Regency Disguise

No Occupation for a Lady

No Role for a Gentleman

Gail Whitiker

www.millsandboon.co.uk

GAIL WHITIKER was born on the west coast of Wales and moved to Canada at an early age. Though she grew up reading everything from John Wyndham to Victoria Holt, frequent trips back to Wales inspired a fascination with castles and history, so it wasn't surprising that her first published book was set in Regency England. Now an award-winning author of both historical and contemporary novels, Gail lives on Vancouver Island, where she continues to indulge her fascination with the past as well as enjoying travel, music and spectacular scenery. Visit Gail at www.gailwhitiker.com

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Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

About the Author

No Occupation for a Lady

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

No Role for a Gentleman

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Copyright

No Occupation for a Lady

Gail Whitiker

Chapter One

It was important that one dressed appropriately for the theatre, if for no other reason than to spare oneself the embarrassment of being under-dressed should someone of consequence happen to be seated in the box next to you. After all, one never knew when a marriageable viscount or an eligible earl might wander in for an evening’s performance, and with so many single young women looking to find husbands, a girl couldn’t afford to miss a single opportunity.

That, at least, was the justification Mrs Bretton had always given her two daughters for looking their best, and as Victoria Bretton studied her reflection in the cheval glass, she supposed it was not a bad way for an ambitious mother to think. The importance of presenting unwed daughters in the most favourable light possible could not be understated, whether it be at a musicale evening, a grand ball, or at the début of a new play at the elegant Gryphon Theatre, even if only Victoria thought the latter an occasion worthy of attending.

Fortunately, what she saw in the glass was enough to reassure her that it would not be her appearance that fell short of expectation that evening. Her gown of imported ivory silk was in the first state of fashion, and the exquisite pearl-and-ruby necklace lent to her by her aunt served as the perfect accessory. The flashing crimson stones nestled sweetly in the décolletage of her gown, which, as Aunt Tandy had pointed out, was neither too demure nor too daring, and her hair, once likened to the colour of clover honey, had been swept up and arranged in a most sophisticated style by the skilled hands of her aunt’s French maid. She looked every inch the proper young lady society expected her to be.

What would they say, Victoria mused as she turned away from the glass, if they knew what this evening was really all about?

The house was quiet as she made her way down the long curving staircase to the black-and-white-tiled hall. Candles flickered brightly from wall sconces and chandeliers, casting a warm golden glow over the elegant furnishings, while portraits of long-dead aristocrats stared down at her, their critical expressions seeming to offer silent disapproval of her plans.

Victoria paid them no mind. Her concern was with the living, not with the dead.

Besides, they were not portraits of her ancestors. The paintings, like the house, belonged to her father’s brother and wife, an eccentric pair of retired actors who owned a theatre as well as several houses in and around London. They had kindly allowed Victoria’s parents the use of this house for the past two Seasons so that Victoria and her younger sister could make their entrance into society. Victoria had taken her bows last year, and with Winifred doing so this year Mrs Bretton was hopeful that at least one of her girls would end up married by the end of it.

The prospect of returning home to Kent with two unwed daughters in tow was simply too humiliating to be borne.

‘Good evening, Miss Bretton.’ The butler greeted her at the door. ‘James has the carriage ready. Your brother has already gone out.’

‘Thank you, Quince.’ Victoria turned to allow the elderly gentleman to settle a velvet cape about her shoulders. ‘Do you know where my parents and sister are dining this evening?’

‘I believe with Sir Roger and Lady Fulton, miss.’

Ah, yes, the baronet and his wife—a prominent society couple with two sons of marriageable age, the eldest of which Winifred was hopeful of attracting. She certainly wouldn’t pass up an opportunity to spend time with him for something as trivial as a night at the theatre.

After all, what was the opening night of Valentine Lawe’s newest play when compared to the prospect of batting eyelashes at Mr Henry Fulton over the silver epergne?

‘Thank you, Quince,’ Victoria said, careful not to betray even a twinge of disappointment. ‘Goodnight.’

‘Goodnight, miss. Oh, and your father asked me to wish you … a very successful evening. He said you would know what he meant.’

Victoria smiled. A few simple words, as enigmatic as they were brief, and her spirits rose immeasurably. Dearest Papa. Always her ally, even in this. She thanked the butler and walked out into the cool evening air. The late April day had been unusually warm, but the evening temperatures had begun to drop as soon as the sun went down, making her grateful for the enveloping warmth of the cape.

‘Evening, Miss Bretton,’ the coachman said respectfully.

‘Good evening, James.’ Victoria smiled as the under-coachman helped her into the carriage. They didn’t have an under-coachman at home in Kent. There they functioned with only a cook, two maids, a kitchen helper and a good-natured fellow who served as both footman and groom. If they had to get anywhere, they either walked or used the gig. It was only since coming to London that Victoria had been exposed to such luxuries as personal maids and closed carriages, and the one into which she stepped now was sumptuous in the extreme. The interior was lit by the glow of two small lamps, the walls were lined with maroon silk festooned with gold tassels and the cushions were of plush maroon velvet.

Her brother was already seated inside reading a book. Laurence was a fine-looking fellow, or could have been if he made more of an effort. His jacket of dark-blue superfine over a plain white waistcoat didn’t fit quite as well as it had last year and his thick, wavy hair was dishevelled, giving him an appearance of rumpled affability. Wire-rimmed spectacles perched on the end of a very handsome nose and he had a smudge of what looked like ink on his thumb.

‘Let me guess,’ Victoria said as she sat down across from him. ‘White’s Observations on Certain Antiquities, or Norden’s Travels in Egypt and Nubia?’

‘Neither,’ Laurence said, dutifully setting the book aside. ‘A recently acquired copy of Sa-vary’s Letters on Egypt. I thought it would make for some light reading on the way to the theatre.’ He took off his spectacles and placed them on top of the book. ‘What about you? All ready for what lies ahead?’

‘I suppose, though I confess to being hideously nervous,’ Victoria confided. ‘What if no one comes?’

‘Of course people will come. Uncle Theo expects the theatre to be sold out.’

‘Uncle Theo is an optimist.’

‘No, Uncle Theo is a man who knows his business,’ Laurence said calmly. ‘He should, given the number of years he’s been at it. And experience has shown that Valentine Lawe’s plays always do well.’

Victoria settled back against the velvet squabs and wished she could feel as confident as her brother. While it was true that all three of Lawe’s previous plays had met with critical acclaim, that wasn’t to say that any of his future works would be guaranteed the same high level of success. The theatre-going public was notoriously fickle. What pleased them one day offended them the next and, given the decidedly satirical nature of Lawe’s plays, it was quite possible some prominently placed personage, believing himself to be the butt of Lawe’s wit, would take exception to the humour and proclaim his disapproval to anyone who would listen.

Still, there was nothing to be done about it now. In less than thirty minutes the curtain would rise and A Lady’s Choice would make its début. The best anyone could hope for was that Laurence was right and that their uncle knew what he was talking about.

As usual, traffic in the city was dreadful—an endless stream of hackneys, barouches, tilburys and phaetons trundling over the cobblestones en route to their various evening pleasures. Victoria saw long line-ups of carriages outside several of the large houses in Mayfair and felt a moment’s relief that her destination was not a grand house this evening, but the Gryphon, London’s newest and most elegant theatre. Once a rundown warehouse, the old building had been extensively refurbished and was now filled with a small fortune in Italian marble, Venetian glass, and brocades and silks direct from the Far East. The seating was roomier and the boxes grander than at any other theatre in the city and the frescoes on the ceiling were said to have been painted by a descendant of Michelangelo himself.

As to the nature of entertainments provided, the Gryphon was not licensed to present legitimate drama, so had to settle for a variety of works ranging from comic operettas to the occasional burlesque. In the relatively short time it had been open, however, it had gained a reputation for providing quality entertainment and tonight promised more of that with the début of Valentine Lawe’s newest play. Rumour had it that Sir Michael Loftus, theatre critic for the Morning Chronicle, was going to be in the audience, and Sir Michael’s stamp of approval was as good as God’s when it came to anything to do with the stage.

That, at least, was what her uncle had told her and, given his vast experience in the theatre, Victoria knew better than to doubt him.

Finally, the carriage rounded the last corner and the Gryphon came into view, a glorious, towering edifice that shone white against the darkening sky. Victoria caught her breath just looking at it. And what a crowd! Judging by the line up of barouches and landaus slowly making their way along the street, a goodly portion of society had come out for the opening.

‘Almost there, Tory,’ Laurence said as the carriage turned down the lane that ran alongside the theatre.

Victoria pressed a gloved hand to her chest and closed her eyes. ‘I can’t go in, Laurie.’

‘Of course you can. Aunt Tandy and I will be waiting for you in the box and the play will be a smashing success. Uncle Theo said as much after the last rehearsal and you know he wouldn’t lie.’

No, he wouldn’t, because her uncle knew better than to offer false assurances when so much was at stake. Opening night was the first time eyes other than those of the cast and crew would be seeing the play and how the audience responded tonight would be a strong indicator of how long the play would run, how much money it would make, and what kind of effect it would have on the playwright’s future.

A bad opening night could herald more than just an early end to a play’s run. It could sound the death knell on a playwright’s career.

‘Give my regards to the cast,’ Laurence said as the carriage drew to a halt. ‘Tell Victor I expect a standing ovation, and Miss Chermonde that her performance had better warrant at least three curtain calls.’

‘I’ll tell them,’ Victoria said as the door opened and James let down the stairs. ‘Whether they heed you or not is another matter all together.’

And then she was alone. Standing in the street as the carriage pulled away, she took a few deep breaths to compose herself. No doubt the actors inside were doing the same. Stage fright was all part and parcel of opening-night madness, but hopefully by the time the curtain rose, the butterflies would have flown and the cast would have settled into giving the best performances of their lives. The audience would accept no less.

Neither, Victoria thought as she knocked lightly upon the unmarked door, would her uncle.

‘Ah, good evening, Miss Bretton,’ said the elderly gentleman who opened it. ‘I wondered if I’d be seeing you tonight.’

‘Good evening, Tommy. I thought to have a word with my uncle before the performance began. Is everything ready?’

‘Aye, miss, as ready as it will ever be.’ Thomas Belkins stepped back to let her enter. ‘Had some trouble with the backdrop for the second act, but we got that straightened away, and Mrs Beckett was able to mend the tear in Mr Trumphani’s costume neat as ninepence.’

‘What about Mrs Roberts?’ Victoria asked. ‘Is she feeling better than she was at rehearsal?’

‘Haven’t heard her complain, but between you and me, she’s a tough old bird who nothing short of death would keep from being on stage on opening night.’

The old man’s cheerfulness did much to settle Victoria’s nerves. Tommy Belkins had been in the theatre all of his life. Once an actor with a travelling Shakespearean troupe, he now worked behind the scenes at the Gryphon, overseeing the elaborate systems of lights, ropes, pulleys and reflectors that created the magic on stage. Both Drury Lane and Covent Garden had tried to lure him away, but Tommy had refused their offers, saying he’d rather work for pennies at the Gryphon than for a grand salary anywhere else.

Not that he did, of course. Her uncle paid a generous wage to all of the people who worked for him. It was one of the reasons the productions staged at the Gryphon were so good. He encouraged a spirit of co-operation and conviviality unusual in the theatrical world, and because Theodore Templeton was known for giving promising young actors a chance, he never found himself short of talent.

Still, in the end, it all came down to the quality of the play, and, knowing it was too late to do anything about that now, Victoria closed her eyes and whispered a silent prayer to St Gen-esius. It might just be superstition on her part, but she never ventured into a theatre without asking the patron saint of actors for his blessing.

Then, with both her brother’s and Tommy Belkins’s good wishes ringing in her ears, Victoria Bretton—alias Valentine Lawe—walked into the theatre and prepared to face whatever the Fates held in store for her.

The Honourable Alistair Devlin did not make a habit of going to the theatre. It was all right if no other more amusing pastime could be found, but given the choice between watching amateurish productions staged by men and women who suffered from the misguided notion that they could act, or spending the evening in the comfortably masculine ambiance of his club, he would always choose the latter. The only reason he had come tonight was to appease his good friend, Lord Collins, whose repeated requests that he come and see the nubile young actress he was intent on making his newest mistress had finally worn Alistair down.

‘And I dare you to say she is not exquisite,’ Collins said as they settled into their gilt-edged seats at the front of the box.

‘I’m sure she will be all you have promised and more,’ Alistair said, gazing with interest at his surroundings. ‘You have always been an arbiter of female loveliness.’ It was the first time Alistair had ventured inside the Gryphon, but not the first time he had heard about the celebrated theatre. Rumour had it that upwards of eighty thousand pounds had been lavished on the building’s restoration and that a special company had been assembled to grace its stage.

According to Collins—who had already enjoyed an intimate liaison with another young actress from the company—it was not enough that an actor be able to recite his lines without stumbling. He must also be able to portray that character’s feelings in such a way that the audience was moved to laughter or tears, without resorting to the facial contortions and physical gestures so often employed by under-talented performers.

Frankly, Alistair was sceptical. While he knew that some actors were talented enough to pull off such masterful performances, experience had shown him that most tended to fall back on the melodramatic posturings that left him entirely unmoved and prompted audiences to hurl both insults and orange peelings at the stage.

‘By the by, did I mention that Signy has a friend?’ Collins asked. ‘Another actress in the company. You might do well to look her up, given that you’re in the market for that sort of thing.’

‘Thank you, Bertie, but I have absolutely no intention of looking for a new mistress,’ Alistair replied, gazing at the magnificent frescoes overhead. ‘The one with whom I just parted gave a new meaning to the word vindictive.’

Collins had the cheek to laugh. ‘Yes, I did hear something about the glorious Celeste managing to knock over two rather expensive vases on her way out of your house.’

‘Expensive? She wilfully destroyed a priceless Tang horse and a Sèvres vase that have been in my family for generations,’ Alistair murmured. ‘Grandmother Wilson still hasn’t forgiven me for that lapse in judgement.’

Unfortunately, it wasn’t only Celeste Fontaine’s wanton destruction of family heirlooms that had prompted Alistair to end his relationship with her. It was the fact she had lied to him. She had told him to his face that he was the only man with whom she was keeping company, when in fact she had been spending as much time in Lord Lansing’s bed as she had in his.

When Alistair had brought this trifling detail to her attention, Celeste had treated him to a performance that would have done the great Sarah Siddons proud. She had stormed out of the house, somehow managing to consign the two pieces of porcelain to their doom on the way, and the next day, had sent him a scathing letter in which she had told him exactly what she thought of his behaviour, adding that while he was an adequate lover, she believed his skills in bed to be highly overrated.

It was the contents of the letter that had hammered the last nail into her coffin. While not an arrogant man, Alistair took pride in his ability to please the opposite sex. As a callow youth, he had discovered that the sexual experience was heightened if both parties were able to enjoy it, and he had striven to learn the secrets of giving pleasure as well as taking it. So to have his skills in bed mocked by a woman who had never once left him in any doubt as to how much she enjoyed them seemed to him the height of hypocrisy.

Still, he’d managed to have the last word. Only last week, the celebrated courtesan had appeared at his door, saying with every appearance of contrition that she was genuinely sorry for the way she had behaved and that it was only in a moment of weakness she had succumbed to Lord Lansing’s advances. At that point, she had batted her eyelashes and, with tears falling from her famous pansy-blue eyes, had begged him to take her back.

Alistair had not been moved. Giving her a handkerchief to dry her eyes, he had advised her to take herself back to Lord Lansing or whichever gentleman was keeping her and not to trouble him again. The one thing he would not tolerate from those closest to him was deceit. A woman who lied to him once would have no compunction about lying to him again and he had no reason to believe Celeste would not end up back in the arms of the man with whom she had already betrayed him.

Women like that always landed on their feet. Or on their backs, as the case might be.

It was then, as Alistair turned to ask Collins about the evening’s performance, that his attention was caught by a movement in one of the boxes opposite. A young woman had stepped through the curtain and into view, emerging like a radiant butterfly into the sunlight. She was garbed in cream-coloured silk that shimmered with every movement and long, smooth-fitting gloves that covered slender arms from fingers to elbow. Her hair, a soft mist of golden curls, was arranged attractively around her head and, in the flickering light, Alistair saw flashes of crimson at her throat. She paused for a moment to watch the antics of the dandies and young bloods in the pit below, then turned to bestow a smile on the older woman and younger gentleman already seated in the box.

It was the smile that stopped him. As innocent as a child’s, it tugged at something deep within Alistair’s subconscious, reminding him of a time when life was simpler and pleasures more easily found. She looked as though there was nowhere she would rather be and nothing she would rather be doing than sitting in her box watching the performance taking place below.

Was that what drew him to her so strongly? he wondered. The pleasure she took in an activity he and the rest of society took so entirely for granted? Or was it the fact that she was, even to his experienced eye, an incredibly beautiful woman? Draped in silk and chiffon, she had the face of an angel, but a lush, sensual figure that made him think of hot nights between soft sheets and the sweet rush of intimacy as scented limbs wrapped around him and drew him close.

Unfortunately, given that the first thing the lady did was reach for the hand of the gentleman who rose to greet her, Alistair doubted it would be his body she ever wrapped them around. The two soon had their heads close together in conversation, and while it was clear the gentleman was no match for her in appearance or style, there was no denying the strength of the connection between them.

Lucky devil, whoever he was.

Then a ripple of anticipation as a tall and distinguished-looking gentleman walked out on to centre stage. He was dressed all in black, his long cape over breeches and boots giving him a decidedly swashbuckling appearance. Not a young man—his dark hair and beard were liberally threaded with silver and his lined face reflected the experiences of a lifetime. But he had a presence that could not be denied and when he held up one gloved hand, silence descended.

‘Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the Gryphon. My name is Theodore Templeton and tonight we present for your enjoyment two productions making their début on the London stage. Mi Scuzi, an operetta in Italian by Giuseppe Fratolini, and A Lady’s Choice, a new work by the renowned playwright Valentine Lawe. The inimitable Signy Chermonde will play the role of Elizabeth Turcott opposite Mr Victor Trumphani in the part of Elliot Black. And now I invite you to sit back and prepare to be entertained.’

A polite round of applause greeted his words, as well as the expected whistles and jeers from the dandies in the pit. No sooner had he left the stage than the orchestra began to play and the curtain swept majestically upwards to reveal a setting reminiscent of a Mayfair drawing room, with a single actress, an elderly woman, seated in a wingback chair.

Alistair, who knew all too well that the build up to such productions was often the highlight of the performance, settled back and prepared to be bored.

He was not bored. He was mesmerized, the opening scenes of the play capturing his attention in a way no other stage performance ever had. The plot was intriguing, the dialogue witty and the cast gave such outstanding performances that, as the evening wore on, Alistair found himself growing more and more surprised.

This was not the type of performance he had come expecting to see. Knowing the play to be new and the company young, he had expected the production to reflect those shortcomings. But try as he might, he could find nothing to fault in either the play or in the actors’ portrayals of their characters. Even the rowdies in the pit were silenced.

If this was an example of Valentine Lawe’s talent, Alistair could well understand why the man was so popular. He was actually disappointed when the actors left the stage at the end of the first act.

‘Well, what did you think?’ Collins asked over the sound of enthusiastic applause.

‘That it was far, far better than I expected,’ Alistair said generously.

‘Not the play! Signy! Is she not the most glorious creature you’ve ever seen?’

Alistair frowned. ‘Signy?’

‘The actress playing Elizabeth. Jupiter, don’t tell me you didn’t notice her?’

