The Masquerade (21 page)

Lizzie started. “My lady,” she exclaimed, “before I left the county to live with my aunt, I used to help the sisters there every Tuesday.”

The countess’s eyes widened. “So we have something in common, then.”

Before she even realized her audacity, Lizzie cried eagerly. “May I join you? I would so love to continue my charity. I have missed the children! Is Beth still there? And what about Stephen? Oh, he must be so big by now!”

The countess was staring thoughtfully at her. “Beth was adopted last spring. Stephen’s father actually claimed him last winter.”

“That is wonderful news,” Lizzie said. She smiled at the countess, thrilled for the children.

“I should love for you to join me,” the countess said. “Why don’t we leave Ned with Rosie?”

He rode his black horse hard and fast, thundering over the fields at a gallop, and only slowed to take a stone wall at a more controlled speed. Tyrell urged his stallion to a faster pace and rode like a bat from hell back to Adare.

He dismounted in front of the stables, the stallion blowing hard. The head groom, Ralph, took the black from Ty’s hands, his gaze openly disapproving.

Tyrell wiped his brow with the sleeve of his hunt coat. “Have him walked until he cools down. Then give him a good bran mash,” he said, suddenly angry with himself for riding his favorite horse so hard.

“You’re lucky he didn’t break his leg in a gopher’s hole,” Ralph said flatly. “And a fine horse like this, too.”

Tyrell stroked the horse’s sweaty neck. What was wrong with him, to take out his frustration on the stud? He gave the horse a solid pat, and the horse, half Arab and bred for endurance, blew at him, telling him he was ready for more. “We’ll rest him for a few days,” Ty said, knowing damn well what his problem was.

“Aye, sir,” Ralph said, leading the stallion away.

Tyrell wiped more sweat from his brow, trying very hard not to think about Elizabeth Fitzgerald and his own
behavior. He failed. He stalked into the house, entering from the back via a garden terrace and French doors. He went right to the salon used by the family, heading for the bar cart. As he was pouring a Scotch, Rex limped into the room. “Are you trying to kill yourself?” he asked. “Or are you trying to kill your best horse?”

Ty downed the entire glass, feeling it burn. Last night, he had blackmailed Elizabeth into staying with him. What kind of man had he become? “I should hope to kill myself before killing Safyr,” he said. He poured another drink. The worst part was, he hadn’t been able to stop himself—he hadn’t even wanted to. Even in the light of a new day, he did not want to retreat from his position. Instead, he thought to leave for Dublin sooner than planned.

“It’s noon,” Rex commented. “May I join you?”

Tyrell poured a second drink and handed it to his brother without answering. If he could not control his own behavior, he was no better than a puppet on
her
chain.

And what about his upcoming marriage? Clearly he was placing his relationship with his bride and her father in jeopardy.

“To the Harringtons,” Rex murmured wryly, interrupting his thoughts. “To the beautiful Lady Blanche.”

Instantly Tyrell’s tension flared. He lifted his glass in a salute and took another swallow. Rex sipped his own drink, studied his brother and then said, “It is a good match in every possible way. I’m certain that you know it.”

“Yes, it is, I am ecstatic.” As soon as he spoke, he realized he sounded annoyed.

And Rex did not miss a thing. “Really? You don’t appear ecstatic. You appear vastly irritated.”

Tyrell faced him. “I am hardly irritated.” He rearranged his face into a smile.

Rex sipped his drink for a moment. “Don’t bother, Ty. I have known you my entire life, and I know when you are utterly out of sorts. After all, you are rarely in a foul humor. Until these past few days,” he added.

“You needn’t bother being diplomatic. Go ahead, say it. My behavior is unacceptable. I am keeping a mistress under the same roof with my fiancée!”

“I clearly need not say anything, as you are well aware of what you are doing.”

Tyrell cursed.

“You need to be more careful,” Rex said abruptly. His tone firm, he added, “At least pretend to be pleased with your fiancée.”

“I am pleased.” He knew he was simply saying the words.

“Then maybe you should hold her hand and smile at her, once or twice?”

Tyrell gave him a dark look. “I admit I was slightly preoccupied last night.”

“You royally angered Harrington. I heard Father defending your inattentiveness, Ty. For God’s sake, even Eleanor asked if you were ill!” he said, referring to their younger sister. “Your mood was black. This is not like you.”

“I had other matters on my mind,” he finally said.

“And what other matters are more important than securing the future of your heirs—and mine, Cliff’s and Eleanor’s?” he demanded.

