Kitabı oku: «Regency Disguise»

No Occupation for a Lady

Gail Whitiker

Chapter One

It was important that one dressed appropriately for the theatre, if for no other reason than to spare oneself the embarrassment of being under-dressed should someone of consequence happen to be seated in the box next to you. After all, one never knew when a marriageable viscount or an eligible earl might wander in for an evening’s performance, and with so many single young women looking to find husbands, a girl couldn’t afford to miss a single opportunity.

That, at least, was the justification Mrs Bretton had always given her two daughters for looking their best, and as Victoria Bretton studied her reflection in the cheval glass, she supposed it was not a bad way for an ambitious mother to think. The importance of presenting unwed daughters in the most favourable light possible could not be understated, whether it be at a musicale evening, a grand ball, or at the début of a new play at the elegant Gryphon Theatre, even if only Victoria thought the latter an occasion worthy of attending.

Fortunately, what she saw in the glass was enough to reassure her that it would not be her appearance that fell short of expectation that evening. Her gown of imported ivory silk was in the first state of fashion, and the exquisite pearl-and-ruby necklace lent to her by her aunt served as the perfect accessory. The flashing crimson stones nestled sweetly in the décolletage of her gown, which, as Aunt Tandy had pointed out, was neither too demure nor too daring, and her hair, once likened to the colour of clover honey, had been swept up and arranged in a most sophisticated style by the skilled hands of her aunt’s French maid. She looked every inch the proper young lady society expected her to be.

What would they say, Victoria mused as she turned away from the glass, if they knew what this evening was really all about?

The house was quiet as she made her way down the long curving staircase to the black-and-white-tiled hall. Candles flickered brightly from wall sconces and chandeliers, casting a warm golden glow over the elegant furnishings, while portraits of long-dead aristocrats stared down at her, their critical expressions seeming to offer silent disapproval of her plans.

Victoria paid them no mind. Her concern was with the living, not with the dead.

Besides, they were not portraits of her ancestors. The paintings, like the house, belonged to her father’s brother and wife, an eccentric pair of retired actors who owned a theatre as well as several houses in and around London. They had kindly allowed Victoria’s parents the use of this house for the past two Seasons so that Victoria and her younger sister could make their entrance into society. Victoria had taken her bows last year, and with Winifred doing so this year Mrs Bretton was hopeful that at least one of her girls would end up married by the end of it.

The prospect of returning home to Kent with two unwed daughters in tow was simply too humiliating to be borne.

‘Good evening, Miss Bretton.’ The butler greeted her at the door. ‘James has the carriage ready. Your brother has already gone out.’

‘Thank you, Quince.’ Victoria turned to allow the elderly gentleman to settle a velvet cape about her shoulders. ‘Do you know where my parents and sister are dining this evening?’

‘I believe with Sir Roger and Lady Fulton, miss.’

Ah, yes, the baronet and his wife—a prominent society couple with two sons of marriageable age, the eldest of which Winifred was hopeful of attracting. She certainly wouldn’t pass up an opportunity to spend time with him for something as trivial as a night at the theatre.

After all, what was the opening night of Valentine Lawe’s newest play when compared to the prospect of batting eyelashes at Mr Henry Fulton over the silver epergne?

‘Thank you, Quince,’ Victoria said, careful not to betray even a twinge of disappointment. ‘Goodnight.’

‘Goodnight, miss. Oh, and your father asked me to wish you … a very successful evening. He said you would know what he meant.’

Victoria smiled. A few simple words, as enigmatic as they were brief, and her spirits rose immeasurably. Dearest Papa. Always her ally, even in this. She thanked the butler and walked out into the cool evening air. The late April day had been unusually warm, but the evening temperatures had begun to drop as soon as the sun went down, making her grateful for the enveloping warmth of the cape.

‘Evening, Miss Bretton,’ the coachman said respectfully.

‘Good evening, James.’ Victoria smiled as the under-coachman helped her into the carriage. They didn’t have an under-coachman at home in Kent. There they functioned with only a cook, two maids, a kitchen helper and a good-natured fellow who served as both footman and groom. If they had to get anywhere, they either walked or used the gig. It was only since coming to London that Victoria had been exposed to such luxuries as personal maids and closed carriages, and the one into which she stepped now was sumptuous in the extreme. The interior was lit by the glow of two small lamps, the walls were lined with maroon silk festooned with gold tassels and the cushions were of plush maroon velvet.

Her brother was already seated inside reading a book. Laurence was a fine-looking fellow, or could have been if he made more of an effort. His jacket of dark-blue superfine over a plain white waistcoat didn’t fit quite as well as it had last year and his thick, wavy hair was dishevelled, giving him an appearance of rumpled affability. Wire-rimmed spectacles perched on the end of a very handsome nose and he had a smudge of what looked like ink on his thumb.

‘Let me guess,’ Victoria said as she sat down across from him. ‘White’s Observations on Certain Antiquities, or Norden’s Travels in Egypt and Nubia?’

‘Neither,’ Laurence said, dutifully setting the book aside. ‘A recently acquired copy of Sa-vary’s Letters on Egypt. I thought it would make for some light reading on the way to the theatre.’ He took off his spectacles and placed them on top of the book. ‘What about you? All ready for what lies ahead?’

‘I suppose, though I confess to being hideously nervous,’ Victoria confided. ‘What if no one comes?’

‘Of course people will come. Uncle Theo expects the theatre to be sold out.’

‘Uncle Theo is an optimist.’

‘No, Uncle Theo is a man who knows his business,’ Laurence said calmly. ‘He should, given the number of years he’s been at it. And experience has shown that Valentine Lawe’s plays always do well.’

Victoria settled back against the velvet squabs and wished she could feel as confident as her brother. While it was true that all three of Lawe’s previous plays had met with critical acclaim, that wasn’t to say that any of his future works would be guaranteed the same high level of success. The theatre-going public was notoriously fickle. What pleased them one day offended them the next and, given the decidedly satirical nature of Lawe’s plays, it was quite possible some prominently placed personage, believing himself to be the butt of Lawe’s wit, would take exception to the humour and proclaim his disapproval to anyone who would listen.

Still, there was nothing to be done about it now. In less than thirty minutes the curtain would rise and A Lady’s Choice would make its début. The best anyone could hope for was that Laurence was right and that their uncle knew what he was talking about.

As usual, traffic in the city was dreadful—an endless stream of hackneys, barouches, tilburys and phaetons trundling over the cobblestones en route to their various evening pleasures. Victoria saw long line-ups of carriages outside several of the large houses in Mayfair and felt a moment’s relief that her destination was not a grand house this evening, but the Gryphon, London’s newest and most elegant theatre. Once a rundown warehouse, the old building had been extensively refurbished and was now filled with a small fortune in Italian marble, Venetian glass, and brocades and silks direct from the Far East. The seating was roomier and the boxes grander than at any other theatre in the city and the frescoes on the ceiling were said to have been painted by a descendant of Michelangelo himself.

As to the nature of entertainments provided, the Gryphon was not licensed to present legitimate drama, so had to settle for a variety of works ranging from comic operettas to the occasional burlesque. In the relatively short time it had been open, however, it had gained a reputation for providing quality entertainment and tonight promised more of that with the début of Valentine Lawe’s newest play. Rumour had it that Sir Michael Loftus, theatre critic for the Morning Chronicle, was going to be in the audience, and Sir Michael’s stamp of approval was as good as God’s when it came to anything to do with the stage.

That, at least, was what her uncle had told her and, given his vast experience in the theatre, Victoria knew better than to doubt him.

Finally, the carriage rounded the last corner and the Gryphon came into view, a glorious, towering edifice that shone white against the darkening sky. Victoria caught her breath just looking at it. And what a crowd! Judging by the line up of barouches and landaus slowly making their way along the street, a goodly portion of society had come out for the opening.

‘Almost there, Tory,’ Laurence said as the carriage turned down the lane that ran alongside the theatre.

Victoria pressed a gloved hand to her chest and closed her eyes. ‘I can’t go in, Laurie.’

‘Of course you can. Aunt Tandy and I will be waiting for you in the box and the play will be a smashing success. Uncle Theo said as much after the last rehearsal and you know he wouldn’t lie.’

No, he wouldn’t, because her uncle knew better than to offer false assurances when so much was at stake. Opening night was the first time eyes other than those of the cast and crew would be seeing the play and how the audience responded tonight would be a strong indicator of how long the play would run, how much money it would make, and what kind of effect it would have on the playwright’s future.

A bad opening night could herald more than just an early end to a play’s run. It could sound the death knell on a playwright’s career.

‘Give my regards to the cast,’ Laurence said as the carriage drew to a halt. ‘Tell Victor I expect a standing ovation, and Miss Chermonde that her performance had better warrant at least three curtain calls.’

‘I’ll tell them,’ Victoria said as the door opened and James let down the stairs. ‘Whether they heed you or not is another matter all together.’