Alistair glanced down at the stage. Of course he’d noticed her, but as Elizabeth Turcott rather than Signy Chermonde. She was the glorious, titian-haired temptress who had made her first appearance on stage in the guise of an elderly woman sadly recounting the events of her long life, only to reappear in the next scene as a blushing bride on what was clearly the eve of her wedding. ‘Yes, she was beautiful,’ he agreed, ‘but I was more impressed by her talent than I was by her appearance.’

‘Then I can only hope she is as gifted in bed as she was on stage,’ Collins drawled. ‘Speaking of that, what did you think of Miss Lambert? And don’t tell me you didn’t notice her. Old Parker nearly fell out of his box the first time she walked on stage wearing that filmy white nightgown.’

Alistair laughed. ‘Yes, I noticed her. She was very convincing in the part of Miss Tremayne.’

‘Miss Tremayne?’ Collins said. ‘What’s got into you tonight, Dev? The last time we went to the theatre, you couldn’t even remember the title of the play, let alone the names of the characters.’

‘That’s because the play wasn’t worth remembering and the actors were similarly forgettable,’ Alistair remarked. ‘This, however, is a first-class production.’

‘Well, of course it is. Valentine Lawe is fast becoming one of England’s foremost playwrights. Even a Philistine like you must have known that.’

The fact Alistair did not know failed to arouse any feelings of remorse or guilt within his breast. None of his family were ardent theatre goers. His parents refused to go as a result of the tragic events surrounding their eldest son’s scandalous marriage to an actress, and his sister and brother-in-law, the Venerable Simon Baltham, Archdeacon of Swithing, were of the belief that the theatre was a breeding ground for sin. It was their studied opinion that those who disported themselves upon the stage were vain and immoral creatures who sought aggrandisement through their occupations and were possessed of neither high moral fibre nor any discernible degree of integrity.

Ironically, it didn’t stop them from attending the occasional operatic work, but seldom were they heard to praise a performance or to compliment any of the singers.

For his own part, Alistair didn’t care. The only reason he had limited his exposure to the theatre was out of respect for his parents’ sentiments and in an effort to maintain family harmony. A decision he hadn’t come to regret … until tonight.

He let his gaze fall again on the occupants of the box opposite. The young lady was watching the antics of two young men rearranging props on stage, and looked, if possible, even more radiant than she had before the commencement of the first act. Her hand was again clasped in that of the gentleman sitting beside her, and when he leaned over to whisper something in her ear, she laughed and looked up—and, unexpectedly, locked eyes with Alistair across the theatre.

It was a fleeting glance, no more than a few seconds in length, but for the brief space of that time, the noises around him seemed to subside and it was as though only the two of them sat in that crowded theatre. He watched her laughter fade until only the shadow of a smile remained, and though she didn’t acknowledge his gaze, the soft colour blooming in her cheeks told him she was just as aware of him as he was of her.

As her glance slid away, Alistair leaned over to his friend and said, ‘Collins, that woman in the box opposite …’

‘Lady Lucy Prendergast?’

‘No, the box above. Wearing the cream-coloured gown.’

Collins raised his opera glasses and trained them on the lady in question. ‘Ah, yes, Miss Victoria Bretton. Eldest daughter of Mr and Mrs John Bretton.’

‘How is it I haven’t seen her before?’

‘Because you don’t move in the same circles, old boy,’ Collins said, lowering the glasses. ‘The family reside in Kent, but for the last two Seasons, have taken a house in Green Street for the purpose of introducing their daughters to society. Miss Victoria Bretton made her bows last year, and her younger sister, Miss Winifred Bretton, is doing so this Season.’

‘Who’s the man with her?’ Alistair asked ‘Dedicated husband? Devoted fiancé?’

‘Good God, no, that’s Laurence, her brother. Dry as a stick and completely lacking in fashion sense, but frightfully intelligent from what little I’ve heard. Apparently he speaks four languages and knows more about the classics than did most of his professors at Oxford. He and Victoria are said to be very close.’

‘I’m surprised she isn’t married,’ Alistair commented. ‘She is an exceptionally lovely young woman.’

‘True, but she also has a penchant for speaking her mind and you can imagine how well that sits with the society matrons who believe young ladies should be seen and not heard. Also, do you see the rather flamboyant-looking woman seated in the box with her?’

Observing the lady’s flame-coloured gown, her striking blue-black hair and the circle of diamonds flashing at her throat, Alistair said, ‘It would be difficult not to.’

‘Exactly. That is Mrs Anthea Templeton,’ Collins said. ‘Once a celebrated actress, now the second wife of Mr Theodore Templeton, owner of the theatre, and a man who just happens to be Miss Bretton’s uncle.’

‘Ah. So her family connections are not the best.’

‘That’s putting it mildly. Templeton left his first wife for the lovely Anthea—who was rumoured to be playing Juliet to his Romeo at the time—and the two set up housekeeping without the benefit of marriage. They continued to live and act in that blissfully unwed state for several more years before coming to London and setting up shop here. Needless to say, Mrs Templeton has not been embraced by society.’

‘Hardly surprising,’ Alistair said. ‘She is no doubt accused of stealing Templeton from his wife and blamed for the demise of his marriage.’

‘Of course, and the fact that Miss Bretton seems to enjoy her aunt’s company naturally reflects badly on her. As does the fact that she has an unfortunate fondness for mingling with the cast.’

Alistair raised an eyebrow. ‘She fraternises with the actors?’

‘Oh, yes. Usually in the company of her brother, but she has been known to venture backstage alone,’ Collins said. ‘And while that is perfectly all right for him, it is not the thing for her.’

No, it wasn’t, Alistair reflected as he watched the actors return to the stage for the start of the second act. It was all right for a young lady to go to the theatre and even to express enthusiasm for the performance she had seen, but it was not the thing to be spotted in the company of actors. While Alistair didn’t agree with his brother-in-law’s sweeping condemnation of all stage performers, he knew that many were possessed of questionable morals and that spending time with such people was frowned upon by those in good society. He was surprised Miss Bretton’s parents would allow her to jeopardise her reputation by frequenting such a place, even if she did so in the company of her brother.

‘By the by,’ Collins said, ‘is it true you’ve stopped seeing Lady Frances Shaftsbury? I thought the two of you were as good as engaged.’

‘We were, until I found out Lady Frances was equally enamoured of the Marquess of Kope-ham,’ Alistair said distantly. ‘If I cannot trust a woman to tell me the truth before we’re married, what hope is there for honesty after the vows are taken?’

‘All women lie, Dev. Harkens back to the Garden of Eden,’ Collins said. ‘Eve probably told Adam nothing would happen if he bit into the apple, and we all know how wrong that went.’

‘Fortunately, there are more women in the garden now and a man isn’t compelled to marry the first one that comes along.’

‘Perhaps, but attractive daughters of wealthy earls don’t come along every day either.’

‘No, but I will not suffer the company of a woman who lies. Secrets may abound in society, but they have no place in the relationship between a husband and his wife,’ Alistair said. ‘If I cannot trust the woman to whom I would give my name, I would rather not give it at all.’ For a moment, his gaze returned and lingered, somewhat regretfully, on Victoria Bretton. ‘Life is unpredictable enough. No point making it worse by starting everything off on the wrong foot.’

Chapter Two

A Lady’s Choice was an amusing satire about the foibles of married life. It was clever without being condescending, moralistic without being straitlaced, and funny without being ribald. Alistair actually found himself chuckling at the subtle innuendos flying back and forth and was moved to think that Valentine Lawe was a man who understood the ups and downs of marital relationships.

As such, when the actors delivered their final lines and Mr Templeton walked back on to the stage, Alistair rose to his feet along with the rest of the audience to pay the cast a long and well-deserved tribute.

‘Thank you, ladies and gentlemen,’ Templeton said. ‘I am gratified by your response and delighted that A Lady’s Choice has lived up to your expectations.’

‘Where’s Valentine Lawe?’ shouted a voice from the audience.

The cry was picked up and echoed throughout the theatre, but Templeton only shook his head. ‘I regret to inform you that Mr Lawe is not with us this evening, but I thank you on his behalf and will be sure to communicate your pleasure to him. And now, I am pleased to introduce the talented members of the cast.’

‘Here we go,’ Collins whispered in Alistair’s ear. ‘Pay attention. You’re looking for Signy and Miss Lambert.’

The performers came out two by two, with the lesser members of the cast leading the way. A young actress whose performance had greatly impressed Alistair turned out to be a Miss Catherine Jones, who took her bows with the portly gentleman who had played the vicar. Miss Lambert, a buxom blonde with a voluptuous figure, came out with the older woman who had played the part of Elizabeth’s mother.

Collins nudged Alistair in the ribs. ‘There. Take note so you can find Miss Lambert later on.’

Alistair smiled, but saw no point in telling his friend he would have been far more inclined to approach the sylph-like Miss Jones than the overblown Miss Lambert.

Then Signy Chermonde and Victor Trumphani made their entrance to a thunderous round of applause. Signy was truly a beautiful woman and Alistair had no doubt she would enjoy an illustrious career both on and off the stage. Trumphani, too, possessed the kind of polished masculine appeal that would appeal to débutantes or duchesses, and after taking their final bows, the pair stepped back to let Mr Templeton reclaim centre stage.

‘Thank you, ladies and gentlemen. I know I speak for Valentine Lawe when I say how pleased I am by your response to A Lady’s Choice. I hope you will come back and enjoy it again. Now, after a brief musicale interlude, we present Mi Scuzi!’

Not surprisingly, a good portion of the audience stayed on its feet to get a better look at the people around them, but, having fulfilled his obligation, Alistair decided it was time to leave. Collins would no doubt abandon him to seek out his hoped-for new ladybird, and given that the occupants of the box opposite had already left, Alistair saw no point in staying for the operetta. His grasp of Italian was such that he could follow the lyrics if they were sung with any degree of proficiency, but he feared an English soprano with no ear for the language would mangle it beyond all hope of recognition. Better he leave now while he could still take away a favourable impression of the evening.

He was almost at the door when he saw her. Victoria Bretton was standing alone in the vestibule, her head down, her attention focused on the evening cape in her hands. She seemed to be attempting to undo a knot in one of the ribbons, but her efforts were hampered by the weight of the garment and by the constant brushing of people as they passed.

Clearly, the lady was in need of assistance.

Alistair slowly made his way through the throng and stopped a few feet away from her. She truly was a pleasure to behold. Her face was a perfect oval set upon a slender neck that rose from smooth shoulders seductively displayed by the low bodice of the gown. As he moved closer, his gaze dropped to the rubies nestled in the shadowy cleft between her breasts, aware that the stones were almost as magnificent as what they were nestled in …

‘Can I help you, sir?’

The tone, completely at odds with the colour blossoming in her cheeks, caused Alistair to smile. ‘Forgive me, Miss Bretton. I was lost in admiration of your necklace.’ His gaze rose to a pair of bright blue eyes framed by long lashes under an artful sweep of honey-gold brows. ‘It is … a striking piece.’

‘It is a replica of one given to an Egyptian princess by a devoted swain. My aunt was kind enough to lend it to me for the evening.’ Her chin rose, but her colour remained high. ‘May I ask how you know my name?’

‘I noticed you when you walked into your box,’ Alistair said, seeing no reason to dissemble. ‘When I asked my companion who you were, he kindly vouchsafed your name. May I?’ he asked, indicating the cloak. ‘Undoing knots is a speciality of mine.’

She glanced down at the twisted ribbons and, after a moment, said ‘thank you’ and handed the cloak to him, adding, ‘Was there a reason you wanted to know who I was?’

‘Curiosity.’ Alistair tucked the garment under his arm and set to work. ‘Most people prefer to observe the antics going on around them than the ones taking place on the stage. You were clearly more interested in the play.’

‘It is the reason I come to the theatre,’ she said simply. ‘If I wished to observe society at play, I would go to one of the many soirées held for that purpose.’ There was a brief pause before she said, ‘Why did you come to the Gryphon tonight? To see the play or to watch the other entertainments taking place?’

Alistair smiled. It seemed Collins hadn’t been mistaken when he’d said that Miss Bretton was fond of plain speaking. ‘I came to see the play.’

‘And what did you think of it?’

‘That it was humorous, well plotted and skilfully enacted.’

‘Then you enjoyed it?’

‘I did.’

‘Do you come often to the theatre, Mr—?’

‘Devlin. And, no, I do not.’ The knots untied, he shook out the cloak. ‘On the few occasions I have, I’ve found the farces ridiculous, the historical adaptations weak and the melodramas pathetically overacted.’

‘But you did not feel that way about this play?’

‘No. I was caught up in the story from beginning to end,’ Alistair said, placing the velvet cloak around her shoulders. ‘Something rather rare for me and I admit to being pleasantly surprised.’

Then she did smile. Gloriously. Without reservation. The way she had smiled at her brother earlier—and the words were out of Alistair’s mouth before he even realised he was thinking them. ‘Miss Bretton, I wonder if I might call upon you tomorrow morning.’

Her eyes widened, but she did not blush. ‘It is very kind of you to ask, Mr Devlin, but I’m afraid I have a prior engagement.’

‘Of course. Tomorrow afternoon?’

‘I’m not sure what time I shall be home.’

‘The following day, then?’

This time, a hint of colour did rise to her cheeks. ‘Mr Devlin, pray do not think me rude or unkind, but there really is no point in you calling. You have told me all I wanted to hear.’

‘About the play, perhaps, but there is so much more—’

‘Actually, there is nothing more,’ she interrupted. ‘I appreciate the trouble you went to in finding me, but it would be best if you did not pursue this. It is evident we would not suit.’

‘Not suit?’ He gazed at her in confusion. ‘How can you say that when you know absolutely nothing about me?’

‘Ah, but I do know something about you, Mr Devlin, and it is that which compels me to demur. Good evening.’

With that, she walked towards the double doors where her brother was waiting for her and, slipping her hand into the crook of his arm, left the theatre with him.

Too bemused to offer a reply, Alistair watched them go, aware that for the first time in his life he was actually at a loss for words. The lady had put him off! He had gone to the trouble of tracking her down and of making his interest known—and she had put him off. Not because she hadn’t known who he was—but because she had!

‘What, still here, Dev?’ Collins said, sauntering across the floor to join him. ‘I thought you left half an hour ago.’

‘I did, but I ran into Miss Bretton and stopped to have a word.’

‘How providential,’ Collins drawled. ‘Well, what did you think? Was she as tactless and unpredictable as I led you to believe?’

The question recalled Alistair to the lady’s parting words. ‘I appreciate the trouble you went to in finding me, but it would be best if you did not pursue this. It is evident we would not suit.’

‘She was far from tactless, but I am not convinced that meeting me was the highlight of her evening,’ Alistair said drily.

‘Nonsense! Any girl would be delighted at being singled out for attention by a nonpareil like you.’

Alistair didn’t bother telling his friend that Miss Bretton hadn’t seemed at all delighted by her so-called good fortune. On the contrary, she seemed genuinely convinced they had nothing in common—and, irrationally, that irked him. While it was true they might not have anything in common, how could she know until they’d had an opportunity to spend some time together? A man deserved a chance to fall from grace before a lady cast him out. Surely it was only fair he be given that chance before being dismissed out of hand.

Victoria had not spent many hours in sleep that night. How could she have slept when everything within her was shouting with joy! She had wanted to dance across the rooftops, to shout her happiness from the top of St Paul’s.

A Lady’s Choice had been a success! The cast had recited their lines to perfection, the scene changes had gone without a hitch and the musicians had timed their crescendos and pianissimos exquisitely. If she died this very instant, she would go to heaven with the most contented smile on her face.

The fact she had spent time talking to one of London’s most eligible bachelors really had nothing to do with it. It had been pleasant to bandy words with the gentleman and flattering to know that he was interested in calling upon her, but at the moment, there was no room for romance in Victoria’s life. And certainly not with a man like that!

‘Alors, you are finally awake!’ her maid said, appearing at Victoria’s bedside with a cup of warm chocolate. ‘And looking very ‘appy.’

‘That’s because I am happy, Angelique.’ Victoria sat up and stretched her arms over her head. ‘It was a very good night.’

‘Zey liked your play?’

‘They loved my play! The applause went on for ever and the cast was called back three times to take their bows!’

‘Bon! Did I not tell you it would be so?’

‘Oh, yes, you can say that now when you know everything turned out well. That isn’t what we were saying this time yesterday. At least,’ Victoria added with a frown, ‘it wasn’t what I was saying.’

‘Zat is because you do not ‘ave enough confidence in yourself.’

‘That’s not true! I do have confidence in myself, but I write plays that suit me. I don’t always know if they will suit my audience.’

‘Of course zey will suit your audience,’ the feisty little maid said. ‘You are very good at what you do! Your uncle tells you so all ze time.’

Yes, because Uncle Theo had always been one of her most staunch supporters, Victoria reflected. He was the one who had encouraged her to write, impressing upon her the importance of allowing her artistic side to flourish, no matter what her mother or the rest of society thought.

Speaking of her mother … ‘I don’t suppose you’ve seen Mama yet this morning?’ Victoria enquired.

When Angelique didn’t answer, Victoria turned her head—and saw the answer written all over the maid’s face. ‘Ah. I see that you have.’

‘Do not take it to ‘eart, mademoiselle,’ Angelique said quickly. ‘Madame Bretton does not love le théâtre as you do. She would prefer zat you find a nice man and get married.’

‘Yes, I know, but a nice man won’t let me write plays,’ Victoria pointed out. ‘He will expect me to sit at home and knit tea cosies.’

‘Tea … cosies?’

‘Hats for teapots.’

‘Your teapots wear ‘ats?’ Angelique frowned. ‘You English are very strange.’

Victoria just laughed and sent the maid on her way. She sometimes forgot that while Angelique knew everything there was to know about taking care of a lady, she was far less adept when it came to making conversation with one. Still, it came as no surprise to Victoria that her mother wasn’t pleased about her success at the theatre last night. Having been raised in a rigidly moralistic house where the only occupations deemed acceptable for a woman were those of wife and mother, Mrs Bretton decried the idea of her eldest daughter doing anything else.

A lady did not involve herself with the world of the theatre. A lady did not write plays that poked fun at members of society. And a lady did not discourage gentlemen who came up to them and made polite conversation, the way the dashing Mr Alistair Devlin had last night.

Oh, yes, she’d known who he was. Between her mother pointing him out to her at society events and listening to Winifred go on about him until she was tired of hearing his name, Victoria knew all about Alistair Devlin. The man owned a string of high-priced race horses, kept a mistress in Kensington and a hunting box in Berkshire, and was equally skilled in the use of pistol or foil. He patronized Weston’s for his finery, Hobbs’s for his boots and Rundell and Bridge for his trinkets.

He was also a viscount’s son—a man who moved in elevated circles and who possessed the type of wealth and breeding that would naturally preclude her from being viewed as a potential marriage partner. Her mother had been right in that regard. Refined ladies did not direct plays or go backstage to mingle with actors and actresses. And no one but a refined lady would do for Lord Kempton’s heir. As it was, Devlin’s sister was married to an archdeacon, and for all Victoria’s being the granddaughter of a minister, it would not be good enough for Devlin’s family, so why bother to pretend the two of them stood any chance of finding happiness together?

Victoria was almost at the bottom of the stairs when she heard raised voices coming from the drawing room. But when she recognised two of them as belonging to her Aunt and Uncle Templeton, she quickly changed course and headed in that direction. Given the lack of warmth between her mother and her father’s brother and wife, Victoria had to wonder what had brought them to the house so early in the day. She opened the drawing-room door to see her mother standing ramrod straight by the window and her father, looking far from relaxed, sitting in his favourite chair. Her uncle stood in the middle of the room and her aunt, flamboyant as ever in an emerald-green gown and a glorious bonnet crowned with a sweeping peacock feather, lounged on the red velvet chaise.

