terribly. But then the rest of his words registered.
Of course, she could not remove the jewels and run away. Fancy Harper never backed down from a part. Never. Her shoulders straightened, her head went up, and to the Earl’s infinite amusement she stared down an upstart
beau
in a pink satin waistcoat with an
élan
that would have done credit to a duchess.
“You do the part well,” he whispered admiringly.
Nevertheless Fancy was exceedingly glad to find the curtain going up. It was going to be a real treat to hear the Catalani.
As the slight dark figure moved onto the stage Fancy leaned forward for a better look and then sighed. Angelica Catalan! had delicate black beauty. Jet eyes in a pale face were set off by masses of sable hair. No wonder all London lay at this woman’s feet.
“Oh!” breathed Fancy. “She is beautiful.”
The Earl nodded. “She is the toast of all London. A voice of great strength and sweetness.”
And then the orchestra began to play and Fancy was caught up and enchanted by the lovely lilting tones. It really didn’t matter a pin that she couldn’t understand a word of the songs nor a thing about what was supposed to be happening. The music was sheer bliss. She shut her eyes and let it carry her where it pleased.
So enthralled was she by the glorious sounds that when the curtain fell for intermission she was surprised to hear the Earl speak.
“And now you have heard the Catalani. What do you think?”
“Oh,” cried Fancy. “She sings as beautifully as she looks.”
The Earl raised an eyebrow. “Her
recitativo
is somewhat inexpressive and her
adagio
a little cold.”
Fancy stared at him in surprise. Was the Earl also a connoisseur of the opera? But before she could put this question to him he spoke again.
“There is time now for a promenade. Should you prefer that I depart for a while so as to leave more room for your admirers?” he asked gravely.
“Oh, no, please stay.” Without thinking, Fancy grasped his arm. She felt the muscles tighten under her fingers and for a moment she feared that she had offended him, but when she met his eyes he was smiling pleasantly. “That is,” she faltered, “I am much better at my roles if I have a good audience.”
Morgane’s smile deepened. “I also collect that your usual chaperone is not present.”
Fancy was bewildered. “My - chaperone?”
The Earl nodded. “A large hairy one, I believe.”
A giggle broke from Fancy’s throat. “Wouldn’t he look a little strange sitting here?”
Morgane chuckled. “He might even add a few howls to the chorus.”
The picture this gave rise to made Fancy laugh aloud and so it was that she did not realize that anyone had entered the box until someone spoke from behind her. “Morgane, you rascal. How did you achieve such a thing?”
Castleford came forward and from behind him poured a veritable deluge of
beaux
. Of all shapes and sizes, they crowded to the front of the box, kissed her gloved hand, made a few pleasantries, and at a look from the Earl departed to make room for more.
When the curtain rose again. Fancy had no idea at all how many had besieged her with compliments. And in the eyes of each she had read admiration and desire - and upon some occasions, fear. This last puzzled her considerably until she realized that Morgane stood beside her, scowling at any poor devil who had the temerity to stay overlong.
As the last of the
beaux
left the box, the Earl settled again into his seat. “Thank you, milord,” whispered Fancy, leaning close with a mischievous smile. “Though you are not large and shaggy, I believe you make an admirable chaperone.”
Something strange flickered in Morgane’s eyes, before a warm smile came to chase it away. “I am a jealous man,” he remarked with a twinkle. “And the fact is well known.”
It was not until she had turned back to the music that the full import of his words struck her. Then she saw the previous scene in a very different light. Morgane had stood by her side like - like she belonged to him, she admitted to herself. And all those
beaux
who had passed before her in homage obviously believed as much. Her hand stole unconsciously to her throat where the eyes of many men had lingered. Obviously, too, those men knew the value of the jewels. And they believed them to be the Earl’s gift to her. The price, she thought, bitterly, of her surrender!
Not even Catalani’s lovely voice could wipe out the rage that now invaded Fancy’s breast. He had tricked her! The Earl had tricked her into wearing his jewels. And no one would believe that he had merely loaned them. This evening had compromised her even more than their supposed late supper.
How she hated the man, she thought angrily. It had all been a trick. Even his charm and kindness. A terrible trick to get what he wanted. He would use any means, he had said, any means to attain his ends. Fancy straightened her shoulders under the shawl. The Earl must learn a lesson, she thought firmly. He must be taught that he could
not
have everything he wanted.
This decision helped to assuage her anger, but she found that her rage was replaced by sorrow. Those had been precious moments, those moments of quiet talk. And to find that it was all part of his deception was very painful.
Still, Fancy was an actress and she played her role well. It was not until he had handed her into the coach and settled beside her that she rounded on him in anger. “You are quite the most despicable creature on the face of this earth,” she cried.
The Earl seemed somewhat taken aback by this sudden tirade. “What, may I ask, has brought about this so sudden change?” he inquired dryly.
Fancy fumbled angrily at the jewels. “I have discovered the depths of your perfidy,” she cried hotly. “You have tricked me.”
“How so?” inquired the Earl.
“Those jewels,” Fancy cried. “Your friends think you have bought me with them. But they are mistaken.”
“Indeed, you wrong me,” said the Earl evenly. “I knew you would not keep them. Indeed, I did not even offer them to you. And I did take them on approval. They could be yours,
if
you wanted them. But I thought you would not. Let me undo them. I cannot return damaged merchandise.”