The Masked Heart

Chapter Two

Lord Andrew Farrington elected to walk home rather than endure the confinement of his carriage. The late March weather was warmer than usual, although there was a bite to the air that indicated spring was still only a promise not a reality. Drew walked with head bent, a look of discontent playing around his normally smiling lips. He strode along the cobblestones, his cloak bellying out in the wind and his stick swinging loosely at his side. After only one glance the denizens of the night shied away from accosting the young gentleman. There was an assurance in the man's bearing that suggested he would not be an easy mark.

"Damn!" He spat out the word and slashed impotently at the night air. He had rarely experienced such a frustrating evening. He had obviously been wasting his time in pursuing La Solitaire. The much sought after Maggie Mason had stared at the rose he had thrown at her feet as if it were the most contemptible of objects. She had glanced at him coldly with her golden eyes and then, as if to indicate how little she cared for his interest, had bestowed a breathtaking smile on the audience.

Another slash of his walking stick emphasized the anger he had bottled up since his abortive introduction to the tantalizing woman. Despite John Tibbles assurances, Drew realized he had done further damage to his suit by approaching her directly.

Drew did not understand what there was about the celebrated Maggie Mason that he found so compelling. Over the years, he had been aware of the rising popularity of the actress. Several times he had seen her on stage and thought she was beautiful, with her patrician features and her powdered white hair, but was not one of her slavish followers. At least not until four months ago.

Just before Christmas, he had gone to the Green Mews Theatre with a party and for the most part had been bored by the company. He had sat apart from the rest, his mind more involved with the play in progress than was usual. His eyes had been drawn to the white curls of La Solitaire and for once he focused his attention solely on her. During the first act, as a connoisseur of female beauty, he watched her with pleasure, admiring her exquisite features and lush body. By the second act, he had fallen under the spell of the woman. There was something in her voice and actions that suggested a depth of character that he had not expected. By the end of the third act, he was impatient for the next evening to begin so he might see her again.

Night after night, he returned to the Green Mews. Eventually he grew accustomed to her breathtaking beauty and began to observe the woman behind the characters she played. Watching La Solitaire, he caught hints of humor, intelligence and sensitivity that were in total contrast to the shallowness he had expected. She was not jaded or blowsy. She exuded an elegance and a curious innocence that intrigued him. As he sat in the comfortable darkness of the theatre, he became obsessed with the need to know more about the singular Maggie Mason.

To his chagrin, he discovered that there was little known about the woman outside of the theatre. No one of his acquaintance knew where she came from or where she lived now. It was said that an incredibly wealthy nobleman, in fact, was keeping her due to the mystery behind his identity, some had hinted that the man in question might even be Prinny himself. The latter at least, Drew discounted since he knew the man's tastes did not run to such youthful actresses.

The more elusive the woman became, the more she interested Drew. He did not really think beyond a light flirtation and he chaffed at the continued thwarting of his plans. He questioned his companions for someone who could introduce him but all to no avail. According to his friends, no one had gotten close enough to Maggie Mason to form an acquaintance.

Thus he began a campaign of his own. He sent an enormous basket of flowers only to discover that it had been distributed among the women in the chorus. He sent notes backstage but they were never acknowledged. He was amused by the standoffish behavior of the actress but, as she continued to ignore him, his determination grew. In a gesture guaranteed to win her attention, he bribed one of the stage attendants to place a diamond bracelet in her dressing room before her performance. He had arrived at the theatre before the raising of the curtain, confident in his ultimate success, only to find, on the seat of his solitary gilt chair, the unopened box.

Since well before he had reached his majority, Drew had become used to instant approval from females of all ages and classes. He knew he was well looking and, with his vast fortune, the majority of women he had met had fawned over his every presence. Why was Miss Maggie Mason so contrary?

Drew flung off his cloak as he took the stairs of his townhouse two at a time. The door opened under his hand, unlocked since he hated to alert the house of his comings and goings. Frosty's white head appeared like a spectre in the semi-darkness of the foyer as the impressively-bearded butler shuffled forward to take his things.

"I'll be in the library but I shall require nothing further," Drew mumbled as he crossed the marble foyer. "Good night, Frosty."

