But she forced herself to sit quietly, forced herself to tear her eyes away from his before he could read her secret there. “Thank you, milord,” she said. “It is only that - the audience, you see, has always been my friend. And now -” Another tremor sped through her body.
“You are freezing,” said the Earl calmly, his hands moving down to pull her erect. Then, before she knew what had happened, his arms had closed around her and she had the feeling of security she had so longed for. There in his arms all thoughts of mobs and fires vanished. Gradually she grew warmer and the trembling stopped.
And then Fancy grew aware that the arms around her had tightened and the heart under her ear was thudding heavily. If he should kiss her again - but then common sense came to her rescue. She could not marry him, she knew it. And it was dangerous to be so near him. Dangerous for them both, though he could not know it. Still, she could not bring herself to pull away. This was probably the last time she would feel his arms around her.
A sudden bustle was heard in the door-way and Ethel said, quite as calmly as though the whole room separated the two of them, “Here now, I’ve fixed you a nice pot of tea and here’s some of them macaroons that chef man made.”
The Earl removed his arms slowly, except for the hand that remained on her elbow to steady her. His face, as Fancy hazarded a quick glance at it, showed not the least embarrassment at being found in such a compromising position by a servant. “Thank you -”
“Ethel’s my name,” said that worthy, with a glance at Fancy that spoke volumes.
“Thank you, Ethel,” said the Earl, seemingly oblivious to the exchange between the women.
“We will now await the mob in comfort.”
Ethel nodded. “Ain’t no point in worrying about trouble you ain’t got yet, I always says. Now, Miss Fancy, you drink up your tea. That’ll keep you good and warm.” And with a sly smile, Ethel departed.
Fancy settled again into her chair. She wanted very much to steal a look at the Earl’s handsome face, but her courage failed her. If he ever suspected how much he affected her, he would probably use that power without compunction. And, much as one part of her longed to surrender to him, her pride would not permit such a thing. Such a surrender would only make him more arrogant and top-lofty than ever. And she would never consent to becoming such an abject creature.
The Earl poured the tea and offered her a cup. “Thank you,” murmured Fancy, keeping her eyes averted. She sipped the tea slowly, wishing that there was some way she could teach a man to love.
The minutes moved slowly and all was quiet. From time to time the Earl left the drawing room to check with Henry for the latest reports from the men he had posted down the street.
“You are very quiet tonight, he remarked on his return from one of these trips.
“I - I have little to say, “replied Fancy.
The Earl offered her the plate of macaroons, but she shook her head. “I am not hungry.”
“Have you been eating properly?” asked Morgane suddenly. “You are looking a little hagged.”
For some reason this roused Fancy when nothing else had. “I’ll thank you to remember,” she said tartly, “that in the normal course of events I am not accustomed to being rousted from my bed in the middle of the night to await the advent of a mob.”
Morgane nodded. “This has been a trying time for you, facing those hostile crowds night after night. It’s a strain on anyone, and especially on a woman.”
Fancy found herself bristling up again. “I’ll have you know I’m strong as a horse,” she declared hotly. “And I’m holding up just as well as any of the men.”
“Of course you are,” the Earl agreed in such a placating tone that Fancy glanced at him in surprise. “I am only saying that the whole business has put you under considerable tension.”
“Yes, it has.” Fancy found this gentle-voiced Earl even more frightening than the arrogant, supercilious one. This was the one who had tricked her into wearing the emeralds. Just because he sounded kind and friendly was no reason to believe him so. As he himself had admitted, he would use any means, any means at all, to achieve his ends.
Another long silence ensued in which Fancy sat staring at the fire and the Earl seemed lost in his thoughts. Then he raised his head and surveyed the room through half-closed eyes. “Yes, an admirable room,” he remarked. “Robert Adam had the knack for creating a room of beauty.”
Fancy nodded. “The other rooms are equally well done. My bedroom, for instance, has one end of an oval shape that I understand was one of Adam’s innovations. And, if I am correct, I believe that Angelica Kauffman did the small medallions in that ceiling.”
The Earl’s look of surprise turned to one of interest. “And what do you think of Adam’s mingling of Roman and Pompeian motifs?” he asked.