And then she was alone. Standing in the street as the carriage pulled away, she took a few deep breaths to compose herself. No doubt the actors inside were doing the same. Stage fright was all part and parcel of opening-night madness, but hopefully by the time the curtain rose, the butterflies would have flown and the cast would have settled into giving the best performances of their lives. The audience would accept no less.

Neither, Victoria thought as she knocked lightly upon the unmarked door, would her uncle.

‘Ah, good evening, Miss Bretton,’ said the elderly gentleman who opened it. ‘I wondered if I’d be seeing you tonight.’

‘Good evening, Tommy. I thought to have a word with my uncle before the performance began. Is everything ready?’

‘Aye, miss, as ready as it will ever be.’ Thomas Belkins stepped back to let her enter. ‘Had some trouble with the backdrop for the second act, but we got that straightened away, and Mrs Beckett was able to mend the tear in Mr Trumphani’s costume neat as ninepence.’

‘What about Mrs Roberts?’ Victoria asked. ‘Is she feeling better than she was at rehearsal?’

‘Haven’t heard her complain, but between you and me, she’s a tough old bird who nothing short of death would keep from being on stage on opening night.’

The old man’s cheerfulness did much to settle Victoria’s nerves. Tommy Belkins had been in the theatre all of his life. Once an actor with a travelling Shakespearean troupe, he now worked behind the scenes at the Gryphon, overseeing the elaborate systems of lights, ropes, pulleys and reflectors that created the magic on stage. Both Drury Lane and Covent Garden had tried to lure him away, but Tommy had refused their offers, saying he’d rather work for pennies at the Gryphon than for a grand salary anywhere else.

Not that he did, of course. Her uncle paid a generous wage to all of the people who worked for him. It was one of the reasons the productions staged at the Gryphon were so good. He encouraged a spirit of co-operation and conviviality unusual in the theatrical world, and because Theodore Templeton was known for giving promising young actors a chance, he never found himself short of talent.

Still, in the end, it all came down to the quality of the play, and, knowing it was too late to do anything about that now, Victoria closed her eyes and whispered a silent prayer to St Gen-esius. It might just be superstition on her part, but she never ventured into a theatre without asking the patron saint of actors for his blessing.

Then, with both her brother’s and Tommy Belkins’s good wishes ringing in her ears, Victoria Bretton—alias Valentine Lawe—walked into the theatre and prepared to face whatever the Fates held in store for her.

The Honourable Alistair Devlin did not make a habit of going to the theatre. It was all right if no other more amusing pastime could be found, but given the choice between watching amateurish productions staged by men and women who suffered from the misguided notion that they could act, or spending the evening in the comfortably masculine ambiance of his club, he would always choose the latter. The only reason he had come tonight was to appease his good friend, Lord Collins, whose repeated requests that he come and see the nubile young actress he was intent on making his newest mistress had finally worn Alistair down.

‘And I dare you to say she is not exquisite,’ Collins said as they settled into their gilt-edged seats at the front of the box.

‘I’m sure she will be all you have promised and more,’ Alistair said, gazing with interest at his surroundings. ‘You have always been an arbiter of female loveliness.’ It was the first time Alistair had ventured inside the Gryphon, but not the first time he had heard about the celebrated theatre. Rumour had it that upwards of eighty thousand pounds had been lavished on the building’s restoration and that a special company had been assembled to grace its stage.

According to Collins—who had already enjoyed an intimate liaison with another young actress from the company—it was not enough that an actor be able to recite his lines without stumbling. He must also be able to portray that character’s feelings in such a way that the audience was moved to laughter or tears, without resorting to the facial contortions and physical gestures so often employed by under-talented performers.

Frankly, Alistair was sceptical. While he knew that some actors were talented enough to pull off such masterful performances, experience had shown him that most tended to fall back on the melodramatic posturings that left him entirely unmoved and prompted audiences to hurl both insults and orange peelings at the stage.

‘By the by, did I mention that Signy has a friend?’ Collins asked. ‘Another actress in the company. You might do well to look her up, given that you’re in the market for that sort of thing.’

‘Thank you, Bertie, but I have absolutely no intention of looking for a new mistress,’ Alistair replied, gazing at the magnificent frescoes overhead. ‘The one with whom I just parted gave a new meaning to the word vindictive.’

Collins had the cheek to laugh. ‘Yes, I did hear something about the glorious Celeste managing to knock over two rather expensive vases on her way out of your house.’

‘Expensive? She wilfully destroyed a priceless Tang horse and a Sèvres vase that have been in my family for generations,’ Alistair murmured. ‘Grandmother Wilson still hasn’t forgiven me for that lapse in judgement.’

Unfortunately, it wasn’t only Celeste Fontaine’s wanton destruction of family heirlooms that had prompted Alistair to end his relationship with her. It was the fact she had lied to him. She had told him to his face that he was the only man with whom she was keeping company, when in fact she had been spending as much time in Lord Lansing’s bed as she had in his.

When Alistair had brought this trifling detail to her attention, Celeste had treated him to a performance that would have done the great Sarah Siddons proud. She had stormed out of the house, somehow managing to consign the two pieces of porcelain to their doom on the way, and the next day, had sent him a scathing letter in which she had told him exactly what she thought of his behaviour, adding that while he was an adequate lover, she believed his skills in bed to be highly overrated.

It was the contents of the letter that had hammered the last nail into her coffin. While not an arrogant man, Alistair took pride in his ability to please the opposite sex. As a callow youth, he had discovered that the sexual experience was heightened if both parties were able to enjoy it, and he had striven to learn the secrets of giving pleasure as well as taking it. So to have his skills in bed mocked by a woman who had never once left him in any doubt as to how much she enjoyed them seemed to him the height of hypocrisy.

Still, he’d managed to have the last word. Only last week, the celebrated courtesan had appeared at his door, saying with every appearance of contrition that she was genuinely sorry for the way she had behaved and that it was only in a moment of weakness she had succumbed to Lord Lansing’s advances. At that point, she had batted her eyelashes and, with tears falling from her famous pansy-blue eyes, had begged him to take her back.

Alistair had not been moved. Giving her a handkerchief to dry her eyes, he had advised her to take herself back to Lord Lansing or whichever gentleman was keeping her and not to trouble him again. The one thing he would not tolerate from those closest to him was deceit. A woman who lied to him once would have no compunction about lying to him again and he had no reason to believe Celeste would not end up back in the arms of the man with whom she had already betrayed him.

Women like that always landed on their feet. Or on their backs, as the case might be.

It was then, as Alistair turned to ask Collins about the evening’s performance, that his attention was caught by a movement in one of the boxes opposite. A young woman had stepped through the curtain and into view, emerging like a radiant butterfly into the sunlight. She was garbed in cream-coloured silk that shimmered with every movement and long, smooth-fitting gloves that covered slender arms from fingers to elbow. Her hair, a soft mist of golden curls, was arranged attractively around her head and, in the flickering light, Alistair saw flashes of crimson at her throat. She paused for a moment to watch the antics of the dandies and young bloods in the pit below, then turned to bestow a smile on the older woman and younger gentleman already seated in the box.

It was the smile that stopped him. As innocent as a child’s, it tugged at something deep within Alistair’s subconscious, reminding him of a time when life was simpler and pleasures more easily found. She looked as though there was nowhere she would rather be and nothing she would rather be doing than sitting in her box watching the performance taking place below.

Was that what drew him to her so strongly? he wondered. The pleasure she took in an activity he and the rest of society took so entirely for granted? Or was it the fact that she was, even to his experienced eye, an incredibly beautiful woman? Draped in silk and chiffon, she had the face of an angel, but a lush, sensual figure that made him think of hot nights between soft sheets and the sweet rush of intimacy as scented limbs wrapped around him and drew him close.

Unfortunately, given that the first thing the lady did was reach for the hand of the gentleman who rose to greet her, Alistair doubted it would be his body she ever wrapped them around. The two soon had their heads close together in conversation, and while it was clear the gentleman was no match for her in appearance or style, there was no denying the strength of the connection between them.

Lucky devil, whoever he was.

Then a ripple of anticipation as a tall and distinguished-looking gentleman walked out on to centre stage. He was dressed all in black, his long cape over breeches and boots giving him a decidedly swashbuckling appearance. Not a young man—his dark hair and beard were liberally threaded with silver and his lined face reflected the experiences of a lifetime. But he had a presence that could not be denied and when he held up one gloved hand, silence descended.

‘Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the Gryphon. My name is Theodore Templeton and tonight we present for your enjoyment two productions making their début on the London stage. Mi Scuzi, an operetta in Italian by Giuseppe Fratolini, and A Lady’s Choice, a new work by the renowned playwright Valentine Lawe. The inimitable Signy Chermonde will play the role of Elizabeth Turcott opposite Mr Victor Trumphani in the part of Elliot Black. And now I invite you to sit back and prepare to be entertained.’

