Gail Whitiker (13 page)

‘Don’t be ridiculous, Lord Amberley,’ Mrs Stanton-Howard said. ‘If Mr Bretton went to Egypt, we would have no new Valentine Lawe plays and that would be most disconcerting. I can’t imagine that sitting in a tent in the middle of the desert could be conducive to writing fiction.’

‘On the contrary, I expect a wealth of new ideas would arise,’ Mr Bretton said. ‘But Lord Bonnington has assistants far more capable than myself. I have no experience in the field.’

‘And you won’t get any if you don’t put yourself forward,’ Lord Amberley said.

‘Very true,’ Bonnington agreed. ‘And perhaps Mr Bretton and I will have some discussions in that regard, but for now, I would like to propose a toast to Lord Amberley. I believe we are on the verge of tremendous discoveries and it is men like Lord Amberley, whose ongoing generosity has made these expeditions possible, to whom we owe our gratitude. Raise your glasses please. To Lord Amberley!’

‘To Lord Amberley!’ came the refrain, and then a moment of silence as the earl’s good health was drunk.

* * *

Shortly thereafter, Lady Cynthia stood up, a signal to the ladies that it was time to leave the gentlemen to their pleasures.

Glad to be excused from the company of certain gentlemen and their opinions, Joanna got up and marched out of the room. She did not look at Mr Rowe or Captain Sterne as she passed, too angry with the pair of them over their offensive treatment of Mr Bretton.

How dare they try to belittle him like that! They should have known better than to draw attention to a guest at her father’s table, and as gentlemen they should
never
have tried to humiliate him in such a manner. Thank goodness Mr Bretton had done such a splendid job of standing his ground. He had shown himself in possession of far more knowledge than anyone had given him credit for and, as far as Joanna was concerned, he had emerged far and away the better man.

More than that, his position on the removal of antiquities was exactly the same as hers and thinking on that brought to mind a book her father had found in a market in Cairo years ago. It was an old volume, one she suspected even the diligent Mr Bretton would not have found, and thinking to give it to him as an apology of sorts for the shoddy treatment he had received during dinner, Joanna slipped downstairs to her father’s study, intent on finding it prior to joining the other ladies in the drawing room.

‘Ah, good evening, Lady Joanna,’ Quenton greeted her as she opened the door. ‘I was just stoking the fire in case his lordship came down later.’

‘I suspect he will,’ Joanna said, knowing how much her father liked to end his days with a quiet glass of brandy. ‘He’ll likely have Lord Amberley with him, so you might like to top up both of the decanters.’

‘Very good, my lady.’ The butler collected the two crystal decanters from the credenza and then left, pulling the door closed behind him.

Joanna turned her attention to the bookshelves along the back wall, eventually finding the slim red volume tucked between her father’s trip journals. She was engrossed in reading a description of the Sphinx when the door opened again a few minutes later.

Expecting to see Quenton with the refilled decanters, Joanna looked up, only to catch her breath when she realised the gentleman standing in the doorway was not definitely a servant.

‘Mr Bretton! What are you doing here?’

He stood quietly in the doorway, making no move to enter or to retreat.

‘Forgive the impertinence, my lady, but I was hoping to have a word with you in private. I suspected there wouldn’t be an opportunity for that once we were all gathered in the drawing room again.’

Joanna smiled, but her heart was racing. If they were to be discovered here...if someone were to find them alone together... ‘How did you know where I was?’

‘I came looking for you. I noticed you weren’t in the drawing room and when I passed your butler on the stairs, I asked him if he had seen you. He told me you were here. And you needn’t worry,’ he said, walking into the room, but leaving the door open. ‘Having had two sisters at home, I am well aware of what is and what is not appropriate behaviour. But I don’t intend to keep you long. Only long enough to apologise for my behaviour at dinner tonight.’

‘
Your
behaviour?’ Joanna said, frowning. ‘What on earth have you to apologise for?’

‘It wasn’t my intention to provoke a heated discussion at your father’s table,’ Mr Bretton informed her. ‘Though I have been known for expressing unpopular opinions in the past, I generally refrain from inciting arguments over dinner and in company where I am not well known.’

