The Masked Heart - By Karla Darcy Page 0,56

eyes, the dresser sighed. It was never easy dealing with Blaine when she had already set her feet on a path. She shrugged, determined to fight against such a dangerous undertaking.

"I know the risks involved, Tate. Lord knows I have thought long and hard about this. With all my heart, I want this one night. For one night I want to pretend that my life is different. I want to be Blaine Margaret Meriweather, a young gentlewoman having dinner with a handsome gentleman."

The wizened little dresser heard the cry in her mistress' voice and could not harden her heart against the plea. For six years she had watched over Blaine, loving her much as if she were her own child. She had seen the girl combat loneliness and despair. She had been isolated from all of her own kind, living in a world renowned for its loose morals and debauchery. It was a wonderment that the girl had survived at all, let alone maintained the purity and innocence that lay just beneath the veneer of sophistication.

"Aye, lambie, I know it has been lonely for you," Tate said, an unaccustomed tear in her eye. "But it is almighty dangerous. Lord Farrington, of all people!"

"It is just for that reason that I can risk accepting his offer. He is the only man I know well enough to know that I will be safe. Despite his pursuit of La Solitaire, he is a gentleman, not prone to violence or drink. He would never force his attentions on me," Blaine argued.

"Some men needn't use force," Tate opined darkly.

The dresser was aware of something that made her extremely uneasy about the assignation. She had guessed the identity of the man who sent the white roses and she had watched the expression in Blaine's eyes soften when she received Lord Farrington's flowers. She did not know if Blaine realized her own feelings for the young lord, but Tate knew. Blaine was in love with Drew Farrington.

The thought of the pain that Blaine would endure when she came to terms with her own emotions, was frightening for Tate. There was no possibility that anything other than a brief liaison could come out of this relationship. Men of Drew Farrington's background did not marry actresses and Blaine believed in the sanctity of marriage. Any other arrangement would destroy her since she would never be able to live with the realization that she had compromised all of her values.

"Please, Tate, won't you help me?"

Love made you weak, the dresser muttered under her breath as she stared at the eyes of her mistress. "All right," she sighed. "I have a feeling in my bones that this is the greatest of follies, but I will do what I can."

"Oh, thank you. Thank you," Blaine said, hugging the glowering woman. "You shan't regret it, I promise. It will only be for one night and then I shall go back to being Maggie Mason without a grumble."

Tate was far too old to believe such rubbish. "I doubt that, my girl," she snorted. "All right, miss. What do you want me to do?"

Blaine was silent as she stared bleakly out the window onto the square. She wondered for a moment if one evening was worth so much trouble. Then Drew's face, as she had seen it last, appeared before her eyes. He had been smiling then, in recognition of her acceptance of his invitation. His eyes had sparkled with happiness and his face bore a curiously touching look of joy. She would not fail him. Blaine bit her lip, knowing the hardest part was tackling Tate. She could just imagine the expression on the dresser's face when she announced that she wanted help to dye her hair.

When she had decided to accept Drew's invitation to dinner, her only qualms were that he might recognize similarities between La Solitaire and Lady Yates. The makeup she used for her role as Aunt Haydie covered her skin completely and gave the impression of a lined and wrinkled face beneath the white paste. Tate had even changed the curve of her eyebrows for the part. Since she could do nothing to eradicate the telltale color of her eyes, Blaine had made it a practice to squint or use her lorgnette when in Drew's company.

Her white blond hair was the problem. She was afraid that it might remind him of Lady Yates' white ringlets and even this small oversight might cause him to become suspicious. Too much rested on