A polite round of applause greeted his words, as well as the expected whistles and jeers from the dandies in the pit. No sooner had he left the stage than the orchestra began to play and the curtain swept majestically upwards to reveal a setting reminiscent of a Mayfair drawing room, with a single actress, an elderly woman, seated in a wingback chair.

Alistair, who knew all too well that the build up to such productions was often the highlight of the performance, settled back and prepared to be bored.

He was not bored. He was mesmerized, the opening scenes of the play capturing his attention in a way no other stage performance ever had. The plot was intriguing, the dialogue witty and the cast gave such outstanding performances that, as the evening wore on, Alistair found himself growing more and more surprised.

This was not the type of performance he had come expecting to see. Knowing the play to be new and the company young, he had expected the production to reflect those shortcomings. But try as he might, he could find nothing to fault in either the play or in the actors’ portrayals of their characters. Even the rowdies in the pit were silenced.

If this was an example of Valentine Lawe’s talent, Alistair could well understand why the man was so popular. He was actually disappointed when the actors left the stage at the end of the first act.

‘Well, what did you think?’ Collins asked over the sound of enthusiastic applause.

‘That it was far, far better than I expected,’ Alistair said generously.

‘Not the play! Signy! Is she not the most glorious creature you’ve ever seen?’

Alistair frowned. ‘Signy?’

‘The actress playing Elizabeth. Jupiter, don’t tell me you didn’t notice her?’

Alistair glanced down at the stage. Of course he’d noticed her, but as Elizabeth Turcott rather than Signy Chermonde. She was the glorious, titian-haired temptress who had made her first appearance on stage in the guise of an elderly woman sadly recounting the events of her long life, only to reappear in the next scene as a blushing bride on what was clearly the eve of her wedding. ‘Yes, she was beautiful,’ he agreed, ‘but I was more impressed by her talent than I was by her appearance.’

‘Then I can only hope she is as gifted in bed as she was on stage,’ Collins drawled. ‘Speaking of that, what did you think of Miss Lambert? And don’t tell me you didn’t notice her. Old Parker nearly fell out of his box the first time she walked on stage wearing that filmy white nightgown.’

Alistair laughed. ‘Yes, I noticed her. She was very convincing in the part of Miss Tremayne.’

‘Miss Tremayne?’ Collins said. ‘What’s got into you tonight, Dev? The last time we went to the theatre, you couldn’t even remember the title of the play, let alone the names of the characters.’

‘That’s because the play wasn’t worth remembering and the actors were similarly forgettable,’ Alistair remarked. ‘This, however, is a first-class production.’

‘Well, of course it is. Valentine Lawe is fast becoming one of England’s foremost playwrights. Even a Philistine like you must have known that.’

The fact Alistair did not know failed to arouse any feelings of remorse or guilt within his breast. None of his family were ardent theatre goers. His parents refused to go as a result of the tragic events surrounding their eldest son’s scandalous marriage to an actress, and his sister and brother-in-law, the Venerable Simon Baltham, Archdeacon of Swithing, were of the belief that the theatre was a breeding ground for sin. It was their studied opinion that those who disported themselves upon the stage were vain and immoral creatures who sought aggrandisement through their occupations and were possessed of neither high moral fibre nor any discernible degree of integrity.

Ironically, it didn’t stop them from attending the occasional operatic work, but seldom were they heard to praise a performance or to compliment any of the singers.

For his own part, Alistair didn’t care. The only reason he had limited his exposure to the theatre was out of respect for his parents’ sentiments and in an effort to maintain family harmony. A decision he hadn’t come to regret … until tonight.

He let his gaze fall again on the occupants of the box opposite. The young lady was watching the antics of two young men rearranging props on stage, and looked, if possible, even more radiant than she had before the commencement of the first act. Her hand was again clasped in that of the gentleman sitting beside her, and when he leaned over to whisper something in her ear, she laughed and looked up—and, unexpectedly, locked eyes with Alistair across the theatre.

It was a fleeting glance, no more than a few seconds in length, but for the brief space of that time, the noises around him seemed to subside and it was as though only the two of them sat in that crowded theatre. He watched her laughter fade until only the shadow of a smile remained, and though she didn’t acknowledge his gaze, the soft colour blooming in her cheeks told him she was just as aware of him as he was of her.

As her glance slid away, Alistair leaned over to his friend and said, ‘Collins, that woman in the box opposite …’

‘Lady Lucy Prendergast?’

‘No, the box above. Wearing the cream-coloured gown.’

Collins raised his opera glasses and trained them on the lady in question. ‘Ah, yes, Miss Victoria Bretton. Eldest daughter of Mr and Mrs John Bretton.’

‘How is it I haven’t seen her before?’

‘Because you don’t move in the same circles, old boy,’ Collins said, lowering the glasses. ‘The family reside in Kent, but for the last two Seasons, have taken a house in Green Street for the purpose of introducing their daughters to society. Miss Victoria Bretton made her bows last year, and her younger sister, Miss Winifred Bretton, is doing so this Season.’

‘Who’s the man with her?’ Alistair asked ‘Dedicated husband? Devoted fiancé?’

‘Good God, no, that’s Laurence, her brother. Dry as a stick and completely lacking in fashion sense, but frightfully intelligent from what little I’ve heard. Apparently he speaks four languages and knows more about the classics than did most of his professors at Oxford. He and Victoria are said to be very close.’

‘I’m surprised she isn’t married,’ Alistair commented. ‘She is an exceptionally lovely young woman.’

‘True, but she also has a penchant for speaking her mind and you can imagine how well that sits with the society matrons who believe young ladies should be seen and not heard. Also, do you see the rather flamboyant-looking woman seated in the box with her?’

Observing the lady’s flame-coloured gown, her striking blue-black hair and the circle of diamonds flashing at her throat, Alistair said, ‘It would be difficult not to.’

‘Exactly. That is Mrs Anthea Templeton,’ Collins said. ‘Once a celebrated actress, now the second wife of Mr Theodore Templeton, owner of the theatre, and a man who just happens to be Miss Bretton’s uncle.’

‘Ah. So her family connections are not the best.’

‘That’s putting it mildly. Templeton left his first wife for the lovely Anthea—who was rumoured to be playing Juliet to his Romeo at the time—and the two set up housekeeping without the benefit of marriage. They continued to live and act in that blissfully unwed state for several more years before coming to London and setting up shop here. Needless to say, Mrs Templeton has not been embraced by society.’

‘Hardly surprising,’ Alistair said. ‘She is no doubt accused of stealing Templeton from his wife and blamed for the demise of his marriage.’

‘Of course, and the fact that Miss Bretton seems to enjoy her aunt’s company naturally reflects badly on her. As does the fact that she has an unfortunate fondness for mingling with the cast.’

Alistair raised an eyebrow. ‘She fraternises with the actors?’

‘Oh, yes. Usually in the company of her brother, but she has been known to venture backstage alone,’ Collins said. ‘And while that is perfectly all right for him, it is not the thing for her.’

No, it wasn’t, Alistair reflected as he watched the actors return to the stage for the start of the second act. It was all right for a young lady to go to the theatre and even to express enthusiasm for the performance she had seen, but it was not the thing to be spotted in the company of actors. While Alistair didn’t agree with his brother-in-law’s sweeping condemnation of all stage performers, he knew that many were possessed of questionable morals and that spending time with such people was frowned upon by those in good society. He was surprised Miss Bretton’s parents would allow her to jeopardise her reputation by frequenting such a place, even if she did so in the company of her brother.

‘By the by,’ Collins said, ‘is it true you’ve stopped seeing Lady Frances Shaftsbury? I thought the two of you were as good as engaged.’

‘We were, until I found out Lady Frances was equally enamoured of the Marquess of Kope-ham,’ Alistair said distantly. ‘If I cannot trust a woman to tell me the truth before we’re married, what hope is there for honesty after the vows are taken?’

‘All women lie, Dev. Harkens back to the Garden of Eden,’ Collins said. ‘Eve probably told Adam nothing would happen if he bit into the apple, and we all know how wrong that went.’

‘Fortunately, there are more women in the garden now and a man isn’t compelled to marry the first one that comes along.’

‘Perhaps, but attractive daughters of wealthy earls don’t come along every day either.’

‘No, but I will not suffer the company of a woman who lies. Secrets may abound in society, but they have no place in the relationship between a husband and his wife,’ Alistair said. ‘If I cannot trust the woman to whom I would give my name, I would rather not give it at all.’ For a moment, his gaze returned and lingered, somewhat regretfully, on Victoria Bretton. ‘Life is unpredictable enough. No point making it worse by starting everything off on the wrong foot.’

Chapter Two

A Lady’s Choice was an amusing satire about the foibles of married life. It was clever without being condescending, moralistic without being straitlaced, and funny without being ribald. Alistair actually found himself chuckling at the subtle innuendos flying back and forth and was moved to think that Valentine Lawe was a man who understood the ups and downs of marital relationships.