The remark was so unexpected that Joanna actually laughed. ‘Mr Bretton, I can assure you, you owe no one any apologies. Indeed, if I am to apportion blame, it is Mr Rowe and Captain Sterne to whom the lion’s share must go. They were beastly in their behaviour towards you. Indeed, I thought your responses were remarkably restrained.’

Amusement twinkled in the depths of those hypnotic blue eyes. ‘You are kind to say so, but I think we both know I did more to incite their anger than to defuse it, especially in Sterne’s case. He didn’t like me taking the stand I did.’

‘What he didn’t like,’ Joanna said, ‘was your knowing as much about Egypt as you did. He wasn’t expecting that. Nor was anyone else.’

His voice dropped as he walked towards her. ‘Does that include you?’

Joanna blushed, as though she had been a child caught stealing sweets. ‘Yes, if I am being completely honest, though I’m not even sure why I say that any more. Every time I’m with you, you prove me wrong.’

‘Because you still believe me first and foremost a playwright.’

‘Probably.’ She raised her head and looked at him, trying to see past a wall of preconceived notions augmented by her memories of Aldwyn Patterson. ‘Is that so wrong?’

He shrugged. ‘The playwright is all many people see. Only those who know me well are privy to my secrets.’

‘And have you...many secrets, Mr Bretton?’ Joanna asked softly.

‘Everyone does. Some are good. Some are bad. And some...’ he said, reaching for her hand and raising it to his lips, ‘are life altering.’

Joanna stared at his mouth, watching it move across her fingers, feeling the warmth of his lips and his breath soft against her skin. ‘Am I forgiven?’ he murmured.

She was drowning in the intimacy of what he was doing. His head was bent over her hand, the dark fringe of lashes concealing his eyes. ‘Forgiven for what?’ she whispered.

‘For provoking Mr Rowe and Captain Sterne. I would hate to think my behaviour tonight had changed your opinion of me.’

Aware of the slow thumping of her heart, Joanna shook her head. ‘It has.’

‘For the better or the worse?’

The air crackled between them. ‘I’m afraid that’s my secret now, Mr Bretton.’

Something flared in his eyes. An awareness. An acknowledgement. An acceptance of the inevitable. And when he smiled, Joanna knew herself lost. All of her life she had been waiting for this, without even having been aware of what she was waiting for. But the closeness she felt to this man, the desire to be with him in every way possible, was undeniable—and he knew it. As the seconds passed, Joanna watched his smile fade and the expression in his eyes turn serious.

But he didn’t say a word. He reluctantly released her hand and sketched an elegant bow. Then he took a step backwards, slowly turned and walked out of the room.

Joanna didn’t move. Though her heart was pounding, she did not budge from the spot where he had left her.

She glanced down at the book, which she had forgotten to give him, and at the fingers of her left hand, which he had just kissed. Then she closed her eyes and groaned. Laurence Bretton, the playwright, had become Laurence Bretton, the man.

She was fooling herself if she thought things were ever going to be the same between them again.

* * *

By the time the gentlemen rejoined the ladies, Laurence had had more than enough of high society. While he thoroughly enjoyed his conversations with Lord Bonnington and Lord Amberley, Sterne’s presence had been a thorn in his side all evening. Every time he’d looked up, the Captain had been glaring back at him, as though daring him to pick up where they’d left off at the dinner table.

And Albert Rowe was no better. He walked around the room with his chest puffed out, clearly more impressed with his consequence than anyone else, and took pains to avoid Laurence’s gaze at every turn.

Thank God for Joanna, Laurence mused. She was the evening’s true saving grace; the one person who made him grateful he had come. He was glad he’d had a chance to talk to her in private before the guests had reassembled in the drawing room. Though he had taken a certain amount of pleasure in putting Rowe and Sterne in their places, Laurence hadn’t intended to make things awkward at dinner and it was important to him that Joanna know that his apology was sincerely and genuinely intended. So he had sought her out and talked to her.

Kissing her had definitely not been part of the plan.

But now having done so, Laurence wasn’t in the least sorry. If he had his way he’d be doing a lot more than kissing her, though he knew thinking like that was only going to make it that much harder to get over her—

‘Mr Bretton,’ Mrs Gavin said, breaking into his thoughts. ‘We did not have an opportunity to chat before dinner, but my daughter has been most anxious to talk to you about your music. I understand you play the pianoforte exceedingly well.’

