The Magnificent Masquerade Part 10

"I know," she said, making a little moue. "Drop me down the coal chute with the rats." She gave him another quick curtsey. "Good day, my lord."

He watched her hurry off down the hall, the red-gold braid flapping against her back. She seemed to him to be an utterly delicious, charming creature, and he hated having had to take an avuncular tone with her. He was struck with an overwhelming desire to say something to her to soften the severity of the scolding he'd just delivered. "Emily," he called, striding after her, "one thing more."

"Yes, my lord?"

"Don't be too upset about the footman pinching you. It's just that you're too delectable." He grinned down at her with what he hoped was an air of paternal fondness. "If I were the footman, I might very well have pinched you, too."

"If you had done the pinching, my lord," she said, the saucy gleam returning to her eyes, "I might never have felt the urge to slap." And with a last laughing glint from her eyes, she scampered off.

He turned toward his office, smiling at the presumptuous daring of the girl. "The deuced little chit was flirting with me," he said to himself as he walked down the hall. "What a little vixen!"

It was too bad he hadn't met her at another time in another place. If he'd been younger ... if she'd been a d.u.c.h.ess ... He sighed. Life was only rarely structured as a man would like. If the world were a proper place, this little maidservant would have been born a d.u.c.h.ess. She was perfect for the role. In fact, in a more logical world, she would have been Birkinshaw's 'wild, trouble-making minx' of a daughter, and the daughter would have been the abigail. The little maidservant fit Birkinshaw's description much more closely than her mistress. One could much more easily imagine her stealing her mother's emerald brooch or riding her father's stallion across Hyde Park than the quiet girl whose spirit only seemed to come alive at the piano. If anyone was a wild, trouble-making minx it was...

Greg Edgerton stopped in his tracks as the truth burst on him like a lightning bolt. Of course! It would explain every inconsistency! Everything about Miss Jessup that had been troubling him, and everything about the saucy little abigail that was incongruous, could be made logical by a very simple adjustment: one needed only to switch their ident.i.ties. If Emily Pratt was really the Birkinshaw chit, and the quiet Miss Jessup was really Emily Pratt, then everything that had been happening since they arrived would make more sense. That was it, of course! He didn't know why the minx had done it, but he suddenly knew, as surely as he knew his own name, that the abigail was Kitty Jessup! The mischief-making minx and her abigail had traded places!

Chapter Seventeen.

Greg Edgerton had been fatherless since the age of fourteen and had, by this time, become accustomed to taking charge of all matters in his household. When decisions had to be made, everyone in the family deferred to him. When something was amiss, it was left to Greg to set to rights; when something was confused, it was left to Greg to straighten out. Setting things to rights and straightening things out had become a habit with him. Therefore his first reaction to the confusion of the Jessup affair was that it was up to him to set the matter straight. But a second reaction quickly followed. Why not let Toby straighten out this coil himself? He thought. It was just the sort of prank Toby might have devised if he'd been in the girl's place. Toby would undoubtedly take devilish delight in setting the matter to rights. Greg had no doubt that Toby would be greatly relieved to learn that his betrothed was indeed the wild-spirited girl she was reputed to be. And in the process of setting matters to rights, Toby and his bride-to-be would develop a bit of intimacy that would scarcely have been possible if they'd met in the ordinary way. Developing a feeling of intimacy with that roguish little imp would be a most delightful experience for his brother. Greg almost envied him. Dash it all, he thought, I do envy him!

Perhaps it was this feeling of envy that caused Greg to hesitate. Although he didn't know why, he found himself unwilling to reveal the truth to his brother just yet. Before he embarked on this course of action, he needed to give the matter some additional thought. For one thing, he was peculiarly reluctant to give the girl away. He was enjoying the feeling of being the only one in the household (besides the false Miss Jessup and the true one) to know the truth. And for another thing, he wasn't certain why Miss Jessup had embarked on this deception. He would certainly like to know what her intention was. Perhaps it would be wise to defer any action until he discovered just what her motive was. No, he concluded, I won't tell Toby just yet.

