The Masked Heart - By Karla Darcy Page 0,21

low chuckle issued from Tate which was echoed by the unruffled Puff. Blaine was not as easily convinced.

"We'd never get away with it," she whispered.

Tate stood up and stared at Blaine, her eyes narrowed speculatively. When she spoke, she addressed Puff. "It wouldn't take much. We can use some of Lady Yates' lacy caps and pad her out a bit. She'll look a treat. With the proper makeup, even Fleur wouldn't be able to recognize her."

"I shan't listen to a word of this," Blaine cried. "Tate. Puff. Just think of what you're saying."

Ignoring her totally, Puff spoke over her head. "It vill be her skin that vill give her away. Could she be wearing a veil or something?"

"I assure you, my friend, makeup will do the trick." Tate preened as she pursed her lips in decision. "I do all Miss Blaine's makeup. It will be a simple matter to create a sort of mask that would hide the youthfulness of her skin. Even up close it would pass the test. It's her hands what worry me."

"Mittens!" the governess announced in triumph. "Lady Yates had many pairs of greatest beauty."

"Just the ticket," Tate agreed.

Afraid to listen to the seductive voices of her companions, Blaine jumped to her feet and faced the two women. "We cannot do it. It would not be honest."

"Piffle!" Tate snorted.

"Gott in Himmel !" came Puff's more exasperated retort. "The kinder must come first."

"Look, Miss Blaine. We've little choice in the matter. Without the money from your father's will, we will have to sell up Weathers and then Val will lose his estate. If your father had known the straits you'd be in, would he have left things as they were?"

"Of course not, Tate," Blaine answered without hesitation. "I cannot like it though."

"Iffen it will soothe your conscience any, you can pay back the estate when times are better. For now, you've got to think of the children."

The dresser's words were aimed deliberately at Blaine's most vulnerable spot. Deceit did not come easily to her but fear for the future of Val and Fleur would drive her to take drastic measures. Tate and Puff smiled complacently as Blaine nodded her head in defeat.

And so had begun the Great Deception as Blaine called it. For her, the saddest part was the feeling that they were not honoring Lady Yates' death as they should. Tate and Puff reasoned with her that her aunt had requested she be buried in the north of England beside her husband. It was easy enough to ignore the neighborhood. Technically the family had been in mourning when Lady Yates arrived and afterwards she had been too involved with the children to feel a need to socialize. Feeling great bitterness that such secrecy was necessary, Blaine sent the faithful Sarge to accompany the body north while the rest of the household hid their grief and tried to carry on as usual. And for three years, she had played the part of Lady Yates for an audience of one, Wesley Upton, the solicitor.

The sudden change in the speed of the horses brought Blaine out of her reverie. The sadness and bitterness eased from her body as she sensed that they had arrived at Weathers. But the tiredness that had plagued her of late did not abate as they approached the house. She sighed and thought of how for the last six years she had been playing a series of roles. In London, she was the celebrated Maggie Mason, "La Solitaire" and when she returned home she became Lady Haydie Yates, guardian of Fleur and Val. She would give much to become plain Blaine Margaret Meriweather again.

Chapter Four

"I want to go to London and have a season," Fleur repeated, her pansy eyes filling and threatening to overflow.

For a moment Blaine was reminded of her stepmother Juliette who had used the same tearful tactics to get her way. She blinked and the vision was gone and she was faced by the real distress she saw in her sister's eyes. Aware that Fleur had waited up to speak to her, Blaine sighed and tried to ignore her tiredness from the journey and the lateness of the hour.

She was amazed at the transformation of Fleur. At Christmas, the girl had seemed just a child but now she was a woman grown. At eighteen, Fleur had fulfilled all the prophecies of beauty that Blaine had once predicted. She was in every way the epitome of the London debutante most in style. In