Gail Whitiker (15 page)

‘Why not?’

‘Because if you force me to give you an answer today, it will not be the one you are hoping for.’

His eyebrows rose. ‘Indeed. And if I were to ask again in a week’s time? Would you give me a different answer?’

‘I don’t know. I only know what I would answer if you were to ask me today.’

Sterne watched her for a long time, his eyes narrowed thoughtfully as he stared at her face. ‘Very well. I shall respect your wishes and not ask today. But I
will
come again,’ he said, abruptly standing up. ‘And when I do, I
will
ask the question and I suggest for your father’s sake that you give me the answer I want. I will make you a good husband and him a very wealthy son-in-law.’ Sterne glanced at the monogrammed handkerchief and sneered. ‘A claim others will never be able to make.’

* * *

The night for the outing to the theatre with Joanna and her aunt arrived, but as Laurence stood in the vestibule waiting for them to appear, he knew it would have been better to call it off. Spending an entire evening in Joanna’s company was going to be destructive to his physical and his mental well-being because no matter how much he wished otherwise, he was never going to have her.

It didn’t matter that he
wanted
to be with Joanna, or that she was the kind of woman with whom he could easily imagine spending the rest of his life. One with whom he could open up and share his deepest secrets. She was destined to be with another man. A man who could give her all the things he could not. And every time Laurence saw her, he would be reminded of that.

It would not do to lose his heart to a woman who could not give it a home. The smartest thing he could do was accept that and move on.

Then she walked in—and all sense of reason and logic flew out the door.

She looked like a goddess in a gown of pure white silk, her dark, shimmering hair swept up in a glorious crown on top of her head. The skilful cut of the gown caressed every curve upon which it touched and exposed the voluptuous swell of breasts while leaving her arms and shoulders bare.

Was she aware of the magnificent picture she made? Did she see how men turned to admire her, or notice how the ladies stared at her with envy? Did she know what she was doing to his heart as she walked up to him and said, ‘Good evening, Mr Bretton. I hope we are not late.’

Laurence shook his head and extended his hand for hers. ‘You are not. And even if you were, I could not chastise you for it. You take my breath away.’

He spoke the words quietly but he knew Joanna heard them. He saw the look of longing in her eyes and wondered what she might have said had her aunt not chosen that very moment to appear.

‘Ah, Mr Bretton, how delightful to see you again. Forgive my having kept you waiting. I wanted to stop and have a word with my dear friend, Lady Burroughs.’

‘Not at all, Lady Cynthia,’ Laurence said, dragging his gaze from Joanna’s face. ‘We still have a few minutes before the curtain rises. My sister and Mr Devlin have already gone up. Shall we join them?’

At the lady’s nod, Laurence turned and led the way up to his uncle’s box. He was aware of Joanna walking a few steps behind him and several times was tempted to turn around and talk to her, but at the last moment caught himself. It was best for all concerned that he treat this as a convivial evening with friends. It was the only chance he had of getting through it with his heart intact.

‘It seems you have drawn another full house, Mr Bretton,’ Lady Cynthia said, after the box had been reached and greetings between families exchanged. ‘I do not see an empty seat in the place. Oh, look, Joanna, there is Lady Standish. If I’m not mistaken, she is staring this way. How nice.’ Lady Cynthia waved in the countess’s direction and then sat down in her chair. ‘It will be all over London tomorrow that we were here with you tonight, Mr Bretton,’ she said, obviously pleased by the knowledge.

‘If there is anything going around London tomorrow, I hope it will be Lady Joanna’s satisfaction with the play,’ Laurence replied. ‘I am well aware she is not fond of romantic satire.’

Joanna blushed. ‘You are mistaken, Mr Bretton. I said no such thing.’

‘On the contrary, I remember very clearly what you said,’ Laurence said, not about to tell her that he remembered every conversation they had
ever
had.

He had to believe that, for the sake of a man’s pride, it was best that some things remain unsaid.

* * *

I should never have come!
The thought reverberated through Joanna’s head like a crack of thunder. Every time she saw Laurence now, the awareness of her feelings for him made it more and more difficult to remain uninvolved or to pretend uninterest.

