Gail Whitiker (14 page)

‘Inappropriate feelings?’ Joanna stared at the man in astonishment. ‘Mr Bretton hardly knows me.’

‘On the contrary, you must have seen the way he was looking at you. The way he was watching you throughout dinner. The lascivious intent in his eyes. Theatre people are like that, you know.’

‘Are they?’ Joanna said drily.

‘Indeed, and you must be on guard against them! You have your reputation to consider and that is a most sacred and precious thing.’

The reason for Mr Rowe’s prolonged bachelorhood was no longer a surprise to Joanna. The fact she had somehow managed to refrain from slapping him was. ‘Mr Rowe, while I appreciate your concern for my reputation, it really is not necessary. Nor is this conversation, which is now at an end.’

‘But, Lady Joanna—’

‘And before you make any more disparaging remarks about Mr Bretton, let me just say that I did not like what I saw of
your
behaviour this evening and I think it decidedly unbecoming in the conduct of a gentleman. You were rude and condescending and I have no interest in furthering the acquaintance. Good evening, Mr Rowe!’

Joanna turned on her heel and walked back into the drawing room, leaving Mr Rowe red faced and spluttering on the landing. What an obnoxious little man! She didn’t care if he had eighty thousand a year, nothing would have compelled her to marry him. Laurence Bretton might be a mere playwright in his eyes, but he was a prince as far as she was concerned!

And so she would tell anyone else who thought to ask.

* * *

It was almost midnight before Laurence finally bid his host and hostess a good evening.

‘A most enjoyable gathering, my lord, Lady Cynthia,’ he said, aware of Joanna standing quietly off to one side.

‘We were delighted you were able to come, Mr Bretton,’ Lady Cynthia said. ‘Who would have thought that London’s most talented playwright would turn out to be such an informed historian and liberal thinker, to say nothing of such an accomplished musician?’

‘It was Miss Gavin’s singing that elevated the performance,’ Laurence said, knowing that while it was expected that he would offer the lady a compliment, what he said was true.

‘You are kind to say so, but I think we all know you have won yet another lady’s affection and admiration this evening.’

Laurence acknowledged the compliment, knowing full well there was only one lady whose affection and admiration he wished to win. ‘It was a privilege talking to you this evening, Lord Bonnington,’ he said, addressing the earl. ‘I wonder if I might stop by later this week and ask you a few questions about the Rosetta Stone?’

‘The Rosetta Stone. Yes, by all means,’ Bonnington said, ‘though I must admit to not knowing a great deal about it beyond what has been written by the French. I can give you the name, however, of a fellow who has been studying it rather assiduously.’

Laurence inclined his head. ‘I would like that.’

The timely arrival of another couple to bid their goodnights allowed Laurence to move on, but in doing so, he caught Joanna’s gaze.

‘I’ll walk out with you,’ she said, and without waiting for his agreement started for the door.

Laurence followed her out to the street, where a young lad was dispatched to find his carriage. He felt the chill in the night air and noticing Joanna’s bare arms, said, ‘You really should go back inside. The temperature has dropped considerably.’

‘I know, but I find it rather refreshing after the heat of the house.’ She crossed her arms in front of her chest, hugging her arms as she stared into the night sky. ‘I know it is customary, and of course, polite, to say that one enjoyed the evening as one is bidding goodnight to one’s host and hostess, but did you really enjoy it, Mr Bretton?’

Laurence raised an eyebrow in surprise. ‘Did I appear as though I did not?’

‘No. You were the perfect guest,’ she said. ‘You were paraded about before dinner, cross examined during it and made to perform when it was over. Yet never once did you look ill at ease or as though you wished you were somewhere else. I simply find myself wondering how enjoyable it really was.’ She brought her gaze back to his and her eyes were troubled. ‘I know I should have hated it.’

He managed a small smile, touched by her concern. ‘I admit it was akin to trial by fire, but it is not the first time it has happened. People seem to think that what a man does is all that he is. I refuse to accept that.’

Her eyes fell before his and she nibbled on her bottom lip. ‘I am not without guilt in that regard and I do regret it,’ she said in a low voice. ‘Just as I deeply regret the way you were treated by...some of the other guests this evening.’

