Stages of Desire (6 page)

“Much the same. Make sure you come down to London and visit her.”

“Of course. The letter's from Brook Street. A footman from the Duchess of Dorset delivered it and is waiting for a reply.”

Before William had left London, he'd written the duchess to say he had business to attend to, and would call upon her and Lady Marianne immediately on his return. The next time he attempted to propose, he'd be sure to do it far from Miss Farley and her unwanted distractions.

The letter was indeed from the duchess. In it, she explained Miss Farley had run off and left a letter behind saying she'd joined her actor friend in Chipping Norton. As William was currently residing nearby, she hoped she might ask for his assistance. The duchess begged William to fetch Miss Farley and return her safely to London.

It was unthinkable, the ingratitude of the girl. She'd been given every opportunity, and here she was degrading herself and subjecting the family to possible ridicule. He tossed the letter on the table and took out his pocket watch. If he left early tomorrow morning, he could make it to Chipping Norton by noon. “For God's sake.”

“Trouble with Lady Marianne?” Jasper gave him a wry smile.

“Not exactly.”

“I can't imagine what the poor girl sees in you. I hope you at least try to charm her.”

“I appreciate your advice, but it's not Lady Marianne. She has a sister. Well, not quite a sister, a ward, who is causing a fuss, and the duchess has asked me to help. The girl seems intent on destroying Marianne's chances for a good match, as well as her guardian's good fortunes. And all for some father she hasn't seen in years.”

“You'll put her straight in no time, I'm sure. Oh, and I almost forgot, there was another letter.” He pulled a wrinkled piece of paper out of his pocket. William unsealed it, and the signature at the bottom improved his spirits slightly.

“Another damsel in distress?”

“No. This one is from an apothecary to the north, who's working on a similar experiment with cinchona bark.”

“Any promising developments?”

“Possibly.” He tucked it away and began cleaning up the laboratory. “Jasper, tell Smythe I'll need the traveling coach prepared for tomorrow morning. And have him call on Miss Entwhistle at the Rose Cottage and explain she'll be accompanying me. I'll need a chaperone for my charge.”

Jasper let out a low whistle. “Miss Entwhistle? Are you certain?”

“For God's sake, don't quibble with me now. She should pack for a two-day trip.”

“Of course, dear brother. And where are you headed, with Miss Entwhistle?”

“Chipping Norton. Then London. It's time to straighten out this nonsense once and for all.”

Chapter 5

Harriet woke with the crowing of the rooster. She'd slept in Adam's bed with Mrs. Kembler, while Adam had turned in for the night on a small cot in his front parlor. Mrs. Kembler had kept Harriet up with her snoring until the church clock struck midnight, at which time Harriet finally dozed off into a troubled sleep.

She quietly dressed and went out the back door of the house. At the well, she splashed some water on her face, reveling in its sharp coolness. The weather was crisp and clear, a perfect day to start the journey to Birmingham. But first she must convince the other members of the company to join her. From the dubious looks on Adam's and Mrs. Kembler's faces last night, the task would most likely prove difficult. They'd already given up, while she'd only begun.

The barn door creaked open and the cavernous expanse inside was dark and chilly. She couldn't help but smile when she spied the wagon with “The Farley Players” painted in red and gold on the side. Back when Harriet had toured with her family, the wagon was brand new and a source of great pride. Over the years, the paint had flecked away in places, and the bright grain of the wood was faded to a dull gray from seasons of rain and harsh weather. She ran her hand along its sides, as if it were a favored, trusty stable horse.

The wagon was piled high with battered trunks. She climbed on top and began going through them, laying out each costume, mentally configuring ways they could be distributed among a skeleton cast for
As You Like It
. The actors would have to double up on parts, but many of the frock coats were reversible, enabling a quick change backstage.

An hour later, as Harriet spread several mildewed backdrops out over hay bales to air out, Adam shuffled in.

“You're up early.” He rubbed his eyes.

“Yes. I couldn't sleep.”

He surveyed the scene. “Are you taking inventory? Planning on putting on a show back in London?”

“Yes, I thought my guardian could use some entertainment to cheer her up now I've scandalized her household.”

He didn't laugh. “If you head back today, I doubt anyone would know the difference, would they? You haven't done anything untoward.”

“No, nothing untoward. Other than the fact that I ran off, traveled alone, and spent the night with a couple of minstrels.” She hadn't meant to sound insulting, and instantly regretted her words.

“Come now, we might as well be your dad and mum.” He spoke as if she were still a child of ten.

“Might as well be, but are not. Her Grace will be quite displeased with me. As I've already made a mess, I'm not stopping until I've seen my father.”

Once again, her tone was far too strident. It was as if she'd turned back the clock and transformed into a petulant young girl. The morning was not getting off to a good start.