The most obvious motive for Kitty Jessup's masquerade, he reasoned, was that she wanted to look Toby over carefully before committing herself to the betrothal. If that was her reason, perhaps he should give her that opportunity. The chit had gone to a great deal of trouble to contrive this scheme. Why not watch and wait ... and see how it would turn out? If in the end she decided she liked Toby well enough to submit to the betrothal, Greg couldn't help wondering how the minx would go about revealing her true ident.i.ty. And conversely, what would she do to extricate herself from this coil if she decided that she disliked him? Greg found himself greatly fascinated by the possibilities, and he decided that he would not cheat himself of this delicious opportunity to watch the developments from the vantage point of his new awareness.

The next couple of days proved disappointing to him. He saw nothing of the real Kitty at all. Naismith was evidently keeping a close watch on the girl and occupying her with so many tasks belowstairs that she had few opportunities to show her face in those areas of the manor where Greg might come upon her. For the first time in the two decades that Naismith had been in the family's employ, Greg found himself wondering if the butler might be too severe with his staff. If he didn't catch a glimpse of the mischievous abigail soon, he'd be forced to ask Naismith the whereabouts of the dungeon in which he was hiding her.

Meanwhile, however, other household matters were beginning to come to Greg's notice. One was that his sister was leaving her bed and coming downstairs with surprising frequency. During these appearances, Alicia's conversation was remarkable for its lack of complaints and its diminis.h.i.+ng reliance on descriptions of symptoms. At tea, especially when Dr.Randolph was present, it struck Greg that his sister was looking almost pretty!

A second matter that caught Greg's attention was his brother's att.i.tude toward Miss Jessup-the false Miss Jessup, as Greg now thought of her. Though Toby still teased the girl unmercifully, his taunts were far less cruel than they'd been at first. In fact, they often seemed to Greg to be more flirtatious than unkind, but the girl didn't seem to find them so, for she often paled and turned tearful when he twitted her. Greg was sorry to see her so upset. She was a lovely creature who didn't deserve to be made unhappy.

The sham Miss Jessup was evidently exerting a beneficial effect on all of them. Alicia hinted that it was Miss Jessup who'd instigated the change in her "condition," Mama was charmingly animated in her company, and Toby seemed to be much less bored by being at home than was usual for him. In addition, the girl's evening performances on the piano were a rare treat for them all. Even Toby began to sit still for them and to watch her with astonis.h.i.+ng attention. Greg couldn't help wondering where the real Miss Jessup had found her and how she'd convinced so upright a young lady to partic.i.p.ate in this deception.

Emily, having no idea that Lord Edgerton was observing her with new eyes, was conscious only of her increasing discomfort whenever Toby was present. Every time he came into a room in which she sat, she felt herself tremble. If he said something to her unexpectedly, she jumped. She didn't know why he had so devastating an effect on her. A little scene that had occurred the previous afternoon was typical: Toby had been bound indoors by rain for the third day in a row and, having discovered her sitting on the window seat in the Blue Saloon staring mournfully out at the leaden sky, had asked her (in a tone she interpreted as bored desperation) to play a game of skittles with him. "It will help pa.s.s away a few hours," he said, shrugging.

Emily was not flattered by the implication that he was seeking her companions.h.i.+p as a last resort. "Isn't that a child's game?" she asked in her most superior manner, intending to give him a proper set-down. "One would think that at your advanced age you'd have outgrown your interest in it."

"Yes, one would, wouldn't one?" he replied lightly, ignoring the insult and fondly tweaking a curl of her hair. "But you know I'm just a boy at heart."

"Yes, that's quite true." She brushed his hand away. "A boy of not more than twelve."

"If I were a boy of twelve, you'd not refuse me, would you? I'd go bail you're the sort who's invariably kind to dumb animals and helpless children."