She longed for a repeat of their closeness in the library, to feel once again the special affection in which she knew he held her. But Captain Sterne’s words had changed all that. His thinly veiled references to her father’s approval of his courtship had left Laurence in little doubt as to what his ultimate intentions were. When she had walked into the theatre this evening, she had felt his detachment.

For the first time since she’d met Laurence, Joanna wished her playwright had the heart of a pirate.

‘I understand this is your first time seeing
A Lady’s Choice
, Lady Joanna,’ Mrs Devlin leaned over to say.

‘Hmm? Oh, yes, it is.’ Joanna made a concerted effort to meet the woman’s smile.
Dear Lord, a pirate
? ‘My aunt came to see it when my father and I were travelling.’

‘In Egypt.’

‘Yes.’

‘How terribly exciting for you,’ Mrs Devlin said, her tone not in the least disapproving or condescending. ‘You have made my brother quite jealous with all your escapades. He would dearly love to experience what you have.’

Joanna risked a quick glance in Laurence’s direction and saw that he was enjoying a lively conversation with his brother-in-law. Tonight, he wore a beautifully tailored black jacket over another snowy-white waistcoat, the simple elegance of the outfit leaving one’s eye free to admire the handsomeness of the face above.

Had she ever noticed that charming cleft in his chin before, or how affecting was the sound of his laughter? Both seemed so obvious to her tonight, yet she could not remember having been so aware of them before...

‘Do you consider yourself an archaeologist, Lady Joanna?’

Joanna forced herself to pay attention. ‘No, my skills are strictly those of an artist, though I am fascinated by the history of the country.’ She paused for a moment, stopping to glance down at her fan. ‘I find it strange that your brother professes such a fondness for the subject while still being able to write such popular plays. It seems an unusual combination.’

‘Yes, I suppose it does,’ Mrs Devlin allowed. ‘But then Laurence is an unusual man. He possesses an astonishing intellect while at the same time being able to produce such excellent fiction. I think that is to his advantage, don’t you? Single-minded men can become so very tiresome.’

Unwittingly reminded of Mr Rowe, Joanna said, ‘Yes, though I suppose that depends on whether or not the interest is shared by the lady he is with.’

‘Perhaps, though I admit, my knowledge of men is limited to my father and brother, and now Mr Devlin.’

‘Whom I sure you do not find in the least tiresome.’

Victoria’s eyes widened in surprise and then, to Joanna’s relief, she burst out laughing.

‘No, Lady Joanna, I most assuredly do not. Nor is my brother, whom I have always admired for the wide variety of his interests. He is what my husband terms an all-rounder. Apart from being fluent in six languages, Laurence knows more about the planets and the stars than any man I’ve ever met. He is also a neck-or-nothing rider, quite brilliant in the hunting field and you have already been treated to his brilliance on the pianoforte. But you will never hear him boast about it, nor about any of the other things he does so well. Humility and an unassuming nature will always prevent him from putting himself forwards.’

Mrs Devlin bestowed an affectionate glance on her brother and then, obviously feeling she had said enough, turned to address a remark to Joanna’s aunt.

Wishing she had kept on talking about her brother, Joanna sat back and waited for the play to begin. The list of Laurence’s accomplishments was growing by the day. Who would have thought that a man so supremely accomplished in so many ways could be as genuinely humble as Laurence was?

Her ruminations were brought to an end by the appearance of the theatre manager on stage and by a noticeable quietening of the audience as he began his introduction. Then, a few minutes later, the curtain rose and
A Lady’s Choice
began.

* * *

Half an hour into the performance, Joanna knew she was watching magic. Her scepticism had long since given way to surprise, and her surprise just as quickly to pleasure. She was completely caught up in the story of Elizabeth Turcott and Elliot Black. Their seemingly tragic relationship was played out over three acts, but contrary to what Joanna had expected, the play was neither sentimental nor melodramatic. It was clever...insightful...and, above all, intelligent.

An added delight came in the form of the cast. Everyone, from the stunning Signy Chermonde in the role of Elizabeth Turcott, to the young boy who played a lowly street urchin, was exceptional. Not a line was forgotten, not an entrance missed and the actors’ soliloquies were delivered clearly and with exactly the right amount of emotion. Even the most dramatic of scenes were played with absolute sincerity, and when at the end of a highly satisfactory conclusion the audience rose to its feet to pay tribute to the cast, Joanna stood up too, not in the least embarrassed about showing her approval.