The old man observed the tightness around his master's mouth and refrained from informing him of the visitor who waited in the library. He would alert Mrs. Gladdie to prepare a room for milord's brother and then take himself off for a well-earned rest. "Night, milord."

Drew opened the door of the library and stopped on the threshold at the awareness of another presence. A figure rose from the chair beside the fireplace and a grin of delight erased the dark expression on his face.

"Robbie! Devil take it, man, but it's good to see you." Drew crossed the Aubusson carpet in long strides to clasp his brother's hand.

The two men exchanged greetings and then Drew pushed Robbie away in order to look more carefully at him. Although only five years separated the two, Drew felt all of his thirty years were evident beside the boyish appearance of his brother. Robbie's straight hair was a light brown and his eyes were the liquid brown of a young puppy. While Drew had the sleek look of a Corinthian, Robbie's shorter and stockier frame had the solid look of the landed gentry. All in all the lad looked well, Drew thought, indicating a chair.

"Why didn't you tell me you were coming to town? I should have been here to greet you."

"I didn't know, that is, it was sort of a spur of the moment decision," Robbie stammered. "I hope you don't mind."

"Mind?" Drew raised one eyebrow as he crossed to the sideboard. "It's about time you left the wilds of the country for a more civilized milieu. Brandy?"

"I've already made inroads on your supply." Robbie raised the snifter on the table beside him. "French?"

"Naturally. And before you lecture me about patriotism, be it known that before one had to revert to smuggled goods I had laid in a particularly heavy supply." Drew lifted his glass and inhaled the full bouquet before continuing. "I will be most grateful when that upstart Corsican is finally confined. The free flow of spirits is essential to the good nature of all citizens."

Drew brought the decanter with him and set it near at hand as he sat down across from his brother. He asked a question or two and listened as Robbie talked enthusiastically about the running of his estate. He took in the nervous gestures and the too-quick speech and wondered what was bothering the boy. He grimaced, realizing Robbie was no longer a young lad to be worried over. At twenty-five, he was a man and well able to manage his life without his older brother's interference.

Habit was hard to break. Drew's mother had died giving birth to Robbie, an unfortunate occurrence for which Drew's father Henry had never forgiven him. From the moment of his birth, Henry Farrington had ignored the boy. Robert was a sickly child, prone to frequent congestion of the lungs which for the most part kept him confined to the nursery. Drew had done his best to make up to his brother for his father's neglect and spent many hours entertaining him. In the instances he was able to lure Robbie out of doors, he had watched over him carefully, anxious that no injury or illness should befall him.

Despite his father's rejection, Robbie had developed a sunny disposition and, having seen little cruelty or abuse thanks to his brother's protection, had a thoroughly trusting nature. Drew was the cynical one, made so through bitter experience, while Robbie saw the world through a haze of goodness that endowed everyone with the finest motives and purest intentions.

It was amusing to see how the pale, weakling Robbie had grown up to be such a sturdy fellow. He was several inches shorter than Drew but built with the solidity and endurance of a thick oak tree. While Drew chose to travel extensively, Robbie had a real love of the land and preferred to remain at home. At an early age, the lad had shown a preference for Fairhaven, the estate willed to him by his grandmother.

Although periodically Drew had coaxed him up to London. He’d taken him around to his club, the storied Sweet’s, Almack’s and several seamier venues with the hope that a little town bronze would toughen him. Robbie, however, remained untouched by the seamier side of life. Noticing the harried look that clung to his brother, Drew wondered what bumblebath the boy had tumbled into. He sipped his brandy, knowing the news would eventually be forthcoming.

Under the steady gaze of his brother, Robbie ground to a halt. "I suppose the idea of crop rotation isn't of much interest."

"Faith, lad, you're well out there," Drew said, his voice a slow drawl. "When next I am asked to a social function, I am sure I shall dazzle my audience to have such gripping details to pass on. Did you come all this distance just to keep me epris of the newest agricultural advances?"

"Well, no," Robbie said, laughing nervously. "Not that it wouldn't be a bad idea for you to take a greater interest in your land. I have often told you, Drew, that your estate managers are not making decisions in either your best interests or the best interests of the land."

