Miss Burton Unmasks a Prince (15 page)

It was the coward’s way, of course, and the guilt she felt at her lack of courage was magnified at the thought of Carlo’s disappointment when she told him she had not gone through with it. But he wasn’t here. He didn’t have to mingle with these people for the next few months and live with their judgments.

Her rationalization was unable to chase away the feeling of disappointment in herself. She was doing precisely what she had been told, in order to be the person others wanted her to be. When had she become so disloyal to herself?

When Helen finished, the audience applauded politely, and Meg’s name was announced. She stood and walked to the stage aware of hundreds of eyes assessing everything about her from her hairstyle to her clothing to her posture. The feeling of disappointment in herself grew as she stepped to the pianoforte and placed the sheet music upon it.

She sat and took one last glance at the audience. Lord Featherstone’s bright eyes stood out in the crowd as he watched her approvingly, Lady Vernon nodded her head, Daniel gave a reassuring smile, Colonel Stackhouse looked as if he wished he were anywhere else. She turned back toward the instrument, but from the corner of her eye, she saw movement. Her gaze snapped to the back of the room, where Carlo had just entered.

Every other person in the room disappeared as she met his eyes. He was dressed in a dark coat, his cravat tied perfectly, looking every bit the gentleman. Tears stung in Meg’s eyes as she realized what he must have gone through to be here, and if he was discovered, she did not know what would happen. But he had certainly done it for her.
He
had not taken the coward’s path but seemed to realize she was considering it herself.

Carlo’s brows raised, and he gave a slight nod.

Meg felt a surge of confidence rise inside her. She lifted her chin, stood, and walked to the front of the stage. The whispering in the room instantly quieted as the audience watched her, wondering what she was doing.

Her heart pounded in her ears, and her mind completely emptied until she met Carlo’s gaze again. The corners of his lips lifted in the slightest smile, and she was calmed. She straightened her shoulders, took a breath, and began.

As Meg spoke the words of the poem, she gazed around the ballroom. The audience had not returned to their conversations. Each person’s face was turned to her, and she saw a multitude of reactions in their expressions.

Lady Vernon’s fingers were in front of her open mouth. Colonel Stackhouse had sat up straight in his chair, obviously relieved that something out of the normal was happening. Lord Featherstone looked as if he had been served a plate of leeches, so great was his disgust, but Meg did not care one fig.

When she reached the part of the poem when Geraldine’s robe drops open to expose the blemish on her skin, Meg heard gasps round the room, the loudest, she thought, from Lord Featherstone. Carlo continued to watch her, his expression unchanging, and Meg drew courage from his steadiness.

She reached the conclusion, telling of Christabel’s “vision sweet,” and the room was silent. Meg dipped in a curtsey, and the audience burst into applause. Meg’s muscles relaxed, and her chest filled. She curtseyed again, unable to stop the smile that spread over her face.

Some of the gentlemen rose to their feet. Meg lost sight of Carlo in the commotion and felt a tinge of panic as her eyes scanned the ballroom.

She breathed a sigh when the crowd parted, and she saw him. Carlo pressed his fingers to his lips and then lifted his hand away; his small gesture touched her more than any accolades, and Meg’s heart began to race again, but this time it had nothing to do with her performance. She breathed deeply to get her emotions under control as she took the footman’s hand and walked down the stage steps on shaking legs to return to her seat.

As she passed between the rows, she glanced back once to where Carlo had stood, but he was gone.

Meg had assumed she would receive a cold reception from Lord Featherstone and Lady Vernon, but it was not the case. Lady Vernon clasped Meg’s hand. “That was simply wonderful, my dear. And such a surprise. You nearly stopped my heart when you . . .” She moved her hand back and forth pointing between the stage and the pianoforte. “But you carried it off magnificently.”

“Thank you,” Meg whispered, since the next number had begun.

Lord Featherstone leaned toward Meg, all traces of disgust gone from his face. “I am completely astonished.” His leg pressed against hers in a most improper manner, and Meg scooted closer to Lady Vernon. The earl did not move his leg, however, and Meg felt uneasy at his closeness. “Your passion as you performed is . . . stimulating,” he said, his mouth entirely too close to her ear.