It looked for all the world like a convivial family gathering—until Victoria realised that no one was smiling and that the tension was thick enough to cut with a knife. ‘What’s wrong?’ she asked, looking to her father for an explanation.

It was her uncle who answered. ‘Victoria, my dear, I have just informed your parents of your stunning success at the Gryphon last night.’

‘And I have been trying to tell your uncle it is not a success!’ Mrs Bretton snapped. ‘It is an abomination.’

‘Come now, my dear,’ her husband said. ‘I think abomination is doing it up a little strong.’

‘Do you, Mr Bretton? Well, let me tell you what I think is doing it up a little strong. Your brother, trying to make us believe that Victoria has done something wonderful when anyone in their right mind would tell you she is making a fool of herself!’

‘Oh, Susan, you are completely overreacting,’ Aunt Tandy said with a long-suffering sigh. ‘Victoria did not make a fool of herself last night. Her work was applauded long and loud by every person in that theatre. Your daughter is a brilliant playwright—’

‘My daughter is a lady! And ladies do not write plays!’ Mrs Bretton said, enunciating every word. ‘They do not produce plays. And they certainly do not tell other people how to act in plays. Ladies embroider linens. They paint pictures. And they get married and have children. They do not spend their days at theatres with the most disreputable people imaginable!’

‘Here now, sister-in-law, I’ll have you know that not all actors are disreputable!’ Uncle Theo objected.

‘Indeed, I had a sterling reputation when I met Theo,’ Aunt Tandy said. ‘And contrary to popular opinion, I was a virgin at the time.’

‘Oh, dear Lord, must we be subjected to this?’ Mrs Bretton complained. ‘Will you not say something, Mr Bretton?’

Victoria looked at her father and wished with all her heart that she could have spared him this inquisition. He was a gentle man who disliked confrontation and who had spent most of his life trying to avoid it. Pity that his only brother and sister-in-law, both of whom he adored, should be the two people his wife resented more than anyone else in the world.

‘I’m not sure there is anything to be said, my dear,’ he said. ‘I cannot help but be proud of what Victoria has accomplished—’

‘Proud? You are proud that our eldest daughter has to pretend to be a man because if anyone found out what she really did, we would be cut by good society?’ Mrs Bretton demanded. ‘You are proud that she spends her days with actors and actresses and avoids the company of fine, upstanding people?’

‘I do not avoid their company, Mama,’ Victoria said. ‘In truth, they have become the source of some of my most amusing and successful characters. Nor do I think my conduct is putting anyone in this family at risk. I have been very careful, both about what I say and about how I behave when in society because I know there is Winifred’s future to consider and I am very cognisant of that. But to suggest we would be cut is, I think, going a little far. Other ladies write plays—’

‘I do not care what other ladies do!’ her mother snapped. ‘I care about what you do and how it affects your future. Something you seem not to care about at all! Spending all that time at the theatre and consorting with people like that is not good for your reputation.’

‘I am well aware that certain people think Laurie and I spend too much time at the theatre,’ Victoria allowed, ‘but surely the fact that Uncle Theo owns the Gryphon excuses us to some degree.’

‘It does not excuse you, and in truth, I blame him for everything that’s happened!’ Mrs Bretton said coldly. ‘If he had not encouraged you when you first went to him with your stories, we would not be having this conversation now. You would be doing the kinds of things a lady of good birth should be doing.’

‘What, like taking a lover thirteen months after she married and produced the requisite heir?’ Uncle Theo said laconically.

Mrs Bretton’s face flushed crimson. ‘I beg your pardon?’

‘Haven’t you heard? Lady Tavistocke went to Venice and took up with a gondolier,’ Uncle Theo said. ‘Shocking scandal. Poor old Reggie Tavistocke doesn’t know what to make of it.’

‘Mind, you can’t blame the poor girl, darling,’ Aunt Tandy said. ‘Reggie is getting on for sixty, after all, and you know how dashing Italian men can be. And gondolas are very comfortable. I’ve always thought the movement of the water very conducive to—’

‘Enough!’ Mrs Bretton shrieked. ‘Get out of my house! Both of you!’

‘In point of fact, this is my house, Susan,’ Uncle Theo said amiably. ‘And one I am very pleased to have you and my brother staying in. However, perhaps it is best we leave you to your discussions. Just don’t be too hard on Victoria. She is not in the least deserving of it. Speaking of which, there is something I would like to say to her before we go.’

‘Something we wish to say,’ Aunt Tandy corrected him with a smile.

‘Of course, my darling, something we wish to say. And that is, how very proud we were of you last night, Victoria. After you left, I had a visit from Sir Michael Loftus—’

Victoria gasped. ‘Sir Michael!’

‘Yes, and he was very impressed with your latest play. Or rather, with Valentine Lawe’s latest play. He thought it was … now, how did he phrase it exactly? “A comedy of stunning brilliance exquisitely characterised and plotted with a deft hand.”’

Victoria gazed at him in wonder. ‘Sir Michael Loftus said I had a deft hand?’

‘Those were his very words.’

She was floating on air. Euphoric. To have received such praise from one of the foremost critics in the theatre. She must surely be dreaming …

‘And you looked absolutely beautiful,’ Aunt Tandy said, giving Victoria an affectionate hug. ‘I noticed several gentlemen watching you throughout the evening, Lord Vale and Mr Chesterton amongst them, and I hear even the top-lofty Mr Devlin stopped to speak to you.’

‘Mr Devlin?’ Mrs Bretton said with a gasp. ‘Lord Kempton’s heir spoke to you and you did not think to tell me?’

Victoria blushed, uncomfortably aware that her mother was staring at her with a mixture of astonishment and reproach. ‘There really wasn’t any point, Mama. We were not formally introduced and spoke only about the play.’

‘But he engaged you in conversation,’ Mrs Bretton persisted. ‘Without benefit of introduction. He must have had a reason for doing so.’

‘He thought I was in need of assistance,’ Victoria said, her cheeks warming at the memory of his long, slender fingers undoing the knots in her ribbons … and of her turning down his request that he be allowed to call upon her. ‘I’m sure it was nothing more than that.’

‘Unfortunately, I tend to agree with Victoria,’ Uncle Theo said, starting for the door. ‘Women have been chasing Devlin since he was a boy, but no one’s been able to catch him. I thought Lady Frances Shaftsbury was close to doing so earlier in the year, but even that appears to have cooled. And given Lord Kempton’s resentment towards the theatrical world, I’d venture to say there’s absolutely no chance of him allowing his eldest son and heir to pursue a relationship with Victoria.’

‘But you just said no one knows Victoria is Valentine Lawe,’ Mrs Bretton remarked. ‘Why should that have any bearing on Mr Devlin’s interest in her?’

‘Because he will find out in the end, and I don’t want to see Victoria left with a broken heart because the man cannot return her love,’ Theo said. ‘And I know that’s how it will end. But come, Tandy, my dear, we must be getting back. Rehearsals start in less than two hours.’

‘Yes, of course,’ Aunt Tandy said. ‘Will you be coming tonight, Victoria?’

‘No, she will not be coming!’ Mrs Bretton snapped in vexation. ‘We are expected at Lord and Lady Holcombe’s musicale this evening. All of us.’

‘Pity,’ Uncle Theo said. ‘As it happens, we’re sold out again. But then I expect we’ll be sold out most nights from now on and I don’t suppose you will be able to attend every performance.’

‘She most certainly will not.’

‘But I will be there as often as I can,’ Victoria said firmly. Her sister might have come to London to find a husband, but her main purpose in being here was to see her play, and as many times as she could! ‘Thank you both for coming. I can’t imagine a nicer way to begin my day.’

‘Our pleasure, my dear.’

They departed noisily, shouting goodbyes and congratulations as the drawing-room door closed behind them. Left alone with her parents, Victoria didn’t know what to say. The joy she’d felt earlier was gone, trampled into the dust by her mother’s patent displeasure.

Unfortunately, silence was not a problem from which her mother suffered. ‘Really, Mr Bretton, if it weren’t for the fact that you and your brother are so close, I would not allow him or that woman in my house,’ she said huffily.

‘That woman happens to be your sister-in-law,’ her husband reminded her. ‘And denying them entrance would be difficult given that, as Theo pointed out, he does own this lovely house and several others in the area.’

‘A fact he throws at us at every opportunity,’ Mrs Bretton said bitterly. ‘Oh, how I wish we had the wherewithal to do without him.’

‘But we do not, so there is no point in wishing it true. Personally, I am very grateful to my brother for all he’s done for us. You might find it in your heart to show him a little more gratitude.’

‘Gratitude? You expect me to show gratitude to a man who earns his living from the stage and who left his first wife to marry that wretched actress?’

‘As a matter of fact, I do. You may not approve of Theo and Tandy, but I will not hear you denigrate them,’ her husband said quietly. ‘If you cannot bring yourself to say anything kind, I suggest you say nothing at all.’

The gentle reprimand was clearly too much for Victoria’s mother. Stamping her foot, she turned and flounced out of the room, prompting Victoria to offer her father a sad smile. ‘I’m so sorry, Papa. I never meant to bring all of this down on your head.’

‘You’ve not brought anything down on my head, Victoria, so don’t even think to malign yourself in such a way. Though I know it is best not to say so in your mother’s hearing, I am very proud of you. Writing a play is no small feat, and to have written four that have received such critical acclaim is worthy of commendation. I certainly couldn’t have done it, but I’m as proud as punch that you have.’

‘Oh, Papa, you are so good.’ Victoria put her arms around his neck and hugged him. ‘I don’t know what I would do if both you and Mama despised the theatre.’

‘I dare say it would be an impossible situation for all of us,’ her father agreed. ‘But, like it or not, your aunt and uncle’s success in the theatre is what allows us to stay in this fine house. They have certainly been good to you, reading your work and producing your plays while making sure no one finds out who Valentine Lawe really is. We owe them a great deal, yet they ask for nothing in return and seem willing to turn a deaf ear to your mother’s criticisms.’

‘Indeed, they are exceedingly generous and forgiving,’ Victoria agreed. ‘I like to think my adding to the success of the Gryphon is in some small way a repayment for everything they’ve done for me. I only wish Mama could find it in her heart to be kinder to them … and to be happier about my own success. I don’t like knowing I am the cause of so much grief within the family.’

‘I know that, child, but your mother will be fine. She is just afraid you will be found out. You cannot disagree that the nature of what you write would make you unpopular in certain drawing rooms if your identity were to become known,’ her father said. ‘And given that a large part of the reason for coming to London was to try to settle you and your sister in marriage, we must do whatever we can to present you in the best light possible. Personally, I think you’ve done an admirable job of keeping the identity of Valentine Lawe a secret.’

‘I gave Mama my promise I would.’

‘Just so. As to your spending more time at the theatre than other young ladies, I suppose it isn’t a good idea, but Laurence is with you and no one could ever accuse him of moral misconduct.’

‘No, though I wish he would make more of an effort socially,’ Victoria said with a sigh. ‘He is so quiet and reserved most women tend to overlook him.’

‘He is a scholar, my dear, and scholars are not, by nature, outgoing fellows. But I have no doubt that when the right woman comes along, Laurence will sit up and take notice. And I fully expect to see a very different side to your brother when that happens.’

‘Well, all I can say is that I hope she loves the theatre as much as he does. I’ve often wondered if he didn’t have a secret longing to tread the boards himself.’

‘Perish the thought! That would put your poor mother into Bedlam,’ her father said drily. ‘Now, off you go and talk to her about this evening’s event.’

‘Yes, I suppose I must.’ Victoria’s face twisted. ‘I don’t mind the Holcombes so much, but they really do invite the stuffiest people to their soirées.’

‘I know, but it will be good for you to be seen in society for a change. It’s time you gave some thought to settling down. Lord knows it’s all your mother thinks about, and now that Winifred is out, it behoves you to marry well in order that she can do the same. I believe Henry Fulton was rather taken with her last night.’

‘And why would he not be taken with her? Winifred is beautiful and accomplished and she will make some man an excellent wife,’ Victoria said generously. ‘But what man is going to want me, Papa? A woman who writes plays and even takes a hand in producing them? I am destined to become an ape-leader.’

Her father chuckled. ‘Nevertheless, you must make an effort. Marriage will give you a home and children of your own, and who knows? If you have enough, you might be able to form your own troupe!’

Victoria burst out laughing. Only her father would say something like that—and only when her mother wasn’t in the room. ‘Dearest Papa. I hate to think what Mama would say if she heard you trying to persuade me in such a manner.’

‘No more than I, Victoria,’ her father replied with a smile. ‘No more than I.’

Chapter Four

That evening found Victoria alone in the drawing room with a pencil and piece of parchment in her hand. The rest of the family had gone out, and though her parents had asked if she might like to join them, Victoria had excused herself by pleading a megrim. In truth, she was desperate to start writing again and while the evening wasn’t usually a creative time for her, she needed to get past this wretched block and come up with some new ideas.

Unfortunately, the longer she stared at the blank page, the emptier her mind grew. Surely her burgeoning career as a playwright wasn’t already over?

Needing reassurance, Victoria set the paper aside and reached into the pocket of her gown. She had managed to find a copy of Sir Michael Loftus’s review in the newspaper that morning and had torn it out, basking in a warm glow of satisfaction every time she read it … which she’d done so many times she had actually committed the piece to memory …

… yet another piece of brilliance from the inimitable Valentine Lawe, A Lady’s Choice is easily his best work yet. Lawe’s deft handling of an intricate plot is exceeded only by his skilful use of characterisation, and, in typical Lawe style, he has lampooned members of society and the church in a way that one can only admire.

Performed at the Gryphon Theatre by that establishment’s exceptional company, A Lady’s Choice is a lively and thoroughly entertaining romp. I take my hat off to Signy Chermonde as Elizabeth Turcott and Victor Trumphani as Elliot Black, and once again, profess myself in awe of Lawe’s talent. I look forward to seeing many more of his plays …

‘“In awe of Lawe’s talent,” ‘ Victoria murmured, breathing a sigh of pure pleasure. It wasn’t every day Sir Michael Loftus delivered such a flattering review. She knew that as a result of having read several of his less complimentary critiques. The man could destroy a playwright’s career in a single column. Or, as in the case of Valentine Lawe’s, he could make it.

‘What, not locked up in your room writing?’ Laurence asked, strolling into the room with a book in his hand.

‘I can’t think of anything to say.’ Victoria slipped the review back into her pocket. ‘I’m having a devil of a time coming up with any ideas for my next play.’

‘I shouldn’t worry about it. You expended a great deal of time and effort on A Lady’s Choice. It’s really not surprising that the creative well has temporarily run dry.’

‘But I’ve written three other plays and never had this problem before.’

‘No, because as good as your other plays were, they didn’t draw on the same level of emotional intensity,’ Laurence said. ‘You explored both the light and the dark side of love in your last play, Tory, and writing like that takes a toll. As Uncle Theo says, art demands passion and passion demands intensity … and intensity can be very tiring.’

‘I hope that’s all it is,’ Victoria said, refusing to let her mind drift off in other directions … or to one other person in particular …

‘So where is everyone tonight?’ Laurence asked, settling into the chair across from her.

‘The Hungerfords are hosting a card party.’

‘Oh, Lord, that should be interesting.’ Laurence opened his book. ‘Mother and Father usually play together. I hope they’re on better terms now than they were earlier.’

‘You mean, has she forgiven him for standing up for his brother and sister-in-law when she thought he should have sided with her?’ Victoria shook her head. ‘I doubt it. You know how she likes to hold a grudge. But I suppose it’s not her fault. She just wants me to find a nice man and get married.’

‘Then why don’t you?’

‘Because I want to write plays and a husband won’t let me do that. He will expect me to pay calls and arrange dinner parties, and to sit at home with no opinions of my own. He certainly wouldn’t approve of my going to the theatre as often as I do now.’

‘You don’t know that,’ Laurence said.

‘Yes, I do. He can say what he likes before we’re married, but once he puts a ring on my finger, he will expect me to be mindful of my responsibilities.’

‘I think you’re using the writing as a smokescreen,’ Laurence said bluntly. ‘I think you don’t want to get too close to a man because you’re afraid of falling too deeply in love. I remember how devastated you were when Phillip Chesham left England without asking you to marry him.’

Victoria blushed, painfully reminded of a childish crush she was just as happy to forget. ‘I wasn’t devastated. I was just … surprised. I thought Phillip cared for me.’

‘He did, but he was young, Tory, and he wanted to see the world. You just wanted to get married and settle down. It wasn’t the right time for either of you.’

No, it wasn’t, Victoria admitted, but while her heart and her pride had been wounded, it was her writing that had suffered the most. Emotionally crippled, she had gone for months without even feeling the desire to write. She wasn’t willing to let that happen again. ‘I agree that falling in love can be destructive to a creative mind,’ she said. ‘But I’m older and wiser now, and I’ve established myself in a career. I want to see how far I can take this and I know a husband would try to restrict my activities.’

‘I wouldn’t care if my wife wrote plays,’ Laurie said conversationally. ‘As long as she was happy, I wouldn’t care what she did.’

‘Even if she was an actress?’

Laurence blushed to the roots of his hair. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘Oh, Laurie, I’ve seen the way you look at Signy Chermonde and how you blush when she speaks to you.’

‘I do not blush!’

‘I’m afraid you do, dearest. You’ve gone quite pink even now.’

‘Oh, God!’ Laurence said on a groan. ‘And here I thought I was being so good at concealing my feelings.’

‘You forget, I’m your sister. I know you better than most. But you must know that nothing can come of it.’

‘I’m well aware of that,’ Laurence said, more than a little put out. ‘She’s taken up with that lecher Lord Collins.’

‘That is entirely beside the point. Mama would never allow you to marry an actress,’ Victoria said. ‘You know how she feels about poor Aunt Tandy.’

‘All too well,’ Laurence murmured. ‘Speaking of ineligible suitors, Winnie tells me you were monopolising Mr Devlin at the Holcombes’ musicale last night.’

Victoria could feel the heat rising in her cheeks. ‘I was not monopolising him,’ she retorted. ‘Winnie’s nose is out of joint because I interrupted her conversation with the gentleman and then sent her back to Mama’s side. I dare say she would be even more annoyed if she found out I’d met up with him in the Park this morning.’

‘You never did. Was he alone?’

‘No. He was with his very pretty and much younger cousin.’

‘Are you sure she was his cousin?’

‘I did briefly wonder if she might be his mistress,’ Victoria allowed, ‘but once I heard them talking, I realised there was nothing of a loverlike nature between them. She is terribly smitten, however, with Valentine Lawe.’

‘She told you that?’

‘Oh, yes, and I must admit, I found it very strange to talk about him as though he were a real person. I was informed that he wears a red rose in his lapel, which would only ever be black, and that he has dark hair and quite the most amazing blue eyes anyone has ever seen. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear she was describing you!’

‘Unfortunately, I lack the talent and flair necessary to fit the bill,’ Laurence said drily. ‘I take it you did not encourage Miss Wright to seek out an introduction?’

‘As best I could without coming out and saying the man is pure fiction. But I did feel guilty about having to deceive her.’

‘What else could you do? Mother would be furious if you’d told Miss Wright the truth, especially in front of Devlin. She hasn’t stopped talking about him since Aunt Tandy let slip that you’d met him at the Gryphon.’ Laurence grinned. ‘He must have been surprised to see you at that time of the morning. Did you exchange pleasantries?’

‘A few, but in truth, I spent most of the time listening to Miss Wright go on about Valentine Lawe. I believe Mr Devlin was as amused by her fascination with him as I was.’

‘A point of similarity, then.’