"Cut line, shaveling. As much as I am delighted with your precipitous visit, I suspect there is some purpose to your arrival on my doorstep. Out with it, lad, so I can seek my bed."

Robbie's mouth opened but no words issued forth. Drew found himself leaning forward in anticipation as his brother struggled to find his voice.

"I want to get married," he finally blurted out.

Drew did not even blink at the words which seemed to hang in the air between them but his eyes took on a frosty color. Robbie shifted uncomfortably under the fixated stare but, pluck to the bone, he held his ground.

"Perhaps you'd like to enlighten me on this matter," Drew said. "I was not aware that you had formed a tendre with any of the bucolic beauties in your vicinity."

Robbie winced under the sarcastic tone but refused to cry craven. "I'm sorry to spring this on you this way, Drew. It's not that I've been holding out on you. It's just that I wanted to be sure of my own feelings before I got your hopes up."

Since Drew had few hopes, he sighed. He heard the appeal in his brother's voice and could not doubt the sincerity of Robbie's affection. Perhaps it was not as bad as he suspected.

"Forgive me my jaded humor," Drew said by way of apology. "Why don't you tell me about the young lady. And then tell me what I may do to be of service since I assume that is why you have come up to London."

"You've caught me out there." Robbie laughed, much relieved at the softening of his brother's tone. "I do have a favor to ask but first let me tell you about Fleur."

"Fleur? French?"

"Her mother was French but Fleur was born here in England. And you will never believe my good fortune for she lives not twenty minutes from my estate," Robbie enthused. "I can't wait for you to meet her. She is unbelievably lovely. Tiny, blond and she has the most exquisite violet-colored eyes."

Drew groaned inwardly at the fatuous look on his brother's face. It was apparent that Robbie had seen little beyond the blond hair and violet eyes. He only hoped the chit was not some milkmaid. Or worse. "Has she family?"

"Yes. No."

"Well? Which is it?"

"Her parents are dead. Fleur told me it was a carriage accident six or seven years ago. Not titled but landed gentry. Fleur is being raised by her aunt who I gather is in rather ill health. I've met her brother and there's also a half-sister who is older and lives outside London taking care of an ailing relative."

"Sounds like the health of the family is rather precarious," Drew intoned.

"Not Fleur," Robbie defended. "She's in the very pink of health. We take long walks and she has excellent wind."

Drew snorted in disgust and took a restorative sip of brandy. "And what does her aunt think of your suit? Does she find it acceptable?"

"Well, there is a bit of a problem," Robbie began. "I have not had the opportunity to make my suit known."

Drew's brows lowered over his eyes at the hesitant tone of voice. Something definitely havey-cavey was afoot here. "You mean, you have not asked for the girl's hand? Ah, perhaps the aunt is not this Fleur's legal guardian. Is her guardian so intimidating that you wish me to make the offer in your behest?"

"No. Devil take it, Drew! I've never even spoken to the aunt." The words burst from Robbie and he slumped back in his chair under the baleful gaze of his older brother.

"Do you mean to tell me, Robbie, that you have been meeting this young person in some huggermugger fashion?"

At the condemnatory tone, Robbie sprang forward in his chair. "She is not a young person! She is a young lady and the woman I love. I know how this must sound but if you would hear me out I think you'll understand."

Drew stared at his brother who sat with elbows on his knees and hands clenched in a curiously touching manner. He sighed once more and nodded his head obligingly. "Forgive my shortness of temper. Tell me your story and I promise not to interrupt."

Robbie smiled gratefully and then launched into his story. "I first saw Fleur in the village. I cannot tell you how impressed I was with her grace and beauty. She was with her governess and a young boy whom I later discovered was her brother. I did not approach her but we did exchange smiles. A week later I saw her on the road to the west of Fairhaven. She had been out riding and was very properly accompanied by a groom. Her horse had taken a stone and I stopped to see if I could be of some assistance. As before, I was much struck by her. She has a sweet innocence and a gentleness of manner."

Robbie paused and from the glazed look in his eyes, Drew could tell that his brother was once more seeing blond curls and violet eyes.