The door to the barn opened. Mrs. Kembler strolled in, followed by a young boy with an impish grin and a mop of unruly hair. Behind him was a pear-shaped fellow in his thirties with thinning hair.

“May I introduce to you our boy Martin, and Toby, the last of the Farley Players,” said Mrs. Kembler with a flourish. “And this is Miss Farley, daughter of our esteemed manager and director.”

“Former manager and director,” Toby murmured.

Harriet held out her hand. Toby took it and gave her a curt bow. “Pleased to meet you, Miss Farley.” His naturally red cheeks rivaled the painted ones of Mrs. Kembler. But his voice was deep and resonant and Harriet imagined he could hold an audience enthralled simply with his intonation. She could see why her father had hired him. The boy grinned at her from behind Toby. He was the youngest of the troupe, a position she knew well. She smiled back and watched him blush.

She gestured to the trappings of the stage around her. “I've been going through the costumes and set pieces. Adam, Mrs. Kembler, Toby, Martin, I know you have every intention of joining Mr. Bibby. But please give me a chance to plead my case. And my father's.”

“Your father's already pleaded his case,” said Toby. “At the Craven Arms pub in Birmingham.”

“I can only imagine what you've gone through. I'm sorry he's let you down. But after so many years together, can't you give him one more chance? No matter what he's done to you in terms of lost wages or backtracking on promises, I will make it up to you.”

This caught Toby's attention. “You can pay us?”

“Well, no. Not quite yet. But I'll make sure
As You Like It
goes on at the Theatre Royal and you get paid, then you can decide what you want to do from there. Join Bibby, or whatever you like.”

“You'll take over?” Toby kicked up some dust with his boot. “You're a girl.”

She didn't rise to the bait, and kept her tone even. “I know the play backward and forward and I can quickly stage it. If we spend the day repairing the costumes and sets and packing up, we'll get in a run-through before dinner and leave first thing tomorrow.”

No one spoke, so she carried on. “Look, I'm promising you a decent job. If you run to Bibby, who has a full roster of players already, there are no guarantees as to what kind of part you'll get. The way I see it, you can play a lead in Birmingham or be a sword-carrier in Swindon.”

Mrs. Kembler and the boy smiled and nodded their heads, and Adam gazed up at Harriet with pride.

Toby wasn't as easily convinced. “Your dad gave me my start; he took a chance on me. But I don't trust him anymore and I don't know you.”

What could she do to change his mind? He was being stubborn and surly. In fact, his behavior reminded her of the most miserable character in the play.

“What if I promise you the role of Jaques?” She didn't have to mention the role included one of the best speeches Shakespeare had ever written. What actor could resist a soliloquy?

Toby straightened up. “Jaques?”

“I'm sure you already have the seven ages of man speech memorized, right?”

Toby burst into iambic pentameter. After the first two lines, Harriet clapped enthusiastically. “A perfect fit.”

“I will do it as long as I get three shares in the production.”

More shares for Toby meant fewer for the rest of the cast, once the ticket receipts were tallied.

“We've known your dad a long time,” said Adam. “We owe it to him to try to help. I agree.”

“Me too, love.” Mrs. Kembler's lips trembled. The woman cried easily, whether as the nurse at Juliet's deathbed or while playing a madcap farce. Still, Harriet appreciated the sentiment.

“Then let's get to work.” She beamed. “The Farley Players are going to Birmingham!”

* * * *

Miss Entwhistle was surprisingly quiet during the carriage ride to Chipping Norton. William's former nursemaid had aged quite a bit since he'd last seen her. Brown hair had turned a snowy gray and her plump chin obscured her neck completely. During his youth, she'd often chattered on without end, in a way he'd found comforting after his mother passed. Yet during most of the carriage ride, she simply nodded and smiled at William, supplied short answers to his inquiries, and gazed out at the farms and fields beyond. Perhaps she was close to using up her lifetime quota of words, and had to speak sparingly lest she run out. In any case, William welcomed her silence as he guided the horses along the uneven roadway.

After getting directions in the hardscrabble village of Chipping Norton, William pulled up to a decrepit cottage. For a ward of the duchess to be staying in this hovel was preposterous. He knocked on the door but there was no answer. He told Miss Entwhistle to stay put and wound around to the back.

Laughter rang out from the inside of a large barn behind the cottage, one that was in dire need of new paint. The door was wide open, and inside, Miss Farley stood upon a large wagon, reaching down to grasp a trunk being hoisted by a young boy. She wore a simple gray twill that enhanced the smooth whiteness of skin, her hair tumbled down her shoulders and the muscles in her arms tensed with effort. Her movements were sure and fluid, as if she were part of an elaborate dance. A bolt of desire ran through him, and for a moment he wasn't sure she was the same gangly girl he'd met in London.

“What on earth is going on here?”