“I believe that it works quite well,” replied Fancy. And the next hours were spent in a spirited, but friendly, discussion of various aspects of Robert Adam’s work.
The rising sun peeping through the drawing-room curtains caused Fancy to exclaim in surprise. “We have sat up the whole night!”
“So we have,” replied the Earl nonchalantly. “And so I expect that the danger of violence from a mob being no longer an object for concern, I should make my way homeward before the neighbors -”
Suspicion entered Fancy’s mind with the ease of a practiced snake in Eden. “The neighbors! What will they think?”
Morgane shrugged. “They will think what they have been thinking for some time. We have already become an
on-dit.
This will only serve to confirm them in their beliefs.”
Fancy felt the irrational longing for his arms rising to choke her. And then pride came to her aid. He had said she would come willingly to his arms, but she would not surrender like that, especially now. She summoned her anger. “In the light of day I am not at all sure that the mob
ever
contemplated firing my house,” she said stiffly.
The Earl’s expression did not change, not by so much as the flick of an eyelash did he betray his anger, yet somehow Fancy was aware of it even before he spoke. “I realize that my word has little value to you,” he replied calmly. “But even I would not wish to frighten you with the idea of a mob in order to drive you into my arms. I wish your surrender to be a willing one. And I am a patient man.”
His eyes probed her, and Fancy, fearing to betray herself, looked away. “Well, you must admit that you warned me you would use any means. And - and I have seen you in action.”
The Earl nodded and prepared to leave. As he bent over her hand Fancy swallowed quickly. “I - I do want to thank you. After all,” she stammered on, “you did sit up all night. And - and you didn’t - that is -”
The Earl gave her a frosty glance. “I suppose you are referring to the fact that earlier this evening - or morning rather - I held you in my arms and did not attempt to make any advances to you.”
Fancy, coloring to her eyebrows, could only nod.
“That was obviously a deplorable neglect of opportunity,” he commented dryly. “Not at all what one would expect of a man of my blackened character.”
“Oh!” Fancy could find no adequate words with which to reply. “You are impossible!”
The Earl smiled cynically. “You are very beautiful when you are angry,” he said with amusement. “Perhaps most beautiful of all. But then, that may be because I most often see you in that condition.”
He released her hand and moved to the table to collect his pistols. “I think it safe to send your people to bed now,” he said briskly. “No mob is going to fire a house in broad daylight.”
Fancy rose to her feet. “Thank you,” she repeated, compelled by some demon to raise her eyes to his. What she saw there was raw desire, desire so strong that it quite took her breath away. And then the Earl’s eyes grew veiled.
“Just to keep things clear between us,” he drawled, in his most affected tones, “I believe I should remind you that our houses are wall-to-wall. Even if I had no other interest in you whatsoever, it would behoove me to keep your house from being put to the torch, since mine would be quite likely to go with it. And now -” His eyes sweeping over her cynically recalled to her the fact that she was still in her nightdress and dressing gown. “Now I suggest you return those pretty curls to your nightcap and get some sleep. I prefer that my women be fresh and clear-eyed.”
And with a low chuckle the Earl departed, a pistol in each hand, and left a bemused Fancy staring into space. It was thus that Ethel found her some time later and took her up the stairs to bed. But even then, with the curtains drawn tight to keep out the rising sun, sleep was a long time coming to Fancy Harper. Each word, each expression, must be relived, not once but many times. But always she came back to the same bitter realization. She could not marry a man who did not know how to love.
Chapter Fifteen
The cold December days passed slowly for Fancy, there was always in the back of her mind that intense yearning for the sight of Morgane. And then, on December 14, Kemble assembled the players to announce that the rioting was over. The proprietors would capitulate to the demands of the crowd - reduce the prices and remove the extra boxes that had helped to cause so much furor.
As though touched by some magic wand, the audience became its old self and the rapport between player and crowd was reestablished. At first it seemed funny to Fancy that her lines could now be heard, but soon she began to forget the tensions of the past days.