As such, when the actors delivered their final lines and Mr Templeton walked back on to the stage, Alistair rose to his feet along with the rest of the audience to pay the cast a long and well-deserved tribute.

‘Thank you, ladies and gentlemen,’ Templeton said. ‘I am gratified by your response and delighted that A Lady’s Choice has lived up to your expectations.’

‘Where’s Valentine Lawe?’ shouted a voice from the audience.

The cry was picked up and echoed throughout the theatre, but Templeton only shook his head. ‘I regret to inform you that Mr Lawe is not with us this evening, but I thank you on his behalf and will be sure to communicate your pleasure to him. And now, I am pleased to introduce the talented members of the cast.’

‘Here we go,’ Collins whispered in Alistair’s ear. ‘Pay attention. You’re looking for Signy and Miss Lambert.’

The performers came out two by two, with the lesser members of the cast leading the way. A young actress whose performance had greatly impressed Alistair turned out to be a Miss Catherine Jones, who took her bows with the portly gentleman who had played the vicar. Miss Lambert, a buxom blonde with a voluptuous figure, came out with the older woman who had played the part of Elizabeth’s mother.

Collins nudged Alistair in the ribs. ‘There. Take note so you can find Miss Lambert later on.’

Alistair smiled, but saw no point in telling his friend he would have been far more inclined to approach the sylph-like Miss Jones than the overblown Miss Lambert.

Then Signy Chermonde and Victor Trumphani made their entrance to a thunderous round of applause. Signy was truly a beautiful woman and Alistair had no doubt she would enjoy an illustrious career both on and off the stage. Trumphani, too, possessed the kind of polished masculine appeal that would appeal to débutantes or duchesses, and after taking their final bows, the pair stepped back to let Mr Templeton reclaim centre stage.

‘Thank you, ladies and gentlemen. I know I speak for Valentine Lawe when I say how pleased I am by your response to A Lady’s Choice. I hope you will come back and enjoy it again. Now, after a brief musicale interlude, we present Mi Scuzi!’

Not surprisingly, a good portion of the audience stayed on its feet to get a better look at the people around them, but, having fulfilled his obligation, Alistair decided it was time to leave. Collins would no doubt abandon him to seek out his hoped-for new ladybird, and given that the occupants of the box opposite had already left, Alistair saw no point in staying for the operetta. His grasp of Italian was such that he could follow the lyrics if they were sung with any degree of proficiency, but he feared an English soprano with no ear for the language would mangle it beyond all hope of recognition. Better he leave now while he could still take away a favourable impression of the evening.

He was almost at the door when he saw her. Victoria Bretton was standing alone in the vestibule, her head down, her attention focused on the evening cape in her hands. She seemed to be attempting to undo a knot in one of the ribbons, but her efforts were hampered by the weight of the garment and by the constant brushing of people as they passed.

Clearly, the lady was in need of assistance.

Alistair slowly made his way through the throng and stopped a few feet away from her. She truly was a pleasure to behold. Her face was a perfect oval set upon a slender neck that rose from smooth shoulders seductively displayed by the low bodice of the gown. As he moved closer, his gaze dropped to the rubies nestled in the shadowy cleft between her breasts, aware that the stones were almost as magnificent as what they were nestled in …

‘Can I help you, sir?’

The tone, completely at odds with the colour blossoming in her cheeks, caused Alistair to smile. ‘Forgive me, Miss Bretton. I was lost in admiration of your necklace.’ His gaze rose to a pair of bright blue eyes framed by long lashes under an artful sweep of honey-gold brows. ‘It is … a striking piece.’

‘It is a replica of one given to an Egyptian princess by a devoted swain. My aunt was kind enough to lend it to me for the evening.’ Her chin rose, but her colour remained high. ‘May I ask how you know my name?’

‘I noticed you when you walked into your box,’ Alistair said, seeing no reason to dissemble. ‘When I asked my companion who you were, he kindly vouchsafed your name. May I?’ he asked, indicating the cloak. ‘Undoing knots is a speciality of mine.’

She glanced down at the twisted ribbons and, after a moment, said ‘thank you’ and handed the cloak to him, adding, ‘Was there a reason you wanted to know who I was?’

‘Curiosity.’ Alistair tucked the garment under his arm and set to work. ‘Most people prefer to observe the antics going on around them than the ones taking place on the stage. You were clearly more interested in the play.’

‘It is the reason I come to the theatre,’ she said simply. ‘If I wished to observe society at play, I would go to one of the many soirées held for that purpose.’ There was a brief pause before she said, ‘Why did you come to the Gryphon tonight? To see the play or to watch the other entertainments taking place?’

Alistair smiled. It seemed Collins hadn’t been mistaken when he’d said that Miss Bretton was fond of plain speaking. ‘I came to see the play.’

‘And what did you think of it?’

‘That it was humorous, well plotted and skilfully enacted.’

‘Then you enjoyed it?’

‘I did.’

‘Do you come often to the theatre, Mr—?’

‘Devlin. And, no, I do not.’ The knots untied, he shook out the cloak. ‘On the few occasions I have, I’ve found the farces ridiculous, the historical adaptations weak and the melodramas pathetically overacted.’

‘But you did not feel that way about this play?’

‘No. I was caught up in the story from beginning to end,’ Alistair said, placing the velvet cloak around her shoulders. ‘Something rather rare for me and I admit to being pleasantly surprised.’

Then she did smile. Gloriously. Without reservation. The way she had smiled at her brother earlier—and the words were out of Alistair’s mouth before he even realised he was thinking them. ‘Miss Bretton, I wonder if I might call upon you tomorrow morning.’

Her eyes widened, but she did not blush. ‘It is very kind of you to ask, Mr Devlin, but I’m afraid I have a prior engagement.’

‘Of course. Tomorrow afternoon?’

‘I’m not sure what time I shall be home.’

‘The following day, then?’

This time, a hint of colour did rise to her cheeks. ‘Mr Devlin, pray do not think me rude or unkind, but there really is no point in you calling. You have told me all I wanted to hear.’

‘About the play, perhaps, but there is so much more—’

‘Actually, there is nothing more,’ she interrupted. ‘I appreciate the trouble you went to in finding me, but it would be best if you did not pursue this. It is evident we would not suit.’

‘Not suit?’ He gazed at her in confusion. ‘How can you say that when you know absolutely nothing about me?’

‘Ah, but I do know something about you, Mr Devlin, and it is that which compels me to demur. Good evening.’

With that, she walked towards the double doors where her brother was waiting for her and, slipping her hand into the crook of his arm, left the theatre with him.

Too bemused to offer a reply, Alistair watched them go, aware that for the first time in his life he was actually at a loss for words. The lady had put him off! He had gone to the trouble of tracking her down and of making his interest known—and she had put him off. Not because she hadn’t known who he was—but because she had!

‘What, still here, Dev?’ Collins said, sauntering across the floor to join him. ‘I thought you left half an hour ago.’

‘I did, but I ran into Miss Bretton and stopped to have a word.’

‘How providential,’ Collins drawled. ‘Well, what did you think? Was she as tactless and unpredictable as I led you to believe?’

The question recalled Alistair to the lady’s parting words. ‘I appreciate the trouble you went to in finding me, but it would be best if you did not pursue this. It is evident we would not suit.’

‘She was far from tactless, but I am not convinced that meeting me was the highlight of her evening,’ Alistair said drily.

‘Nonsense! Any girl would be delighted at being singled out for attention by a nonpareil like you.’

Alistair didn’t bother telling his friend that Miss Bretton hadn’t seemed at all delighted by her so-called good fortune. On the contrary, she seemed genuinely convinced they had nothing in common—and, irrationally, that irked him. While it was true they might not have anything in common, how could she know until they’d had an opportunity to spend some time together? A man deserved a chance to fall from grace before a lady cast him out. Surely it was only fair he be given that chance before being dismissed out of hand.

Victoria had not spent many hours in sleep that night. How could she have slept when everything within her was shouting with joy! She had wanted to dance across the rooftops, to shout her happiness from the top of St Paul’s.

A Lady’s Choice had been a success! The cast had recited their lines to perfection, the scene changes had gone without a hitch and the musicians had timed their crescendos and pianissimos exquisitely. If she died this very instant, she would go to heaven with the most contented smile on her face.

The fact she had spent time talking to one of London’s most eligible bachelors really had nothing to do with it. It had been pleasant to bandy words with the gentleman and flattering to know that he was interested in calling upon her, but at the moment, there was no room for romance in Victoria’s life. And certainly not with a man like that!

‘Alors, you are finally awake!’ her maid said, appearing at Victoria’s bedside with a cup of warm chocolate. ‘And looking very ‘appy.’

‘That’s because I am happy, Angelique.’ Victoria sat up and stretched her arms over her head. ‘It was a very good night.’

‘Zey liked your play?’

‘They loved my play! The applause went on for ever and the cast was called back three times to take their bows!’

‘Bon! Did I not tell you it would be so?’