‘The only one.’ In spite of herself, Victoria felt her cheeks grow even warmer. ‘Mr Devlin and I really have nothing else in common, Laurie. He has no fondness for the theatre, and that would have to make matters difficult for me.’

‘Not necessarily. Not all husbands and wives enjoy the same things,’ Laurence said. ‘Our parents don’t have many similar interests, yet they manage to rub along fairly well.’

‘Only because Papa is not concerned with his position in life. Mr Devlin has to be and it’s quite likely I would be a terrible embarrassment to him,’ Victoria said. ‘Besides, I’m sure he has his clubs and his politics, and lives as indulgent a life as most other gentlemen in his circle. And he will be Lord Kempton one day and so has to bear in mind the responsibilities and obligations owed to the name. What could he possibly want with a woman who has no desire to be married and who does exactly the opposite of what society expects her to?’

At half past two the following afternoon, Alistair Devlin snapped his pocket watch closed in frustration. He had instructed the estate agent to meet him at Gunninghill House at precisely two o’clock and it was now half an hour beyond that. If the man did not wish to sell the building, he should have just said so.

‘Mr Devlin!’ A rotund little man clutching a satchel under his arm came hurrying up the lane towards him. ‘Hedley Brown. Apologies for my tardiness. I was delayed by my last client. Quite forgot he was coming.’

‘Never mind, you’re here now. I take it you have brought a key?’

‘Yes, indeed, I have it here.’ Mr Brown reached into the satchel and withdrew a key, which he proceeded to insert into the lock. ‘Took me a while to find it. We haven’t had much interest in this old place.’ When the key wouldn’t turn, he pulled it out, brushed off a few flecks of rust and reinserted it. ‘I suspect it will need a bit of work to make it comfortable. Ah, there we are.’ He pushed the door open to reveal a large, empty hall. ‘However, it is a fine house and the price makes it quite attractive for … whatever purposes you have in mind.’

Alistair stepped across the threshold and gazed around the shadowy hall. No doubt Mr Hedley thought he intended to house his mistress here, though why he would establish a night-time lover at such a distance was anyone’s guess. ‘Lead on, Mr Brown. I am anxious to see more.’

The agent began the tour on the ground floor, which boasted a dark and rather dingy dining room, a breakfast parlour and what might once have been a library. Climbing the stairs to the first floor, Alistair was shown several good-sized rooms, some with windows that faced the road while others looked out over the badly overgrown gardens. Climbing yet another flight brought them to the bedrooms, each with its own dressing room, any one of which was large enough to accommodate several small beds. Above that were the servants’ rooms and the attics. The kitchen, located below ground, was surprisingly large and well laid out.

It took fifteen minutes to view the house, less for Alistair to come to the conclusion that it was exactly what he needed. The space was commodious and, while there weren’t sufficient windows, the ceilings were high enough that the space did not feel cramped. Outside, there was plenty of room for vegetable gardens and the fields could be used for play areas. There was even a small pond. Mrs Hutchins would have to keep an eye on the younger children around that, but the older ones could help out. ‘I’ll take it,’ he said.

Mr Brown stared at him. ‘But we haven’t discussed the price.’

‘There is no need. I told you how much I was willing to spend and instructed you to find a house that fell within that range. I assumed when I received your note that you had found such a place.’

‘Well, yes, but—’

‘Then there is nothing to discuss,’ Alistair said, ‘except when I can take possession.’

‘Well, I suppose if everything meets with your approval, there is no reason why you may not do so as soon as you wish.’

‘Excellent. Have you brought the papers with you?’

‘Er … no.’ Mr Brown’s cheeks coloured. ‘I had no idea our business would be concluded so swiftly.’

‘Then I shall meet you at your office in precisely two hours. Pray have the papers ready for me at that time.’

Without waiting for the estate agent’s reply, Alistair headed back in the direction of his phaeton.

It always amazed him how some people could make an entire afternoon’s work out of what should have been a simple transaction.

Still, the main thing was that the house was perfect for what he had in mind. It would take work to make it into what he wanted, but he had accounted for the cost of renovations in his calculations. It was unlikely he would have found anything better. If he had, the price would have been that much higher, or it would have been too far out of London to make it viable.

No, Gunninghill House would do nicely, Alistair decided, glancing up at the old stone building one last time. It had everything the children needed. For that, he could forgive the less-than-efficient Mr Brown his numerous shortcomings.

Although Victoria preferred dramatic works, she occasionally went to the King’s Theatre for operatic performances. She had been fortunate enough to hear the great Italian soprano, Angelica Catalani, perform some years earlier and remembered it as being one of the few performances where the audience had actually been well behaved. Even the dandies who typically made the evening performances into something of a spectacle had been content to sit and listen to the diva sing.

Tonight, she and Laurence were to see a production of Tancredi by Rossini before going on to a card party at the home of one of Laurence’s friends. Victoria had heard great things about Fanny Corri, who had been cast in the lead role, and expected it would make for a pleasant change.

What she had not expected was to see Alistair Devlin and Miss Wright seated in the company of another well-dressed couple in one of the best boxes in the house.

‘If I didn’t know better, I’d swear the man was following you,’ Laurence murmured.

‘Good thing you know better, then, isn’t it?’ Victoria quickly looked down at the stage. She had no wish to be caught staring at Alistair, but it was hard not to let her eyes drift in that direction. He was like fire on a winter’s night—a source of heat that could burn if one ventured too close.

The performance began shortly thereafter and was a delight from beginning to end. Miss Corri was exceptional in the role of the heroine, Amenaide, and the mezzo-soprano singing the part of Tancredi had a marvellous voice. Only the gentleman playing Orbazzano fell short of expectation.

‘I think he might have been the understudy,’ Laurence said as they made their way out of the box at the end. ‘He certainly wasn’t up to the calibre of the other singers. But Miss Corri was well worth hearing. I suspect there will be a line up outside her door this evening. I wonder if Devlin will be one of them. Rumour has it he’s looking for a new mistress.’

If either of them thought the nature of the conversation unusual, neither of them said so, perhaps because they had each been exposed to the theatrical world for most of their lives—a place where morals were lax and love and sex interchangeable.

Yet another reason, Victoria reflected, for men like Alistair Devlin to avoid her.

Still, the thought of him vying for the favours of an opera singer left her with a distinctly unsettled feeling. She preferred not to think of him as a man who took advantage of such women, yet everyone knew that well-born gentlemen chose mistresses from within the acting profession. She’d heard stories about his liaison with Celeste Fontaine and of their tumultuous parting, but she couldn’t recall there being whispers about any other woman having taken her place.

Not that she cared, Victoria assured herself. What Alistair Devlin did with his personal life was certainly no interest to her.

Pity, then, that he should be the first person she encountered upon entering the lobby.

‘Good evening, Mr Bretton,’ Alistair said. ‘Miss Bretton.’

‘Mr Devlin,’ Victoria said, striving for a casual tone. ‘Did you enjoy the performance?’

‘Mildly. I am not a great fan of opera, but I was persuaded to come by my sister and brother-in-law and prevailed upon to bring Cousin Isabelle as well.’ He turned to introduce the couple standing behind him.

‘A mediocre performance at best, wouldn’t you agree, Miss Bretton?’ the Archdeacon enquired.

‘The tenor’s performance, perhaps, but I thought Miss Corri was exceptional,’ Victoria said, grateful not for the first time for the anonymity of her name. In her last play, she had poked fun at the character of an archdeacon, and while she hadn’t had any particular archdeacon in mind, she suspected if Alistair’s brother-in-law had seen the play, he would have taken offence. ‘While she is not in the same league as Catalani, her voice is very fluid and her range is astonishing. I venture to say she has a promising future ahead of her.’

Mrs Baltham’s left eyebrow rose a fraction of an inch. ‘You seem to know a great deal about such things, Miss Bretton. You are an aficionado, perhaps?’

‘Of course she is!’ Miss Wright said with all the naïveté of youth. ‘Miss Bretton’s uncle owns the Gryphon Theatre. I’m sure she knows everything there is to know about opera and the stage.’

It was not a recommendation. Victoria knew it from the way Mrs Baltham’s nostrils suddenly dilated, as though finding herself in the presence of a vaguely unpleasant smell. ‘Really? I was not aware of the connection.’

‘It is not generally well known,’ Laurence remarked.

‘And I am sure you are happy it remain that way,’ the Archdeacon replied stiffly. ‘Come along, Isabelle.’

The dismissal could not have been more obvious. The Archdeacon and his wife moved away, leaving poor Miss Wright to follow numbly in their wake.

Victoria didn’t say a word. Quietly fuming, she kept her eyes on the floor, painfully aware of the snub she and her brother had just been dealt.

‘Well, I’ll just go and find the carriage,’ Laurence said, obviously feeling the awkwardness of the situation. ‘Coming, Victoria?’

‘A moment, Miss Bretton,’ Alistair said quietly. ‘Please.’

Victoria glanced at her brother and nodded. ‘I’ll be along directly.’

Laurence bowed and left them. As soon as they were alone, Alistair looked at Victoria with an expression she could only call pained and said, ‘I am truly sorry for what just happened. They had no right to speak to you like that.’

‘It is not for you to apologise, Mr Devlin,’ Victoria said, anger lending sharpness to her tone. ‘Clearly, your sister and brother-in-law are not as impressed with my connection to the theatre as Miss Wright so obviously is.’

‘I fear they share my father’s opinion in that regard.’

‘Then why did they come?’ Victoria was stung into replying. ‘Is opera not a form of theatre?’

‘I’ve always thought so, but the Archdeacon is of the opinion that the talent required to sing opera well puts those performers ahead of commonplace actors. It doesn’t make any sense, but it is beyond my power or interest to try to change his mind. But I am sorry that you and your brother had to suffer for his prejudices.’

Victoria managed a thin smile. She hadn’t been sorry to see the Archdeacon leave. She hadn’t liked him any more than he had liked her. But she did regret that Alistair had been there to witness his disapproval, knowing it only served to reinforce what she had told him the night they had met. ‘It isn’t your fault, Mr Devlin. It is not the first time I have been criticised for my associations and I doubt it will be the last. With both an aunt and an uncle so heavily involved in the theatre, such snubs are hard to avoid.’

‘Nevertheless, you are not an actress, nor have you anything to do with the profession. You simply enjoy going to the theatre, as so many do, and there is nothing wrong with that.’

Victoria glanced away, uncomfortable with the concern she saw in Alistair’s eyes. Every time she saw him now, the pretence of innocence grew harder to maintain. When Miss Wright had expressed admiration for Valentine Lawe, Victoria had been able to assuage her guilt by telling herself how disappointed Miss Wright would be if she were to learn that the object of her affection was actually a figment of Victoria’s imagination rather than a flesh-and-blood man. But standing here now, wilfully deceiving Alistair, left her with a decidedly hollow feeling, as though she was keeping secrets of a most immoral kind. ‘It is not for me to criticise your sister and brother-in-law’s beliefs, Mr Devlin,’ she said in a low voice. ‘But I hope you will not allow their prejudices to adversely affect Miss Wright’s enjoyment of the theatre. She should be allowed to form her own opinions.’

‘She will, but as long as she is a guest in my father’s house, she will be exposed to his beliefs,’ Alistair said slowly. ‘And I must tell you, they are not favourable.’

‘Yet she still goes to the theatre.’

‘Her parents indulge her and they have instructed that she be allowed to do as she wishes. My father doesn’t like it, but given that the final say is not his, he tends to ignore her. He finds her headstrong and opinionated.’

‘Yes.’ Victoria began to smile. ‘I liked that about her from the start. But I am grateful for the explanation. And for the apology.’

‘I would not wish you to think the Archdeacon’s feelings are in any way a reflection of my own,’ he said quietly. ‘Because they are not. I look at you … quite differently.’ He offered her a bow, then went to join the rest of his family.

Seeing Laurence waiting for her at the door, Victoria started in that direction, but the memory of Alistair’s words lingered. ‘I look at you quite differently.’

‘As I do you, Mr Devlin,’ Victoria whispered under her breath. What a pity the gulf between them suddenly seemed wider than ever.

Chapter Three

Lord and Lady Holcombe lived in a magnificent house filled with more exquisite artwork than many of London’s finest museums. The walls were covered with paintings by every famous painter, living and dead, and entire rooms had been given over to showcase the hundreds of sculptures and historical relics Holcombe had collected during his travels around the world.

Meandering through one such room filled with ancient Roman artefacts, Alistair stopped to admire a jewel-encrusted dagger and wondered if anyone would notice if he slipped out through the French doors. As much as he liked the marquess and his wife, they really did invite the most boring people to their gatherings. If he heard one more lurid tale about Lady Tavistocke taking up with a gondolier, he would go mad! Surely there were more interesting topics to discuss? The deplorable conditions in the East End. The bodies found floating in the Thames. Riots and child labour and conditions in the mills. Anything but this mindless prattle …

‘—think Shakespeare was intent on pointing out the frailty of the human mind,’ he heard a woman say. ‘Lady Macbeth was clearly mad, but was it due to the guilt she felt over the murder she convinced her husband to commit, or as a result of her own unending quest for power?’

Alistair frowned. A bluestocking at the Holcombes’?

He turned to see who was speaking—and promptly bumped into another young lady who had clearly been waiting to speak to him. ‘I beg your pardon—’

‘No, that’s all right, Mr Devlin,’ the lady said, blushing furiously. ‘It would be difficult not to bump into someone with so many people crammed together in one place.’

She smiled up at him in a manner that led Alistair to believe they had previously been introduced, but while her face was familiar, her name escaped him entirely. ‘Are you having a good time, Miss …?’

‘Bretton.’ She pouted prettily. ‘We met two weeks ago at the Roehamptons’ reception. I was hoping you might remember me.’

He didn’t remember her. He remembered her name. ‘You’re Victoria Bretton’s sister?’

Her smile faltered, as though he had said something distasteful. ‘Yes. Do you know my sister?’

‘We met last night at the Gryphon.’

‘You spoke to Victoria?’

‘Indeed. I had the pleasure of conversing with her at the conclusion of the play.’

‘A play, which, as I recall, you enjoyed very much.’

Alistair smiled. Oh yes, he knew that voice. Lower pitched and decidedly less breathless, it was not in the least anxious or in any way eager to please. ‘Good evening, Miss Bretton.’ He turned to find the elder Miss Bretton looking up at him. ‘What a pleasure to see you again.’

‘How nice of you to say so. Mr … Devlin, wasn’t it?’

Her deliberate hesitation made him smile. ‘I’m flattered you would remember.’

‘Why would I not? It was only last night.’

‘Yet how long the night seems to one kept awake by pain.’

She raised an eyebrow in surprise. ‘I doubt you were in pain, Mr Devlin. Unlike Saurin’s Guiscard.’

‘Ah, but you do not know how I suffered in being so cruelly dismissed.’

The effect of this rejoinder was to make her laugh. ‘You were not dismissed. And even if you were, it was not with any degree of cruelty.’

‘Victoria, how nice of you to join us,’ her sister interrupted in a chilly voice. ‘When last I saw you, you were enjoying the pleasure of Mr Compton’s company.’

Alistair frowned. ‘Mr George Compton?’

‘Yes. Victoria was partaking in a most lively conversation with him.’

‘It was not a lively conversation, nor did I particularly enjoy it,’ Victoria said. ‘I made the effort because Mama asked me to, but having now fulfilled my social obligation, I am ready to go home. She sent me to ask if you would like to leave as well.’

‘I would rather not.’ Winifred sent Alistair a coquettish glance. ‘I am enjoying a conversation with Mr Devlin.’

‘So I see. Unfortunately, Mama said that if you were not ready to leave, she would like you to keep her company for a while. Papa is playing cards and you know she doesn’t like to be left alone at these large gatherings.’

‘But surely you can keep her company,’ Winifred said. ‘You don’t have to go home right away.’

‘In fact, I do. I promised Laurence I would help him with a project and I know he would like to work on it this evening. I am sorry, Winnie,’ Victoria said gently, ‘but I really do have to leave.’

Alistair wisely remained silent. It was obvious the younger Miss Bretton wasn’t happy at being summoned back to her mother’s side, but equally obvious that she knew better than to make a scene in front of an eligible gentleman.

‘Oh, very well.’ Winifred glared at her sister, then turned to offer Alistair an apologetic smile. ‘I’m sorry we are unable to finish our conversation, Mr Devlin. I hope we will have an opportunity to do so the next time we meet.’

‘I look forward to it, Miss Winifred.’

It was the polite thing to say, and when Alistair saw the sparkle return to the girl’s lovely green eyes, he knew it had been the right thing. But he waited until she was safely out of range before saying to the lady who remained, ‘Is your sister always so brusque, Miss Bretton?’

‘Only with me.’ Her smile appeared, but Alistair thought it vaguely preoccupied. ‘She can be exceedingly pleasant to people whose company she enjoys.’

‘She doesn’t enjoy yours?’

‘My sister does not entirely approve of me. She believes I am too opinionated and that I speak my mind when I would do better to keep silent. She also thinks I spend too much time at the theatre associating with people who are not worthy of my regard. An opinion shared by my mother and a number of others in society, I suspect.’

‘They are not wrong,’ Alistair pointed out bluntly.

‘No, but I would be lying if I said it bothered me enough to make me stop,’ she told him. ‘I enjoy spending time at the theatre. I appreciate the beauty of the language, the intricacies of the plays and the diverse talent of the actors and actresses. Had circumstances been different, I wonder if I might not have enjoyed being an actress.’ She gazed up at him without apology. ‘Does that shock you?’

‘You must know that it does. Most ladies take pleasure in more traditional pastimes such as reading and needlework. Activities that do not put their reputations at risk.’

‘Yet you believe what I do jeopardises mine?’

‘You’ve just said that it does, yet you do not seem to care.’

‘Why pretend concern where none exists?’

‘For appearances’ sake?’

She laughed, a low, throaty sound that did the strangest things to his equilibrium. ‘I am past doing things for the sake of appearances, Mr Devlin. Though you cannot be expected to know, I come from a rather unusual family. We are the equivalent of Lady Tavistocke and her gondolier … without Venice and its canals. And before you find yourself tarred by the same brush, I suggest you make good your escape.’

‘My escape?’

‘From my company. I did warn you last night.’ It took Alistair a moment to tie the two together. ‘Is that what you meant when you said we should not suit?’

‘In part. Look around if you don’t believe me,’ she advised. ‘But be subtle, if you can.’

Alistair casually turned his head—and saw a group of dowagers quickly avert their eyes. Standing just behind them, an earl and his countess abruptly resumed their conversation, and as he secured two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter, he observed the top-lofty Mrs Howard draw her daughter away. ‘Good Lord, is it always like this?’

‘No. Sometimes it’s worse.’

‘Then why do you come?’

‘Because Mama insists upon it. She is anxious for me to marry so that my sister can do the same. Hence the required conversation with Mr Compton.’

Alistair snorted. ‘The man has four unmarried sisters at home. What kind of welcome do you think you would receive in an establishment like that?’

‘None, but the fact I would have my own establishment is reason enough for my sister to believe I should make the effort.’

‘Nothing would be reason enough to encourage George Compton,’ Alistair said. ‘As for your reception here, surely there are places you could go where you would be made to feel more welcome.’

‘Actually, I don’t do so badly. My uncle and Lord Holcombe did some business together last year and ever since, Lord and Lady Holcombe have been very welcoming towards us.’

Alistair watched Victoria raise the glass to her lips, his gaze lingering on the tempting curve of her bottom lip. ‘So your uncle owns the Gryphon Theatre?’

‘Yes. Does that surprise you?’

‘Only in that if your mother is unhappy with the amount of time you spend at the theatre, I cannot imagine how she reconciles herself to the fact that her brother owns one.’

