Gail Whitiker (18 page)

‘A man may have many interests, but he can have only one true passion,’ Joanna told him. ‘Because a passion is all encompassing. An interest merely passes the time. Your passion
must
be writing or you would not have achieved the level of success you have. Please think very carefully about that before you give my father your answer, Mr Bretton. I would hate to see you make a commitment you will come to regret when it turns out the other opportunity wasn’t all you thought it might be.’

* * *

At half past one in the morning, Laurence walked into the drawing room and pulled the stopper from one of the glass decanters. Splashing a generous measure of brandy into a glass, he tipped it back and drank deeply, his thoughts distracted for reasons he understood all too well.

He didn’t like lying to Joanna and he was having to do it more and more every day.

He hadn’t thought about any of this when he had taken up the role of Valentine Lawe. When Sir Michael Loftus had unexpectedly arrived at their home one day, demanding to know if the rumour about Victoria being Valentine Lawe was true, there hadn’t been time to weigh the pluses or the minuses of telling the lie. Laurence had simply stepped forwards and claimed the role as his own.

He hadn’t expected it to change his life. He had done it with a view to saving Victoria’s reputation, indeed to saving the good name of his entire family. And in the beginning, things had gone very well indeed. Both of his sisters had been welcomed back into society and somehow or other, he had become its favourite. Much to his surprise, he was suddenly a sought-after guest, for where it was not the thing for a lady to write plays, it was perfectly all right for a gentleman to do so and he was celebrated for his achievements.

Nevertheless, there had been downsides. The sudden notoriety, the lack of privacy, the guilt he felt at having to lie to the people he cared about. None of those rested easily on his conscience, nor did he enjoy being praised for work that was not his. When glowing reviews of the play appeared in the papers, or when people came up to him and congratulated him on his success, Laurence was always quick to pass those kudos on to his sister.

Fortunately, Victoria didn’t seem to mind. In her own words, she was far happier being out of the public eye than she was being in the centre of it. Nor was there any question that Winifred had benefited from his decision. Her association with Mr Fulton had blossomed and looked to be heading towards the long-awaited proposal.

Who could have foreseen that
he
would be the one to suffer for his actions? All because of a lady for whom he had developed the most intense and unfortunate attraction.

Now, for the first time, Laurence understood his sister’s anguish at having to lie to the man she loved, because he knew how it felt to be deeply immersed in a deceit. Every time he opened his mouth he compounded his guilt.

How could he look Joanna in the face and know that what she saw was a lie?

He
was not
Valentine Lawe. He wasn’t a playwright of any kind. But he was acting as though he was and Joanna believed him wholeheartedly.

Well, the time had come for it to end. He had to tell her the truth. It didn’t matter that she was going to marry someone else; he didn’t want her living with a belief about him that was false. He just couldn’t do that any more—

‘Laurence? What are you still doing up?’

‘Winifred.’ He glanced in the direction of her voice and was surprised to see his younger sister standing in the doorway, still dressed in her finery. ‘Just enjoying a last glass of brandy before I turn in. Are you only now getting home?’

‘Yes. I was at Lady Wayne’s musicale. Mr Fulton gave me a ride home in his carriage.’

Laurence frowned. ‘Not alone, I hope?’

Even in the dim light, he saw her blush. ‘Yes, but there was a reason for it.’ She started towards him and her face was glowing. ‘He asked me to marry him, Laurie. And I said yes!’

‘Well, thank God for that!’ Laurence said, putting his glass down and walking across to embrace her. ‘I am delighted for you. I suppose you’re deliriously happy?’

‘Over the moon!’ she said, hugging him back. ‘I wanted to tell you first because you are the one who made it happen.’

‘Don’t be silly, I had nothing to do with it.’

‘You had
everything
to do with it! By pretending to be Valentine Lawe, you made all of us respectable again. Mr Fulton told me as much tonight,’ Winifred said, dancing out of his arms and doing a little twirl in the middle of the floor. ‘He said he wanted to ask me to marry him shortly after we met, but when the rumour about Victoria being Valentine Lawe came out, his family advised him against it. But once it was clearly established that you were actually the one writing the plays, his family withdrew their objections and everything was fine. If you hadn’t done that, he would not have asked me to marry him and I would not now be the happiest girl in all England.’

Laurence wanted to be happy for her, and in some ways he was. But with every word she uttered, the possibility of his admitting the truth to Joanna slipped further and further away.

‘I am happy for you, Win,’ he said quietly. ‘I know this is what you’ve been longing for and I wish both of you every happiness.’