“Thank you, my lord,” Meg whispered and leaned forward in her chair, attempting to look as if she were interested in the musical number.

The whispering in the audience had not only continued, but it had intensified. Meg noticed a number of heads turn in her direction, and she did her best not to allow it to unnerve her. She had known her actions would have repercussions, and she would have to live with the consequences.

When the final performance ended, Meg found herself the center of attention. Gentlemen and ladies alike asked to be introduced to her, and she found it quite annoying that Lord Featherstone remained nearly attached to her side as she was attempting to become acquainted with the other guests. The earl’s manners had shifted quite decidedly in a direction that made Meg’s scalp prickle, and she moved away, standing next to Serena.

A few of the young men she spoke to asked if they might call on her. One even reserved a dance at the masque. Meg was surprised that her performance had elicited such a positive response, but as one Mr. Newton confided to her in a low voice, “The musicale is one of the most tedious events of the year, and most of us dread it. But you managed to liven it up and make the night interesting.”

Meg smiled at this, proud of her performance and glad, not to mention relieved, that it had been so well received.

After a few more hours of refreshments and conversation, the party left to return to Thornshire. Lord Featherstone sat next to Meg in the carriage and hurried to alight before her in order to assist her as she stepped down.

He kept hold of her hand, tucking it beneath his arm as he led her into the castle. The others in the party dispersed in the main hall, but Lord Featherstone retained his grip on Meg’s hand. Once she had finally managed to pry it away and make her farewells, she hurried up the stairs, hoping to put as much distance between the earl and herself as possible. She did not know what had changed in his attitude toward her this evening, but where the earl had merely been annoying before, now Meg felt positively ill at ease around him.

Bessie helped her undress, and once Meg had crawled beneath the blankets, her mind returned to the events of the evening—one in particular, Carlo’s simple gesture of blowing a kiss. The melting of her heart that the memory elicited sent her to sleep with a sigh and a smile on her face.

Rodrigo leaned against the windowpane in the attic room. He’d found that this particular spot in the dower house afforded a view of Meg’s bedchamber window, though he had to stand upon a chair and crane his neck awkwardly to see it. He’d climbed the stairs to this forgotten part of the house so many times in the last few evenings that he had lost count.

As he watched, the window at last went dark, and Rodrigo stepped down, brushing the dust from his jacket. He knew he should feel ridiculous checking every half hour to see if Meg had gone safely to sleep, but after two nights of reprimanding himself, he’d finally accepted that he’d get no rest otherwise and continued his nightly watch.

He’d not spoken to Meg since their practice session a few days earlier in the greenhouse, but he’d seen her often enough, taking carriage rides and strolls with the gentlemen who had begun calling at the castle following her performance. Meg’s recitation had apparently impressed society far more than she’d expected. The sight of her with these other men made his stomach burn. He hated the thought of Meg spending time with them, and even more when he imagined her laughing and looking at them through her lashes in the way he considered so utterly charming. Did any of the gentlemen touch her soft curls or notice the crease above her nose when she was lost in thought?

He hated everything about this situation. And it was all the more frustrating because it was of his own making. He would have never imagined it would go so wrong.

All it would take for him to join Meg’s throngs of admirers would be to simply reveal himself as Prince Rodrigo. But then, that is what he would be, only one of many. He uttered an oath that would have burned a priest’s ears. His friendship with Meg was unique, and he wanted it to remain that way. So he resigned himself to wait and hope that he would happen upon Meg in the stables or the gardens or see her in the library window—which he also checked multiple times daily.

A smile curled his mouth, and he patted the lump in his jacket pocket. He’d finally come up with something, a way to see Meg and watch excitement light up her eyes again. This simple object gave him the advantage over all her other admirers.

He set the candle on the desk in the study and sat in the soft chair. Pulling out a clean piece of paper, he dipped a quill into the ink and thought for a moment before writing.