"When I discovered that she lived so near to Fairhaven, I asked if I might call. She hesitated and then explained that her aunt was not well so that they were not receiving. Since, by then, her groom had taken out the stone and the horse did not turn up lame, I had no excuse to even accompany her home. But quite naturally, I could not leave it at that."

Robbie finished his brandy and placed the glass carefully back on the table. He looked across at Drew and was relieved to find his brother's austere features set in an encouraging expression.

"I asked various people in the county if they had acquaintance with the Meriweathers but no one did. It seems that when the aunt first had come to the area she had been less than sociable, so the family is little known. Fleur is only just eighteen and is not out in society. At any rate, I did understand the general vicinity of her daily rides and so over the next several weeks I was able to run into her quite by accident. Sometimes she was able to get away without her groom and we were able to meet in the old mill on the edge of the village which was a decided improvement since it has been extremely cold this winter."

The conniving chit had set her trap well to enmesh the trusting Robbie. First refusing to allow him to meet her obviously disreputable family and then by letting him know how he could find her. And finally meeting with him secretly. Was there ever such an innocent? Drew muttered. "How long has this been going on?"

"Three months."

"Good God, Robbie! Have you compromised the wench? Is that what this is all leading up to?"

"Devil take it, Drew!" Robbie rose to his feet with a roar. "Fleur is not that kind of a woman!"

"They are all that kind of woman," Drew answered cynically. Then he waved a hand at the red-faced man across from him. "Sit down. Sit down. If I have misread this situation, my apologies. But get to the point, lad, before I succumb from apoplexy. I will take your word for it that Fleur Meriweather is an innocent maiden. What then is the problem?"

Robbie resettled himself after refilling his snifter from the cutglass decanter. Color rode high on his cheeks but he was back in control as he continued. "We were forced to these clandestine meetings because the aunt was never well enough to receive guests and would not approve of Fleur having callers. The old woman keeps her close and does not permit her to go out in company. Neither one of us liked the idea of meeting secretly but we did enjoy each other's company. I will admit, to my shame, that at first I was only interested in a light flirtation but I soon realized that she was too fine a person for me to offer her such an insult. Little by little I discovered that I had quite lost my heart."

Drew suspected that unless he took a hand in the discussion he would be regaled once more with the wondrous charms of the lovely Fleur. Clearing his throat to gain his brother's attention, he asked, "And, Fleur? Is her heart also engaged?"

For the second time in their unusual interview, Drew saw a wave of distress cross his brother's features. When Robbie raised his eyes, he could see the uncertainty and confusion in his mind.

"No," Robbie finally answered. "I do not think that Fleur is in love with me."

"Good Lord, what have you two been doing for the last three months?" Drew hoped his horrified tone might lighten his brother's mood, but the man was oblivious to anything but the gravity of his situation.

"Talking."

"Talking?" Drew asked in disbelief.

"On my honor, that was all we did. I confess that at times I contemplated less innocent pursuits."

"Well, I should hope so!"

"It is very difficult to explain but I was afraid of frightening Fleur. She has never really met any other men and at this point I think she looks on me as just a good and kind friend. I have wanted to declare my feelings but I did not wish to take advantage of her youth and inexperience. Am I making myself clear?"

Drew was hard pressed not to shake his head in exasperation but instead just nodded encouragement for Robbie to continue.

"Well, once I had come to understand the strength of my feelings for Fleur, I felt it would be logical for me to make the acquaintance of her aunt. I would be able to ask her permission to call on her niece. It is my belief that, when I can call on her formally, Fleur will then begin to look on me in the role of both a friend and a suitor."

"I see," Drew said, although in many respects he was sure he would never understand. He waited for his brother to continue but when he didn't, Drew prodded gently. "Now, Robbie, where exactly do I come into this affair?"

"Well, it occurred to me that if you came for a visit I would have an excuse to have some sort of a party. When I mentioned my idea and the possibility of your visiting quite soon, Fleur became quite excited. It seems that her aunt has been getting steadily better and she might be strong enough to receive visitors. Fleur has high hopes that if we ask her she might accept an invitation to the party."

"An invitation is always a singular restorative to women," Drew stated, aware that his sarcasm was wasted on his besotted brother. "I suppose I could arrange my schedule to afford myself the dubious opportunity to visit Fairhaven. How long would I be required to rusticate?"