But she could not forget the Earl of Morgane. Of course, she never looked at the audience while she was playing, but, when she was not on stage, it was her habitual practice to stand in the wings watching the performance. From this vantage point she also had a good view of the boxes, including the one that held the Earl of Morgane. But now he changed his habits and appeared in his box only when a new play was beginning its run. Some demon in Fancy’s heart tormented her with conjectures as to the cause of the Earl’s change of habit. Could it be at all possible that he had occupied that box night after night in order to insure
her
safety?
When she considered the soft-spoken, gentle man who had been her companion to the opera, it seemed entirely possible. But when she considered the disdainful, lofty man who had sworn he always got what he wanted, it seemed highly unlikely. And yet, he had been there every night when danger threatened her. And now that the danger was gone he was not there. Finally Fancy told herself angrily that if he
had
been there to protect her it was only because he regarded her as a piece of property that would some day be his. And she would never consent to being regarded in such a light.
So more days passed and Fancy, regarding her face in the cheval glass, frowned angrily. She was getting definitely hagged. Even her gowns were beginning to hang on her.
“How long are you going on like this?” demanded Ethel brusquely.
Fancy flushed. “Like what?”
Ethel shook her head. “Ain’t no use you trying to bamboozle me. I seen the way you look at him.”
“Ethel, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I’m talking ‘bout the Earl of Morgane, that’s what I’m talking ‘bout. And you eating your heart out for him.”
“Ethel! I’m not. I couldn’t care less -”
Ethel shook her head. “You listen to me, Miss Fancy Harper. You ain’t fooling me one little bit. I guess I know what love’s about as well as the next one.”
“I’m not-”
“Oh, yes, you are. Always mooning around here, heaving them big sighs and looking like some actress in a Cheltenham tragedy.”
“Oh, Ethel!” Suddenly Fancy found the words pouring out. “He offered to marry me, but it was a mistake, a spur of the moment thing to convince York.”
Ethel interrupted this explanation with a snort. “That there Earl never did nothing on the spur of the moment. He’s a cool one, he is. And if he offered you marriage, it’s Carlton House to a china orange, that’s exactly what he
meant
to do.”
“But Ethel, why?”
Ethel shook her head. “You surely ain’t got much woman sense. He wants you, that Earl does. He wants you bad.”
“But marriage?”
Ethel shrugged. “That Earl ain’t no ordinary lord, he ain’t. You can be certain sure he knows
exactly
what he’s doing.”
“Oh, Ethel,” wailed Fancy. “What shall I do? He doesn’t love me.”
“He wants you,” replied Ethel with quiet common sense. “Many a marriage - and good ‘uns, too - been built on that.”
“But he doesn’t know how to love. He doesn’t even value love.”
Ethel smiled dourly. “Many a man’s been in love afore he knew it. And I wouldn’t be all so sure about that Earl. Happen he might know a thing or two about love that
you
don’t.”
Fancy flushed again. “Ethel, don’t make fun of me. I need help.”
“What you need,” said Ethel firmly, “is the Earl of Morgane. And now I got to see to it that that Frenchman in the kitchen wrestles up something decent for dinner. Some sound English food as a person can recognize when he puts it in his jaws.” And Ethel marched out, leaving Fancy no closer to a solution than before.
“I do love him,” she told herself. “Though I can’t go tell him so. But I do need to see him.”
At the precise moment the door was pushed open by a great shaggy head and Hercules advanced cautiously into the room. He had not been the particular favorite of his mistress for some time now and so he was agreeably surprised that upon seeing him Fancy uttered a joyous exclamation, dropped to her knees, and threw her arms around him. Hercules, however, was not one to hold grudges, and he returned his embrace with a series of enthusiastic licks on whatever part of Fancy’s face was available to him.
“Oh, Hercules, you wonderful dog. Come, you’re going for a run.”
Halfway to the door Fancy stopped and returned to the mirror to scrutinize her face and run a brush through her curls. Then she hurried out again, Hercules close on her heels.
It was a matter of moments to dispatch each servant found near the front door on some fictitious errand and then Miss Fancy Harper quietly opened that door for a great shaggy dog who eagerly slipped out. Smiling happily, then, she retired to her sitting room to await results.