Rex was right. Nothing was more important than this marriage, and he needed to begin to behave as if that were the case. But he was not prepared to give Elizabeth Fitzgerald up.

“She is not what I expected,” Rex said far too seriously.

Tyrell knew instinctively that Rex did not refer to
Blanche. He slowly met his brother’s gaze. It was piercing. He hesitated, recalling her soft and vulnerable gray eyes. “She is not what I was expecting, either,” he heard himself say. And suddenly he recalled the moment, almost two years ago, when he had saved her from being run down by a carriage. He had acted on reflex, lunging to seize her from harm’s way, and then he had found himself kneeling in the mud, holding the most beautiful and tempting woman he had ever beheld. Had he been kicked in the chest by a horse, it could not have been more stunning.

“Why are you smiling? I am speaking about your mistress, Miss Fitzgerald.”

Slowly he returned to Rex and he set his glass down, shaken. As slowly, he said, “I will hardly have an affair under my father’s roof with my fiancée and her family in residence.”

Rex gave him a mocking smile. “It was wise to restrain yourself. But do not think to dupe me. It is obvious that if she isn’t your mistress now, it is what you soon intend.”

Tyrell sighed. “Will you also lecture me on the consequences of having an affair?”

“No, I won’t, because I know you will not listen and you will not be the first man to keep a lover. Besides, sooner or later you will get her out of your mind…won’t you?”

“I certainly hope so!” Tyrell erupted. “Do you think I am unaware of the ramifications of my behavior? I never intended to be disloyal in my own marriage, Rex. I always assumed my wife would be more than a wife, but even a friend and a lover.”

Rex was clearly surprised. “There is no reason that Blanche cannot be a friend and a lover, but it seems to me that you are already planning on being unfaithful to her after you have taken your vows.”

“I’m not even interested in taking her to bed, so how can I be faithful to her after we are wed?” Tyrell exclaimed.

Rex limped over to him and laid his hand on his shoulder. “Look, it hardly matters if you are faithful or not, as few men are. You need only be kind, respectful and discreet.”

“Of course,” Tyrell said, walking away from his brother. He sat down on the sofa in disgust. He’d always assumed his wife would be kind, gracious and beautiful, that he would have both sons and daughters, and that his household would be an amiable and pleasant one. A mistress had never been a part of the scenario. Yet here he was, on the eve of his official engagement, thoroughly distracted with a love affair and incapable, it seemed, of controlling his own behavior.

“I found her to be very pleasant,” Rex said. “I was expecting a flamboyant beauty like Marie-Claire, your last mistress, or a scurvy fortune hunter. But there is nothing obvious or cunning about her. When we met, she had been in the kitchens baking tarts with your son. She was covered in flour, chocolate and what I suspect to have been some kind of fruit juice. She was not bold at all. In fact, she seemed very shy and somewhat frightened of me. She is clearly not one’s average mistress.”

Tyrell stared at his brother, not hearing that last statement. She had been
baking
in the
kitchens?
“Are you certain?” The image of Elizabeth baking in the kitchens chased itself back and forth in his mind. Suddenly, he wanted Rex to be right.

Rex began to smile. “Yes, I am certain she was baking. I actually made a few inquiries. The entire kitchen staff is taken with her. Mother likes her, too.”

Tyrell reminded himself to be careful of the pleasure trying to grow within him. “You sound as if you are an admirer, as well.”

“Perhaps I am—cautiously so.”

“You do know that she came here thinking to trap me into marriage?”

Rex sighed. “Yes, of course, everyone knows. But I heard it was her parents’ agenda, not Miss Fitzgerald’s. Apparently her mother is known for being rather desperate to marry off her remaining two daughters.”

He wanted to believe that Elizabeth had been a victim of her parents’ scheme to trap him into marriage. Still, he was a very good judge of character. Elizabeth’s explanation for her ruse—that she did not want to marry Ned’s actual father—was a lie and he knew it. “It doesn’t matter anymore,” he said firmly. “What matters is that she is here.”

Rex’s brows arced high. “Really? You do mean that what matters is your son.”

“Of course,” Tyrell said, walking away so his brother might not guess that he was lying to him about Ned.

But Rex limped after him. “Ty, this is so odd!
You
have been acting oddly. Why aren’t you acting like a besotted father presented with his first child?”

Tyrell turned and managed to smile at him. “I need some time,” he said, “to adjust to these circumstances.”