‘Oh, yes, you can say that now when you know everything turned out well. That isn’t what we were saying this time yesterday. At least,’ Victoria added with a frown, ‘it wasn’t what I was saying.’

‘Zat is because you do not ‘ave enough confidence in yourself.’

‘That’s not true! I do have confidence in myself, but I write plays that suit me. I don’t always know if they will suit my audience.’

‘Of course zey will suit your audience,’ the feisty little maid said. ‘You are very good at what you do! Your uncle tells you so all ze time.’

Yes, because Uncle Theo had always been one of her most staunch supporters, Victoria reflected. He was the one who had encouraged her to write, impressing upon her the importance of allowing her artistic side to flourish, no matter what her mother or the rest of society thought.

Speaking of her mother … ‘I don’t suppose you’ve seen Mama yet this morning?’ Victoria enquired.

When Angelique didn’t answer, Victoria turned her head—and saw the answer written all over the maid’s face. ‘Ah. I see that you have.’

‘Do not take it to ‘eart, mademoiselle,’ Angelique said quickly. ‘Madame Bretton does not love le théâtre as you do. She would prefer zat you find a nice man and get married.’

‘Yes, I know, but a nice man won’t let me write plays,’ Victoria pointed out. ‘He will expect me to sit at home and knit tea cosies.’

‘Tea … cosies?’

‘Hats for teapots.’

‘Your teapots wear ‘ats?’ Angelique frowned. ‘You English are very strange.’

Victoria just laughed and sent the maid on her way. She sometimes forgot that while Angelique knew everything there was to know about taking care of a lady, she was far less adept when it came to making conversation with one. Still, it came as no surprise to Victoria that her mother wasn’t pleased about her success at the theatre last night. Having been raised in a rigidly moralistic house where the only occupations deemed acceptable for a woman were those of wife and mother, Mrs Bretton decried the idea of her eldest daughter doing anything else.

A lady did not involve herself with the world of the theatre. A lady did not write plays that poked fun at members of society. And a lady did not discourage gentlemen who came up to them and made polite conversation, the way the dashing Mr Alistair Devlin had last night.

Oh, yes, she’d known who he was. Between her mother pointing him out to her at society events and listening to Winifred go on about him until she was tired of hearing his name, Victoria knew all about Alistair Devlin. The man owned a string of high-priced race horses, kept a mistress in Kensington and a hunting box in Berkshire, and was equally skilled in the use of pistol or foil. He patronized Weston’s for his finery, Hobbs’s for his boots and Rundell and Bridge for his trinkets.

He was also a viscount’s son—a man who moved in elevated circles and who possessed the type of wealth and breeding that would naturally preclude her from being viewed as a potential marriage partner. Her mother had been right in that regard. Refined ladies did not direct plays or go backstage to mingle with actors and actresses. And no one but a refined lady would do for Lord Kempton’s heir. As it was, Devlin’s sister was married to an archdeacon, and for all Victoria’s being the granddaughter of a minister, it would not be good enough for Devlin’s family, so why bother to pretend the two of them stood any chance of finding happiness together?

Victoria was almost at the bottom of the stairs when she heard raised voices coming from the drawing room. But when she recognised two of them as belonging to her Aunt and Uncle Templeton, she quickly changed course and headed in that direction. Given the lack of warmth between her mother and her father’s brother and wife, Victoria had to wonder what had brought them to the house so early in the day. She opened the drawing-room door to see her mother standing ramrod straight by the window and her father, looking far from relaxed, sitting in his favourite chair. Her uncle stood in the middle of the room and her aunt, flamboyant as ever in an emerald-green gown and a glorious bonnet crowned with a sweeping peacock feather, lounged on the red velvet chaise.

It looked for all the world like a convivial family gathering—until Victoria realised that no one was smiling and that the tension was thick enough to cut with a knife. ‘What’s wrong?’ she asked, looking to her father for an explanation.

It was her uncle who answered. ‘Victoria, my dear, I have just informed your parents of your stunning success at the Gryphon last night.’

‘And I have been trying to tell your uncle it is not a success!’ Mrs Bretton snapped. ‘It is an abomination.’

‘Come now, my dear,’ her husband said. ‘I think abomination is doing it up a little strong.’

‘Do you, Mr Bretton? Well, let me tell you what I think is doing it up a little strong. Your brother, trying to make us believe that Victoria has done something wonderful when anyone in their right mind would tell you she is making a fool of herself!’

‘Oh, Susan, you are completely overreacting,’ Aunt Tandy said with a long-suffering sigh. ‘Victoria did not make a fool of herself last night. Her work was applauded long and loud by every person in that theatre. Your daughter is a brilliant playwright—’

‘My daughter is a lady! And ladies do not write plays!’ Mrs Bretton said, enunciating every word. ‘They do not produce plays. And they certainly do not tell other people how to act in plays. Ladies embroider linens. They paint pictures. And they get married and have children. They do not spend their days at theatres with the most disreputable people imaginable!’

‘Here now, sister-in-law, I’ll have you know that not all actors are disreputable!’ Uncle Theo objected.

‘Indeed, I had a sterling reputation when I met Theo,’ Aunt Tandy said. ‘And contrary to popular opinion, I was a virgin at the time.’

‘Oh, dear Lord, must we be subjected to this?’ Mrs Bretton complained. ‘Will you not say something, Mr Bretton?’

Victoria looked at her father and wished with all her heart that she could have spared him this inquisition. He was a gentle man who disliked confrontation and who had spent most of his life trying to avoid it. Pity that his only brother and sister-in-law, both of whom he adored, should be the two people his wife resented more than anyone else in the world.

‘I’m not sure there is anything to be said, my dear,’ he said. ‘I cannot help but be proud of what Victoria has accomplished—’

‘Proud? You are proud that our eldest daughter has to pretend to be a man because if anyone found out what she really did, we would be cut by good society?’ Mrs Bretton demanded. ‘You are proud that she spends her days with actors and actresses and avoids the company of fine, upstanding people?’

‘I do not avoid their company, Mama,’ Victoria said. ‘In truth, they have become the source of some of my most amusing and successful characters. Nor do I think my conduct is putting anyone in this family at risk. I have been very careful, both about what I say and about how I behave when in society because I know there is Winifred’s future to consider and I am very cognisant of that. But to suggest we would be cut is, I think, going a little far. Other ladies write plays—’

‘I do not care what other ladies do!’ her mother snapped. ‘I care about what you do and how it affects your future. Something you seem not to care about at all! Spending all that time at the theatre and consorting with people like that is not good for your reputation.’

‘I am well aware that certain people think Laurie and I spend too much time at the theatre,’ Victoria allowed, ‘but surely the fact that Uncle Theo owns the Gryphon excuses us to some degree.’

‘It does not excuse you, and in truth, I blame him for everything that’s happened!’ Mrs Bretton said coldly. ‘If he had not encouraged you when you first went to him with your stories, we would not be having this conversation now. You would be doing the kinds of things a lady of good birth should be doing.’

‘What, like taking a lover thirteen months after she married and produced the requisite heir?’ Uncle Theo said laconically.

Mrs Bretton’s face flushed crimson. ‘I beg your pardon?’

‘Haven’t you heard? Lady Tavistocke went to Venice and took up with a gondolier,’ Uncle Theo said. ‘Shocking scandal. Poor old Reggie Tavistocke doesn’t know what to make of it.’

‘Mind, you can’t blame the poor girl, darling,’ Aunt Tandy said. ‘Reggie is getting on for sixty, after all, and you know how dashing Italian men can be. And gondolas are very comfortable. I’ve always thought the movement of the water very conducive to—’

‘Enough!’ Mrs Bretton shrieked. ‘Get out of my house! Both of you!’

‘In point of fact, this is my house, Susan,’ Uncle Theo said amiably. ‘And one I am very pleased to have you and my brother staying in. However, perhaps it is best we leave you to your discussions. Just don’t be too hard on Victoria. She is not in the least deserving of it. Speaking of which, there is something I would like to say to her before we go.’

‘Something we wish to say,’ Aunt Tandy corrected him with a smile.

‘Of course, my darling, something we wish to say. And that is, how very proud we were of you last night, Victoria. After you left, I had a visit from Sir Michael Loftus—’

Victoria gasped. ‘Sir Michael!’

‘Yes, and he was very impressed with your latest play. Or rather, with Valentine Lawe’s latest play. He thought it was … now, how did he phrase it exactly? “A comedy of stunning brilliance exquisitely characterised and plotted with a deft hand.”’

Victoria gazed at him in wonder. ‘Sir Michael Loftus said I had a deft hand?’

‘Those were his very words.’

She was floating on air. Euphoric. To have received such praise from one of the foremost critics in the theatre. She must surely be dreaming …

‘And you looked absolutely beautiful,’ Aunt Tandy said, giving Victoria an affectionate hug. ‘I noticed several gentlemen watching you throughout the evening, Lord Vale and Mr Chesterton amongst them, and I hear even the top-lofty Mr Devlin stopped to speak to you.’

