A Masked Deception

"But we ca

"Impossible, Lottie! Such an interview would be horribly embarrassing and a terrible blow to Richard's dignity."

"Phooey!" Charlotte exploded. "Is it undignified to have a wife that loves one?"

Margaret sighed. "However," she said, chiding herself for a weakening resolve, "perhaps I should don the disguise and meet him one more time. It will surely be the last time, if we are to spend some weeks in the country."

Charlotte jumped to her feet, clapping her hands. "Oh, Meg," she said, bending over her sister and hugging her, "it will all turn out, you will see. I never knew of such a stupid situation as this, where two people love each other so much and ca

"You have so much experience," Margaret teased affectionately.

Chapter 9

Brampton waited at the same tree as he had chosen the week before. He had feared earlier that rain would spoil the evening, but although the sky was still heavy with clouds and the air was unseasonably cool, it had remained dry. The revelers had certainly not stayed away. They passed him on the path in couples and in groups, talking quietly among themselves or noisily joking and laughing. Sounds of music floated to him from the orchestra stand just beyond the trees. Colored lanterns swayed in the breeze and made the area even more of an enchanted land.

Brampton drew his black cloak even more closely around him. She was late tonight. What if she did not come at all? Part of him felt relief-he would be released from an impossible situation. And part of him felt something very like panic. He would have no way of tracing her if she did not come. He might never see her again!

And then he spotted her, tripping lightly along the path, a gray woolen cloak drawn over the silver gown, a gay smile on her lips and in her eyes.

"Bon soir, monsieur," she greeted him, extending to him a gloved hand in which she clasped her closed fan. "I thought perhaps the inclement weather would keep you indoors tonight."

"Not if that would keep me away from you, angel," he responded warmly. And he gathered her to him and kissed her smiling lips. "Shall we go?" He indicated the direction in which he had left his carriage.

"No, monsieur. I wish to sample the delights of Vauxhall. The food, the dancing, the fireworks, c'est bien?"

"Angel," he protested, "there is more than an hour to wait until the fireworks display. We will catch our deaths of cold before then. Besides," he added, lowering his voice seductively, "I had definite plans for keeping you warm, sweet."

She tossed her head and pouted. "You told me, monsieur, that you loved me," she said. "I see that you love me for only one reason."

"Angel, that is not true," he protested, amused as usual by her theatrics. "I love you for your pertness and your zest for life-and for your ability to twist me around your little finger, you minx."

He took her little hand in his and strolled along the path with her, toward a wider avenue and brighter lights. They walked and talked, sampled the wafer-thin slices of ham for which the gardens were famous, danced, and walked more.

Brampton felt an unexpected flatness of spirits. She had not been correct in saying that he loved her for one thing only, yet there was enough truth in her accusation to make him uncomfortable. He wanted to get to know her, to take her other places and do other things with her than take her to bed to make love to her. But he felt hemmed in on every side. She was not a lightskirt. He could not set her up in a house where he could visit her and spend time with her at his leisure. If they met in public places-even here, where they were in disguise-there was always the chance that he would be recognized. Very few people would be disturbed to see him with a woman other than his wife, but he dreaded the possibility of causing her pain if rumor of his infidelity should reach her. It seemed that the only place he could take her was to the rooms of the ever-faithful Devin Northcott. And once there, it was inevitable that they should end up in bed together. Brampton could just not see any happy future for their liaison.

She seemed to read his thoughts. They were strolling again along one of the darker, quieter paths, the blowing branches above their heads making a web of shadows ahead of them. They had been silent for a time.

"It is like walking along a path with a dead end, is it not, monsieur?" she asked quietly.

"Mm?"

"It is too late for us," she said. "We must stop meeting."

He did not answer for a while. They continued to walk slowly along the path; then he turned aside and led her among the trees until they were out of sight of passersby. He gathered her into his arms and laid his cheek against her ear. She wrapped her arms around his waist, beneath his cloak. They stood thus for a long while, without exchanging a word.

Brampton finally broke the silence. "You are right, my angel," he said softly, "but how can I bear to let you go?"

"I am just a dream from your past," she said sadly. "You will forget me."

"Never," he denied fervently. "And you, angel, will you forget me?"

"I shall have to find happiness with what I have, monsieur," she replied.

"And is that possible, angel? Do you love your husband?"

She hesitated. "Oui, monsieur," she said almost in a whisper.

"Then why," he asked in wonder, looking down into her face and tracing her jawline with his finger, "have you come to me, angel?"

Again she hesitated. "He does not love me," she said, "and sometimes I feel the need of a man's love."

He hugged her to him again, trying to recover from the blow of learning that she did not really love him, but another man who was too much of a fool to realize what a treasure he possessed.

"And you, monsieur," she was asking hesitantly, "do you love your wife?"

Brampton was a long time answering. Did he? He closed his eyes and tried to picture himself holding his wife like this. She would feel very similar-more shy, a little stiffer, less yielding. But the size was right. He felt a nameless yearning that he did not wait to explore.

"Yes," he said abruptly at last, and was not at all sure whether he had given a truthful answer or not. He did not notice the suddenly wildly beating heart of his companion because he had pushed away from her and taken her hand in his again. He led her back to the path, feeling unutterably depressed.

"Come, angel," he said, "let us forget the fireworks for tonight. Come with me to where we can say goodbye in private. Will you?"

"Oui," she said sadly.

The next two days were almost impossibly busy ones for Margaret. She had all the last-minute preparations to make for the departure to Brampton

Court and most of the instructions to give for the closing up of the town house, since it was unlikely that they would be back before the summer was over, at the earliest. Brampton spent most of those two days at his desk in the library looking after the business side of the removal. Charlotte rushed about in high spirits, helping no one, generally getting under everyone's feet, but keeping an air of cheerfulness in the house.

Margaret was glad to be busy. She did not want to think about that evening with Richard until she was in the country again, where perhaps she would be able to steal away sometimes and think, where the surroundings would be peaceful and soothing. Charlotte had come to her room at eleven o'clock the next morning, unable to contain her impatience any longer. Margaret had still been in a sleep of exhaustion, not having arrived home until four o'clock in the morning, dangerously near to dawn, in fact.