"I noticed that you spent a great deal of time with Lord Farrington. I thought at first I might attempt to attach him but there is an air of amusement about him that I do not fully understand." Fleur looked across at her sister consideringly. "It is a shame that you could not have met him when you were dressed as yourself not as an old lady. He is a bit intimidating but I do not think that would bother you, since you can be quite bossy when you want. Do you think he is too old for you?"
"Much too old," Blaine answered, moving quickly toward the door before her sister could question her further. "Off to bed now or you will look quite hagged in the morning."
At her words, Fleur raced to the mirror and Blaine made her escape. Back in her room, Tate was waiting to help her off with her makeup and to hear a report of the evening. The dresser reminded her that Wesley Upton would be arriving in the morning to present her with the year's allowance and Blaine groaned that the masquerade would continue for another day.
Climbing into bed, she felt close to tears and put it down to the lateness of the hour. She lay on her back, staring up at the bed hangings, trying to fall asleep. However Fleur's words kept circling in her mind.
She was glad that her sister did not realize the unintentional cruelty of her questions. How ludicrous that Fleur thought she was sacrificing her life in the service of the fictitious Cousin Lavinia. In actual fact the only men she saw, outside of the actors she performed with, were John Tibbles and Sarge. As an actress she was not recognized by society. The only relationship she could hope for was as the mistress of one of the gentlemen who vied for her attention. Men like Talbott Stoddard and Drew Farrington.
Her heart jolted at the thought of Drew. She had to admit that, since her coming to Wiltshire, she had discovered a different side to him than she had considered possible. If, as her sister had so wildly conjectured, she had met him as Blaine Margaret Meriweather, she might have fallen in love with him. He surely had a great many qualities that she could admire. He might even have asked for her hand, she fantasized.
A silent sob shook her body and a tear rolled out of the corner of her eye and slid into the tangle of her hair. She was only castle-building. She could never meet Drew as herself, the sister of Fleur Meriweather. He already knew her as Maggie Mason, the notorious La Solitaire. Men of his class thought of actresses as playthings and as one, he would never accept her as anything other than a woman of easy virtue. Rolling over on her stomach, Blaine buried her head in her pillow and cried herself to sleep.
In the morning, her eyes were swollen, but Tate made no comment as she applied the white makeup to her face. The gown was similar to the black dress she had worn to dinner but this time the color was a dark brown, cut in a style long out of fashion. Tate fussed with the cap, until she was satisfied that the fake ringlets covered Blaine's ears, then she handed her a black lace fan and her walking stick.
"Mr. Upton has been cooling his heels in the drawing room this half hour. He brought you roses." Tate snorted at the idiocy of the man.
"Good Lord," Blaine muttered. Shaking out her skirts she made for the door, already leaning on her stick to get herself into the role of Aunt Haydie. "You better come down with me before the flowers wilt. Then if I don't ring for tea in twenty minutes, come in and rescue me."
One of the disadvantages of her perfect acting as Lady Haydie Yates was the fact that Wesley Upton, somewhere in his late sixties, thought of her as his contemporary. He was a sweet man and she hated deceiving him so she had always been especially warm toward him. They had corresponded over the years, concerning the business of the estate, and she thought they had become friends.
The last time she had seen him, she was horrified to discover he had mistaken her warmth for affection and developed a tendre for her. If she hadn't been so desperate for the yearly allowance, she would