‘Mr Devlin?’ Mrs Bretton said with a gasp. ‘Lord Kempton’s heir spoke to you and you did not think to tell me?’

Victoria blushed, uncomfortably aware that her mother was staring at her with a mixture of astonishment and reproach. ‘There really wasn’t any point, Mama. We were not formally introduced and spoke only about the play.’

‘But he engaged you in conversation,’ Mrs Bretton persisted. ‘Without benefit of introduction. He must have had a reason for doing so.’

‘He thought I was in need of assistance,’ Victoria said, her cheeks warming at the memory of his long, slender fingers undoing the knots in her ribbons … and of her turning down his request that he be allowed to call upon her. ‘I’m sure it was nothing more than that.’

‘Unfortunately, I tend to agree with Victoria,’ Uncle Theo said, starting for the door. ‘Women have been chasing Devlin since he was a boy, but no one’s been able to catch him. I thought Lady Frances Shaftsbury was close to doing so earlier in the year, but even that appears to have cooled. And given Lord Kempton’s resentment towards the theatrical world, I’d venture to say there’s absolutely no chance of him allowing his eldest son and heir to pursue a relationship with Victoria.’

‘But you just said no one knows Victoria is Valentine Lawe,’ Mrs Bretton remarked. ‘Why should that have any bearing on Mr Devlin’s interest in her?’

‘Because he will find out in the end, and I don’t want to see Victoria left with a broken heart because the man cannot return her love,’ Theo said. ‘And I know that’s how it will end. But come, Tandy, my dear, we must be getting back. Rehearsals start in less than two hours.’

‘Yes, of course,’ Aunt Tandy said. ‘Will you be coming tonight, Victoria?’

‘No, she will not be coming!’ Mrs Bretton snapped in vexation. ‘We are expected at Lord and Lady Holcombe’s musicale this evening. All of us.’

‘Pity,’ Uncle Theo said. ‘As it happens, we’re sold out again. But then I expect we’ll be sold out most nights from now on and I don’t suppose you will be able to attend every performance.’

‘She most certainly will not.’

‘But I will be there as often as I can,’ Victoria said firmly. Her sister might have come to London to find a husband, but her main purpose in being here was to see her play, and as many times as she could! ‘Thank you both for coming. I can’t imagine a nicer way to begin my day.’

‘Our pleasure, my dear.’

They departed noisily, shouting goodbyes and congratulations as the drawing-room door closed behind them. Left alone with her parents, Victoria didn’t know what to say. The joy she’d felt earlier was gone, trampled into the dust by her mother’s patent displeasure.

Unfortunately, silence was not a problem from which her mother suffered. ‘Really, Mr Bretton, if it weren’t for the fact that you and your brother are so close, I would not allow him or that woman in my house,’ she said huffily.

‘That woman happens to be your sister-in-law,’ her husband reminded her. ‘And denying them entrance would be difficult given that, as Theo pointed out, he does own this lovely house and several others in the area.’

‘A fact he throws at us at every opportunity,’ Mrs Bretton said bitterly. ‘Oh, how I wish we had the wherewithal to do without him.’

‘But we do not, so there is no point in wishing it true. Personally, I am very grateful to my brother for all he’s done for us. You might find it in your heart to show him a little more gratitude.’

‘Gratitude? You expect me to show gratitude to a man who earns his living from the stage and who left his first wife to marry that wretched actress?’

‘As a matter of fact, I do. You may not approve of Theo and Tandy, but I will not hear you denigrate them,’ her husband said quietly. ‘If you cannot bring yourself to say anything kind, I suggest you say nothing at all.’

The gentle reprimand was clearly too much for Victoria’s mother. Stamping her foot, she turned and flounced out of the room, prompting Victoria to offer her father a sad smile. ‘I’m so sorry, Papa. I never meant to bring all of this down on your head.’

‘You’ve not brought anything down on my head, Victoria, so don’t even think to malign yourself in such a way. Though I know it is best not to say so in your mother’s hearing, I am very proud of you. Writing a play is no small feat, and to have written four that have received such critical acclaim is worthy of commendation. I certainly couldn’t have done it, but I’m as proud as punch that you have.’

‘Oh, Papa, you are so good.’ Victoria put her arms around his neck and hugged him. ‘I don’t know what I would do if both you and Mama despised the theatre.’

‘I dare say it would be an impossible situation for all of us,’ her father agreed. ‘But, like it or not, your aunt and uncle’s success in the theatre is what allows us to stay in this fine house. They have certainly been good to you, reading your work and producing your plays while making sure no one finds out who Valentine Lawe really is. We owe them a great deal, yet they ask for nothing in return and seem willing to turn a deaf ear to your mother’s criticisms.’

‘Indeed, they are exceedingly generous and forgiving,’ Victoria agreed. ‘I like to think my adding to the success of the Gryphon is in some small way a repayment for everything they’ve done for me. I only wish Mama could find it in her heart to be kinder to them … and to be happier about my own success. I don’t like knowing I am the cause of so much grief within the family.’

‘I know that, child, but your mother will be fine. She is just afraid you will be found out. You cannot disagree that the nature of what you write would make you unpopular in certain drawing rooms if your identity were to become known,’ her father said. ‘And given that a large part of the reason for coming to London was to try to settle you and your sister in marriage, we must do whatever we can to present you in the best light possible. Personally, I think you’ve done an admirable job of keeping the identity of Valentine Lawe a secret.’

‘I gave Mama my promise I would.’

‘Just so. As to your spending more time at the theatre than other young ladies, I suppose it isn’t a good idea, but Laurence is with you and no one could ever accuse him of moral misconduct.’

‘No, though I wish he would make more of an effort socially,’ Victoria said with a sigh. ‘He is so quiet and reserved most women tend to overlook him.’

‘He is a scholar, my dear, and scholars are not, by nature, outgoing fellows. But I have no doubt that when the right woman comes along, Laurence will sit up and take notice. And I fully expect to see a very different side to your brother when that happens.’

‘Well, all I can say is that I hope she loves the theatre as much as he does. I’ve often wondered if he didn’t have a secret longing to tread the boards himself.’

‘Perish the thought! That would put your poor mother into Bedlam,’ her father said drily. ‘Now, off you go and talk to her about this evening’s event.’

‘Yes, I suppose I must.’ Victoria’s face twisted. ‘I don’t mind the Holcombes so much, but they really do invite the stuffiest people to their soirées.’

‘I know, but it will be good for you to be seen in society for a change. It’s time you gave some thought to settling down. Lord knows it’s all your mother thinks about, and now that Winifred is out, it behoves you to marry well in order that she can do the same. I believe Henry Fulton was rather taken with her last night.’

‘And why would he not be taken with her? Winifred is beautiful and accomplished and she will make some man an excellent wife,’ Victoria said generously. ‘But what man is going to want me, Papa? A woman who writes plays and even takes a hand in producing them? I am destined to become an ape-leader.’

Her father chuckled. ‘Nevertheless, you must make an effort. Marriage will give you a home and children of your own, and who knows? If you have enough, you might be able to form your own troupe!’

Victoria burst out laughing. Only her father would say something like that—and only when her mother wasn’t in the room. ‘Dearest Papa. I hate to think what Mama would say if she heard you trying to persuade me in such a manner.’

‘No more than I, Victoria,’ her father replied with a smile. ‘No more than I.’

Chapter Four

That evening found Victoria alone in the drawing room with a pencil and piece of parchment in her hand. The rest of the family had gone out, and though her parents had asked if she might like to join them, Victoria had excused herself by pleading a megrim. In truth, she was desperate to start writing again and while the evening wasn’t usually a creative time for her, she needed to get past this wretched block and come up with some new ideas.

Unfortunately, the longer she stared at the blank page, the emptier her mind grew. Surely her burgeoning career as a playwright wasn’t already over?

Needing reassurance, Victoria set the paper aside and reached into the pocket of her gown. She had managed to find a copy of Sir Michael Loftus’s review in the newspaper that morning and had torn it out, basking in a warm glow of satisfaction every time she read it … which she’d done so many times she had actually committed the piece to memory …

… yet another piece of brilliance from the inimitable Valentine Lawe, A Lady’s Choice is easily his best work yet. Lawe’s deft handling of an intricate plot is exceeded only by his skilful use of characterisation, and, in typical Lawe style, he has lampooned members of society and the church in a way that one can only admire.

Performed at the Gryphon Theatre by that establishment’s exceptional company, A Lady’s Choice is a lively and thoroughly entertaining romp. I take my hat off to Signy Chermonde as Elizabeth Turcott and Victor Trumphani as Elliot Black, and once again, profess myself in awe of Lawe’s talent. I look forward to seeing many more of his plays …

‘“In awe of Lawe’s talent,” ‘ Victoria murmured, breathing a sigh of pure pleasure. It wasn’t every day Sir Michael Loftus delivered such a flattering review. She knew that as a result of having read several of his less complimentary critiques. The man could destroy a playwright’s career in a single column. Or, as in the case of Valentine Lawe’s, he could make it.