A round man who'd been rolling up enormous swaths of black cloth stared, his mouth agape. Near him, seated on a hay bale, a middle-aged woman dressed in a riot of teals and yellows looked up with great interest from her sewing. Harriet jerked upward, almost dropping the trunk as she did, but recovered and set it down with a thud on the floor of the wagon.

“My lord.” She let out a slow exhale.

The others jumped to their feet and gave William a wild range of responses, ranging from a deep, painful curtsy by the colorful lady to an unsure bob of the head by the boy. An older man shuffled forward and gazed at William with astonishment.

“My God!” The old man wrung his hat with his hands. “The spitting image.”

“I'm sorry?” When the man kept on staring, William ignored him and turned back to Miss Farley. “Miss Farley. I would like an answer to my question.”

She leaped down from the wagon, landing as lightly as a cat. Her back was ramrod straight as she approached him, and she met his eyes with an unwavering gaze. “I presume Her Grace sent you to talk sense into me.”

“She did indeed.”

“Well, you're too late. We're preparing for a journey to Birmingham. These are the Farley Players, the esteemed strolling theatrical company you may have heard me mention the other day.”

Esteemed seemed far too grand a word for this shabby group.

Undeterred, she waved her hand with a flourish at William. “I'd like to introduce Lord Abingdon.”

“I'd like a word with you.” He motioned to the door. “Alone. Outside.”

She led the way out of the barn to a small creek, knelt down, and washed her hands, drying them off on her skirt. William couldn't help but notice the flash of petticoats when she did so, as well as a view of her slender ankle. The sight of her was disconcerting. He cleared his throat in an effort to regain his composure.

“If I remember correctly, Miss Farley, the duchess and I both forbade you from leaving London.”

She pushed her hair off her face with an irritated gesture. “I'm of age now, and am free to do as I please.”

Her arrogance was astounding. William wished he could grab her by the shoulders and give her a good shake. “You would run off with these troublemakers and shame the woman who raised you, as well as the woman I am going to marry? What kind of ungrateful person are you that you'd even entertain such a notion? Is your father near death?”

“Not exactly.” She bit her lip. He'd struck a chord; she didn't appear as sure of herself anymore. “I don't mean to do anything to harm Her Grace. She's been like a mother to me. But she's not my true mother and, at this moment, I must see my father.”

“What will happen to him if you don't charge up to Birmingham with your army in tow?”

“He'll be sent to debtor's prison.”

William laughed. “Debtor's prison?”

“I'm deadly serious about this and find your humor most unkind.”

Relief surged through him. The solution was easier than he'd believed possible. “I am sorry, Miss Farley. I didn't realize how simple the solution is. I'll give you the money. Have one of your troupe bring it to your father, and you and I will return to London. Simple as that. I understand why you wouldn't want to trouble the duchess with this kind of request, but as I have certain plans with regard to the family, I'm happy to extend you this favor. As long as you don't have other family members popping up requesting handouts. And there will be no more lies.”

“You're doing me a favor?” She fixed him with a stare. “I'm not some poor relation of yours to order about. I won't take your money.”

The girl was stubborn when there was no need to be. How had the duchess ever put up with her in the first place? “Take the money and let's get going. We'll stay overnight at my estate and have you back in London by tomorrow afternoon.”

She shook her head. “It won't do. The producer to whom my father is indebted demands a production within the week. He has promised his patrons
As You Like It
, starring the famous Mrs. Ivey, and nothing less will do.”

“I see. And who is this famous actress? Is she the one who curtseyed so deeply I heard her knees creak?”

Miss Farley almost smiled. “No. That's Mrs. Kembler. She's one of ours. Mrs. Ivey is already up in Birmingham, awaiting our arrival.” She placed her hand on his arm, the pressure of her touch as light as a feather. “Sorry, my lord. I know this seems like a rash act. But I need to take care of my father right now. I'm fully capable of comporting myself in a ladylike manner. I have no intention of bringing shame upon Her Grace's household.”

“So just now, when you were heaving trunks around like a common dockworker, it wasn't scandalous?” An uncomfortable warmth swept over him, remembering it.

“That was work. Nothing scandalous about work.”

“It was the way you were working.”

“And what way is that?” She put her hands on her hips and breathed heavily. He couldn't help noticing the rise and fall of her chest.

At a loss for words, he stammered as he tried to regain the upper hand. “Never mind now.”

She looked up at him, her eyes wide. “My lord, I understand why you might be worried, and why my running off alone was not proper. I am sorry. Allow me to go to Birmingham and sort out this mess. Please. I haven't seen my father in a long time.”

She plucked at the fabric of her skirt like a small child might. For a brief moment, he couldn't help but sympathize with her, remembering his own turbulent history with his father.

“He left me a book of sonnets, you see, but I didn't receive it until yesterday. He inscribed it to me and, well, it's difficult to explain. But now I realize how difficult it must've been for him to give me away. My mother died when I was born and life had been rough.”