‘Thank you, Laurie. Mr Fulton is coming to see Papa in the morning and then we will tell the rest of the family. You won’t let on, will you?’ Winifred said, concern drawing a line across her brow. ‘I know Mama would be terribly hurt if she thought she wasn’t the first one to hear the news after Papa.’

‘I shall be the very soul of discretion,’ Laurence promised.

‘Of course you will, because you really are the best of brothers. I know I haven’t always told you that, but I am very grateful for what you’ve done for me...and for this family. We are all so terribly proud of you.’

In the silence that followed, Laurence stared into the dying embers of the fire and tossed back the rest of his brandy. Well, it was too late now. He
couldn’t
tell Joanna the truth. To do so would be to put Winifred’s forthcoming marriage at risk and there was no way he was going to do that. Not after everything she’d been through. He didn’t know Joanna well enough to know if she would keep the information to herself or if she would spread it all over London. She certainly had no reason to keep his secrets and, given her situation, she couldn’t be expected to hold anything he told her in confidence.

And
that
, he realised, raised another issue that required serious consideration. Could he realistically
be
a part of Bonnington’s team if Joanna was married to Sterne and the two of them were there together?

To play a key role on an expedition to Abu Simbel was, undeniably, the opportunity of a lifetime—a chance he might never be offered again. But could he work with Joanna, day after day, knowing that she belonged to another man? Could he pretend not to see the glances they exchanged or act as though he didn’t care when they retired to their tent or their hotel room together?

He wasn’t made of stone, damn it! He couldn’t pretend not to care that the woman was married to someone else—because he cared very much. Being in Egypt with Joanna would be both the culmination of a dream—and the beginning of a nightmare.

And that, Laurence realised with regret, was his answer. There was no way he could go to Egypt with Bonnington and his team if Joanna was there as Sterne’s wife.

He might be willing to forfeit his fame for the chance to do something that really mattered. He was not prepared to sacrifice his sanity on the same altar.

Chapter Ten

‘M
r Laurence Bretton,’ the butler announced.

‘Ah, good morning, Mr Bretton,’ Lord Bonnington said, getting up from his desk. ‘I was hoping to see you today. So, have you made up your mind to join us?’

Laurence walked slowly into the room, glancing at the pieces of pottery and bits of stone sculptures lying on the earl’s desk with the fondness of a child gazing at a much-beloved pet. He had lain awake half the night thinking about what he was going to say to Joanna’s father this morning, but now that the time had come, he found the words stuck in his throat like unspoken regrets. ‘I have given your offer a great deal of thought, my lord, and believe me, I am grateful for the opportunity,’ he said finally. ‘But I’m afraid I cannot accept.’

‘Not accept?’ Bonnington said, astonished. ‘I thought you were excited about the opportunity.’

‘I was.’

‘Then what made you change your mind? Did you not speak to my daughter about any concerns you might have had?’

‘I did, and she answered all of my questions and raised a few issues I hadn’t thought of. But for a number of reasons, I think it would be best if I do not accompany you,’ Laurence said. ‘I don’t know that I am cut out to be both a playwright and an explorer.’

‘But you said yourself there was no reason why you could not do both. It isn’t as though you would be permanently removing to Egypt. If you wish to continue writing plays upon your return, there would be nothing to stop you.’

‘Your daughter seems to think otherwise,’ Laurence murmured.

‘My daughter, bless her heart, is a woman and naturally views the situation through a woman’s eyes. But you really shouldn’t study what she says, Mr Bretton. I doubt she will even
be
on the next expedition.’

Laurence stared at the other man in bewilderment. ‘Not be on it? Why?’

‘Because I suspect she will not be allowed to go.’

‘By Lady Cynthia?’

‘My sister may have something to say about it if Joanna hasn’t made up her mind about marriage,’ Bonnington said, ‘but I suspect that decision will have been made by then, since Captain Sterne has already informed me of his desire to marry Joanna.’

Somehow, Laurence managed not to flinch. ‘And did you give him your permission?’

The earl shrugged. ‘I saw no reason not to. Sterne has much to recommend him, both as a husband and as a son-in-law,’ Bonnington said. ‘But he is well aware of what is and is not acceptable to society and allowing his wife to travel with him to Egypt will certainly fall into the latter category.’

‘So even knowing what it would mean—what Lady Joanna would be forced to give up—you would let her marry him?’ Laurence said.

‘
Let
her marry him?’ Bonnington said, frowning. ‘My dear Mr Bretton, it would be in everyone’s best interests for me to
encourage
her to do so. You must have heard the rumours about my...unfortunate circumstances.’

Laurence shook his head. ‘No.’

‘Really?’ Bonnington’s mouth twisted. ‘I thought it was
the
topic of conversation in society drawing rooms.’