‘What, not locked up in your room writing?’ Laurence asked, strolling into the room with a book in his hand.

‘I can’t think of anything to say.’ Victoria slipped the review back into her pocket. ‘I’m having a devil of a time coming up with any ideas for my next play.’

‘I shouldn’t worry about it. You expended a great deal of time and effort on A Lady’s Choice. It’s really not surprising that the creative well has temporarily run dry.’

‘But I’ve written three other plays and never had this problem before.’

‘No, because as good as your other plays were, they didn’t draw on the same level of emotional intensity,’ Laurence said. ‘You explored both the light and the dark side of love in your last play, Tory, and writing like that takes a toll. As Uncle Theo says, art demands passion and passion demands intensity … and intensity can be very tiring.’

‘I hope that’s all it is,’ Victoria said, refusing to let her mind drift off in other directions … or to one other person in particular …

‘So where is everyone tonight?’ Laurence asked, settling into the chair across from her.

‘The Hungerfords are hosting a card party.’

‘Oh, Lord, that should be interesting.’ Laurence opened his book. ‘Mother and Father usually play together. I hope they’re on better terms now than they were earlier.’

‘You mean, has she forgiven him for standing up for his brother and sister-in-law when she thought he should have sided with her?’ Victoria shook her head. ‘I doubt it. You know how she likes to hold a grudge. But I suppose it’s not her fault. She just wants me to find a nice man and get married.’

‘Then why don’t you?’

‘Because I want to write plays and a husband won’t let me do that. He will expect me to pay calls and arrange dinner parties, and to sit at home with no opinions of my own. He certainly wouldn’t approve of my going to the theatre as often as I do now.’

‘You don’t know that,’ Laurence said.

‘Yes, I do. He can say what he likes before we’re married, but once he puts a ring on my finger, he will expect me to be mindful of my responsibilities.’

‘I think you’re using the writing as a smokescreen,’ Laurence said bluntly. ‘I think you don’t want to get too close to a man because you’re afraid of falling too deeply in love. I remember how devastated you were when Phillip Chesham left England without asking you to marry him.’

Victoria blushed, painfully reminded of a childish crush she was just as happy to forget. ‘I wasn’t devastated. I was just … surprised. I thought Phillip cared for me.’

‘He did, but he was young, Tory, and he wanted to see the world. You just wanted to get married and settle down. It wasn’t the right time for either of you.’

No, it wasn’t, Victoria admitted, but while her heart and her pride had been wounded, it was her writing that had suffered the most. Emotionally crippled, she had gone for months without even feeling the desire to write. She wasn’t willing to let that happen again. ‘I agree that falling in love can be destructive to a creative mind,’ she said. ‘But I’m older and wiser now, and I’ve established myself in a career. I want to see how far I can take this and I know a husband would try to restrict my activities.’

‘I wouldn’t care if my wife wrote plays,’ Laurie said conversationally. ‘As long as she was happy, I wouldn’t care what she did.’

‘Even if she was an actress?’

Laurence blushed to the roots of his hair. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘Oh, Laurie, I’ve seen the way you look at Signy Chermonde and how you blush when she speaks to you.’

‘I do not blush!’

‘I’m afraid you do, dearest. You’ve gone quite pink even now.’

‘Oh, God!’ Laurence said on a groan. ‘And here I thought I was being so good at concealing my feelings.’

‘You forget, I’m your sister. I know you better than most. But you must know that nothing can come of it.’

‘I’m well aware of that,’ Laurence said, more than a little put out. ‘She’s taken up with that lecher Lord Collins.’

‘That is entirely beside the point. Mama would never allow you to marry an actress,’ Victoria said. ‘You know how she feels about poor Aunt Tandy.’

‘All too well,’ Laurence murmured. ‘Speaking of ineligible suitors, Winnie tells me you were monopolising Mr Devlin at the Holcombes’ musicale last night.’

Victoria could feel the heat rising in her cheeks. ‘I was not monopolising him,’ she retorted. ‘Winnie’s nose is out of joint because I interrupted her conversation with the gentleman and then sent her back to Mama’s side. I dare say she would be even more annoyed if she found out I’d met up with him in the Park this morning.’

‘You never did. Was he alone?’

‘No. He was with his very pretty and much younger cousin.’

‘Are you sure she was his cousin?’

‘I did briefly wonder if she might be his mistress,’ Victoria allowed, ‘but once I heard them talking, I realised there was nothing of a loverlike nature between them. She is terribly smitten, however, with Valentine Lawe.’

‘She told you that?’

‘Oh, yes, and I must admit, I found it very strange to talk about him as though he were a real person. I was informed that he wears a red rose in his lapel, which would only ever be black, and that he has dark hair and quite the most amazing blue eyes anyone has ever seen. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear she was describing you!’

‘Unfortunately, I lack the talent and flair necessary to fit the bill,’ Laurence said drily. ‘I take it you did not encourage Miss Wright to seek out an introduction?’

‘As best I could without coming out and saying the man is pure fiction. But I did feel guilty about having to deceive her.’

‘What else could you do? Mother would be furious if you’d told Miss Wright the truth, especially in front of Devlin. She hasn’t stopped talking about him since Aunt Tandy let slip that you’d met him at the Gryphon.’ Laurence grinned. ‘He must have been surprised to see you at that time of the morning. Did you exchange pleasantries?’

‘A few, but in truth, I spent most of the time listening to Miss Wright go on about Valentine Lawe. I believe Mr Devlin was as amused by her fascination with him as I was.’

‘A point of similarity, then.’

‘The only one.’ In spite of herself, Victoria felt her cheeks grow even warmer. ‘Mr Devlin and I really have nothing else in common, Laurie. He has no fondness for the theatre, and that would have to make matters difficult for me.’

‘Not necessarily. Not all husbands and wives enjoy the same things,’ Laurence said. ‘Our parents don’t have many similar interests, yet they manage to rub along fairly well.’

‘Only because Papa is not concerned with his position in life. Mr Devlin has to be and it’s quite likely I would be a terrible embarrassment to him,’ Victoria said. ‘Besides, I’m sure he has his clubs and his politics, and lives as indulgent a life as most other gentlemen in his circle. And he will be Lord Kempton one day and so has to bear in mind the responsibilities and obligations owed to the name. What could he possibly want with a woman who has no desire to be married and who does exactly the opposite of what society expects her to?’

At half past two the following afternoon, Alistair Devlin snapped his pocket watch closed in frustration. He had instructed the estate agent to meet him at Gunninghill House at precisely two o’clock and it was now half an hour beyond that. If the man did not wish to sell the building, he should have just said so.

‘Mr Devlin!’ A rotund little man clutching a satchel under his arm came hurrying up the lane towards him. ‘Hedley Brown. Apologies for my tardiness. I was delayed by my last client. Quite forgot he was coming.’

‘Never mind, you’re here now. I take it you have brought a key?’

‘Yes, indeed, I have it here.’ Mr Brown reached into the satchel and withdrew a key, which he proceeded to insert into the lock. ‘Took me a while to find it. We haven’t had much interest in this old place.’ When the key wouldn’t turn, he pulled it out, brushed off a few flecks of rust and reinserted it. ‘I suspect it will need a bit of work to make it comfortable. Ah, there we are.’ He pushed the door open to reveal a large, empty hall. ‘However, it is a fine house and the price makes it quite attractive for … whatever purposes you have in mind.’

Alistair stepped across the threshold and gazed around the shadowy hall. No doubt Mr Hedley thought he intended to house his mistress here, though why he would establish a night-time lover at such a distance was anyone’s guess. ‘Lead on, Mr Brown. I am anxious to see more.’

The agent began the tour on the ground floor, which boasted a dark and rather dingy dining room, a breakfast parlour and what might once have been a library. Climbing the stairs to the first floor, Alistair was shown several good-sized rooms, some with windows that faced the road while others looked out over the badly overgrown gardens. Climbing yet another flight brought them to the bedrooms, each with its own dressing room, any one of which was large enough to accommodate several small beds. Above that were the servants’ rooms and the attics. The kitchen, located below ground, was surprisingly large and well laid out.

It took fifteen minutes to view the house, less for Alistair to come to the conclusion that it was exactly what he needed. The space was commodious and, while there weren’t sufficient windows, the ceilings were high enough that the space did not feel cramped. Outside, there was plenty of room for vegetable gardens and the fields could be used for play areas. There was even a small pond. Mrs Hutchins would have to keep an eye on the younger children around that, but the older ones could help out. ‘I’ll take it,’ he said.

Mr Brown stared at him. ‘But we haven’t discussed the price.’

‘There is no need. I told you how much I was willing to spend and instructed you to find a house that fell within that range. I assumed when I received your note that you had found such a place.’