“That is a lie,” Rex said. He touched his arm. “What is really wrong? Why are you so tense and at times even angry? Why are you failing in your duty to this family and your fiancée? Why did you ever approach such a genteel and well-bred young lady in the first place? And now you bring her here as your mistress? I am aware that she is the mother of your child, but come, Ty, she deserves a husband and a home of her own. I know you know that. What the hell is going on with you?”

Tyrell was suddenly furious. His brother was right on each and every point. “Clearly I have turned into a madman without one whit of common sense, one iota of
judgment and no care for family or duty,” he snapped. “Elizabeth should have thought of her future before she jumped into bed so quickly!”

Rex was not to be deterred. “The best thing for everyone would be for you to come to your senses and dote upon your fiancée. I cannot defend Miss Fitzgerald, but I like her very much. She deserves far more than you can give her.” Angrily, he limped toward the open door. He paused at the doorway. “And we deserve more, too, if you are to head this family.”

Tyrell did not hesitate. He threw his drink at the doorway his brother had just passed through. But Rex was gone and the glass landed harmlessly on the floor outside. He covered his face with his hands.

M
ary de Warenne walked into the huge library where she knew her husband would be poring over the estate ledgers or reading the
London Times.
She was deeply absorbed in thought, preoccupied with the character of Elizabeth Fitzgerald, and could not shake away the events of that day—or even of the first day that she had met her.

“Darling, you are back,” the earl said with a smile, standing. He walked out from behind his large desk to greet his wife with an embrace and a kiss. “I was hoping you would return soon.” His blue eyes sparkled. “I was thinking about taking a short rest before supper. Would you care to join me?”

Mary had loved her first husband very much, but she had been impossibly aware of Edward de Warenne even in those days of her marriage. When Gerald O’Neill had been murdered by British soldiers in a terrible rebellion at Wexford, Edward had come to her rescue. Within months they had married, and he had raised her two sons, Devlin and Sean, with his own three boys and daughter. Mary had fallen in love with Edward well before Gerald’s murder, never mind that they had never done more than exchange a pleasant greeting or a polite word. They had
been married sixteen years now; still, such an invitation normally elicited a quick response from her. They were both well into middle age, but nothing had really changed for them. It was a rare night that Mary did not fall asleep in Edward’s arms.

“Miss Fitzgerald accompanied me to the orphanage today, Edward,” she said somberly.

Edward’s smile vanished. “And?” he promptly asked.

Mary went to a large yellow chair and sat down. “She is very kind,” she said after a long moment.

Edward walked past her to the silver tray that sat on one counter of a huge bookcase. Choosing from several decanters, he poured both a sherry and a Scotch. He returned to his wife, sitting casually on a facing ottoman while handing her the glass of wine. “Are you certain she did not seek to impress you?”

“I am certain,” Mary said. “As it turns out, the nuns know her well. She has worked there with the children for years, until she became with child and went away. They were thrilled to see her. So were two of the children who were still there. She is as generous and loving to the orphans as she is with her own son.”

Edward drank. “I have already put a runner on her case, and her reputation has been flawless until now. In fact, it is exactly as her mother described—she has always been shy and reticent, a veritable wallflower, with not a single suitor to her name. Of course, that last lacking might be due to her tender age. She is universally liked, and she has been known to give away the very clothes on her back if some poor beggar crosses her path.”

“Oh, Edward! She is a sweet, kind young woman and she has been terribly wronged!”

Edward leapt to his feet. “What would you have me do? Should I break off Ty’s engagement? His son will
have more power and more wealth than any of the Desmond de Warennes!”

Mary stood, trembling. “But you are happy. You have not needed to sit at court, whispering into the ear of this or that member of the Privy Council, playing political dominoes with the Union’s other great families. We have had such a good life and I thank God every day for it. Does Tyrell truly need an alliance that will ensconce him in England far more firmly, politically and socially, than we have ever been?”

“Mary, what about our grandchildren? Times have changed, and they continue to change. This marriage will ensure the fortunes of the next generation. I know you are aware of that.”

“I am,” Mary whispered sadly.

“Do you want him to marry this young woman?” Edward was grim.

“I don’t know!” she cried truthfully. “But Tyrell is not a rake. I don’t believe his story—and I do not believe hers. I think they are both holding back some portion of the truth. How could Tyrell take such a girl to his bed? It’s practically impossible and I feel certain she did not seduce him.” Mary’s eyes filled with tears.

Edward sighed. “On that last point I agree. She is no seductress. And that is frankly why I am so confused.”