‘With great difficultly, but as it happens, Uncle Theo is Papa’s brother.’

‘But his name is Templeton.’

‘My uncle did that out of kindness to Mama,’ Victoria explained. ‘He was performing with a small repertory company when my parents met. Naturally, being the daughter of a minister, Mama was horrified that her future brother-in-law was on the stage, so hoping to make relations between them easier, my uncle assumed the surname of the first character he ever played. It made matters better at the time, though once he started buying up large chunks of property in London, I don’t think anyone cared.’

‘So your uncle is an actor.’

‘Was an actor. He gave up performing not long after he married my aunt.’

‘Who, I believe, is also an actress?’

‘Yes, but she seldom appears on stage any more,’ Victoria said. ‘They are both more involved in the production end of things now. Pity, really, since they were both exceptional performers.’

Alistair stared at her in bemusement. A stunning young woman, eldest daughter of a gentleman, speaking not only without embarrassment about the black sheep of her family, but with admiration …?

‘Devlin, where on earth have you … oh, I beg your pardon.’ Lord Collins came to an abrupt halt. ‘I wasn’t aware that you and the lady were engaged in a conversation.’

‘Then you’re the only one in the room who isn’t,’ Alistair drawled. ‘Miss Bretton, I believe you are acquainted with Lord Collins?’

‘Indeed, I’ve seen him at the Gryphon quite often of late,’ Victoria said with a smile. ‘I believe he has a fondness for Miss Chermonde.’

To Alistair’s delight, Collins actually blushed. ‘The lady and I are … acquainted, yes.’

‘Then a word of advice, my lord,’ Victoria said. ‘As my uncle is aware of your … acquaintance with Miss Chermonde, I feel it only fair to warn you that, if you do anything to adversely affect the quality of her performance, he will take you to task. My uncle demands a great deal from the members of his troupe and if an actor or actress delivers a substandard performance, he will be looking to know the reasons why. And I should tell you that in his younger days, he had quite a reputation as a pugilist.’

Collins’s blush receded, leaving his face starkly white. ‘I appreciate the warning, Miss Bretton, but I can assure you I would never treat Miss Chermonde with anything but the utmost respect and I intend to shower her with gifts that will keep her very happy indeed.’

‘Good. Just please do not feed her oysters,’ Victoria said with a sigh. ‘She will ask for them, but they make her sneeze and that ruins her voice for a good day and a half.’

‘Then there will definitely be no oysters,’ Collins said stiffly.

‘Thank you. Well, I had best take my leave. Good evening, Lord Collins. Mr Devlin.’

Alistair bowed. ‘Miss Bretton.’

Collins gave just a brief nod and waited until she was safely out of range before saying, ‘Trumped-up little baggage! Imagine telling me what I should and shouldn’t do with my own mistress. I should have told her it was none of her business!’

‘But you did not,’ Alistair said with a broad smile. ‘In fact, your response was uncommonly meek for you, Bertie.’

The other man flushed. ‘It was not meek! I was merely being polite. But you see what I mean about her being outspoken. And about how people treat her.’

‘I saw a few old tabbies turn up their nose, but if she was that unacceptable, she wouldn’t be here. They don’t get much stuffier than the Holcombes.’

Collins sighed. ‘You know Theo Templeton’s her uncle, right? Well, he’s also reputed to be worth a bloody fortune. No one knows where the money came from. Some say it’s his wife’s, others say he won it at cards. Either way, he’s as rich as Croesus and doesn’t give a damn what society thinks about him.’

‘What has any of that to do with Miss Bretton?’

‘Last year, when Holcombe ran into financial difficulties, Templeton bailed him out, no questions asked,’ Collins said. ‘Everyone’s dying to know why, of course, but Holcombe isn’t talking and neither is Templeton. But it’s the reason Holcombe won’t hear a bad word spoken about Templeton or about any member of his family, if you know what I mean.’

Alistair did. ‘You’re saying Templeton’s kindness to Holcombe is the reason Victoria Bretton is accepted in society.’

‘In part. Her immediate family are mindful of the proprieties, but her aunt and uncle are not and neither is she. She has gained a reputation for being blunt and there are those who predict she will suffer for it. In which case, having Holcombe on her side is a definite advantage. There’s not many who’ll gainsay a marquess.’

Alistair stared into his empty glass. No, there weren’t. He’d dealt with his fair share of toad-eaters in his life and his father was only a viscount. There was even more grovelling the higher one climbed on the social ladder.

But Victoria’s uncle wasn’t even on the social ladder. He and his wife had both acted upon the stage, and the fact he was rich or that he had bailed out a peer of the realm would make no difference. He would still be viewed as a mushroom at best and an actor at worst; both of which would serve as strikes against him and against members of his family. ‘Does Templeton move much in society?’ Alistair asked now.

‘To the extent he wishes. Beyond that, he doesn’t seem to care.’

‘What does he care about?’

‘His wife, his theatre, his brother and his niece. Everything else can go to hell as far as he’s concerned. At least, that’s what I’ve been told.’

And Collins would know, Alistair reflected, given his current association with Signy Chermonde. ‘An interesting man.’

‘Eccentric, if you ask me,’ Collins said with a sniff. ‘But, when you’re that rich, you can afford to do as you please. Victoria Bretton, however, is another matter. The lady falls somewhere between the devil and the deep blue sea. Even her own sister keeps her at a distance.’

Yes, Alistair had seen first-hand evidence of that. The lovely Winifred had all but curled her pretty little lip during her conversation with her sister, and if her mother was pushing her in George Compton’s direction, it was evident the family was determined to marry Victoria off to any man who expressed an interest.

And yet the lady didn’t seem to care. She had walked around that room with her head held high, blissfully serene in the face of all those hostile stares. She was the one who had drawn his attention to the way people were looking at her and to the effect it could have on his reputation.

What did that mean? That the lady truly was impervious to the snubs and the remarks people were making about her? Or that she was simply a better actress than the celebrated Signy Chermonde could ever hope to be?

It was Victoria’s habit to write early in the morning, usually long before the rest of the family were out of bed. Her mind was clearest at that time of day, and it was during those pre-dawn hours that she did her best work. But when on the morning following the Holcombe’s soirée, the words did not flow freely, Victoria did not immediately put it down to anything that had taken place at the soirée.

While it was true the memory of her conversation with Alistair Devlin had kept her awake long into the night, she couldn’t believe it was the reason she was feeling creatively stifled this morning. That kind of reaction usually came about as a result of her emotions being tied up in knots, and given that she and Alistair had spoken on only two prior occasions, the chance of having developed any kind of feelings for him was highly unlikely.

Yes, he was charming, and there was no question he was intelligent, but while those were qualities she would always admire in a man, Victoria wasn’t looking for them in Alistair Devlin.

She shouldn’t even be thinking about the man. Her uncle had made it very plain that she would end up nursing a broken heart for her trouble because Alistair’s position in society, and his father’s antipathy towards the theatre, would always preclude them from having a relationship.

Then why did she keep thinking about him? And why, if he wasn’t interested in her, had he sought her out and spoken to her at the theatre?

That was the question plaguing Victoria as she trotted her mare along Rotten Row an hour later. She had given up on the idea of writing and had asked for her mare to be saddled and brought round, hoping that a change of scenery would be good for her. But even though her groom rode far enough behind so as not to disturb her concentration, her mind remained stubbornly and most disappointingly blank. No clever ideas leapt to mind, and while she was reluctant to put a name to the cause, Victoria had a sinking feeling it was all because of—

‘Miss Bretton,’ came an all-too-familiar voice. ‘What a surprise. I’d not thought to see you out so early in the day.’

Victoria looked up—and instinctively her hands tightened on the reins. ‘Mr Devlin.’ The last person she’d needed—or wanted—to see. ‘I cannot think why. I did not stay late at the Holcombes’ soirée.’

‘No, but most ladies do not care to ride in the Park at a time of day when society is not around to admire them.’

‘Ah, but I ride for pleasure. Not to be stared at by those who opinions matter not in the least.’

‘Yet, anyone who sees you cannot help but be impressed by your beauty.’

Unexpectedly, his boldness made her laugh. ‘It is a little early in the day for such excessive flattery, Mr Devlin,’ she said, flicking a glance at the lady at his side, who wore a striking burgundy habit and was riding a pretty dapple-grey mare. ‘Are you not going to introduce me to your companion?’

‘But of course. Miss Victoria Bretton, may I present my cousin, Miss Isabelle Wright.’

Victoria started. His cousin?

‘How do you do, Miss Bretton,’ the lady said in a bright, youthful voice. ‘What a pleasure to finally meet you. I was introduced to your sister at the Roehamptons’ reception a few weeks ago and thought her ever so nice. Your aunt and uncle were there as well.’

Not having been at the reception, Victoria assumed Miss Wright was referring to her mother’s brother and wife who lived in Edinburgh. ‘I wasn’t aware Aunt and Uncle Taitley were in London.’

‘Oh, no, not that aunt and uncle. I meant the ones involved with the Gryphon Theatre. They are related to you, aren’t they?’ Miss Wright said. ‘Mr and Mrs Templeton?’

Astonished that a cousin of Alistair Devlin’s would be familiar with the owner of any theatre, let alone the Gryphon, Victoria said carefully, ‘Yes, they are.’

‘I thought so. I was terribly pleased to meet them. I truly believe your uncle stages some of the finest productions in London.’

‘Why don’t you tell Miss Bretton the name of your favourite play, Isabelle?’ Alistair said with a smile.

The girl laughed. ‘I don’t suppose it’s all that surprising. A Lady’s Choice, by Valentine Lawe. Cousin Alistair tells me you’ve seen it too, Miss Bretton.’

‘Yes, I have.’

‘Did you not think it brilliant?’

‘Well, I’m really not sure—’

‘Oh, but you must, because Valentine Lawe is the most talented playwright in all London. Surely we can agree on that?’

Somewhat nonplussed, Victoria took a moment to straighten her mare’s reins. How bizarre. She had never been asked a question about Valentine Lawe before, so really had no idea how to answer it. ‘I suppose I would have to say that he is … quite good.’

‘Quite good? My dear Miss Bretton, he is exceptional!’ Miss Wright exclaimed. ‘I’ve seen all of his plays: A Winter’s Escapade, Genevieve, Penelope’s Swain. But I think A Lady’s Choice is definitely his finest. Have you met him? Cousin Alistair said you must have, given that your uncle produces all of his plays.’

‘That would seem logical, but as it happens, Mr Lawe tends to keep … a very low profile,’ Victoria said, sticking as close to the truth as possible. ‘My uncle says he’s never met a more reclusive playwright in his life.’

‘Is that so?’ Miss Wright’s face was, briefly, a study in disappointment. ‘I wonder why?’

‘Perhaps he is afraid of being mobbed in the streets,’ Alistair drawled, ‘by overly enthusiastic fans like you.’

To Victoria’s amusement, the girl actually blushed. ‘It isn’t nice of you to make fun of me, Cousin Alistair. I know you don’t think much of Mr Lawe’s plays, or of anyone else’s for that matter—’

‘On the contrary, I think Lawe’s work is head and shoulders above everyone else’s. I may only have seen A Lady’s Choice, but based on that I am more than willing to acknowledge the man’s talent. Just because I don’t go to the theatre often doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate excellence when I see it.’

For a few heady moments, Victoria allowed herself the pleasure of basking in the warm glow of his praise. That was the worst part of not being able to acknowledge who she really was: being unable to express gratitude to people who enjoyed and appreciated her work. Especially a man like Alistair Devlin …

‘Is he very handsome?’ Miss Wright asked suddenly.

Guiltily, Victoria started. ‘Who?’

‘Valentine Lawe. Your aunt must have made some comment as to his appearance.’

‘Oh. Well, I’m really … not sure. I’ve never asked her what she thought of him … in that regard.’

‘I have a picture of him in my mind,’ Miss Wright admitted. ‘He’s as tall as Cousin Alistair and his hair is just as dark, but he has the most amazing blue eyes you’ve ever seen. When he looks at you, you feel as though he’s gazing right down into your soul.’

‘Really?’ Victoria hardly knew what to say. She’d never given a moment’s thought to her alter ego’s appearance. ‘How … interesting.’

‘And he’s brooding, just like a romantic hero should be,’ Miss Wright went on. ‘But as brilliant as he is on paper, he’s very quiet and withdrawn in person. And he dresses well, but only in black and white. And he wears a single red rose in his lapel and—’

‘A diamond stud in his ear?’ Alistair enquired. ‘Or a gold hoop?’

‘He is not a pirate, Cousin Alistair,’ Miss Wright said, rolling her eyes. ‘He is a playwright. And I’m not the only one who fantasises about his appearance. Ellen Standish thinks he’s fair, Jenny Hartlett is convinced he has red hair and Mrs Johnston is of the opinion he hasn’t any hair at all. But she is partial to balding men, so I suppose that is her idea of attractive.’

Victoria just stared, aware that the conversation was getting more bizarre by the minute. ‘Well, if I am ever fortunate enough to meet … Mr Lawe I will be sure to communicate the details of his appearance to you.’

‘You would do that for me?’ the girl said, looking as though she had been given the secret to eternal youth.

‘Happily. But I should warn you that I have no expectation of seeing the gentleman any time soon.’

‘I don’t care!’ Miss Wright cried. ‘It is enough to know that when you do see him, you will tell me what he looks like and I shall know whether I have been right or wrong. Thank you so very much, Miss Bretton!’

Victoria inclined her head, grateful for having emerged unscathed from what could have been a very embarrassing situation. She didn’t like telling lies, but what was she to do with Alistair Devlin sitting right there? She could hardly admit to being Valentine Lawe now when she had not told him the truth during any of their previous conversations.

She glanced at him sitting relaxed and at ease in the saddle and wished with all her heart that she might feel as calm. But her pulse was racing and when he smiled at her, it only grew worse, so much so that Victoria feared he must surely be able to see her heart beating beneath her jacket. Because his was a smile that was at once beguiling and disturbing, a smile that hinted at things she knew nothing about and had never experienced.

A smile that lingered far longer in her mind than it had any right to, and that would not be shaken, no matter how hard she tried.

Chapter Five

There were only two cast members on stage when Victoria arrived at the Gryphon to speak to her uncle the following morning. Miss Catherine Jones, the young lady who had been engaged in the role of understudy to Signy Chermonde, and the actress playing Elizabeth Turcott’s mother. Why the great actress herself wasn’t on stage was anyone’s guess, though Victoria suspected it probably had something to do with Lord Collins.

Fortunately, Miss Jones was giving a marvellous performance as Elizabeth, communicating the character’s emotional suffering in a quiet and thoroughly believable manner.

‘She has the makings of a fine actress,’ Uncle Theo said as he came and sat down next to Victoria. ‘I predict she will do very well.’

‘Where did you find her?’

‘At a small theatre outside Cardiff. She was playing Ophelia and caught my eye at once. After the performance, we talked for a while and I said if she was ever interested in coming to London, she should contact me. Much to my surprise, a year later, she sent me a letter, asking if the offer was still open.’

‘How fortunate for you,’ Victoria said. ‘She hasn’t Signy’s exotic looks or her flair for the dramatic, but there is an innocence about her that is highly engaging.’

‘I thought the same thing the first time I saw her. I’ll likely cast her in ingénue roles and ensemble pieces until I’ve had a chance to work with her. She’s already learned a lot from watching Signy.’

‘Dare I ask where the great lady is this morning?’

‘ Still in bed, I suspect.’ Her uncle kept his eyes on the stage below. ‘The question is, whose?’

Victoria knew she shouldn’t have laughed. Had she been more like her mother or sister, she would have been deeply embarrassed by the decidedly risqué comment. But her association with the theatre had long since stripped away those blinds of false modesty, allowing her to appreciate the humour in her uncle’s remark. ‘I did warn Lord Collins about the risks involved in doing anything that might adversely affect Signy’s performance,’ she said now.

‘So far, other than make her late for rehearsal, he has heeded your advice. If anything, Signy’s performances have become even richer and more compelling since she became his mistress. God knows what will happen when he discards her.’

‘Do you believe he will?’

Her uncle shrugged. ‘He did it to Sarah Littlewood last year. Completely devastated the poor girl. Couldn’t remember any of her lines and spent most of her time crying. It was the reason I had to let her go.’

‘But Signy is far more beautiful.’

‘Yes, but men like Collins don’t take relationships like that seriously. Once they tire of their mistresses, they move on. When that happens, I predict an emotional storm of such staggering proportions it will leave Signy incapable of performing in any but the most pathetic of tragedies. I shall have to have a play in hand for just such an occasion.’ Her uncle grinned. ‘In the meantime, I am well pleased with Miss Jones. She makes a very appealing Elizabeth.’

‘She does indeed,’ Victoria said. Then she sighed—and her uncle picked up on it at once.

‘What’s wrong?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Yes, there is. You only sigh like that when you’ve something on your mind. Has your mother been complaining about us again?’

Victoria managed a weak smile. ‘No. This has nothing to do with you or Aunt Tandy.’

‘Then what?’

Victoria stared down at the stage, listening to Miss Jones recite the lines she had written. Lines that had come so easily to her in the past, but that didn’t any more. Not since Alistair Devlin had walked into her life. ‘You said something the morning after the play, about there being … very little chance of Mr Devlin pursuing a relationship with me,’ Victoria said slowly. ‘Why did you say that?’

‘Are you asking because you like Mr Devlin and have some hopes in that direction?’

‘No,’ Victoria said, feeling her face burn. How ironic that where talk of mistresses didn’t make her uncomfortable, the mention of a romantic association with Alistair did. ‘I am well aware that he is far above my touch. But he is … an interesting man. Witty, clever. Exceedingly charming.’

‘Charm runs in the family. His grandfather was one of the most charming men I ever met,’ Uncle Theo said, ‘though he was also one of the most boring. His son follows in his footsteps.’ He leaned back in his seat and rested his arm along the back of the chair next to him. ‘Have you seen much of Devlin since the night the two of you met?’

‘Not really. I spoke to him at the Holcombes’ soirée, then again whilst riding in the Park. The last time I saw him was at the King’s Theatre. Laurence and I had gone to see a performance of Tancredi. Mr Devlin was there with his sister and brother-in-law, who, I must say, were not in the least charming.’

‘Ah, yes, the Archdeacon and his wife,’ her uncle said with a sigh. ‘I’ve run into them more than once and it’s never been a pleasure. You would think the Archdeacon’s position in life would make him more tolerant, yet I find he condemns rather than commends, and as far as he is concerned, the theatre is a virtual pit of human frailty.’

‘Yes, he made that quite clear the night I spoke to him,’ Victoria said. ‘I made the mistake of expressing an opinion as to the calibre of the performers, whereupon Miss Wright told him I knew everything there was to know about opera and the theatre because I was related to you. Once the Archdeacon heard that, neither he nor his wife had any particular interest in furthering the acquaintance.’

‘I’m not surprised. The theatrical world isn’t well thought of by anyone in that family.’ Her uncle hesitated before saying, ‘Has anyone told you the story about Devlin’s older brother, Hugh?’

Victoria didn’t have to pretend surprise. ‘I wasn’t even aware he had an older brother.’

‘He doesn’t any more. Hugh died some years ago. Tragic set of circumstances,’ her uncle said. ‘Hugh Devlin was a fine man. Handsome, charismatic, even more charming than his father and brother. But he fell passionately in love with an actress and when his father refused to let them marry, they eloped to Scotland and married there.’

‘Gracious! Who was she?’

‘Her name was Sally Tamblin. I doubt you would have heard of her. She wasn’t in the theatre long. But she was an extremely beautiful young woman who more than one young buck fancied himself in love with. But there was only ever one man for Sally.’