‘Well, yes, but—’

‘Then there is nothing to discuss,’ Alistair said, ‘except when I can take possession.’

‘Well, I suppose if everything meets with your approval, there is no reason why you may not do so as soon as you wish.’

‘Excellent. Have you brought the papers with you?’

‘Er … no.’ Mr Brown’s cheeks coloured. ‘I had no idea our business would be concluded so swiftly.’

‘Then I shall meet you at your office in precisely two hours. Pray have the papers ready for me at that time.’

Without waiting for the estate agent’s reply, Alistair headed back in the direction of his phaeton.

It always amazed him how some people could make an entire afternoon’s work out of what should have been a simple transaction.

Still, the main thing was that the house was perfect for what he had in mind. It would take work to make it into what he wanted, but he had accounted for the cost of renovations in his calculations. It was unlikely he would have found anything better. If he had, the price would have been that much higher, or it would have been too far out of London to make it viable.

No, Gunninghill House would do nicely, Alistair decided, glancing up at the old stone building one last time. It had everything the children needed. For that, he could forgive the less-than-efficient Mr Brown his numerous shortcomings.

Although Victoria preferred dramatic works, she occasionally went to the King’s Theatre for operatic performances. She had been fortunate enough to hear the great Italian soprano, Angelica Catalani, perform some years earlier and remembered it as being one of the few performances where the audience had actually been well behaved. Even the dandies who typically made the evening performances into something of a spectacle had been content to sit and listen to the diva sing.

Tonight, she and Laurence were to see a production of Tancredi by Rossini before going on to a card party at the home of one of Laurence’s friends. Victoria had heard great things about Fanny Corri, who had been cast in the lead role, and expected it would make for a pleasant change.

What she had not expected was to see Alistair Devlin and Miss Wright seated in the company of another well-dressed couple in one of the best boxes in the house.

‘If I didn’t know better, I’d swear the man was following you,’ Laurence murmured.

‘Good thing you know better, then, isn’t it?’ Victoria quickly looked down at the stage. She had no wish to be caught staring at Alistair, but it was hard not to let her eyes drift in that direction. He was like fire on a winter’s night—a source of heat that could burn if one ventured too close.

The performance began shortly thereafter and was a delight from beginning to end. Miss Corri was exceptional in the role of the heroine, Amenaide, and the mezzo-soprano singing the part of Tancredi had a marvellous voice. Only the gentleman playing Orbazzano fell short of expectation.

‘I think he might have been the understudy,’ Laurence said as they made their way out of the box at the end. ‘He certainly wasn’t up to the calibre of the other singers. But Miss Corri was well worth hearing. I suspect there will be a line up outside her door this evening. I wonder if Devlin will be one of them. Rumour has it he’s looking for a new mistress.’

If either of them thought the nature of the conversation unusual, neither of them said so, perhaps because they had each been exposed to the theatrical world for most of their lives—a place where morals were lax and love and sex interchangeable.

Yet another reason, Victoria reflected, for men like Alistair Devlin to avoid her.

Still, the thought of him vying for the favours of an opera singer left her with a distinctly unsettled feeling. She preferred not to think of him as a man who took advantage of such women, yet everyone knew that well-born gentlemen chose mistresses from within the acting profession. She’d heard stories about his liaison with Celeste Fontaine and of their tumultuous parting, but she couldn’t recall there being whispers about any other woman having taken her place.

Not that she cared, Victoria assured herself. What Alistair Devlin did with his personal life was certainly no interest to her.

Pity, then, that he should be the first person she encountered upon entering the lobby.

‘Good evening, Mr Bretton,’ Alistair said. ‘Miss Bretton.’

‘Mr Devlin,’ Victoria said, striving for a casual tone. ‘Did you enjoy the performance?’

‘Mildly. I am not a great fan of opera, but I was persuaded to come by my sister and brother-in-law and prevailed upon to bring Cousin Isabelle as well.’ He turned to introduce the couple standing behind him.

‘A mediocre performance at best, wouldn’t you agree, Miss Bretton?’ the Archdeacon enquired.

‘The tenor’s performance, perhaps, but I thought Miss Corri was exceptional,’ Victoria said, grateful not for the first time for the anonymity of her name. In her last play, she had poked fun at the character of an archdeacon, and while she hadn’t had any particular archdeacon in mind, she suspected if Alistair’s brother-in-law had seen the play, he would have taken offence. ‘While she is not in the same league as Catalani, her voice is very fluid and her range is astonishing. I venture to say she has a promising future ahead of her.’

Mrs Baltham’s left eyebrow rose a fraction of an inch. ‘You seem to know a great deal about such things, Miss Bretton. You are an aficionado, perhaps?’

‘Of course she is!’ Miss Wright said with all the naïveté of youth. ‘Miss Bretton’s uncle owns the Gryphon Theatre. I’m sure she knows everything there is to know about opera and the stage.’

It was not a recommendation. Victoria knew it from the way Mrs Baltham’s nostrils suddenly dilated, as though finding herself in the presence of a vaguely unpleasant smell. ‘Really? I was not aware of the connection.’

‘It is not generally well known,’ Laurence remarked.

‘And I am sure you are happy it remain that way,’ the Archdeacon replied stiffly. ‘Come along, Isabelle.’

The dismissal could not have been more obvious. The Archdeacon and his wife moved away, leaving poor Miss Wright to follow numbly in their wake.

Victoria didn’t say a word. Quietly fuming, she kept her eyes on the floor, painfully aware of the snub she and her brother had just been dealt.

‘Well, I’ll just go and find the carriage,’ Laurence said, obviously feeling the awkwardness of the situation. ‘Coming, Victoria?’

‘A moment, Miss Bretton,’ Alistair said quietly. ‘Please.’

Victoria glanced at her brother and nodded. ‘I’ll be along directly.’

Laurence bowed and left them. As soon as they were alone, Alistair looked at Victoria with an expression she could only call pained and said, ‘I am truly sorry for what just happened. They had no right to speak to you like that.’

‘It is not for you to apologise, Mr Devlin,’ Victoria said, anger lending sharpness to her tone. ‘Clearly, your sister and brother-in-law are not as impressed with my connection to the theatre as Miss Wright so obviously is.’

‘I fear they share my father’s opinion in that regard.’

‘Then why did they come?’ Victoria was stung into replying. ‘Is opera not a form of theatre?’

‘I’ve always thought so, but the Archdeacon is of the opinion that the talent required to sing opera well puts those performers ahead of commonplace actors. It doesn’t make any sense, but it is beyond my power or interest to try to change his mind. But I am sorry that you and your brother had to suffer for his prejudices.’

Victoria managed a thin smile. She hadn’t been sorry to see the Archdeacon leave. She hadn’t liked him any more than he had liked her. But she did regret that Alistair had been there to witness his disapproval, knowing it only served to reinforce what she had told him the night they had met. ‘It isn’t your fault, Mr Devlin. It is not the first time I have been criticised for my associations and I doubt it will be the last. With both an aunt and an uncle so heavily involved in the theatre, such snubs are hard to avoid.’

‘Nevertheless, you are not an actress, nor have you anything to do with the profession. You simply enjoy going to the theatre, as so many do, and there is nothing wrong with that.’

Victoria glanced away, uncomfortable with the concern she saw in Alistair’s eyes. Every time she saw him now, the pretence of innocence grew harder to maintain. When Miss Wright had expressed admiration for Valentine Lawe, Victoria had been able to assuage her guilt by telling herself how disappointed Miss Wright would be if she were to learn that the object of her affection was actually a figment of Victoria’s imagination rather than a flesh-and-blood man. But standing here now, wilfully deceiving Alistair, left her with a decidedly hollow feeling, as though she was keeping secrets of a most immoral kind. ‘It is not for me to criticise your sister and brother-in-law’s beliefs, Mr Devlin,’ she said in a low voice. ‘But I hope you will not allow their prejudices to adversely affect Miss Wright’s enjoyment of the theatre. She should be allowed to form her own opinions.’

‘She will, but as long as she is a guest in my father’s house, she will be exposed to his beliefs,’ Alistair said slowly. ‘And I must tell you, they are not favourable.’

‘Yet she still goes to the theatre.’

‘Her parents indulge her and they have instructed that she be allowed to do as she wishes. My father doesn’t like it, but given that the final say is not his, he tends to ignore her. He finds her headstrong and opinionated.’

‘Yes.’ Victoria began to smile. ‘I liked that about her from the start. But I am grateful for the explanation. And for the apology.’

‘I would not wish you to think the Archdeacon’s feelings are in any way a reflection of my own,’ he said quietly. ‘Because they are not. I look at you … quite differently.’ He offered her a bow, then went to join the rest of his family.

Seeing Laurence waiting for her at the door, Victoria started in that direction, but the memory of Alistair’s words lingered. ‘I look at you quite differently.’

‘As I do you, Mr Devlin,’ Victoria whispered under her breath. What a pity the gulf between them suddenly seemed wider than ever.