"A month?" At the raised eyebrows, Robbie improvised quickly. "Perhaps a week or two would do the trick. You always had a way of charming the old tabbies. I'm counting on you to convince Fleur's aunt that I would make an admirable match for her niece. Then all I need do is convince Fleur."

"All right, puppy," Drew agreed. "I may assume you will be leaving in the morning which if I recall correctly is Monday. I will follow in a more leisurely fashion, if that is suitable."

"Thank you, Drew."

There was such a wealth of honest feeling in the words that Drew felt slightly guilty at his own subterfuge. Although he fully intended to go to Fairhaven, it was not part of his plan to aid Robbie in his affair with the lovely Fleur. Quite to the contrary.

"Seek your bed, Robbie. You've a long ride tomorrow."

After an incoherent babble of appreciation, his brother left and Drew sank back down into the chair and stared glumly at the pattern on the carpet. He could see little hope of extracting Robbie from the relationship heart whole. He was not looking forward to the trip to Fairhaven, since he could already imagine what he would find.

Fleur Meriweather was no doubt a scheming minx with some beauty and no fortune. It would not have been difficult to discover that Robbie was an extremely wealthy man with a prosperous estate. He was also Drew's heir which was common knowledge. No matter the story she had spun for Robbie's benefit, no young lady of good reputation would agree to secret meetings with a man she considered merely a friend. She sounded like some clever adventuress set to dig her claws into his brother. Thank God that Robbie was gentleman enough not to have compromised the girl or there might be no way to free him from the chit's clutches.

He supposed there would be trouble with the girl's aunt. There was a bad odor to the story of the sickly woman. The sudden recovery at the word of a possible invitation sounded both miraculous and highly suspect. He had sensed some hesitation on Robbie's part at the mention of the old lady and he wondered what rumors were rampant in the neighborhood. He suspected that it would cost a pretty penny to convince the girl and her unhealthy aunt to look elsewhere for prey.

He stretched his legs out and yawned. He hated the thought of removing to Wiltshire. A more godforsaken place he had never seen and it was a constant amazement to him that Robbie seemed to thrive there. He supposed he might as well leave London. His pursuit of La Solitaire was hardly flourishing. The Green Mews Theatre would be closed for a month while they prepared to mount a new production. With luck he would return refreshed from the country and then he could apply all his energies to gaining the affection of the fair Maggie Mason. He could only hope she would miss his attention and soften her attitude by the time he sought her out again.





In the windowless room of a gaming hell in another part of town, the air was heavy and the candles flickered in the wall sconces. Talbott Stoddard glowered across the table at his companions. His long white fingers played with a pile of chips, clicking them together with annoying repetition. His pale blue eyes reflected his impatience at the continued conversation.

"Then after Tattersalls, I took him round to White’s," Sir Edgar Willoughby concluded, his voice a monotone of boredom as befitted those aspiring to the dandy set. The fact that he was well under the hatches contributed to a slight slurring of his words.

"Your hospitality has been superb, cuz, but I much preferred yesterday. Spent the evening at a private establishment," James Chittenden announced, snickering at the remembrance.

"You old dog, Willoughby," Chester Morrison cried. "Don't tell me you went off to Madame Farrageau's."

"Well, rather," Sir Edgar drawled. "The Madame has a magnificent little blond who looks all of ten and three but has the ingenuity of a much traveled wench. Startling cornflower eyes."

"Devil take it, Willoughby, are we here to play cards or to discuss the attributes of every tart in the vicinity of London?" Stoddard snarled.

"I say, old chap, no need to go all toffy-nosed, just because you've had little success with the entrancing Maggie Mason," Willoughby smirked. Drink had made him brave and he was unmindful of the deadly coldness that entered Stoddard's eyes.

Chittenden and Morrison eyed each other in dismay but made no attempt to turn the conversation. For all their apprehension, there was an edge of enjoyment in watching the rising anger of the blond nobleman. Over the years, Stoddard had made many enemies by his unwarranted arrogance and vicious competitiveness. Now the men waited to see if he would rise to the bait.