‘Hugh Devlin,’ Victoria whispered.

Her uncle nodded. ‘The pair were madly in love. And they did run away and get married, but it didn’t turn out well. Within a few years, Hugh contracted a fever and died, leaving Sally to raise their daughter alone. And though he wrote a letter to his father asking him to take care of his wife and daughter, Kempton refused, saying he wanted nothing to do with either of them.’

‘How cruel!’

‘Kempton’s a proud man,’ her uncle said. ‘He disowned Hugh the day he ran off, and when Sally and her daughter turned up at his door asking for his help, Kempton turned them away, saying they were no relations of his. He blamed Sally for the disgrace his son had brought upon the family, and, not surprisingly, his anger grew to encompass the entire acting profession. It’s the reason he won’t set foot in a theatre to this day.’ Her uncle sighed. ‘It is also the reason he would never condone a relationship between his son and a woman known to have close ties to the theatre.’

‘Close ties,’ Victoria said softly. ‘Like mine to you and Aunt Tandy.’

‘I’m afraid so.’

Victoria stared at the edge of the box where a loop of golden braid had come undone. Absently, she reached out and tied the pieces together. ‘I had no idea.’

‘There’s no reason why you would. No one talks about it any more. But because you asked, I thought it best to tell you the truth. I would hate to see you get hurt.’

‘I doubt it would have come to that,’ Victoria said, trying for a convincing smile. ‘Even without his father’s sentiments, I knew there was very little chance of anything developing between Mr Devlin and myself. He is a man who demands honesty above all, and I have told him nothing but lies since the night we met.’

Her uncle’s dark brows drew together. ‘Why would you say that?’

‘Because he doesn’t know I’m Valentine Lawe. And I can’t tell him because I gave Mama my promise I would not.’ Victoria stared down at the stage, though it was Alistair’s face she saw. ‘I don’t need anyone to tell me there is no future for a woman like me, with a man like that.’

There were few enough reasons for a gentleman to be in the vicinity of the Gryphon Theatre at half past ten on a Tuesday morning. There were even less for a lady, and Alistair had to admit to a moment of surprise when he saw Victoria Bretton emerge from the building unaccompanied by either her brother or a maid. ‘Miss Bretton,’ he said, drawing his phaeton to a halt. ‘Good morning.’

She had been looking to the left, but turned upon hearing his voice. ‘Mr Devlin!’ Her dismay, momentarily obvious, was quickly concealed. ‘This is a surprise.’

‘It is indeed,’ Alistair said, aware that while her appearance was as correct as that of any lady strolling on Bond Street, the fact that they were nowhere near Bond Street was bound to raise questions. ‘Might I ask where you are bound?’

‘Home. I was about to hail a hackney.’

‘Then perhaps you would allow me to convey you in that direction.’

‘I would not wish to inconvenience you.’

‘It is no inconvenience,’ Alistair said truthfully. ‘I have a stop to make on the way, but if you do not mind waiting, I would be happy to see you home immediately thereafter.’

She hesitated for a moment, but obviously seeing no reason to hire a public carriage when a private one was offered, walked down the steps towards him. ‘Thank you. That would be most kind.’

He climbed down to assist her and within moments they set off again. Alistair kept his attention on the road, though he was conscious of the warmth of her thigh brushing against his, and the scent of her perfume sweetening the air around him. Something innocent, yet unknowingly provocative. ‘I was surprised to see you coming out of the Gryphon at this time of the day,’ he said, forcing his mind to more practical matters. ‘Have you been to see your uncle?’

‘Yes. I needed to speak to him.’ She glanced down at her hands. ‘About … a costume.’

‘A costume?’

‘Yes. For Lord and Lady Drake’s masquerade.’ Her eyes finally lifted to his. ‘You must have been invited.’

‘Of course. As was the rest of my family.’

‘You sound as though you would rather not go.’

‘In all honesty, I don’t enjoy dressing up and pretending to be someone else,’ Alistair admitted. ‘I have none of the actor’s spirit in me. However, as it is Isabelle’s first masked ball, I have agreed to take her along. More to the point, I have been asked to effect an introduction to Lord Drake’s youngest son, Lord Robert.’

‘I’ve heard Winifred speak of him,’ Victoria said, remembering her sister’s one-time hopes in that direction. ‘Do you think Miss Wright will like him?’

‘I have no idea. I don’t usually get involved in matchmaking, but I believe they have much in common and Isabelle could certainly do worse.’

‘She is a delightful young woman,’ Victoria said.

‘She is lively and spontaneous and my family doesn’t know what to make of her,’ Alistair said baldly. ‘They find her lacking in decorum when it comes to talking about the things she doesn’t like, and far too open in her enthusiasm of the things she does.’

‘Like Valentine Lawe?’

He slanted her a sidelong glance. ‘Indeed. Why women swoon over men like that is completely beyond me. Look what it did for Lady Caroline Lamb,’ he murmured. Then, breathing deeply, said, ‘What is that fragrance you’re wearing?’

He saw colour bloom in her cheeks. ‘It is … a special blend from a perfumer on Clifford Street. My aunt took me there when I first arrived in London.’

‘If it is the store with which I am familiar, the proprietor charges a hefty fee for his custom blends.’

‘Yes, but he also guarantees that no other woman in London will ever wear that same fragrance,’ Victoria said. ‘The exclusivity of the product appealed to my aunt.’

Her sudden burst of defiance made Alistair smile. ‘Your aunt is, I believe, something of an original.’

‘I have always admired her flair for the dramatic and her gift for plain speaking.’

‘Qualities shared by her niece, I am discovering.’

He didn’t turn his head, but he felt the weight of her gaze on him. ‘How is it, Mr Devlin,’ she said, ‘that on such short acquaintance, you feel you know me well enough to offer such opinions?’

‘There are certain women whose manners make them easy to identify, Miss Bretton. You and I have not spent a great deal of time in conversation, but what time we have has allowed me to form an opinion of your character. You spoke plainly at the Holcombes’ musicale and, by doing so, revealed much of yourself.’

‘Then I must remember to guard my tongue when I am around you.’

‘I’m glad to hear you say that.’ Finally, Alistair did turn to look at her. ‘At least you have given me hope that I am likely to see you again.’

He watched colour run hot and quick over her face, but he also saw a flicker of pain darken the brilliance of her gaze. ‘I told you the night we met that you would do well to avoid me, Mr Devlin,’ she said, ‘and nothing that’s happened since has induced me to change my mind. You were given proof of that at the Holcombes’ musicale, just as you were by your sister and brother-in-law’s reception of me at the King’s Theatre.’

‘Fortunately, I care little for my brother-in-law’s opinions and I am used to the pettiness of society,’ Alistair said. ‘Assumptions about other people’s characters are all too often made without the information necessary for such opinions. People see a beggar in the street and believing him to be without, see no reason to ask him what manner of man he is. He might be able to quote Plato and Aristotle, but he is assumed to be ignorant because of his appearance. The Archdeacon suffers from the same misconceptions. For all his being a man of the cloth, he is quick to dismiss based on what his eyes tell him. Your uncle owns a theatre and both he and your aunt have spent time upon the stage, but that doesn’t make you an actress or entitle people to treat you like one.’

‘No, but I am despaired of for reasons other than just my family connections, Mr Devlin.’ Victoria’s smile appeared briefly, but he saw what looked like resignation in her eyes. ‘I speak too plainly for most people’s liking and while I do some of the things I am expected to, for the most part, I derive little pleasure from them. I suspect many of the ladies with whom I socialise would be horrified to know that their behaviour only gives me more fodder for—’ She broke off abruptly, her blush deepening. ‘That is … they would not like to think I was being cynical of what they said, or of how they said it. Their goal is to be married and they see nothing more important than that.’

‘And you do.’

‘My goal is to lead a happy and fulfilled life.’

‘You do not think marriage would give you that?’

‘I believe marriage to the right man might make me happy,’ Victoria said carefully, ‘but there are things that would give me greater pleasure and I fear they are not the type of things any man would willingly smile upon.’

‘Like what?’

‘Independence. The freedom to pursue the activities I wish, as I wish to pursue them.’

‘You intrigue me, Miss Bretton,’ Alistair said quietly. ‘You have from the moment we met.’

‘Only because I am not like the ladies with whom you normally associate. It is human nature to be curious about that with which we are not familiar.’ Her smile appeared, but there was a pensive shimmer in her eyes. ‘But I think we have spoken quite enough about me for one day, Mr Devlin. I should like to know something of you and how a gentleman like you passes his time.’

Alistair shrugged, reluctant to talk about himself when he was so much more interested in her. ‘I am heir to my father’s title and am, therefore, involved in the business of the estate.’

‘Does your father not employ his own man of business?’

‘He did, but they parted company last year. When my father discovered my skills in that area, he encouraged me to make use of them and to develop them further.’

‘Still, you cannot spend all of your time poring over account books and journals,’ Victoria said. ‘You must have time to enjoy the kind of activities so often indulged in by young men of your class.’

‘My class,’ he repeated in amusement. ‘What does that mean exactly? That I while away my hours in idleness and debauchery?’

Alistair made the remark in a light-hearted manner. He was surprised when she did not respond in kind. ‘I cannot speak to the latter, Mr Devlin, but my knowledge of the type of men with whom you associate would lead me to believe the former.’

‘The type of men with whom I associate?’

‘Mr Bentley-Hyde and Lord Shufton. Your good friend, Lord Collins.’

‘You do not like Lord Collins?’

‘I neither like nor dislike him,’ Victoria said, though the tone in which she said it led Alistair to believe she was not being entirely truthful with him. ‘From what I understand, he is not engaged in any worthwhile activity and wastes much of his time in hells and brothels.’

‘And in the company of women like Signy Chermonde,’ Alistair said, wondering if Collins’s association with the actress had anything to do with Victoria’s sudden reserve.

‘At present. No doubt he will have a different mistress by the end of the Season. I’ve heard that he is fickle.’

‘And you see me as being no different?’

‘I do not know you well enough to say.’

‘But based on what little you do know of me, you are willing to say that I am no better than Collins, whom you acknowledge to be a rake and a wastrel.’

‘I did not say that,’ Victoria said quickly. ‘Pray do not put words in my mouth, Mr Devlin. It is simply that I have seen you on several occasions with nothing more pressing to do than to enjoy every minute of your life.’

‘I see,’ Alistair said. ‘So apart from minding my father’s books and occasionally checking in on the welfare of his estates, I have little else of value to occupy my time, is that what you’re saying?’

‘If you have, I would be happy to hear about it.’

If you have … Alistair’s mouth tightened. So, that was what she thought of him. That he was an indolent gentleman with nothing better to do than while away his spare time in brothels and hells. How lowering to see himself through her eyes. To think he had been about to tell her about Mrs Hutchins and the children. Perhaps even to take her there and explain what he hoped to do with the new orphanage. To try to make her understand how important the work was to him. He could only think now how fortunate was the timing of her remarks. He had no intention of proving himself to her—or to anyone else. ‘I regret, Miss Bretton, that your opinion of me is so low,’ he said at length. ‘Clearly I am no different to you than the beggar in the street.’

‘That’s not true!’

‘Isn’t it? You see me as being rich and indolent, with nothing more important to do than while away my time in idle pursuits. But you know nothing of my life or of the type of man I am,’ he said, turning the carriage left at the next street. ‘Which is your house?’

He saw her look around in surprise, as if only now becoming aware of where they were. ‘I thought you had a call to make first.’

‘I did, but the nature of my business would have prevented me from including you in it and I had no wish to leave you standing in the street.’

Alistair knew he was being vague, just as he knew from the expression on Victoria’s face that she had absolutely no idea what he was talking about. Even so, he was totally unprepared for her next remark. ‘Is it a gambling hell or a brothel from which I have kept you, Mr Devlin?’

The question stung; the casual assumption that he must be bound for one or the other an unexpected blow to his pride and his self-esteem. But he would not let her see how hard the blow had landed. ‘In my experience, there is little difference between the two. Both offer pleasure without obligation. The type a gentleman like myself enjoys above all.’

He heard a soft exhalation of air. ‘Then you do not deny that you were en route to one or the other?’ she whispered.

‘You have obviously made up your mind about who and what I am,’ Alistair said with a feigned lack of concern. ‘Far be it from me to disappoint you.’

‘Stop the carriage here,’ she said tersely. ‘I will walk the rest of the way. I only hope I did not keep you too long from your … intended purpose.’

‘You did not. The lady will wait all day for me if she has to.’

He saw her stiffen and knew she had taken his statement exactly as he’d intended.

‘How fortunate for you. No, thank you, I can get down myself.’

‘Don’t be silly,’ Alistair said, jumping down and holding his hand out to her. ‘A lady is not meant to disembark a phaeton without assistance.’

It was true, she did need his help, but the moment her feet touched the ground, she pulled away. ‘Thank you, Mr Devlin. It has been a most enlightening morning.’

‘In more ways than you know, Miss Bretton,’ Alistair said, touching the brim of his hat. ‘In more ways than you know.’

Alistair was not in a good mood by the time he reached his second stop of the morning, one located in a far more humble part of town than the one he had just left. There were no fancy wrought-iron railings here. No brass number plates affixed to freshly painted doors. Just grey stone houses that fronted on to narrow streets populated by people whose priority it was simply to get by.

He drew the carriage to a halt in front of one such house and glanced at the boy of sixteen leaning negligently against the wall. ‘Mr Tanner,’ he called, ‘be so good as to make sure no harm comes to my property.’ He tossed a shiny silver coin in the boy’s direction. ‘You may have this for your trouble.’

The lad snatched it out of the air. ‘I’ll pay it good mind, Mr Devlin.’

Alistair jumped down and headed for the front door. He was glad now that he had not brought Victoria here. Though he had toyed with the idea of showing her what he was involved with, it was clear to him now that her opinion of him was already formed. If she wished to think him a hell-born babe, so be it. It was no concern of his.

As expected, Mrs Hutchins was waiting for him. A compassionate woman of middling years, she had a round face and rosy cheeks, a generous figure and the energy of six. She still wore a plain-gold wedding band, even though she had been a widow these last five years, and the room into which she welcomed him was bright and cheerful—a reflection of the woman and all she brought to the job. ‘Morning, Mr Devlin. If you’ll give me a minute, I’ll put on some fresh tea. I wasn’t sure what time to expect you.’

‘Thank you, Mrs Hutchins, but that won’t be necessary. You have more than enough to do. How fare the twins this morning?’

The housekeeper’s smile faded. ‘Not as well as I’d hoped, sir. I had the doctor in as you instructed, but I don’t know that he holds out much hope. It’s their lungs, sir, and they’re not going to get better.’

No, Alistair reflected grimly, they weren’t. Too many years spent working in the mills for that. Barely eleven, the girls had gone in at six years of age and had toiled alongside their parents and their older brother until the mill had burned down and taken both parents and brother with it. After the funeral, they had been brought to London by a well-meaning uncle, only to be turned out by an aunt who wanted nothing to do with them. They had ended up on the streets until their ill health had brought them to the attention of the people Alistair paid to make sure such things were noticed.

Sadly, for girls like Margaret and Molly, there was only so much money and care could do.

‘What about Teddy?’ Alistair said, hoping for better news.

‘I don’t think he’s in as much pain, but he’s a brave little soul and doesn’t say much,’ Mrs Hutchins said. ‘The doctor left some salve for his burns.’

Alistair nodded. Teddy Erskine was a climbing boy. Not the worst he’d seen, but bad enough. The lad had been skin and bones when he’d come to Mrs Hutchins, with a fear of almost everyone he met. Not only had he been forced up narrow chimneys alive with rats, he had been beaten by a cruel master. A sorry state for a boy of eight, Alistair thought grimly.

He stood up, tempted to pace, but the confines of the office gave him precious little room to do so. ‘How many are left?’

‘Ten,’ Mrs Hutchins said. ‘I sent twelve away with Mr Scott, as you instructed.’

‘And you made sure families were kept together.’

‘I did, sir. I hope you don’t mind, but I sent young Edward White along with the Dawkins pair. I thought it would be easier for the three of them to stay together, being as they came in that way.’

Her concern moved Alistair to a smile. ‘You know the children better than anyone, Mrs Hutchins. I have every confidence you would have done what was best for them.’ His smile faded. ‘How’s Jenny?’

The matron’s face clouded over with concern. ‘I do worry about her, sir. She hasn’t said a word since she arrived and she still cries every night. I try to spend as much time with her as I can, but I don’t know how much good it’s doing.’

‘If nothing else, it’s making her feel safe,’ Alistair said. ‘A trauma like that doesn’t clear up overnight. Have they caught the man who did it?’

‘Aye.’ Alistair saw despair darken the woman’s eyes. ‘Her father turned himself in two days ago.’

‘Dear God! Her father?’

‘He’d been drinking hard, like he did most nights. But apparently, this night he was much worse. One of the fellows saw him stagger out of the tavern. When he got home, he took it out on his wife. Jenny’s mother probably told her to run, fearing he’d go after her next.’

It was a harsh story, but one Alistair had heard many times over. Poverty brought out the worst in some men. Men who were decent when they were sober, but whose personalities changed under the influence of drink. The best thing that could have happened to Jenny was to escape such an environment, even though it might be years before she realised the extent of her good fortune.

‘As soon as the new house is habitable, we’ll move them all over,’ Alistair said. ‘Hopefully the fresh air and sunshine will help.’

‘Fresh air will help Molly and Margaret’s spirits,’ Mrs Hutchins said, ‘but it won’t do much for their lungs. And Jenny’s recovery is going to take time. But at least it will be better than being here. For all this being a safe haven, we’re bursting at the seams. Do you have any idea when we’ll be moving, sir?’

‘The arrangements to purchase are finalised and I expect renovations to get underway soon, but there is still much that needs to be done,’ Alistair said. ‘I’ll let you know more as we proceed.’

‘Am I to tell the children anything?’

Alistair thought about that for a moment, then shook his head. ‘Best not to just yet. While I’d like them to have something to look forward to, every day stretches long when you’re waiting for something good to happen, and you’re the one they’ll keep coming to with questions.’

‘Aye, but I’ll never tire of telling them their lives are going to get better.’ She managed a smile. ‘You’re a good man, Mr Devlin. I’ve met none better!’

Alistair smiled as he walked up the narrow staircase to visit the children. Now that the house in the country had been purchased, he couldn’t wait to get the ten remaining orphans out of this building and into their new home. Children needed room to run and fields in which to play. As a boy, he’d craved such things. And though he had grown up in a mansion and Teddy Erskine a hovel, their basic needs were no different. The circumstances of Teddy’s birth had simply denied him that right.

Fortunately, the circumstances of Alistair’s would make sure Teddy and the others benefited from it.

As for Victoria Bretton, she could believe what she liked. He knew he was nothing like Collins or Shufton or Bentley-Hyde. He wasn’t concerned solely with his own pleasures and he didn’t spend his time getting drunk in the hells or whoring his nights away in high-priced brothels. He had the wherewithal to do something about the lives of those less fortunate than himself and he wasn’t afraid to get involved.

He had his brother, Hugh, to thank for that.

The hardest part was choosing which children he helped and which he did not. The need was so great; the number of children orphaned or abandoned so high he could have spent his entire fortune and still not saved them all. But with Mrs Hutchins’s help, and that of the two men who worked for him, he did the best he could. He intervened in the lives of those he could make better, or, in the case of Molly and Margaret, in those whose remaining years could be lived out with some degree of comfort.

As much as it irked him, Victoria Bretton could think what she liked, Alistair decided as he walked into the children’s playroom. He knew how he spent his days and that was good enough for him.