Then the chant began. ‘Valentine...Valentine...Valentine...’

They were calling for him, demanding that the playwright stand up so they might pay homage to him. The name Valentine echoed throughout the theatre and everywhere Joanna looked, faces were turned in their direction, all eyes directed towards the man sitting beside her.

‘Stand up, Laurence,’ Mrs Devlin whispered. ‘It is time to take your bows.’

Laurence did, but it was clear to Joanna that he did so reluctantly. He stepped to the front of the box and as the chants changed to applause he raised his arm in acknowledgement of their cheers. Then he turned towards the stage and saluted his uncle and the cast.

Joanna laughed when Miss Chermonde blew Laurence a kiss, prompting both whistles and a few off-colour remarks from the dandies in the pit. Clearly, the gentleman’s admirers came in many forms.

‘Oh, that
was
good,’ Lady Cynthia said with an audible sniff when at last the cheering and the applause died down. ‘Mr Bretton, you are, quite simply, brilliant. I did not think it possible, but I enjoyed the play even more tonight than I did the first time I saw it. Left me feeling quite emotional, I must admit.’

‘Thank you, Lady Cynthia,’ Laurence said, though his gaze and his smile briefly rested on his sister. ‘I am very glad to hear it.’

‘What did you think, Joanna?’ her aunt asked.

Joanna was aware of Laurence’s eyes on her and suddenly found herself blushing. ‘What can I say other than that it was one of the most enjoyable performances I have ever seen? You are to be congratulated, Mr Bretton. You are truly a gifted storyteller.’

The gentleman inclined his head, but again refused to meet Joanna’s eyes. Instead, he shared another smile with his sister and then stepped aside to let the ladies precede him out of the box.

Not surprisingly, a veritable sea of people awaited them in the vestibule. Some were chatting with friends; others were going in to see the operetta while others were coming out, making for a constant ebb and flow of people moving past them.

Laurence’s sister and husband were soon hailed by another couple and drifted away to speak to them, while Joanna’s aunt crossed the floor to chat to Lady Standish, leaving Joanna alone with Laurence—and the hoard of well-wishers eager to congratulate him on the excellence of his play.

Finally, in a quiet moment, he turned to her and said, ‘I am sorry about this, Lady Joanna. I doubt you expected to find yourself in the midst of a crush tonight.’

‘I did not, but neither do I mind. No, really,’ Joanna said, laughing when she saw the doubt on his face. ‘It’s all rather exciting actually, though I have no idea how
you
manage to stay so calm.’

‘Practice,’ he said, leaning in closer so that he could be heard. ‘The attention was overwhelming at first, but I have done it so many times now, it seems quite natural. I suspect it is like being an actor. You get over your nerves and rise to the occasion.’

‘I suppose, though I cannot imagine what it must be like to stand in front of all those people and recite something from memory. I would be terrified.’

‘I don’t think so. You would likely become caught up in your performance and forget all about the audience,’ Laurence said. ‘Have you ever stood on a stage?’

‘Certainly not!’ Joanna said, only to blush when she realised how conceited her answer must have sounded.

‘It’s quite all right,’ Laurence said, laughing. ‘Well brought-up young ladies do not appear on stage or even express a desire to do so. But it can be liberating to pretend to be someone else for a while.’

His voice had assumed a pensive quality and Joanna said in surprise, ‘Do you wish to be someone else, Mr Bretton?’

She was astonished to see his cheeks darken. ‘No. The role of Valentine Lawe is quite enough for me.’

‘But that isn’t really pretending to be someone else, is it. You
are
Valentine Lawe,’ Joanna said. ‘Pretending to be a thief or a king—now
that
would be playing a role, and, yes, I suppose it would be liberating in a sense. We all play at such things when we are children, but when we are grown, we put away those pastimes and become serious and proper adults.’

‘I wonder.’ He turned to her and Joanna saw the light of mischief dancing in his eyes. ‘What character would you play, Lady Joanna, if you were to be given the chance? Cleopatra, the great queen, or Juliet, that most tragic of heroines. Or perhaps Rosalind, a far more gentle and compassionate woman, considered by many to be one of Shakespeare’s most-endearing heroines.’