The Gentleman's Deception

by Tuft, Karen

  “Returning home from an extended vacation in Spain,” Lucas said.

  “Ah,” another fellow, a man named Harris, said. “Been off fighting the Corsican, then. Well done. Join us, sir, do. The next drink is on me.” He gestured to an open space at the table. “A few hands and some agreeable company before you go on your way, eh?”

  “Rumor has it you’ve been hidden away at Ashworth House since returning from the Continent,” Sir Michael added. “Since you’ve waited this long to return home, a few rounds of cards won’t make much of a difference, will they?”

  Lucas sat, banishing the thought that he was procrastinating once again, and he sent the accompanying guilt along with it. One of the men at the table proceeded to collect the cards and shuffle them, dealing to Lucas along with the others.

  “It’s fortunate you and your money came along,” another gentleman said as he studied his cards with an inscrutable face. “I’ve won nearly all my friends can afford to lose. Are you in?”

  “I’m in.” Lucas tossed a few coins on the table.

  The men got down to the serious business of card playing, and Lucas won and lost right along with them.

  “You’ve got the luck tonight, Jennings,” another fellow, Pinckney by name, said. “I daresay you’re a few quid richer than you were when you entered the Hissing Goose a few hours earlier.”

  A few hours? Lucas checked his pocket watch.

  Blast, it was later than he’d realized.

  He stood. “Gentlemen, it’s been a pleasure, but I truly must be on my way.” He would barely make it out of London tonight if he didn’t go now.

  “That’s quite all right,” Sir Michael said, his words a little more slurred than they had been earlier in the evening. “I was about to leave for the Orpheus Theatre anyway. Who’s with me?”

  “Now, there’s a bet to wager on,” Harris said with a sly, somewhat drunken grin. “And how is The Darling of Drury Lane these days, Sir Michael? Taken you up on your generous offer now, has she?”

  The others at the table laughed and guffawed. Lucas had no idea who or what they were talking about; apparently, he’d been a little too solitary since his return to Town. “The Darling of Drury Lane?”

  All eyes at the table turned in his direction. “You haven’t heard of The Darling of Drury Lane?” Harris asked. “Where have you been, old man? Oh, right. Spain.” He sat forward, placing his forearms on the table in anticipation of the tale he obviously planned to share. Lucas sat back down. “One would have to be in Spain not to have heard of Ruby Chadwick.”

  “And even there, I’m sure her name has made the rounds of the officers’ quarters,” Pinckney added. “There are, uh, illustrations of her for purchase at some of the gentlemen’s bookshops. I wonder . . . do you suppose she posed for them in person—”

  “Miss Chadwick,” Sir Michael interrupted, raising an unsteady arm to make his point, “is the most exquisite of females to grace God’s green earth. Her beauty is unparalleled: fair of face, with eyes like storm clouds, lips like rose petals, hair as fiery—”

  “Breeches roles,” Pinckney whispered loudly to Lucas behind his hand. “Legs on display. Lovely ones they are too.”

  “Ah,” Lucas said. It explained much more about Sir Michael’s raptures about her than gray eyes and rosy lips did.

  “She has her choice of admirers, so she can afford to be picky. And picky she is, by thunder,” Pinckney continued. “Surprising that she hasn’t taken a protector from among the lot of them already; but no one has bragged about it so far, and you can bet the lucky man would.”

  “So our Sir Michael here hasn’t lost hope yet,” Harris said.

  “She claims to be betrothed,” Sir Michael explained. “Won’t talk about him much, always manages to change the subject. I’ve yet to see the man materialize, however. And there isn’t a man living I can’t best if given half a chance.”

  “Speaking of which,” Harris said.

  “Right,” Sir Michael said, struggling to his feet. “I better be off if I’m to reach the theatre when the first play of the evening finishes. Must be quicker than her other admirers to get backstage, y’know.”

  “You’ll be lucky to stay atop your horse in your state,” another of the fellow gamblers, a man named Berbrooke, said. He hadn’t spoken much this evening, this Berbrooke fellow, and even now was only stating the blatantly obvious.

  “The Orpheus does two short plays each night,” Harris explained to Lucas. “Musical productions, they are, to an extent. Ruby Chadwick has a leading role in the first one but holds court for her gentlemen admirers during the second play. If she performed in both, people would be at the theatre all night long. Theatre owner thought better of it. Ruby brings in plenty of money as it is, although it doesn’t make the actors in the second play very happy.” He chuckled.

  “She sounds intriguing,” Lucas said politely.

  “Aye, she’s that but too rich for my blood,” Harris replied. “The betting books are full of wagers about her. She flirts with all and sundry but hasn’t let any gentleman get too close—I imagine it’s because of this mysterious betrothed of hers. A heroic figure, apparently. Only makes her admirers that much more determined, from what I hear.”

  “Odds are against you, Sir Michael,” Pinckney said. “Sorry, old chap, but you know it’s true. The Earl of Cosgrove has the best odds anyway, last time I checked at White’s.”