Chapter Six

It was Mrs Bretton’s habit to pay calls between the hours of eleven and one, so it came as no surprise to Victoria that it would be the time of day Uncle Theo stopped by to pay a call.

‘I thought the house might be quieter,’ he said as Victoria welcomed him into her writing room. ‘I don’t like to disturb the routine.’

Aware that it was her mother and not the routine he had no wish to disturb, Victoria just smiled. She wasn’t about to tell him that his timing couldn’t have been better, that she needed an escape from the gloominess of her thoughts because the memory of the harsh words she had exchanged with Alistair was making her miserable. ‘I’ve just rung for tea. Will you join me?’

‘Delighted, my dear.’ He sat down in the chair across from the desk and crossed one elegantly clad leg over the other. ‘So, how goes the battle of words?’

‘Not well. I have been tossing around a few ideas, but when I sit down to write, my mind goes blank, which leads me to believe the ideas were not all that compelling to begin with.’

‘Well, perhaps this will help stir your creative juices,’ Uncle Theo said. ‘I’ve had a letter from Sir Michael Loftus.’

Victoria’s breath caught. ‘A letter?’

‘It was delivered this morning.’ He reached into his jacket and withdrew the letter. ‘I thought you might like to read it for yourself.’

Victoria’s hands were shaking as she unfolded the heavy sheet of parchment.

Templeton,

It will likely not have escaped your notice that I am a great fan of Valentine Lawe’s work. However, given the gentleman’s penchant for privacy and his strange preference for your company, the opportunity to speak with him in person is difficult at best, so I write to you with my offer.

I have been approached by a certain Esteemed Gentleman who has much to do with the running of Drury Lane, and he has expressed an interest in talking to Mr Lawe about his next work. I realise you have served in the capacity of producer for each of his four plays and perhaps you are both happy to continue with that arrangement. But the brilliance of the man cannot be denied and it would give me great pleasure to see one of his works staged at a theatre licensed for the production of more serious works. I do not know if Mr Lawe has any interest in writing plays of that nature, but I thought it worth the time and trouble to ask.

It will, of course, be necessary that you, Mr Lawe, and myself meet in person to discuss how best to proceed, but I believe Mr Lawe will find much in this offer to interest him. I trust you will communicate my desires to him. In anticipation of a response, I remain,

Yours most sincerely …

‘“Sir Michael Loftus,”’ Victoria finished aloud, her voice barely above a whisper. ‘He wishes to see one of my plays staged at Drury Lane?’

‘That seems to be the gist of the message,’ Uncle Theo said with a smile. ‘The question is, how do you feel about it?’

‘I’m not sure.’ Victoria sank down into the nearest chair. ‘To be accorded such an honour … to have caught the eye of a man like that, and possibly of Mr Elliston … how can one feel but overwhelmed?’

‘But with joy or trepidation? You know what this means, of course.’

Victoria did. It meant she was to be granted a face-to-face interview with one of the most influential men in the theatre. A man who believed Valentine Lawe was a man.

It could be the beginning of a whole new stage in her career … or the end of everything.

A light knock signalled the arrival of the maid with tea and, being closest to the door, her uncle opened it and took the tray from the girl’s hands. Only after he set it down and closed the door again did Victoria say, ‘I am cognisant of the difficulties, Uncle, but I cannot help but be gratified by the intent.’

‘As you should be. If you were to write a play for Drury Lane, you would be able to do the kind of work you have been longing to do: a work of serious drama. I’m sure the ideas would begin to flow again. And Sir Michael’s enthusiasm is nothing to be made light of. Any playwright would give his right arm to be so honoured.’

Victoria nodded as she picked up the teapot. What her uncle said was true, but while the opportunity was enormous, the consequences were equally staggering. ‘What do you think he will say when he finds out that Valentine Lawe is really a woman?’

‘I honestly don’t know. Loftus and I have never been close so I’ve no idea how his mind works. But if he believes, as I do, that the play is the most important thing, it likely won’t matter. Here, let me pour,’ Uncle Theo said when he saw how badly her hand was shaking. ‘You’re going to end up with more tea in the saucer and that is a tragic waste of a good bohea.’

Aware that her uncle was right, Victoria switched chairs and let him pour. But it did not slow down the workings of her mind. ‘What if he doesn’t care about giving me away, Uncle? If he is willing to acknowledge me as the playwright and to work with me in the production of my next play, he may not be as inclined to keep my secret as you and Aunt Tandy have. Indeed, as my entire family has.’

‘We could appeal to him to keep silent,’ Uncle Theo said thoughtfully, ‘but he may have no wish to do so. He may see nothing wrong with revealing the true identity of Valentine Lawe. Women have been writing for the stage for years, many without the need of a false identity.’

‘But I have invited a certain amount of criticism of my plays by mocking those in society I feel deserving of it, and while I sometimes chafe at Mama’s insistence upon keeping my real name concealed, there have been times when I have been glad of it,’ Victoria admitted. ‘If it was discovered that I am the author of those plays, I would be looked upon differently.’

‘By some people, yes,’ her uncle agreed. ‘But it will be your decision whether or not you wish to face them. As I said, you would not be the first woman to be revealed as a writer of material for the stage.’

‘No, but I would be the first of my mother’s children to be so revealed,’ Victoria said wryly. ‘And we both know how she would react if that were to happen. She lives in fear now of the truth being made known, especially given Mr Fulton’s ongoing interest in Winifred.’

‘Well, these are all things that must be considered prior to your accepting Sir Michael’s offer,’ Uncle Theo said. ‘While there is much to be gained, there is also a downside, and if you feel the negatives outweigh the positives, you must refuse.’

‘But if I do, what might he have to say about any future plays I write?’ Victoria asked. ‘He may feel like a lover spurned, his praise turning to condemnation because I refused to work with him. He may feel I have slighted him professionally when there was never any intention of doing so, or that I have offended him personally when that was the furthest thing from my mind.’

‘Or, he may accept that you are content to let me continue producing your plays at the Gryphon and that will be an end of it. Beyond that, I cannot speak to the direction of his response.’

Victoria sat back in her chair. Why did life have to keep taking these troubling turns? First her friendship with Alistair had gone awry, and now what seemed wonderful a moment ago had suddenly become an unwelcome weight hanging over her head. If she agreed to Sir Michael’s offer, she risked exposing herself and her family for the deception they had played. If she refused, she might hopelessly damage her career.

And then there was Alistair. What would he say if the truth about her was revealed in such a manner? What would he think if he found out she had been lying to him all along? She knew that if her lies were exposed it would be the end of any semblance of a friendship with him. ‘I don’t know what to say.’

‘Then for the moment, say nothing,’ her uncle advised. ‘I shall write back to Sir Michael and tell him I have no answer to give because Valentine Lawe is travelling on the Continent.’

‘Will he not find that strange given that my newest play has just opened?’

‘I think not. You are a creative soul. Why should he not believe that, having seen at least one performance of your play and knowing it to be a success, you would wish to escape for some much-needed rest? That is what I shall put to him and that your return is, at present, uncertain.’

‘Will he expect you to forward the letter on to me?’

‘He may, but I shall inform him that in my studied opinion, being away from everything to do with the theatre will be far more beneficial to your creative well-being than having to worry about coming up with a new play to satisfy him.’ Her uncle finished his tea and stood up. ‘I shall tell him that a mind as imaginative as yours needs time to restore itself. And I think I shall tell him in person. You know how persuasive I can be when I set my mind to it.’

‘You were not acknowledged as one of the finest actors of your time for nothing.’ Victoria likewise rose and put her arms around him. ‘Thank you. Uncle Theo. I don’t know what I would do if you were not looking out for my best interests.’

‘My dear girl, do not forget that your best interests are also my best interests. If Valentine Lawe stops writing, I shall be forced to look for a new source of material, and if you think good writers are easy to come by, think again!’

Victoria laughed, as her uncle intended she should, and when she sat down at her desk after he’d left, she found her gaze not going to her work but to the bust of Shakespeare that stood on a pedestal by the window—a Christmas present from her aunt and uncle. ‘How much simpler it would have been had I been born a man,’ she whispered to the chiselled face. ‘Then I would not have to pretend to be Valentine Lawe. I could proclaim to all the world that I am him!’

But in doing so, she would also never be anything more than a friend to Alistair Devlin and that troubled Victoria a great deal more than not being able to tell the world who she was. She hated the thought of losing whatever good opinion he might still have of her. He had already indicated that she risked damaging her reputation by spending too much time at the theatre, but her involvement did not stop at the printed page.

Sitting unnoticed in the back of her uncle’s box during rehearsals for A Lady’s Choice, Victoria had watched each of the actors perform, after which she had given her uncle her opinion of their portrayal of the part. Her uncle had then approached the actor in question and suggested any changes that were necessary. Not once had he led anyone to believe that the opinions expressed were any but his own, and, apart from the few occasions where Victoria had appeared at rehearsals, no one knew she was there. If, by chance, someone did happen to see her, her presence was accepted by the cast because she was Theo Templeton’s niece.

But Alistair Devlin was not related to her, nor was he a member of the cast. Would he be as willing to accept the role she had played as she was to rationalise her need for playing it?

It was a few days before Victoria saw Alistair again, though he was never far from her thoughts. The memory of their last encounter, combined with the knowledge that she might have to tell him the truth, served to keep him uppermost in her mind. As such, it was hardly surprising that she would have little inclination to attend a garden party to which she was quite sure he would have been invited.

‘Is this not the most beautiful place, Victoria?’ her sister asked as they strolled through the picturesque grounds of Lord and Lady Hincham’s magnificent estate. Winifred, radiant in a pale-blue gown with a lacy white shawl arranged attractively over her shoulders, all but purred with pleasure. ‘I would have loved to call this my home.’

‘I’m sure you would,’ Victoria said, ‘but, given that Lord and Lady Hincham no longer have an eligible son, the possibility is remote.’

‘Impossible, more like.’ Winifred’s pretty mouth turned down at the corners. ‘Had I come out a year earlier, I might have been able to catch Lord Clarkson’s eye, but by the time I did, he had already announced his engagement to Miss Shutters.’

‘Never mind, there are plenty of other eligible gentlemen out there,’ Victoria said, of a mood to be conciliatory. ‘Mama said Mr Fulton is quite taken with you, and there are bound to be other gentlemen anxious to secure your favour.’

‘I wish Mr Devlin was one of them.’ Winifred gazed longingly in the direction of that gentleman, who was strolling with his cousin on the lawn close to the house. ‘Unfortunately, he seems more interested in you than he ever was in me.’

Victoria felt her cheeks burn. ‘That might have been the case at one time, but I doubt it is now.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because I told him he would do better to look elsewhere.’

‘Look elsewhere?’ Winifred gasped in disbelief. ‘Why on earth would you say something so foolish?’

‘Because it is the truth. Neither he nor his family would ever approve of my outspoken nature,’ Victoria said. ‘Or of what I do.’

‘Then stop doing it,’ Winifred said, as though the solution was just that simple. ‘What woman in her right mind would not wish to marry a man like that? He is handsome and charming and—’

‘Heir to his father’s title, yes, I know,’ Victoria said, pausing to admire the picturesque scene of a stone bridge crossing a meandering stream. ‘But that doesn’t mean he is the right man for me.’

‘Well, all I know is that if I were in your position, I would be doing all I could to encourage him. Mama would be thrilled to see you married to a man like that. She might even forgive you your involvement with theatre.’

Victoria kept her eyes on the path ahead. There didn’t seem to be much point in telling her sister that even if her mother forgave her, Alistair’s father never would.

‘Oh, look, I think he’s seen us,’ Winifred said suddenly. ‘The young lady seems to be pulling him in this direction.’ She frowned as she squinted into the sun. ‘Isn’t that Miss Wright?’

‘I think so.’

‘He seems to be spending a great deal of time in her company. Do you think they are romantically involved?’

Victoria laughed. ‘Not at all. I chanced to meet them in the Park the other morning and I can assure you, their relationship is purely platonic.’

Winifred sighed. ‘How is it you keep running into Mr Devlin, whereas I, who diligently attend society events, have encountered him only twice?’

‘There is far more to London than ballrooms and breakfasts, Winnie,’ Victoria said. ‘I’ve told you more than once to brush up on your equestrian skills. Gentlemen like Mr Devlin enjoy riding.’

‘But I don’t like horses.’ Winifred made a moue of distaste. ‘They’re large and smelly and they bite.’

‘It was a pony that nipped you and they are notorious for being short tempered. But a sweet little mare would be just the thing,’ Victoria said. ‘You would look lovely in a dark-blue riding habit. Quite striking with your hair and complexion. You should give it some thought.’ She turned towards Isabelle. ‘Good afternoon, Miss Wright.’

‘Miss Bretton, hallo! I thought it was you. Haven’t we a perfect day for an alfresco gathering?’

‘We have indeed,’ Victoria replied. Reluctantly, she glanced at the man standing beside Isabelle. ‘Mr Devlin.’

‘Good afternoon, Miss Bretton. Miss Winifred. How nice to see you both again.’

The words were polite, but Victoria heard an edge of restraint and wondered if he was finding this as difficult as she was. Fortunately, Miss Wright was her usual ebullient self. ‘Miss Bretton, I simply had to come across and tell you the exciting news. Alistair has agreed to take me to see A Lady’s Choice tomorrow evening.’

‘But you’ve already seen it.’

‘I know, but this is to be the seventh performance and my friends and I believe Valentine Lawe will be in attendance.’

‘Really?’ Victoria hoped she didn’t look too surprised. ‘What makes you think so?’

‘We believe the number seven to be significant. Mr Lawe makes reference to it several times in the opening scenes. Elliot Black tells Elizabeth Turcott he will wait seven days for her answer, and that he will call at the seventh hour of the seventh day.’

‘So you believe it to be … a code of sorts,’ Victoria said. ‘To let people know he would be there at the seventh performance.’

‘Exactly! And Alistair has agreed to take me, even though I know he is less than thrilled by the idea. But I cannot go alone, and since we are making up a party, I suggested that you should come as well,’ Miss Wright said. ‘Surely if there is a chance Valentine Lawe is going to be present, you would wish to meet him. Perhaps you would like to come too, Miss Winifred?’

Winifred blanched. ‘Thank you. That would be … most delightful, of course,’ she stammered, ‘but I am already committed to dinner at the Roarkes’ tomorrow evening.’

‘Oh, what a shame.’

‘Yes, isn’t it?’ Winifred said, surprising Victoria with a credible appearance of regret. ‘But I’m sure Victoria and Laurence would be happy to join you.’

It was an exceedingly awkward moment for Victoria. Though she understood Miss Wright’s excitement, how could she spend an evening in the company of a man to whom she was barely speaking? Surely he would wish to have nothing more to do with her?

‘Thank you. It is very kind of you to offer,’ she said, ‘but under the circumstances, I think it best I refuse. I hate to think that word of our association might get back to your cousin and her husband.’

‘Oh, but you mustn’t worry about them! ‘ Miss Wright said. ‘I don’t care what they think and neither does Cousin Alistair. He told them as much in the carriage after we saw you at the opera.’

Victoria blinked. ‘He did?’

‘Isabelle,’ Alistair cautioned, but Miss Wright ignored him.

‘He certainly did. He told them they had no business saying what they did about you and that he would speak to whomever he pleased—’

‘Isabelle, you really do talk too much,’ Alistair said with a weighted sigh. ‘Remind me to take your former governess to task over the matter. But I think you probably should come with us, Miss Bretton. As Cousin Isabelle said, if there is any chance of meeting the esteemed Mr Lawe, surely it is an occasion not to be missed.’

Victoria hardly knew what to say. She could detect no echo of resentment in his voice, and she doubted Miss Wright’s words had been provoking enough to incite any feelings of guilt on his part. But even if the invitation had been motivated by guilt, was she willing to walk away without making any effort to apologise? ‘Thank you, Mr Devlin,’ she said. ‘I shall ask my brother if he is free, and, if so, we would be pleased to join you. Perhaps you would allow me to offer you seats in my uncle’s box.’

‘That would be most kind. But I hope you will come even if your brother does not.’

His eyes were shuttered and there was nothing in his voice to suggest intimacy, yet Victoria felt it keenly and her pulse accelerated. Before she had a chance to reply, however, Winifred interjected, ‘Excuse me, Mr Devlin, but I do believe that gentleman is trying to catch your eye.’

Victoria looked up and saw a man staring in their direction. He was standing on the terrace and, when they all turned to look, he raised his arm to wave.

Alistair just smiled. ‘Excellent. I was hoping he would come.’

‘Do you know the gentleman?’ Victoria asked.

‘Oh, yes. Lord Valbourg and I went to Oxford together, but he’s been in America these past six years, amassing a small fortune,’ Alistair told them. ‘We chanced to meet up at my club last week, after which I asked Lady Hincham to invite him to today’s event.’

‘Poor Lord Valbourg,’ Miss Wright said. ‘His mother, Lady Alderbury, hasn’t been at all well. Mrs Shepherd mentioned it over cards last week. She said it was the reason he came back to England. And to find a wife, of course.’

‘He’s not married?’ Winifred said quickly.

‘He’s been far too busy amassing his fortune,’ Alistair said. ‘But he was also travelling a great deal and that doesn’t leave much time for courting. Valbourg,’ he said as the other man joined them. ‘Glad you could make it.’

‘Sorry I’m late,’ the newcomer said. ‘I’d forgotten how crowded London streets could be.’

‘I doubt Lady Hincham noticed. Miss Bretton, Miss Winifred, allow me to make known to you my good friend, Lord Valbourg.’

Lord Valbourg was a handsome man, slightly heavier in build than Alistair, and perhaps an inch or two taller. He had dark-brown hair cut in a fashionable crop and a thoroughly warm and engaging smile. Victoria liked him at once. ‘Good afternoon, Lord Valbourg.’

‘Miss Bretton, Miss Winifred, pray forgive my intrusion into your conversation.’

‘No apologies are necessary. Mr Devlin tells us the two of you are old friends.’

‘Indeed, from our days together at Oxford.’

‘And you are recently back from America,’ Winifred said, green eyes sparkling. ‘Are you planning to return there in the near future?’

‘I am not. My time in the country served its purpose, but I am looking forward to settling down to the life of an English gentleman again.’

‘And he’s made a good start by taking a house in Berkeley Square,’ Alistair informed them.

‘Berkeley Square,’ Victoria said with a glance at her sister. ‘How nice.’

‘Yes, though it is in desperate need of redecorating,’ Lord Valbourg said. ‘I was going to ask my sister for help, but with our mother being so ill, Mary’s time is fully occupied looking after her.’

‘Perhaps we could lend some assistance in that regard,’ Victoria offered. ‘Mama is likely to know where the best fabrics are to be found and Winifred has exceptional taste when it comes to colours and styles.’

Winifred blinked her surprise. ‘I do?’

‘Indeed. She helped Mama redecorate several rooms in our house in Kent last year,’ Victoria informed the gentleman. ‘She has a superb eye for that sort of thing.’

‘Has she indeed?’ Lord Valbourg turned an admiring gaze on a blushing Winifred. ‘That would be delightful, of course, though I would hate to impose—’

‘Oh, it would be no imposition,’ Winifred assured him quickly. ‘I would be happy to assist in whatever way I could.’

‘Then I shall call upon you in the near future to make arrangements for a shopping expedition. Dev, will I see you at Jackson’s tomorrow morning?’

‘I’ll be there.’

‘Splendid. Then we can talk more about this project of yours and how I might be of assistance. Good afternoon Miss Bretton, Miss Wright, Miss Winifred.’

‘Lord Valbourg,’ Winifred said, a coquettish twinkle back in her eyes. When she turned to Victoria, her face was flushed and glowing. ‘Well, perhaps I should go and see if Mama is in need of anything.’