‘I am no more than average, I assure you,’ Laurence replied, surprised that Joanna, who was the only person in the room to have heard him play, would have made mention of it.

‘Nevertheless, I wonder if you might consider performing a duet with my daughter,’ Mrs Gavin said. ‘Jane has a very pretty singing voice.’

‘Of course, if your daughter is agreeable.’

‘Oh, yes, I would be delighted,’ Miss Gavin said, colouring prettily.

‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ her mother announced, ‘we are to be treated to a rare musical performance. Mr Bretton has kindly agreed to accompany my daughter, Jane, on the pianoforte.’

Joanna was standing by the glass cabinet with her aunt and Lady Amberley when the startling announcement was made.

‘How unusual,’ Lady Cynthia murmured. ‘Jane is always so reserved in company. She never volunteers to stand up and perform, let alone to sing with a gentleman.’

‘I think Mr Bretton must have put her at her ease,’ Lady Amberley said, turning to watch the pair make their way to the pianoforte. ‘Such a charming man, is he not? So modest and unassuming.’

Joanna said nothing as the couple took their places, though the countess’s words struck a jarring note. Laurence—she could no longer think of him as Mr Bretton—sat down at the pianoforte and began to thumb through the selection of sheet music while Jane stood quietly to one side. He offered a remark to which she smiled and nodded, after which he withdrew two sheets of music that he set on top of the others. Then, placing his fingers upon the keys, he began to play.

Conversation died as the opening strains of an old English love song filled the air. It was a well-known piece and Joanna had heard it played many times before, but not with the level of skill and emotion Laurence brought to it now. It was as though he knew what the composer had in mind when he’d written the melody so many years ago.

Nor could there be any question that he had chosen the piece with Jane in mind. Sweetly sentimental, it suited her golden voice to perfection and the room was soon filled with the sound. She was even able to smile as she looked out over her audience.

Joanna could scarcely believe this was the same girl who had once burst into tears at being asked to recite a piece of poetry in front of her family.

‘Gracious, is there nothing the man cannot do?’ Lady Amberley whispered. ‘I had no idea Miss Gavin could sing so beautifully.’

‘Perhaps she has never been given the opportunity,’ Joanna whispered, knowing it was Laurence who had allowed Jane to blossom in front of a room full of strangers.

At that point, a beaming Mrs Gavin came over to join them. ‘Well, is this not a most auspicious occasion? I have never seen Jane look happier, nor do I remember the last time she appeared so at ease in the company of a gentleman. I fear she is in danger of losing her heart to Mr Bretton and I think he is not unaware of her.’

As though to confirm her words, Joanna saw the two performers smile at one another, and when the piece came to an end to much enthusiastic applause, Laurence stood up and escorted Jane back to her chair. He stood and chatted with her for a moment before moving away to talk to Mr Stanton-Howard, but the smile did not fade from Jane’s face. Clearly she had fallen under his spell, the same as had most of the other women in the room, Joanna reflected.

The same way she had—

‘Lady Joanna,’ Mr Rowe said. ‘Forgive the intrusion, but might I have a word with you in private?’

His voice was jarring, a discordant note in the music of her thoughts. ‘I hardly think this is the time or the place, Mr Rowe.’

‘It will only take a moment.’

Joanna sighed. She didn’t want to talk to him and certainly had no wish to be alone with him. But fearing he might say something to her in public that would lead to an even more embarrassing scene in private, Joanne reluctantly rose and led the way on to the landing. Once there, she turned without ceremony to face him. ‘Yes, Mr Rowe?’

‘Lady Joanna, I can hear in your voice that you are annoyed with me, but I hope you will not continue to feel that way once I have said what I need to,’ Mr Rowe said pompously. ‘You must know that I care deeply for you and that what I am about to say springs from a sincere concern for your welfare.’

‘I appreciate that, Mr Rowe,’ Joanna said, all but spitting with impatience. ‘But please do get on with it.’

‘Yes, of course. This is a little awkward, but I feel I really must make my feelings known—’

‘Mr Rowe!’

‘I am aware that Mr Bretton is well thought of by certain members of society,’ Mr Rowe said in a rush, ‘but I strongly feel I must caution you to be on your guard around him. I think it was obvious to everyone in the room that he harbours inappropriate feelings for you.’