"I do not recall that I intimated my intentions to acquire La Solitaire. If I had, I assure you even now she would be panting beneath me and you, sir, would be grinding your teeth in envy." Stoddard flicked a hair from his dark blue sleeve of Bath superfine in a patent show of disinterest.

The youthful Willoughby was too deep in his cups to perceive the danger of twitting the man. "The betting book indicates that Lord Farrington will mount her before you ever leave the stalls," he said.

Stoddard slapped his beringed hand on the table. His pile of chips scattered with a tinkling sound that was loud in the silence that followed. "Perhaps you would care to test your knowledge against mine?" he said, his husky whisper more menacing than a shout.

Chittenden rushed into the conversation, knowing full well that, in his present ugly mood, the nobleman was looking for a fight. "Willoughby's foxed, milord. Just running off at the mouth. No reason the rest of us fellows need take offense." He kicked his cousin brutally beneath the table and vowed he would trounce the doltish youngster for daring to risk angering Stoddard to the point of a duel. "Do apologize, Edgar, so that we might get on with our game," he ground out between clenched teeth.

An awareness of the danger he stood in seeped through to Sir Edgar and fear sobered him amazingly fast. He blinked owlishly at the malevolence visible beneath the angelic features of the furious nobleman. His body was bathed in sweat as he cravenly apologized for the stupidity of his words.

Stoddard was cognizant of the pulsing tension of the men at the table and the awareness of their alarm went a long way to lighten his mood. Fear in others excited him. He could smell it and the scent heightened his own pleasure. The remembrance of golden-hazel eyes flashed before his mind. La Solitaire feared him despite her sharp words. He had felt the jump of her pulse when he grasped her wrist. Her eyes had flashed with contempt but before he possessed her those golden eyes would respond as he wished.

Fingers steady, Stoddard gathered his chips into a pile. He smiled at the sigh of relief from his companions as the cardgame resumed, but beneath the cold mask of disdain, he was still filled with an angry core of determination. Drew Farrington would never win La Solitaire.

Drew had been his nemesis for many years. Since their schooldays, Stoddard had forever been in the shadow of the man. The pampered only son of a widowed mother, Talbott had learned at an early age that his angelic looks could be used to advantage. For the most part, he had only to ask for something and it had been given to him. The first time that he had wanted a woman and she did not fall into his lap, had been a bitter experience for him. It was Drew Farrington that the woman had chosen and, for that insult, Stoddard never forgiven the man.

A thin smile etched Stoddard's mouth as he remembered the revenge he had enacted. Drew's best friend was Jason Barringer, a man more comfortable with books than the more manly pursuits. Stoddard had gone out of his way to antagonize Jason until the man had finally insulted him. With steady purpose, Stoddard had demanded satisfaction and met Jason on the field of honor one cold winter dawn.

He could still recall the helplessness in Drew's eyes as he acted as Barringer's second for the duel. Stoddard had taken deadly aim after Jason had fumbled his shot, and it was with great satisfaction that he fired his pistol, killing his man. Granted he had been forced to leave the country for a short period, but it was worth it to see the agony on Farrington's face as he held the body of his friend.

It rankled that Farrington did not know that his friend's death was a well-planned revenge. Stoddard never baited Jason Barringer in Drew's presence and he was careful to have witnesses that would swear Jason had instigated the final argument that led to the challenge. Stoddard knew Farrington's proficiency with both swords and pistols and he would give him no provocation, gloating in the impotent hate he saw reflected in Drew's eyes.

Farrington did however try to thwart Stoddard whenever possible. It still set his teeth on edge when he recalled the set of chestnuts for which Drew outbid him. Later, he had entered a curricle race to Bath, and the damnable Farrington had entered as well, beating him soundly much to the amusement of the other men involved. The few times they had sat in on a card game together, Drew had stripped him of his winnings with a smile of derision that induced a deep loathing in Stoddard.

He had known of Drew's interest in La Solitaire. It was that which first drew his attention to the actress. Since she acknowledged to be unattainable, he wanted the status that would accrue in winning the prize, with the additional fillip that he would have beaten out Farrington. However once he had seen Maggie Mason, he was consumed by desire and the overpowering need to possess her. He pursued her with the single-minded fervor reserved for the Holy Grail. He would risk all to obtain La Solitaire.