Aware that the only reason Winifred was anxious to find their mother was to tell her about the handsome Lord Valbourg, Victoria made no demur. Given what an enviable match it could be for her sister, she really couldn’t blame her.

‘And we should probably go too, Cousin Alistair,’ Miss Wright said, sounding less than enthused. ‘Your sister has been glaring at us these past ten minutes.’

Victoria gazed across the garden to where the Archdeacon and his wife were seated under the shade of a large tree and saw that Mrs Baltham was indeed looking daggers in their direction. No doubt due, Victoria thought wryly, to the company her beloved brother was keeping. ‘Then I shall bid you both a good afternoon.’

Alistair bowed. ‘Miss Bretton. Thank you for your offer of assistance. I’m sure Lord Valbourg will be most grateful for the help.’

Their eyes met briefly, and though it did not last long, Victoria was startled by the intensity of his gaze. She couldn’t tell if it was anger, or regret, or a combination of the two, but it left her wondering what thoughts really had been going through his mind.

The rest of the afternoon seemed strangely anticlimactic. Victoria wanted to put it down to a restlessness to get back to work, but she knew it had more to do with Alistair’s leaving the gathering than it did with her own desire to be anywhere else. She wasn’t sure when the nature of her feelings for him had begun to change, but she knew without question that they had and she was alarmed by the pace at which they were growing. Now the world seemed a far less interesting place when Alistair wasn’t in it.

And rather than avoid society events, Victoria found herself seeking them out, especially ones to which she thought he might be invited. She enjoyed being in his company. She liked listening to him talk and she loved watching his face when he expressed an opinion about something in which he was interested—like this unknown project Lord Valbourg had referred to.

Nothing more had been said about it, but Victoria had seen the glint in Alistair’s eye when the topic was raised. She might have asked him about it had he not been forced to rejoin his sister and brother-in-law, and, given that she didn’t see Lord Valbourg again, she was not provided an opportunity to ask that gentleman about it either. Nevertheless, Valbourg’s name did come up frequently during dinner that evening, so much so that Victoria’s father finally had to beg his wife and younger daughter to cease and desist.

‘But this was a highly fortuitous meeting, Mr Bretton,’ his wife said. ‘Lord Valbourg is the Marquess of Alderbury’s son. He would make a wonderful husband for Winifred, far better than Mr Fulton. Surely you realise that.’

‘I do, and I have heard Lord Valbourg praised in more ways than any one gentleman has a right to be praised,’ Mr Bretton said. ‘But for pity’s sake, can we speak of nothing else? He and Winifred are but once met and a long way from standing before the altar reciting their vows.’

So chastised, Mrs Bretton refrained from comment and the conversation moved on to other subjects. But a few minutes later, Victoria sincerely wished it had remained on Lord Valbourg.

‘By the by, Lady Hincham told me this afternoon that Lady Kempton is hopeful of a match between her son and Lord Geldon’s daughter,’ Mrs Bretton said.

‘Lady Sarah Millingham?’ Laurence frowned. ‘Isn’t she a bit young for Devlin?’

‘She is young, and flighty by all accounts, which is why Lord Geldon approached Lord Kempton about the match,’ Mrs Bretton said. ‘He feels Mr Devlin would be a steadying influence on his daughter, and apparently she is quite taken with him. It would be an excellent match for her.’

‘But considerably less so for him,’ Laurence observed. ‘Devlin doesn’t strike me as the sort of man who would be led willingly into his future, or who would enjoy the company of such a young girl.’

Victoria shared her brother’s opinion. The idea that Alistair might actually contemplate marriage to Lady Sarah Millingham caused her heart to wrench in the most painful manner. She might be guilty of discouraging him, but that was only because she knew there was no possibility of a relationship between them. Her uncle’s startling revelations about Hugh Devlin had reinforced that. Nevertheless, if she had been of a mind to choose an aristocratic husband, Alistair would have been the only one she would have set her heart on and she would have done everything she could to attract him. If she felt that way about him, why would every other woman not feel the same?

‘Well, all I know is that we must do everything we can to further this association between Winifred and Lord Valbourg,’ Mrs Bretton said. ‘And that means you must be more mindful than ever about what you say and where you are seen, Victoria. If things do not go well for Winifred with Mr Fulton, I don’t want you jeopardising her chances with this other gentleman.’

‘Rest assured I will not.’ Victoria wearily got to her feet. ‘Believe it or not, Mama, I am as anxious to see Winifred settled as you are. And I intend to do everything in my power to make sure nothing happens to put that at risk.’

Chapter Seven

As it turned out, Laurence was more than happy to escort Victoria to the seventh performance of her play. Having been informed of Miss Wright’s belief that Valentine Lawe would be in the audience, he found it highly amusing that Victoria should be there to witness the excitement and he was quite prepared to go along for the ride. Naturally his accompaniment removed any possible hint of scandal being attached to Victoria’s joining Alistair Devlin and his cousin in her uncle’s box.

As well, in an attempt to keep up appearances, Victoria did not slip into the theatre through the stage door as she had in the past, but instead walked in through the front doors with everyone else. Several people nodded in her direction, but Victoria received no welcome as enthusiastic as that of Miss Wright, when she arrived at the box to find her and Alistair already seated within.

‘Oh, I am so glad you came!’ Miss Wright said. ‘I knew you would be as excited as I by the prospect of finally seeing Valentine Lawe!’

‘It was certainly a big part of my reason for coming,’ Victoria acknowledged, glad Laurence wasn’t around to hear the remark. ‘Good evening, Mr Devlin.’

‘Miss Bretton. Will your brother not be joining us?’

‘He will, but he chanced to see one of his old professors in the vestibule and stopped to have a word.’

Settling into her seat, Victoria cast a surreptitious glance in Alistair’s direction. He was as handsome as ever in a black cutaway coat over an exquisitely embroidered silver waistcoat. Black trousers made him look even taller than he was and his cravat was tied elegantly, but with a minimum of fuss. His hair looked to have been freshly trimmed and his voice … oh, yes, that was definitely a voice that could have stirred the multitudes …

‘—nice of you to offer us the use of your box,’ Miss Wright was saying. ‘If I lived in London I would always take a box for the Season. It’s such fun to watch everyone else. Oh, look, isn’t that Lady Sarah?’

Victoria glanced across the theatre at the row of boxes below hers and saw the young lady in question gazing avidly back at them. Or, more to the point, at Alistair.

‘I’ll wager she’s wondering who you’re with, Cousin,’ Miss Wright said with an impish grin. ‘Are you acquainted with Lady Sarah, Miss Bretton?’

‘I am not,’ Victoria said, returning her attention to the stage where movements behind the curtain indicated that the last of the props were being set out. ‘Except by name.’

‘She’s quite nice, though I can’t imagine why anyone would think she would make a good wife for Cousin Alistair.’

‘Isabelle, you speak of things you should not!’ he said darkly.

‘Do I?’ His cousin blinked. ‘I’m sorry. I thought it was common knowledge that your mother and father were hopeful of a marriage between the two of you.’

‘Whether it is common knowledge or not, it is not the thing to speak of in situations like these.’

‘Situations like what? We are here with Miss Bretton to watch a play. She must be aware of what people in society are saying about you. Everyone else is.’

‘Evening, all,’ Laurence said, stepping into the box.

‘Laurence!’ More grateful than she could say for her brother’s arrival, Victoria grabbed his arm and drew him forwards. ‘You remember Mr Devlin’s cousin?’

‘Of course. Good evening, Miss Wright.’

‘Mr Bretton.’ The girl’s cheeks were two bright spots of colour. ‘How nice to see you again.’

‘And, of course, Mr Devlin.’

‘Your servant, sir.’ Laurence sat down in the chair next to his sister, the one on the other side already occupied by Devlin. ‘My, my, another sold-out performance. This Valentine Lawe certainly knows how to pack them in.’

‘Do you think he’s here?’ Miss Wright asked breathlessly.

‘If he is, none of us will be any the wiser,’ Alistair said. ‘Unless he stands up and proclaims himself.’

‘Which he is hardly likely to do,’ Laurence said. ‘Lawe has taken the art of concealment to a whole new level.’

‘But what has he to conceal?’ Miss Wright asked. ‘Why would anyone so brilliant wish to hide his talent away? If I was that clever, I would stand up and invite the audience’s applause.’

‘Perhaps he is disfigured,’ Alistair suggested. ‘His face too ugly or scarred to be seen.’

‘Or he could just be shy,’ Miss Wright said. ‘A man uncomfortable with all the accolades.’ She turned her head to look at Laurence. ‘What do you think, Mr Bretton?’

Laurence looked decidedly taken aback by the question. ‘Me?’

‘Well, surely you have an opinion as to why the man continues to shun society. Do you believe him ugly or disfigured as my cousin suggests, or do you think he is shy and has no wish for the company of others?’

‘To be honest, I’ve never given it a moment’s thought. I accept the man’s brilliance, but as to his personal likes and dislikes, I have no opinion whatsoever.’

‘And you, Miss Bretton?’ Alistair said. ‘You are keeping rather quiet on the subject.’

‘Only because to speculate on Valentine Lawe’s reasons for remaining anonymous would be a complete waste of time.’ Victoria opened her fan and took care not to look at him. ‘The man himself is the only one who can say why he does not seek recognition.’

‘Oh, look, there is your uncle!’ Miss Wright said, her gaze moving to the stage below. ‘We are about to get underway.’

Fixing her attention on the stage, Victoria quietly exhaled a sigh of relief. She was beginning to hate all this talk about Valentine Lawe. She kept telling herself she had no reason to do so, that Alistair had no way of knowing who she was, and while she was sure his question had been motivated purely out of interest, she was growing more and more uncomfortable with the deception. If ever there was a time to reveal herself, it was now, yet fear of reprisal held her back. She would be risking a great deal more than her reputation if she was to offer up the truth now. There was Winifred’s future to consider and her mother had made it very clear that no one was to do anything that might put that future at risk.

Confessing that she was Valentine Lawe would certainly do that.

More to the point, while it was highly unlikely that Victoria would ever see Alistair Devlin again once they returned to Kent, she would be forced to see her sister every day and to have to listen to her recriminations. She would be made to understand that if Winifred’s marriage plans fell through, it would all be because of her. Somehow, keeping silent about the true identity of Valentine Lawe in the short term seemed a small price to pay for harmony in the years ahead.

That evening’s production of A Lady’s Choice was even more enjoyable than the one Victoria had watched on opening night. Signy’s acting was inspired, her love for Elliot more convincing than in any of her showings thus far. And responding in kind, Victor gave one of the best performances of his life. The rest of the cast were equally impressive and, not surprisingly, the audience’s approval rang long and loud at the end of the performance.

Victoria felt her heart thumping in her chest. To think that her words were having this kind of effect. That her characters and her story had brought the audience to its feet. It was a heady moment and if ever she needed proof that she was pursuing the right path, this must surely be it.

She shared a single glance with Laurie, but knew she dare not risk another. His pride was all too evident.

‘Oh my, that was splendid,’ Miss Wright said as they exited the box. ‘Better even than the first time. Did you not think so, Cousin Alistair?’

‘It was very impressive,’ he agreed. ‘Your uncle is to be commended, Miss Bretton. I thought Miss Chermonde’s performance tonight outstanding.’

‘I’m sure she would be delighted to hear you say so,’ Victoria said. Then, caught up in her enthusiasm and joy, said, ‘Perhaps you and Miss Wright would like to meet her?’

No sooner were the words out of her mouth than Victoria realised she had made a dreadful mistake. She felt both Alistair’s and Laurence’s gazes on her and knew she should not have spoken, but the look of excitement on Miss Wright’s face was not to be denied. ‘You mean … we could actually go backstage and meet Miss Chermonde and Mr Trumphani?’

‘That’s what I was thinking, but it is up to Mr Devlin, of course,’ Victoria said hesitantly.

He was watching her with narrowed eyes, his expression thoughtful. Victoria, who anticipated a quelling set down, was considerably relieved when all he said was, ‘The offer is a generous one, Miss Bretton, but I do not think it would be a good idea. My sister and brother-in-law would not be pleased to hear that Isabelle was associating with … such people.’

Victoria felt the warmth start in her neck and travel upwards until her entire face was engulfed. Of course they wouldn’t be pleased. In the afterglow of her success, she had lost sight of the fact that actors and actresses were not suitable company for people like Alistair Devlin and Isabelle Wright. To introduce Isabelle to Signy Chermonde would not have been to elevate Signy’s standing. It would have been to lower Isabelle’s. ‘Yes, of course. Forgive me. I only thought—’

‘No apologies are necessary,’ Alistair said gently. ‘I know your offer was well intentioned and I’m quite sure Isabelle would love to go backstage. However, there is a good possibility that someone would see her and that would not be good for her reputation. London may be a big city, but news like that makes the rounds very quickly.’

‘Yes, of course,’ Victoria said, biting her lip.

‘We could, however, pay our respects to Uncle Theo,’ Laurence suggested. ‘Surely there could be no objection to Miss Wright meeting him in the privacy of the Green Room. He does, after all, move in very good society.’

Victoria looked up and saw Alistair watching her, the look in his eyes one she hadn’t seen before. ‘I don’t think that would go amiss,’ he agreed. ‘Though it would be better if it were to take place in the vestibule rather than anywhere backstage.’

‘Then I shall go and seek him out,’ Laurence said. ‘And ask him to meet us at the foot of the grand staircase.’

‘Oh, yes, that would be lovely,’ Miss Wright said, clapping her hands. ‘Then he can confirm that I really did see Valentine Lawe in the theatre tonight.’

Victoria blanched. ‘You saw him? Where?’

‘In the first row of boxes. I noticed him when he came in. He walked in a very slow, dignified manner and he was dressed all in black and white.’

‘As were most of the men in the theatre,’ Alistair pointed out.

‘Yes, but when he turned, I noticed that he was wearing a single red rose in his lapel! And I saw a number of the performers glance in his direction. It must have been Valentine Lawe!’

‘Fine. While you speculate as to the likelihood of the playwright being in the audience, I shall go and speak to Lord Gavering,’ Alistair said.

‘And I shall search out Uncle Theo,’ Laurence said with a pointed glance at Victoria. ‘I think I know where he’s likely to be.’

Left alone with Miss Wright, Victoria pointed to the red banquettes lining the wall. ‘Shall we sit down while we wait for the gentlemen to return?’

‘Yes, by all means.’

When they were comfortably seated, Victoria said with a smile, ‘So, are you enjoying your stay in London, Miss Wright?’

‘I am having the very best time, Miss Bretton. Cousin Alistair has been so good to me. Taking me around, making sure I see all the sights and meet all the right people. It has been terribly busy, but very exciting. I shall be quite bereft when I return home. Of course, everyone is anxious that I meet a suitable gentleman and get married. I know that’s why Mama agreed to let me come,’ Isabelle said. ‘But I’m quite happy to visit the shops and go to the theatre and experience all that London has to offer.’

‘How do you like living with Lord and Lady Kempton?’ Victoria asked in a casual voice.

‘Oh. Well, they’re very nice, of course,’ Miss Wright said, blushing. ‘And I know they mean well …’

‘But?’

‘But they are rather boring,’ the girl admitted. ‘It’s not that they mean to be, and I suppose it is terribly ungrateful of me to say so, but it’s just that … the way they carry on is so painfully …’

‘Correct?’ Victoria supplied helpfully.

‘Exactly! Lord Kempton is very strict, and Cousin Julia and her husband even more so. But then I suppose an archdeacon and his wife must be more mindful of the proprieties than most.’

‘Yes,’ Victoria allowed grudgingly, ‘which is why Mr Devlin has to be very careful about how you go on while you are here.’

‘I suppose. Still, I should have loved to go backstage and meet the cast of A Lady’s Choice,’ Miss Wright confessed. ‘If Cousin Alistair is allowed to involve himself with orphans, I don’t see why I can’t—’

‘Orphans?’ Victoria interrupted.

‘Oh dear, I don’t think I was supposed to say anything about that,’ Miss Wright said. ‘But I suppose it’s too late now. And I really don’t see why he doesn’t want to tell anyone. It’s not as though he was doing anything wrong.’

‘What exactly is he doing?’ Victoria asked.

‘Well, I don’t know all the details, but I overheard him talking to Lord Valbourg the other evening and I think he’s bought a house with a view to turning it into an orphanage. Apparently he already has a place in town that he uses for the purpose, but it’s not big enough any more, so he bought a larger house and plans to renovate it. I think Lord Valbourg is going to help him.’

‘I had no idea,’ Victoria said, trying to imagine Alistair Devlin in such a benevolent role. Instead of squandering his wealth on prostitutes and gambling, he was using it to help children whose circumstances had forced them to find a living on the streets. To think she had accused him of being selfish. ‘I wouldn’t have thought him the type to get involved in such a cause,’ she whispered.

‘He doesn’t talk about it much,’ Miss Wright admitted. ‘I’m not even sure my aunt and uncle know, but I don’t think they would be terribly pleased if they did.’

And then, Victoria had another disturbing thought. Was that where he had been going the day he had come upon her at the Gryphon? Was that the stop he had been intending to make? He’d made it sound as though he was on his way to visit a woman—and she had left him in no doubt as to how she felt about his doing so. But if he had been planning to visit an orphanage, why hadn’t he told her? Why had he let her believe his destination was somewhere else, with an entirely different purpose in mind? Had he wanted her to think ill of him?

Regrettably, it was a question for which there was to be no answer. Laurence returned with their uncle and, at the same time, Alistair came back to join them.

‘Well, well, Devlin, we meet again,’ Uncle Theo said. ‘I’m surprised to see you here a second time.’

‘If someone had told me a few weeks ago that I would be heading to any theatre to see a repeat performance of a play, I would have told them they were mad,’ Alistair said with a smile. ‘But apart from my cousin insisting we come tonight, it was a pleasure to see the play again. The cast gave an even stronger performance than they did on opening night.’

‘I am delighted to hear you say so,’ Uncle Theo said. ‘Did you enjoy the performance, Miss Wright?’

‘Indeed, Mr Templeton! Especially once I realised that Valentine Lawe was actually in the theatre!’

Victoria knew her uncle to be a talented actor, but even she hadn’t realised how talented until that moment. He looked at Miss Wright without blinking and said, ‘And he did not come up and say hello? The bounder! Where did you see him?’

‘In the first row of boxes, second from the left,’ Miss Wright said. ‘A very serious-looking man, with a red rose in his lapel.’

‘A red rose.’ Her uncle frowned, and then, started to laugh. ‘My dear Miss Wright, I am sorry to disappoint you, but that was not Valentine Lawe.’

‘It wasn’t?’’

‘No. It was Sir Michael Loftus, the theatre critic.’

‘It was?’ It was Victoria’s turn to be surprised. ‘But … I thought he never attended plays more than once.’

‘That was my understanding too, but I know for a fact that he was here tonight and that he was sitting in that box.’

‘Oh well, that is disappointing,’ Miss Wright complained. ‘I was so sure it was Valentine Lawe.’

‘Never mind, cousin, at least you were able to see the play again,’ Alistair said. ‘I’m sure you will have a chance to meet the renowned playwright before you leave London.’ He turned his head and looked straight at Victoria. ‘If there is any possibility of that happening, I’m sure Miss Bretton will know how to bring it about.’

Victoria didn’t hear what anyone said in response. How could she, given the staggering implication of what Alistair had just said? He believed his cousin would achieve the introduction she so desperately craved … and that Victoria would be the one to make it happen. There was only one possible conclusion she could draw from that.

Somehow or other, Alistair had figured out that she was Valentine Lawe!

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