"You sir, are far from helpless, even if your mental age is no more than twelve." She rose regally. "But, since I am a kind sort, I'll agree to play skittles with you for a bit." Chuckling triumphantly, he led her to a large billiard room in the west wing of the house. The room, which had been Toby's playroom in his childhood, was now rarely used. Emily had never seen it before. She stopped in the doorway and looked about her with interest. There was a billiard table in the far comer, a huge toy chest under the windows, and a structure of climbing bars and ropes against the wall to the right of the doorway where she stood. But what caught her eye at once was a rocking horse standing in lonely splendor in a dark corner. Never in her life had she seen so beautiful a plaything.

While Toby went promptly to the toy chest to remove the nine pins and wooden b.a.l.l.s that the game of skittles required, Emily crossed the room to the rocking horse and gazed at it admiringly. It had evidently been carved by a true artist, for everything from the flare of the nostrils to the arch of the braided tail had been shaped with loving care. Even the colors of the paint-the dark red of the horse's coat, the rich black of the mane, and the blues. greens, and gilts of his saddle and appurtenances- managed to exude a magical glow despite the fading caused by the dust of years. "Oh!" Emily breathed. "How lovely he is!"

"Lovely?" Toby, kneeling on the floor near the windows where he was setting up the nine pins for the game, looked up in surprise. "It's only my old rocking horse. One would think you'd never seen one before."

"Not one as beautiful as this."

He got up and went to her side. "Good G.o.d, girl, you look positively wistful. Do you want to ride him?" She smiled and shook her head. "No, of course not. I was only thinking how much my little ... that is, how the little girls of Miss Marchmont's lower school would love a play thing like this."

"Then let's send it to them. I'll have Naismith see to it." Emily gasped. "Oh, no! I didn't mean-! I couldn't let you give it away. You should keep it for your own children ... the ones you'll have some day."

He grinned down at her. "You mean our children, don't you?"

She felt her heart give a sudden thump. "I don't mean anything of the sort," she answered, turning a deep red.

His smile broadened as he took her arm to lead her to the skittle alley he'd set up. "Don't trouble yourself about it, my dear. I'll send the horse to your Miss Marchmont, and when we have our first child, I'll have a new rocking horse made so magnificent that it will put this one to shame."

"I wish you would stop talking fustian," she murmured, putting a hand to her burning cheek.

It was not until after she'd beaten him soundly at skittles that the color in her face returned to its normal pink. Later, when she learned from the butler that the horse had been sent to the Marchmont Academy that very afternoon, she was almost moved to tears. And, as additional evidence of Toby's devastating effect on her, the recollection of his words, "when we have our first child," kept echoing in her ears through half that night.

Fortunately, the next day dawned bright and sunny. Everyone in the household was cheered by the change in the weather. Edgerton set out early to supervise the renewed work on the dairy farm. Lady Edith took a stroll through the gardens. Alicia permitted Miss Leac.o.c.k to dress her in a becoming yellow morning gown and actually came down to breakfast. And Emily sat down at the piano and played with enthusiastic energy for two hours. When she finished, she turned on her seat to find Toby, in his riding clothes, sitting before the window watching her. "How long have you been listening this time?" she asked.

"Since you started."

"But that was two hours ago!" She narrowed her eyes in disbelief. "You couldn't have been sitting here for two hours."

"Oh, but I was. I've been waiting to ask you to ride with me, but I didn't want to interrupt."

"Then you've quite wasted your morning," Emily said with a touch of malicious satisfaction. "I've told you before I that I don't ride."

"Yes, so you said. But come anyway. I'll teach you. Every well-bred young lady should ride, you know."

She shook her head stubbornly. "I don't even have a riding costume."

"Shame on you, Miss Kitty Jessup. That really is a whisker."

"Are you calling me a liar?" Emily demanded, taking immediate offense again.

"I'm afraid I must. You see, I sought out your abigail and told her to get your riding clothes ready. She said she'd do so at once. So, miss, you obviously do have riding clothes." Emily colored. "You had no right-!"