Mary went to him and wrapped her arms around him. “Are you really confused? Because today the answer became so very clear to me.”

He grimaced. “If you are going to tell me that he is in love with her, I don’t think I want to hear it.”

“There is no other possible explanation for his loss of control, for his flaunting of propriety. And we both saw them together the other day, when she first arrived here.”

Edward met her gaze. “Very well. I will confess that I have had these exact same thoughts. Mary, I want so much for my son—and even more for his sons. I want Ty’s children, and Rex’s, Cliff’s and Eleanor’s, to be secure. I don’t want them to ever have to worry about making a living!”

“But would it be so bad? Look at the fortune Devlin has made, and it seems to me that Cliff has acquired a few treasures on the Barbary Coast. I have confidence, Edward, in our children. I do not think they will ever starve.”

“We have just sold off Brentwood, our last English estate!” he exclaimed. “This marriage reestablishes our position in England. Mary…” He took her hands. “I want him to be happy—I want all our children to be happy—and I want them to be privileged. Do you recall Eleanor’s distress when she came home from Bath? As beautiful and wealthy as she is, she was still second-rate, an Irishwoman. I want my children to be treated as equals by every Englishman he or she encounters.”

Mary was silent for a moment. “No one knows better than I the powerlessness of being Irish,” she whispered, and they both knew she referred to when her first husband was killed and she was taken captive. “But I survived. We all survive such tyranny and bigotry, Edward. And I am not sure any of our children care about the respect of the English. We have raised five very strong young men and one strong and beautiful young woman,” she said with a smile.

Edward did not speak.

“Darling, Tyrell will never refuse to do his duty, we both know that. But if he marries Blanche and he is in love with Miss Fitzgerald, he will never be happy the way you wish for him to be.”

Edward could not bear the subject for another moment.
Unusually curt, he said, “Then we should pray that he is not in love with Miss Fitzgerald, now shouldn’t we?”

Mary flinched at his harsh tone. Wisely, she refused to respond.

At the unexpected sight of her parents’ carriage parked in the drive, Lizzie was apprehensive. She was eager to see her parents and Georgie, but there was simply no telling how Mama and Papa would behave.

“Miss Fitzgerald?” a manservant said. “Your sister, Miss Georgina Fitzgerald, is on the terrace outside of the Blue Room.”

Lizzie was thrilled. She ran through the house and then halted, turning back. “Where is the Blue Room?” she called excitedly.

“Your first left, madam, and then a right.” The servant hid a smile as he turned away.

Lizzie raced left and then right, and burst into a stunning blue salon with two fireplaces and a gold-and-white starburst on the ceiling. She began to run across it when she realized the room was occupied. She skidded to a stop.

Tyrell sat on the sofa, his legs crossed. His regard was piercing. “Where have you been?”

He was incredibly handsome, yet he looked disheveled and dangerously annoyed, like a sleeping lion just woken up. “I…er…your mother invited me to join her and we went to St. Mary’s together,” she said.

He slowly stood. He had shed his jacket and he wore a beautiful lawn shirt, trimmed with fine lace, nearly white doeskin breeches and his high black riding boots. “The countess invited you—or you finessed an invitation from her?”

Lizzie became alarmed. “You seem angry. I am sorry
about last night. I should have never spied upon Lady Blanche. But I did not finesse an invitation from your mother, my lord. She was kind enough to invite me to join her and we had a very pleasant afternoon.”

“And what about the child?”

Lizzie winced. Tyrell had never once called Ned his son. “He was with his nursemaid,” she said softly.

His gaze raked down the front of her bodice. “Where is your pelisse?”

Lizzie hesitated, her heart slamming. “I gave it to a poor child who did not seem properly clothed.”

He stared at her, long and hard.

Lizzie’s nervous anxiety increased. “Surely you do not object?”

He strode to her and Lizzie tensed. He loomed over her and kept his voice low. “You have charmed my brother, it seems, and the entire kitchen staff, and now you have charmed my mother. I dearly hope, Elizabeth, that this is
not
another ploy.”

“It’s not,” she gasped. “And I hardly think I have charmed anyone.”

His stare never wavered. “And now you play the modest one,” he said.

Lizzie could not comprehend his dark mood. Had he not enjoyed the ball last night? She hesitated, wondering if she dared bring the subject up. “I heard the ball was a huge success.”

He gave her an unreadable look. “Really? And who, pray tell, told you that bit of fluff?”