  “Cosgrove is like all the others—he’s only interested in her as a mistress,” Sir Michael exclaimed. “Everyone knows he’ll only marry the bluest blood—and only when he can’t avoid the parson’s mousetrap any longer. He’s avoided it longer than most already.”

  “Of course, he’s only interested in her as a mistress,” Harris said. “She’s an actress. That’s all any of her admirers are interested in. What gentleman in his right mind would marry her?”

  “I would,” Sir Michael said indignantly.

  “Only because you’re drunk,” Berbrooke said.

  “I am, at that.” Sir Michael sighed, slumping back into his abandoned chair. “But I would still marry her. She’s a goddess.”

  “As enlightening as this conversation is,” Lucas said, standing again, “I must be on my way if I’m to make it any farther north than the Hissing Goose tonight. Thank you all for your company—and your money—and I congratulate you on your pending nuptials, Sir Michael.”

  The others laughed, and Sir Michael gave him a wobbly salute. “I shall invite you to my wedding, if there ends up being one,” he said.

  “Enjoy your trip northward,” Harris said. “Don’t get lost in a bog on your way.”

  Getting lost in a bog was a delay tactic Lucas hadn’t considered before. He’d keep it in mind if he happened to feel increasingly desperate en route. His mood was decidedly lighter than it had been though, thanks to his winnings at cards and the jovial banter.

  He mounted Hector and turned northward. He was starting his journey too late to make any real progress this evening, but he’d continue for a while longer. His thoughts returned briefly to the conversation regarding Ruby Chadwick, the supposed Darling of Drury Lane, and apparently the talk of all the gentlemen so far this Season, not that Lucas had heard of her. He really had been more reclusive than he’d realized during his stay in London. He might have enjoyed seeing a dashing young actress cavort on stage, playing a breeches role.

  What kind of bravado would it take, he wondered, for a young woman to appear onstage dressed in such a manner?

  He had heard of other such actresses, some achieving great recognition. And yet he knew that even with that recognition, the ton would not condone such an actress joining their illustrious ranks. Actresses were, by and large, part of the demimonde, fringe members of society known for their libertine lifestyles and not accepted by the best of families. Sir Michael wasn’t the highest of sticklers, but the Earl of Cosgrove, with whom Lucas was somewhat familiar, most assuredly was. Cosgrove would never marry someone like that.
Dabble with, yes. Marry? No.

  Fog had settled in and grown thick during the time Lucas had been playing cards. He kept Hector at a walk as they carefully made their way toward the northern limits of the city. He passed a night watchman who called out the time.

  Nine of the clock.

  Nudging Hector to quicken his pace, he continued on his way.

  Chapter 2

  Lavinia, dressed in men’s breeches, her red hair a tumble of curls down her back, stood center stage after the final scene of The Highwayman’s Prize and bowed along with her fellow actors while the audience roared its approval, cheering and tossing flowers onstage.

  Lavinia’s heart pounded within her chest like a wild thing trying to escape.

  It was a physically demanding role, with intricate swordplay that she and Nicholas Randall, who played the hero, and George Babbitt, who played the villain, had rehearsed down to the finest detail: Lavinia’s character enters stage left just as the villain is about to finish off the wounded hero with a final sword thrust, her arrival distracting him from his evil deed. She fights valiantly against the villain as the hero struggles to his feet . . . and she strikes the villain down just in time. During all of this, Lavinia’s carefully hidden hair comes unbound in a glorious fall of red curls, and the hero realizes who she is at last and what she has done to save his life. In the end, they have saved each other, collapsing into a loving embrace . . . And curtain.

  It was always a challenging scene to perform. George had been perfectly cast as the villain; he was a rake and a bully in real life, and Lavinia was constantly on her guard when he was around. On stage, he tended to be intentionally aggressive toward her.

  Nicholas, on the other hand, was a little long in the tooth to play the romantic hero, but he was one of Hinchcliffe’s cronies, so there was nothing Lavinia had been able to do about it. The swordplay was too strenuous for him, and by the end of the scene, he was sweating and breathing hard and stinking of the onions he’d invariably had for supper. Lavinia’s best acting skill was always required at that particular moment, when she was to kiss Nicholas and look madly in love rather than repulsed as the curtain fell.

  It was not the demanding nature of the scene and dealing with her fellow actors that caused Lavinia’s heart to pound now, however. It was the anticipation she felt knowing that after tonight, she would never have to kiss Nicholas Randall or dodge George Babbitt again.

  The only safe place to kiss an actor, her father had always warned her, is on the stage. And there isn’t a safe place to kiss any other man.

  The applause continued, so Lavinia, although in breeches, dropped into an elegant curtsy while George and Nick bowed alongside her.

  “You best hurry along to your dressing room, Ruby, love,” George purred at her when they rose. “It would appear your admirers are in a particularly boisterous mood tonight. Best not to keep them waiting.”

  “If it weren’t for Ruby’s admirers, George, the show would have closed and you’d be doing two-bit parts in the Cotswolds.” Nick sniffed. “I don’t see the ladies congregating outside your dressing room door.”