"Please, Kitty, let's not quarrel. It's a lovely day for riding. Do go up and change. Your abigail's waiting to dress you right now. You may as well say yes, ma'am, for I don't intend to take no for an answer."

Emily hesitated and then shrugged in reluctant agreement. She had been wondering if she could endure spending the rest of the day wandering through the chilly rooms, all of which she'd explored many times already. This outing would at least bring some variety to her day. "Very well," she said, striding purposefully to the door, "but I warn you, Toby Wishart, that if you find me a bore in the drawing room, you'll find me much worse on a horse."

Kitty, while helping her into the riding dress, tried to allay her fears. "Sitting a horse is as easy as pie," she declared, "so long as you don't become tense. You mustn't allow the horse to sense that you're fearful."

"But I'm more than fearful," Emily a.s.serted. "I'm terrified!"

"There's absolutely no need to be. Just sit easily, hold the reins with a light hand, and keep the animal to an easy canter. Tell Toby you don't wish to gallop today."

"But even with an easy canter I could fall, could I not?"

"You won't fall. One isn't thrown by a horse that only ambles along. And if you should feel unsteady, just take one hand from the reins and grasp hold of the pommel. That'll make you feel secure, I promise you."

That advice, and the sight of her face under the charmingly feathered, tilted-brim riding cap, gave Emily the courage she needed. She joined Toby in the front hallway, and when she saw the appreciative gleam in his eyes at her appearance in riding garb, her confidence soared. She strolled out to the stables with him, feeling almost jaunty.

Toby, remembering his brother's claim that the girl was really a superb rider, chose a spirited mare for her. "You'll like Carlotta, Kitty. This black-coated charmer was named for her Spanish sire, Carlos El Maligno, an evil-hearted devil of an animal. She inherited his wonderfully springy step."

"I'd rather have a slug," Emily muttered, eyeing the dancing horse dubiously.

Toby laughed. "We don't own a slug, I'm afraid. You'll have to make do with this beauty."

He helped her up, and they set off down the bridle path at an easy gait. Emily felt a moment of terror at the unexpected height of the horse, but once she became accustomed to sitting so high above the ground she was able to relax. Carlotta seemed perfectly docile, and after a little while Emily decided that Kitty had been right; riding a horse was not so difficult. To her great surprise, Emily began to enjoy herself. It was lovely to be so comfortably seated in this gently rocking saddle, her skirts draped gracefully over the horse's side and her silk neckerchief whipping out behind her in the wind. She felt like a n.o.ble lady in an Arthurian romance, riding out in stately elegance toward some great adventure. She glanced over at Toby. He seemed so handsome and manly astride his*prancing steed that he fit perfectly into her imaginary romance. He was (at least momentarily) her Gawain, her gallant knight, a medieval hero ready to ride into danger at her behest or joust with a fierce foe for her honor. At that moment he met her eye.

Holding his prancing gelding in tight rein so that he could keep abreast of her, he threw her a warm smile, as if he knew -and shared-her secret thoughts and felt the same pleasure she was feeling.

A surge of joy swept through her at what she saw in his eyes, but she quickly looked away lest he see too much in hers. Instead, she drew in a quick breath and looked about her. The view from atop the mare was new to her and amazingly beautiful. The fields stretching out before her were rimed with frost and seemed to s.h.i.+mmer in the sunlight like a silver sea. The horses' breath turned to mist in the cold and rose up to blend with hers. The air was crisp and clear, tingling her cheeks and the tips of her ears, and the wind was just sharp enough to bring an effervescence to her blood. She'd had no idea, until this moment, that a ride on horseback could be like this.

But Toby, not really the gallant knight she was imagining him to be, was not the sort to endure a sedate amble for very long. "Let's race over that rise to the home woods," he suggested eagerly.

"No, thank you," Emily said, waking abruptly from her daydream, "I don't care to gallop today."

"Nonsense, my dear. This is a perfect day for racing. You needn't fear that I have too much advantage over you, you know. I've given you one of the fleetest animals in our stable.

And to prove that I'm more than fair, I'll allow you a fifty yard lead."