Laurence knew to whom she was referring, but was surprised she would make mention of it, given that she was probably going to marry one of them. ‘I was not offended by what Mr Rowe or Captain Sterne said, Lady Joanna. They are as entitled to their opinions as I am to mine.’

‘But they were wrong to put you on the spot like that,’ Joanna said. ‘Their behaviour was uncalled for and I deeply regret that you were treated so disrespectfully.’

‘And I appreciate you saying as much, but to be honest, I really don’t care what Rowe or Sterne think of me. Only what you do.’

Her eyes flew up to his. ‘That matters to you?’

‘Of course. How could you think otherwise?’

She shook her head, her expression troubled. ‘I don’t know. I don’t seem to know anything any more. Life has suddenly become...so confusing.’

‘I know,’ Laurence agreed, thinking of how upside down his own life had become in the last year. ‘And in that regard, there is something I
would
have settled between us once and for all.’

A tiny furrow appeared between her brows. ‘Yes?’

‘When we first met at the Temple of the Muses, I made no mention of my being Valentine Lawe because I was not there in the guise of the playwright,’ Laurence said, wanting what few things that could be open and honest between them to be so. ‘I was there looking for books about Egypt and when I heard you express the same interest, I saw no reason to discuss the nature of my other occupation. The omission was not calculated in any way, nor would I would want you to think I had approached you with any other purpose in mind.’

Joanna nodded, but the line between her brows deepened. ‘I know that your offer was prompted by the most generous of motives, even if I did not know it at the time. You have long proven what kind of man you are and cleared up any misconceptions I may have had,’ she said quietly. ‘I have seen you with your family, and with friends. I even watched you bring out a side of a young lady I have
never
seen in all the years I’ve known her.’

He looked amused. ‘Miss Gavin?’

‘Indeed. Jane has never sung in public before, but she sang with you tonight and even appeared to be enjoying it.’

‘She has a lovely voice.’

‘Yes, but that’s not the point,’ Joanna said as another couple walked by. ‘
You
gave her the confidence she needed to stand up and sing in front of all those people. No one else ever has, which only proves what a very special man you are.’

He swallowed hard and glanced away. ‘I am no more or less than I was before, Lady Joanna. It is only that you have come to know me better. But I am not without secrets.’

‘Who amongst us is?’ Joanna said, her smile tinged with sadness. ‘Who in that room tonight did not have a least one secret they would never wish anyone to know, lest they be thought the less of for its discovery?’

Laurence smiled. ‘What secrets have you, my lady, that could possibly make anyone think less of you? I know I could not—’

‘Getting a little personal, aren’t you, Bretton?’

The words were like a dash of cold water and Joanna jumped. ‘Captain Sterne!’

‘Lady Joanna. Sorry to interrupt your little tête-à-tête,’ Sterne drawled, ‘but I wanted to make sure I had a chance to tell you how much I enjoyed your company this evening. I admire a woman who has the courage to stand up for her convictions. You spoke passionately of your beliefs and are to be commended for it. As I told your father over dinner the other evening.’

‘Thank you,’ Joanna said, though Laurence heard the note of reserve in her voice. ‘I wasn’t aware the two of you had dined together.’

‘Actually, I have enjoyed several meals with your father.’ Sterne smiled down at her, completely ignoring Laurence. ‘There were matters I wished to discuss with him, one being of particular importance, though this is neither the time nor the place to go into it. The matter can wait until we find ourselves in a more...private setting.’ He finally flicked a brief, dismissive glance in Laurence’s direction before turning to smile at Joanna again. ‘I look forward to the pleasure of calling on you very soon, Lady Joanna. And to furthering what has become, for me, a thoroughly delightful acquaintance.’

Even through the darkness, Laurence saw the blush that rose in Joanna’s cheeks and the reason for it struck him forcibly. Rowe wasn’t the danger now, Sterne was. Apart from having a demonstrated interest in Egypt, he was the wealthy son of a peer and he was actively pursuing Joanna.

Was that what he had discussed with her father over their several dinners together? Bonnington’s plans for Abu Simbel—and Sterne’s plans for her?

‘Well, I won’t keep you any longer, Lady Joanna,’ Laurence said, the note of forced joviality grating even to his own ears. ‘You should go back inside. The air grows chill.’