‘Perhaps I do not frequent the right drawing rooms.’

‘No, perhaps not. Still, you will hear about it sooner or later. The fact is, the estate I inherited is falling down around my ears. My late brother and nephew did an excellent job of going through a great deal of money with the end result being that I am now poised on the brink of ruin,’ Bonnington said. ‘As such, I have no choice but to pin my hopes on Joanna marrying an exceedingly wealthy man. And Captain Sterne
is
that wealthy.’

The news was astonishing...and devastating, Laurence acknowledged. Not only did his position in society—or lack thereof—preclude him from pursuing a more intimate relationship with Joanna, but his lack of the necessary wherewithal to support not only her but a bankrupt estate put him completely out of the running for her hand. ‘I had...no idea.’

‘It is not the kind of thing a man wishes to spread around,’ the earl acknowledged in a heavy voice, ‘but neither can I deny the fact that I am in dire straits. And while I would rather see Joanna marry a man for whom she feels the deepest affection, one cannot always have what one wishes. She must do what it best for the good of the family.’

So you never stood a chance
, Laurence thought, the confirmation of his suspicions none the easier for having heard them spoken aloud. Being the son of a country gentleman who owned no property at all was not in the least distinguished. The house on Green Street belonged to his uncle, who kindly allowed Laurence and his family to use it while they were in London, and the house in Kent was owned by the local peer. What chance was there that Lord Bonnington would
ever
have considered him a suitable husband for his only daughter?

‘It will be a bitter pill for Joanna to swallow, of course,’ her father was saying, ‘but she won’t have any choice. Sterne will keep her in a fine house, several if I’m not mistaken, and she will have everything a young woman could wish for. But her place
will
be in the home.’

‘Do you know that for a fact?’

‘As good as, Mr Bretton, as good as,’ Bonnington said with a sigh. ‘Sterne accompanied me on an expedition a few years ago. We spent many a long hour talking into the night. He has quite rigid social and moral beliefs. I suspect he will have Joanna with child before the year is out and I venture to say she will never leave England again, which is a great pity, for my daughter has an exceptional mind and a natural flair for drawing. However, that is the way of the world. But you didn’t come here to talk about Joanna,’ Bonnington said, sitting down in his chair. ‘Are you sure there is nothing I can say that will convince you to join us?’

Laurence glanced around the room, admiring the scrolls and the bits of jewellery the earl had collected during his travels, many of them thousands of years old, and realised that Bonnington was right. Everything in this room
was
what Laurence loved. He knew the language, he had studied the history, and it all came so easily to him...unlike writing plays, which until recently, had been an uphill battle.

Yes, he would be walking away from something that had brought him fame and turned his life around in a very short time, but he was convinced he could pick up the writing when he got back. This was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

Besides, if what Bonnington said was true, Joanna wasn’t even going to
be
on the expedition. He wouldn’t have to see her, day after day, knowing that she went to Sterne’s bed every night. He wouldn’t have to watch her grow round with another man’s child and pretend to be happy for her sake.

He wasn’t that good an actor. The knowledge she wasn’t going to be there was the one thing—the
only
thing—that made his going possible.

‘I believe I’ve had a change of heart, my lord,’ Laurence said quietly. ‘In thinking over everything you’ve said, I realise I would very much like to be a part of your team.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Quite sure.’ Laurence glanced at Joanna’s sketch of Ramesses I on the wall behind the earl’s desk and knew she would be heartbroken at the thought of another artist taking her place. But that was not his concern. He had to think of her welfare and of her future.

Her father had accepted the fact that Joanna was going to marry Captain Sterne. The sooner Laurence did the same, the better off they would all be.

* * *

Joanna had heard the news that Laurence would be joining the expedition when she got home later that morning. She had suspected he would come early and had gone out so as to avoid being at home when he arrived to give her father the news. But when she had learned that he had accepted the offer, it was all she could do not to go down on her knees and beg her father to revoke his acceptance. With all her heart, she had prayed that Laurence would turn it down.

‘So, you’ve decided to give up your career as a playwright?’ Joanna said as the two of them stood sipping champagne at Lord and Lady Kingston’s soirée on the Monday evening following.

‘Not at all.’ Keeping his eyes on their hostess, Laurence raised an exquisite cut-crystal glass to his lips. ‘It will simply not be my focus during the time I am away.’

Joanna likewise raised her glass and pretended to study the very select group of people sharing the elegant drawing room with them. With the exception of Laurence, they were all titled and wealthy, many of them sporting ancient titles and equally ancient fortunes. Yet they had all welcomed Laurence with open arms—an honour seldom accorded to one so closely associated with the theatre.