"But I told you, Toby, that I really don't ride." "You also told me you didn't have a riding costume. I don't know why you insist on telling me such rappers. I have it on excellent authority that you're a ripping horsewoman."

"It's not a rapper, Toby, I swear! This is the first time I ever-"

"Well, let's see about that, shall we?" Toby, with a roguish grin, lifted his riding crop and whipped it across the mare's flanks. Carlotta, daughter of Carlos El Maligno, s.h.i.+vered To life and set off in a headlong gallop across the field as if possessed of the evil spirit of her forebear. She disappeared over the rise in a trice, but not before Toby caught a glimpse of Emily's tenor-stricken face. Good G.o.d, he thought, his heart clenching in panic, have I made a terrible mistake? He spurred his mount instantly in pursuit, but he heard her scream before they'd gone a yard. He raced at breakneck speed across the field, but as soon as they flew over the rise, he saw the sight he'd been dreading and brought his horse up short. She lay face down on the ground before him, absolutely unmoving. "Oh, G.o.d," he moaned as he flung himself from his mount, "I've killed her. Dear G.o.d, don't let me have killed her!"

He knelt beside her, heart pounding and hands trembling. He stared at her for a moment, afraid to touch her. One of her arms was buried beneath her and the other was flung out over her head. Her hat was lying a few feet beyond her outstretched fingers, and her hair, which had been pinned into a neat bun, had loosened and fallen in a twisted rope over one shoulder.

Her silk scarf lay limply across her back, quivering in the wind. It was the only sign of movement he could detect. He bent over her. "Kitty?" he whispered into her ear. "Kitty?"

There was no response, but a little wisp of mist floated from her almost-buried nose. She was breathing! Gently he turned her over. She groaned softly but did not open her eyes. He lifted her head and shoulders from the ground, bracing her back with his arm and resting her head on his shoulder.

"Please, Kitty, say something," he pleaded. "Be the sweet little kitten that you are and tell me you're all right!" Her eyelids fluttered, and her eyes slowly opened. She focused her gaze on his face, but the expression in her eyes was vague and disoriented, as if she were deep in a dream. Then, to his astonishment, her lips curved in a slow smile and two lovely, vertical dimples appeared in her cheeks. She lifted one hand like a somnambulist to his face and traced the line of his jaw with one finger. "Gawain..." she breathed.

"Gawain? I ain't Gawain." He searched her face fearfully. "Who the devil's Gawain? Good G.o.d, the fall must've rattled your brains! Don't you know me, Kitty? Look at me, girl! Don't you recognize me at all!"

She blinked her eyes and groaned. The face of the handsome knight of her dreams was transforming itself into that of Toby Wishart, with his roguish eyes and self-indulgent, thicklipped mouth that had so often in the past few days mocked her unmercifully. But now those eyes looked painfully distracted and the mouth was twisted into an agonized grimace. She realized all at once that she was lying on the ground, that he was holding her in his arms, and that his distraction had something to do with her. Slowly, as if her brain were functioning under water, everything drifted back to her. The ride, the horse's sudden dash over the hill, the fall ... it was all returning to her consciousness. And she was becoming aware, too, of a painful throbbing in her forehead and excruciating soreness in various parts of her body. She wanted to close her eyes and sink back into the foggy nothingness from which his voice had roused her, but the agony in his face touched her and kept her from sinking into a swoon. "I know you, Toby," she managed to whisper.

He gave a convulsive shudder and clutched her to him. "Oh, you darling girl," he muttered into her neck, "you know me! Thank G.o.d!" And, in blessed relief, he lifted his head and kissed her with an intensity of feeling he didn't even know he possessed. He felt himself trembling all over. Never had he kissed a woman in quite this way. Was it relief, he wondered, that had set him shaking like a schoolboy, or was this something else?