‘Mr Bretton, wait—’

But Laurence didn’t wait. What was the point? After Sterne’s little speech, there clearly wasn’t anything else that needed saying. Whether she knew it or not, Joanna’s life was mapped out—and Laurence wasn’t so stupid as to believe that he had any part in it. The gulf between them was too wide, the consequences of such a liaison too far reaching.

Joanna was the daughter of an earl and, by her own admission, earl’s daughters did not indulge in romantic liaisons with their father’s employees—or with playwrights! Another man—one far more suitable in every way—was going to ask her to marry him and she was probably going to say yes.

If ever he’d needed proof that his hopes in Joanna’s direction were wasted, he had surely just been given it.

Chapter Eight

I
n the silence of her bedroom, Joanna sat as still as a statue as her maid went through the nightly ritual of taking down her hair and brushing it out. The bedtime custom was usually a soothing prelude to sleep, but tonight her mind was far too troubled to be calmed in such a way.

Captain Sterne was going to propose. He hadn’t come right out and said as much, but Joanna knew that’s what he intended. His not-so-subtle reference to the
particular
topic
he and her father had discussed had not gone unnoticed because Sterne hadn’t intended that it should. He’d
wanted
Laurence to know that he had spoken to her father about marrying her, just as he’d wanted both of them to know that her father had not discouraged his suit.

Laurence certainly knew it. It was the reason, Joanna felt sure, that after a decidedly brusque goodnight, he had climbed into his carriage and driven away without waiting to hear what she had to say and without so much as a backwards glance. And all the while, Sterne had stood beside her with a smug look on his face and the air of a man well satisfied with what he had done.

And to think
this
was the man her father wanted her to marry!

But was it, Joanna wondered, because he genuinely
liked
Captain Sterne or because Sterne was the
only
man to have come along with the kind of fortune necessary to pay off her father’s debts and save the estate—?

‘You’re frowning, miss,’ Sarah said as she drew the brush slowly through Joanna’s hair. ‘Makes me think you’ve something on your mind.’

Joanna raised her head and met her maid’s eyes in the glass. ‘I do, Sarah, but I don’t know what to do about it.’

‘Has it something to do with Mr Bretton?’

Surprised, Joanna said, ‘Why would you say that?’

‘Because he likes you, my lady. And a handsome man he surely is.’

Joanna let her gaze drift back down to the table. ‘Yes, he is.’ Trust the servants to be gossiping about Laurence already. But Sarah was right. Laurence did like her and, worse, she was coming to like him and a great deal more than she should.

But, like Romeo and Juliet, their relationship was destined to fail. She had no idea what Laurence’s financial circumstances were, though she doubted they were anywhere near Captain Sterne’s. And even setting the matter of wealth aside, Laurence didn’t have the standing in society that would allow him to take their relationship any further.

Sterne did. As Lord Rinstrom’s heir, he had excellent connections and a fortune to go with it. At one time, that wouldn’t have mattered to Joanna. At one time, she had been free to choose who she would marry.

Now she was not. And the knowledge that she was falling in love with a man she could not have only made it all that much worse.

‘Thank you, Sarah,’ Joanna said, abruptly getting up from the table. ‘Goodnight.’

The maid put the brush down on the dressing table and bobbed a curtsy. ‘Goodnight, miss.’

As soon as the door closed, Joanna climbed into bed and blew out the candle, though sleep was the last thing on her mind. Instead, she stared a long time into the darkness, hoping to find answers, her mind tracing back over the time she had spent with Laurence this evening, then to every conversation they’d ever had.

Secrets. He’d admitted to having secrets. But were his true feelings for her one of them?

He had tenderly kissed her hand. Quoted lines to her from
Romeo and Juliet.
And he had told her there was only one lady whose eyes he wished to be the object of.

Joanna refused to believe that was nothing more than irrelevant chatter at a society function. This was
not
a case of her callow poet all over again. Laurence wasn’t at all like Aldwyn. He was a deeply caring man who was worthy of being admired and loved by everyone who knew him—

But not by you.

The words echoed in the darkness, leaden and bleak. Words that would not be silenced, no matter how hard she tried. Laurence could
not
be the man for her. As respected as he was for the plays that he wrote, he had nothing to offer her by way of a position in society or by the fortune necessary to save her and her father from financial ruin.