Still, why would they not accept him? Joanna mused. Laurence was as handsome, as charming, and as agreeable as any man in the room. His smile was sincere, his interest in what they were saying genuine, and no matter what manner of conversation he was invited to take part in, he was able to hold his own, whether it be about politics or the finer points of shooting.

He really was a remarkable man—and Joanna was glad she’d had the weekend to come to terms with the news that he would be accompanying them to Egypt. It had given her time to gather her thoughts and to figure out how she was going to cope with the problem of seeing him every day—because it was going to be a problem.

He had worked his way into her heart. Little by little, he had charmed her with his humility and beguiled her with his wit. Was it any wonder she had fallen head over heels in love with him?

Regretfully, it was an awareness that brought with it no pleasure. It did nothing to assuage her fears over the prospect of the three of them spending almost a year together in Egypt. If anything, for the first time, it made the idea of going to Egypt far
less
appealing. It was the reason she had purposely played up the hardships of the journey to Laurence and made no mention of the pleasures. She had tried to put him off by exaggerating the quantity of work and the endless hours he would be required to put in, but she had done it for her sake, not his.

Yet he had still decided to join them. Now she would be forced to work with him, day after day, to dine with him every night and to be amiable to both him and Sterne for as long as the expedition lasted. To pretend not to be in love with him.

How ever was she to bear it?

‘By the way, I came across this while I was out yesterday,’ Laurence said, taking a small velvet bag from his pocket and handing it to her. ‘I thought you might like it.’

Joanna put down her glass and, taking the bag, undid the cord and tipped the contents of the bag into the palm of her hand.

An amulet slipped out, a golden disk suspended on a metal chain, and on the disk a raised image of the winged goddess Isis. Joanna’s eyes widened in shock. ‘Where did you get this?’

‘From the same fellow who supplies me with books,’ Laurence said. ‘Apparently, he took it from a man who offered it in payment for an old manuscript. The shop owner thought it was a copy, but I believe it to be genuine.’

‘I think you’re right,’ Joanna said, turning the disk over in her palm. ‘But Papa would be the one to ask. The workmanship is incredible.’

‘Yes, it is. That’s why I want you to have it.’

‘Me?’
Joanna glanced at him in astonishment. ‘I cannot accept this.’

‘Why not? You said you liked it.’

‘I do, but I couldn’t possibly keep it. It would be highly inappropriate.’

‘This from a young lady who prefers digging in the desert to attending fashionable soirées in Mayfair? What is that if not inappropriate?’

‘
That
is a quirk of my nature,’ Joanna said ruefully. ‘But this...you know what society would say if I were to accept a gift from a man to whom I am neither related nor promised.’

‘Society already frowns on you, Lady Joanna,’ Laurence said, handing his empty glass to a passing waiter. ‘I don’t see that accepting a token like this from me is going to make it any worse. However, if it makes you feel better, you can say you found it on your father’s last expedition.’

Joanna looked down at the exquisitely wrought piece of jewellery and waged a silent and desperate battle with her conscience. It was a beautiful piece of Egyptian handiwork, but it was also a gift from a man who, no matter what her feelings for him, could never be more than a friend. ‘I am sorry, Mr Bretton, but I really cannot accept this. It wouldn’t be right.’

She went to give it back to him, but Laurence closed her fingers around it and gently pushed it back. ‘Please don’t. This is something I know you, more than any woman of my acquaintance, would appreciate and I really would like you to have it. Perhaps it will remind you of me in the future.’

Yes, it would, Joanna thought painfully, and that was precisely the reason she did
not
wish to have it.

She gazed down at the figure of Isis, inlaid with tiny pieces of lapis and gold filigree, and marvelled at the delicacy of the work. Thousands of years ago, a goldsmith had sat over his fire, forging this piece of jewellery, carefully cutting the lapis into exactly the right shapes and painstakingly perfecting his image of the goddess. He might have made it for his wife...or for a queen. Now it was in her hands. ‘I thought you did not approve of artefacts being taken from the tombs for personal use,’ Joanna said, her voice husky.

‘Perhaps I’m not as staunch in my beliefs as I thought.’ Laurence laughed, but there was an echo of sadness in the sound. ‘Or maybe, had I found it myself, I would have taken it to a museum, but because it came to me in the manner it did, I suffered no guilt about making a present of it to you.’

‘Could you not return it to the man who gave it to you?’

‘What would be the point? He would only sell it to the next customer who walked through the door. Someone who would never appreciate its value the way you would. That is why you are the one who should be wearing it.’

Joanna had no idea what else to say...and in truth, she didn’t want to give it back. She wanted to keep it, knowing it would always be a very special and personal gift from the man she loved and would never be with.