Dear Miss Margarita Burton,

I have discovered an object I think will be of some interest to you, as you have a fondness for anything that is potentially terrifying, and I am seeking a compañera de aventura.

If you are feeling particularly daring and willing to risk all for an unknown quest, please meet me in the Oriental drawing room at 7:00 tomorrow evening.

Your mysterious friend

When he was finished, he leaned back and allowed the smile to spread wide across his face as he imagined Meg’s reaction to the note. If that didn’t pique her curiosity, nothing would. He read over it once more, and a roil of unease moved through him. He had talked to Serena about the household’s schedule, and she had told him that they had been invited to dine at the Newtons’ tomorrow. Meg would have to invent an excuse to forego the dinner party. Would she be willing to miss out on the gathering for him?

Rodrigo prepared for bed, but he could not fall asleep. He attempted to distract himself by reading from a volume of romantic poetry that he had borrowed from the duke’s library, but the verses did not hold his attention the way they had when Meg had spoken them, and he gave up the effort, tossing the book onto a table and blowing out the candle.

He spent a long restless night and was groggy and agitated in the morning when he sent the message to Meg, along with another to Serena, explaining his plan. By midafternoon, a note arrived from his sister. Meg would not be joining them for dinner at the Newtons’. She had apparently come down with a headache and decided to retire early.

Rodrigo’s chest swelled. He should never have doubted Meg. Or at least her taste for adventure.

***

Rodrigo watched from the library window as the carriages departed for the Newtons’, then he made his way to the Oriental drawing room to wait. He thought this room, with its carved Chinese furniture and samurai swords hanging on the walls, was especially suitable for the launch of an escapade.

It was exactly seven o’clock when Meg entered. When her gaze met Rodrigo’s, her face lit up. She rushed across the room, grasping onto his hand with both of hers. “Carlo, I have missed you. And I’ve not had an opportunity to thank you for attending the musicale.”

Any worries that she might have been hesitant about joining him fled, and the tension in his neck relaxed. “I could not have allowed an opportunity to hear about Christabel pass by.”

She tugged on his hand, shaking her head. “You’re being too gracious. I do not know what pains you took to be there, but it touched me that you would come. I was not brave enough to follow through with my plan until I saw you.”

The only pains Rodrigo had endured were from escaping Lord Harrison, who, as soon as he saw that the prince was at the musicale, did not want him to leave. Rodrigo had finally resorted to acting as if he’d eaten something that disagreed with him and slipped out while the earl went in search of a servant to bring a cup of tea. But in Meg’s eyes, he had done something much more noble, and he did not mind her assumption.

“So, tell me, what is our adventure? And the mysterious object? I have wondered about it all day.” Meg’s eyes shone, and the sight delighted him.

“Before any mysterious objects are revealed, you shall need this.” He bent down behind the couch and picked up a cloak.

“Are we to go outside? If I had known I would have—”

“Worn your bonnet and gloves?”

Meg nodded.

“That is why I did not tell you,” Rodrigo said, squeezing her fingers. He pushed her loose curls aside as he wrapped the cloak around her.

Meg’s mouth opened, and her eyes widened in shock, but she did not reprimand him for his forward behavior as she was apparently distracted by Rodrigo’s efforts to straighten the wrap on her shoulders. She ran her fingers over the soft material. “This isn’t my cloak, Carlo. Where did you find it?”

“It is your cloak now, but you must hold still while I fasten it.” He tied the ribbons beneath her chin, delighted that the duke’s steward had managed to procure a cloak so close in design to the picture Rodrigo had seen in Meg’s sketchbook.

Meg spread her arms out, allowing the lightweight fabric to billow around her. “It is beautiful, but I cannot accept this gift. I . . . you . . . it must have been very costly.” She winced uneasily.

“Now is not the time to discuss a man’s salary or what he chooses to do with it. We have much more important matters to attend to.” Rodrigo held up an old key that hung from an iron ring.

Meg’s crease appeared above her nose, and she squinted, tipping her head in confusion. “A key? A key to what?”

Rodrigo moved the key closer, dangling it in front of her.