She had fallen in love with the wrong man. And as she closed her eyes and prayed for sleep, she couldn’t stop thinking about how unfair life was—or how she could have been so utterly foolish...again.

* * *

The memory of his departure from Joanna—and of Sterne’s parting words—stuck like thorns in Laurence’s side, refusing to be dislodged and growing more painful by the day. How many letters did he start to write, only to tear into pieces when he realised there was nothing to be gained.

A woman waiting for a proposal from another man was not going to be swayed by the words and sentiments of a man for whom she could afford to feel nothing. He wasn’t rich or titled and he had nothing to offer in comparison to a man like Sterne.

Was it any wonder that as his irritation increased, his family took to avoiding him? Nor was his mood improved by the unexpected arrival two mornings later of Sir Michael Loftus, intent on finding out the progress of Valentine Lawe’s newest play.

‘Of course, I don’t mean to rush you,’ the gentleman said. ‘But I am curious to know when you might have something ready for me to read.’

‘I will keep you apprised of my progress, Sir Michael,’ Laurence said, ‘but given that
A Lady’s Choice
is still playing to full houses, I don’t see any urgency to finish a new play.’

‘Ah, but we cannot rest on our laurels, Mr Bretton,’ Loftus said. ‘There is a tremendous amount of work to be done before a new play is presented to the public. The work must be read and most likely revised. A cast must be selected and rehearsals begun. A full-blown production is not mounted overnight. I’m sure you are aware of that.’

‘I am, but neither can I just command the words to appear,’ Laurence said, and certainly not now when his mind was so conflicted over Joanna. ‘These things take time.’

‘Yet your first four plays were produced over a relatively short period. Why not this one?’

‘Because every play is different. Sometimes the words come easily and sometimes they do not. And given that this new play is going in a slightly different direction—’

‘Different direction? The Theatre Royal is not the Gryphon, Mr Bretton,’ Loftus said, his brows snapping together. ‘The type of plays you wrote for your uncle were of a different stamp altogether from what I expect to see from you now. You have never been able to do a work like this before and I expect you to rise to the occasion.’

‘Your confidence in me is flattering and I will produce a new play, but in my own time rather than in one dictated to me.’

Laurence went to turn away, but Sir Michael’s arm shot out, stopping him. ‘Have a care, lad. I know how talented you are and I respect and admire you for it, but this is a business and I’ve no time for airs and graces. The last time we spoke you gave me to understand that a new play was underway and that you were eager for the opportunity to see it presented at Drury Lane. Are you telling me now that you’ve changed your mind?’

Laurence bit back a heated reply. As much as he wanted to tell Sir Michael Loftus to go to hell, he knew he couldn’t because it was not
his
career that stood to suffer. Victoria might still want to do both a work of serious drama
and
a children’s book, and belligerence towards Loftus now certainly wouldn’t help her cause. While Laurence had no desire to kowtow to the man, neither could he afford to make an enemy of him.

‘I have not, Sir Michael. It is an opportunity for which I am very grateful. Forgive me if I gave you the wrong impression.’

He watched the other man’s eyes narrow into slits, then, thankfully, saw his expression ease into more relaxed lines. ‘Not at all, Mr Bretton. It was a misunderstanding, nothing more. Of course, you may take more time. Take all the time you need...though it would be advantageous if you could have something finished before the end of the Season. That would give us time to have the production ready for the New Year, and what a glorious way to start out! With a brilliant new play on the stage of the Theatre Royal, Drury Lane. Quite a feather in your cap, m’boy. Quite a feather indeed.’

Sir Michael clapped Laurence on the back and then took his leave, obviously feeling their business satisfactorily concluded. As soon as he was gone, however, Laurence’s forced geniality gave way to a frown.

So, he was expected to finish a new play before the end of the Season. Under normal circumstances, that wouldn’t have been a problem, but taking into account Victoria’s uncertainty about what she wanted to write and his own inability to produce something worthy of being published, it was far from a sure thing now.

Victoria was the creative genius behind Valentine Lawe and she must be the one to decide whether or not the plays kept on coming. If she decided not to write, Loftus would have to go elsewhere and Laurence would no longer be society’s darling...which was fine by him.

‘At least Lady Joanna would think better of me,’ he muttered under his breath.

It did not make him feel better to know that any improvement in her opinion was no small point in the argument’s favour.