Emily, bruised and shaken though she was, couldn't help noticing that this kiss of his was quite different from the last. When he'd kissed her in the drawing room, he'd, been very much in command of the situation. This time the arms with which he clutched her were quivering with an emotion over which he seemed to have no control. She, too, wondered if this reaction of his was merely relief that she hadn't been seriously injured or something much more significant. "Oh, Toby," she gasped, wide-eyed, when he released her, "what is it? Did I frighten you so dreadfully? There's no need to tremble so, really there isn't. I'm only bruised."

"Are you sure? Try to move your arms and legs." Without taking his supporting arm from her back, he got to his feet. "Here, let me help you up. Can you stand?" And with the greatest solicitude, he gently lifted her and set her feet on the ground.

She felt dizzy and sore but she was certain nothing was broken. "There. I'm standing. And I shall be able to walk back if you give me an arm. So you needn't look at me any longer with that stricken look."

"Do I look stricken? If I do, it's because this was all my fault. I thought ... Greg said he was certain you'd been riding since childhood. I don't know how he can have made such a mistake. But I'm not trying to place the blame on his shoulders. It is all mine. When you told me you didn't wish to gallop, I should've listened to you. I don't know how to apolo-"

"It's not necessary," Emily said, cutting him short. She realized all too well that her lie about her true ident.i.ty was more to blame for this accident than his whipping the horse.

"I forgive you"

"I don't know why you should," he muttered in self-reproach, abruptly lifting her up in his arms, "for I don't forgive myself."

"Heavens, Toby," she protested, "what are you doing? Put me down!"

"It's more than a mile to the manor house from here. The least I can do is carry you home." He s.h.i.+fted her higher upon his chest and started off. "After a fall like yours, you must be put to bed and checked by Dr. Randolph."

"But you can't carry me all that way. Please, Toby, I am quite well enough to-"

"Be still, woman, and don't be forever arguing with me. I can put my breath to better use than to banter with you, you know. You ain't a featherweight."

But in truth he was enjoying the weight of her in his arms. He was sorry, when they came to the door, that he had to put her down. It was only his concern for the whereabouts of the horses that made him release her on the doorstep. "Will you be able to manage the stairs on your own? If you can, I think I'd better get back and see if I can find the horses." "Yes, thank you, Toby, do go on. I shall be fine." He held the door for her and watched her pa.s.s him by. "Kitty?"

She turned back curiously. "Yes?"

"It's the most astounding pa.s.s. I never expected ... but I do believe ..." He threw her a sheepish grin. "What would you think if I told you I was falling in love with you?" She felt her heart give a little lurch in her chest. "In love with me? Are you, Toby?"

"I think so. Would it please you if I were?"

The look on his face was so surprisingly, sincerely, boyishly eager that it stirred her deeply. For a moment she forgot who she really was. "Yes. Oh, yes," she breathed, fixing her wide eyes on his face. But the truth of her deception was never far from her consciousness, and she immediately realized the necessity of retracting. She sighed a long, lingering sigh. "If only..."

"If only ... ?" he prodded.

She stared at him for a moment, longing to throw her arms about his neck. But she wasn't Kitty Jessup, and she had no right to let this scene go on. "If only I were ... someone else.

You mustn't let yourself fall in love with me, Toby. You mustn't!"

"Why not? Is it that you've fixed your affections on some other fellow?" His smile gave way to a sudden glower, and he strode into the Rotunda and grasped her hands. "Look at me, Kitty! Is it that Gawain fellow you named in your delirium? Is it he who stands between us?"

She gave a gurgling laugh that was half a sob. "Oh, Toby, you are a fool! Gawain was one of King Arthur's knights of the round table."

"Oh, is that who he was?" Toby, not a bit abashed at his ignorance, exhaled a relieved breath. "Well, I don't see why you should laugh. I told you I ain't bookish. But if this Gawain is only some dead fellow in a book who can't possibly be a rival, then I don't see why I mustn't fall in love with you."

"Take my word for it, Toby. You mustn't."

"But why?"

"Because," Emily said, dropping her eyes and slowly turning away, "I am the wrong girl for you. The very wrongest girl in all the world."