She had to know if something had gone amiss. “Was it not a pleasing evening, my lord?”

His look of exasperation increased. “No, it was not. It was a matter of duty, that is all.” Without pause, he said, “I am returning to my post in Dublin tomorrow.”

Lizzie had assumed they would not be leaving for a few days, at least. “Is there an emergency?” she asked, although she really wanted to know if she was going with him.

“No. In fact, I am not expected back for another week. However, I decided to return to Wicklowe tomorrow. You and the child will accompany me, as we have discussed.”

Lizzie could barely breathe. Tomorrow, she would become his mistress. In spite of all common sense and better judgment, excitement rippled through her, but so did a vast trepidation.

“I have already instructed Rosie to pack your belongings,” he said. He inclined his head. “I am sorry if it is inconvenient.” With that, he strode out.

Lizzie stared after him, covering her racing heart with one hand. She was relieved that he would take her and Ned with him, but his mood was daunting. Clearly something was amiss.

A form separated itself from the curtain by the terrace doors. Rex de Warenne looked at her, both dark brows lifted. “I have never seen such boorish manners in my life—not from Tyrell,” he said.

Lizzie cried out, aghast that he had been standing there by the terrace doors, listening, the entire time. Now he hobbled over to her, his gaze intent. “You manage yourself well. Most people, man or woman, would turn tail and run when faced with my brother’s displeasure.”

“Had I a choice, I surely would have,” Lizzie somehow said. “But I rather think he needs to be stood up to.”

Rex studied her. “He called his own son
the child.
”

Lizzie was instantly overcome with nervous anxiety. “I am sure it was a slip of the tongue.”

“One would think my brother would be thrilled to have an heir.”

“I am sure that he is.”

“Really? He is thrilled that you have presented him with his son. Hence his lack of manners and his black temper.”

“I should pack,” Lizzie began, hoping to escape.

But he stepped slightly to the side, barring the way to the door. “You do not have to stay with him and bear his rudeness. You could return to your home.”

“I would never leave my son!” Lizzie exclaimed.

“And Tyrell? You will suffer his attentions for the sake of the child?”

She hesitated, and finally looked Rex right in the eye. “At times he does frighten me, but I know he is kind and that his heart is good. I have upset his life. I do not blame him for any anger. He did not ask for this—for me, for Ned—on the eve of his marriage. This is an inopportune time,” she said, “and I am sorry for it. I am very sorry to cause Tyrell any distress.”

Rex stared. He finally nodded, and then he smiled at her. “Shall I box his ears and remind him that he must be a gentleman, no matter the provocation?”

Lizzie began to smile in return, relieved the worst was over. “I should love for you to box his ears, but I do not think he will listen.”

“For the moment, I think you are right.” His smile vanished. “I have never seen him so conflicted or so torn.”

“I do not understand.”

“I didn’t think you would. Knowing Ty as I do, I am sure he would not reveal his real feelings to you.”

Lizzie had to know what Rex meant. “What feelings?”

“He is failing his duty, Miss Fitzgerald. Surely you know that. And I believe he is morally failing himself.”

Lizzie froze. “I am hardly his first mistress.”

“No, you are not. But he has never been engaged before. Do you love him?”

Lizzie’s heart lurched. She did not know how to answer and she slowly looked at him.

He was grim. “I think I can see the answer in your eyes, Miss Fitzgerald.”

Lizzie made no attempt at debate.

“I should like to give you some advice.”

Lizzie knew she did not want to hear it. “If you must.”

“Passions are running far too high for you both. I predict no good can come of this arrangement.”

Lizzie sank into a chair. She knew in her heart that Rex was right.

“I know this is not my place. But I care deeply about my brother. He cannot give you what you deserve, Miss Fitzgerald, not ever.”

Lizzie met his gaze. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Come! We both know you are no harlot. We both know that this arrangement does not suit you. Tyrell must marry Lady Blanche. He will never fail his family, Miss Fitzgerald, no matter how high his passions run. You should leave him,” Rex said bluntly. “Sooner is far better than later.”

Lizzie cried out, closing her eyes, knowing he was right.

And with that, he limped out.

Then her sister’s soft voice drifted to her from the terrace outdoors. She had forgotten Georgie! She rubbed her throbbing temples, gathering her composure about her like a cloak. It did not matter what Rex thought, for Tyrell would not let her leave. She then got up and went out onto the terrace. There, Georgie sat sipping tea.

“Lizzie!” The two sisters embraced. “Are you all right?” Georgie asked.