* * *

Joanna’s moment of decision arrived sooner than expected. Two days later, Captain Sterne appeared in the doorway of the drawing room. ‘Good afternoon, Lady Joanna.’

‘Captain Sterne.’ Joanna was hard pressed to conceal her dismay, given that her aunt had just gone upstairs to lie down. ‘To what do I owe the pleasure?’

‘I actually came to speak to your father about the expedition to Abu Simbel, but I was informed that he has stepped out.’

‘Yes, though I expect him back soon.’

‘Then...do you mind if I have a moment of your time?’

Joanna inclined her head. ‘Not at all. Won’t you sit down?’

‘Thank you.’ He settled his long frame into the chair opposite, looking relaxed and entirely at ease. ‘I expect you know what it is I wish to say to you.’

‘Actually, no,’ Joanna said, stalling for time. ‘We are not so well acquainted that I am able to predict the nature of our conversations, Captain Sterne.’

He looked vaguely amused. ‘I would have thought you might, given the unfortunate situation in which you and your father find yourselves. And your rather pressing need to find a solution.’

Joanna reached for her tambour—and impaled her finger on the needle.

‘Shall I call for a servant?’ Sterne enquired solicitously as they both watched a drop of blood appear on the end of her finger.

‘Thank you, no.’ Joanna reached into her pocket of her apron and pulled out a handkerchief, which she proceeded to wrap around the injury.

Unfortunately, Sterne’s sharp gaze narrowed in on it. ‘Are those
your
initials, Lady Joanna?’

Joanna’s eyes dropped to the embroidered letters in the corner of Laurence’s handkerchief and she blanched. ‘No. A friend lent it to me when I was in need of it.’ She put her free hand over top the makeshift bandage. ‘What is this unfortunate situation you wished to speak to me about, Captain Sterne?’

Sterne’s gaze lingered a moment longer on the handkerchief before slowly rising to meet hers. ‘The situation in which you and your father find yourselves as a result of your late uncle’s reckless spending habits. In particular, the part
you
play in providing a solution to the problem.’

‘I’m not sure I understand—’

‘Let us not beat around the bush, Lady Joanna,’ he interrupted. ‘I am well aware that vast amounts of money are required to pay off the estate’s debts and to restore both Bonnington Manor and this house to their former glory. As your father knows, I have that kind of money. And I am prepared to make it available to him
if
I am promised something in return.’

Joanna kept her gaze on her needlework. ‘And that something you wish to be promised?’

‘Simple. Your hand in marriage.’

‘I see.’ Joanna nodded, the roaring in her ears all but drowning out the thundering of her heart. ‘But you do not love me.’

He smiled. ‘Nor do you love me, but I am confident you will learn to. There would, after all, be much to recommend the marriage. You would never want for anything again. You would have more gowns than you could possibly wear, own finer jewels than anyone in London and have a string of carriages and servants at your disposal at all times. At the same time, your father would find himself free of debt and able to indulge in the kinds of activities a gentleman of his position and stature should. I suspect that should adequately compensate for the absence of feeling between us.’

‘So you do not care that I do not love you.’

‘In all honesty, no,’ Sterne said. ‘I am in need of a wife and you are in need of a wealthy husband. Any way you look at it, we both stand to gain by marrying. So, what is your answer to be?’

‘I cannot give you an answer to a question that has not been asked,’ Joanna said, twisting Laurence’s handkerchief more tightly around her finger. She needed time. Time to find out if there was any point in holding out hopes that Laurence might say something to her. What that might be, she had no idea, but she desperately wanted to hear—

‘He can’t help you, you know,’ Sterne said in a silken voice.

Joanna glanced up. ‘Who?’

‘Bretton. That
is
his handkerchief you’re clutching. But he can’t help you. Not the way I can.’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Joanna said, getting to her feet in agitation. ‘Mr Bretton is an acquaintance, nothing more.’

‘Yet I’ve seen the way you look at him,’ Sterne said. ‘And the way he looks at you. And I heard what he said to you outside the house the other night. But believe me, as sweetly compelling as his words no doubt are, he is not the man for you. A man like that could never be an acceptable husband for you. And since you wish me to ask the question, I will. Lady Joanna, will you—?’

‘Stop!’ she cried, whirling. ‘Do not ask! Not today.’