  “They aren’t flocking outside yours either.”

  Lavinia ignored them. Bickering like this was a common occurrence between the two men after each performance. There was always something one of them did to set the other off, considering the fragile egos at work here.

  She hurried backstage to her dressing room. She must prepare for her next performance, the one in which she entertained and flirted and played coquette with the gentlemen who gathered outside her door with flowers and gifts each night.

  Telling herself to be calm, she slipped into her dressing room.

  “There you are, finally,” Hannah said. The older woman hurried over and assisted Lavinia out of her tailcoat. Lavinia had been but a child in leading strings when Hannah had come into her life. “I’m that glad you won’t be wearing these gent’s clothes again after tonight.” Hannah folded the tailcoat and placed it in the small bag that sat nearby as Lavinia worked at the buttons of her waistcoat. “What would your papa have said if he’d seen you dressed this way? Sit now so I can help you with them boots.”

  “Papa would have said, ‘Hear, hear, my girl,’ especially as it has kept us from the poorhouse these past three years.” She sat in the chair and grabbed hold of the dressing table while Hannah crouched and tugged on the heel of Lavinia’s boot.

  Hannah shook her head and grumbled under her breath as she set the first boot aside. “Not likely he would, despite what you said about the poorhouse bein’ true enough. ’Tisn’t right for a young miss to be prancing about in men’s breeches for all and sundry to see, lovey, and your papa would agree with me.”

  “Oh, Hannah, I’m an actress, the daughter of an actor. He wouldn’t have batted an eye at this costume, and you know it.” She wriggled out of the waistcoat and began unbuttoning her breeches.

  “Five minutes, Miss Chadwick,” a voice called following a brisk knock at the door. “And then I’m lettin’ ’em backstage.”

  “Miss Chadwick this, Miss Chadwick that,” Hannah muttered as she folded the waistcoat and put it in the bag with the tailcoat. “I’ll be that glad to see Ruby Chadwick gone forever, and there’s a fact. I want my Livvy back, and it can’t happen soon enough for me. Hand me them breeches now.”

  “And that time has arrived, has it not, Hannah? Ruby Chadwick will disappear after tonight. Poof! Just like that.” Lavinia snapped her fingers as she stepped into the burgundy velvet gown she’d chosen to wear tonight and wriggled into the sleeves and bodice. At least Hannah had made the gown with the fastenings in front for convenience. “Be a dear and help me fix my hair.”

  “’Twon’t be a done thing until we’re well away from here.” Hannah picked up the brush from the dressing table and began running it through Lavinia’s curls while Lavinia finished with the fastenings and reached for her ruby earbobs and put them on. “And you with all them gents what won’t leave you be. I’m that nervous.”

  Lavinia would not think about all that could go wrong tonight. “We’ll be fine; you’ll see. You remember the plan?”

  Hannah nodded. “O’ course. I pack up what’s here, then I meet Artie out back round the corner away from all them gents gathered outside. Delia and Artie will have our belongings loaded into the rented post chaise at the house, and we meet you at the White Hart on the way out of London.”

  “Not the White Hart, Hannah, the White—”

  “Two minutes, Miss Chadwick,” the voice outside Lavinia’s dressing room door called again. “Then I’m unlocking the door for ’em.”

  “White Horse, Hannah. The White Horse. Quick now, the necklace.”

  Hannah stuck the last pin in Lavinia’s hair, creating a loose collection of curls around her head. Then she removed the ruby necklace that matched the earbobs from their box.

  Lavinia checked her appearance in the looking glass while Hannah fastened the clasp of the elaborate necklace. She hoped wearing the burgundy gown and jewelry wasn’t overdoing it, but it was important that she look memorable in her final performance as Ruby Chadwick, The Darling of Drury Lane. Her admirers—not to mention Alfred Hinchcliffe—would be less inclined to suspect her to make a dash for it if their last image of her was as the glittering darling of the theatre welcoming her many admirers.

  Lavinia could hear movement and the low hum of conversation increasing outside her dressing room door. The gentlemen were on approach. She took a deep breath to settle her nerves, which, like Hannah’s, were on edge. Not that she would let Hannah—or the gentlemen outside the door, for that matter—suspect it.

  “Livvy!” Hannah held up the finishing touch for the costume. It was a ring with a large ruby set in it, and Lavinia never went out in public without it. It was one of her greatest defenses against the ardor she constantly fended off from all her admirers, supposedly given to her by her make-believe betrothed, who was serving as an officer in Spain.

  Whe
never an admirer attempted to seduce her—and it had happened frequently since arriving in London—she would delicately dab away tears and claim she could not betray her betrothed, who was serving King and country so heroically.

  The admirer in question would immediately remember he was somewhat honorable and beg her forgiveness. Most of the time.

  Lavinia suspected that part of her overall attraction in Town was the fact that none of her gentlemen admirers had been successful in their pursuits of her so far. Unfortunately, a few of the more ardent ones were becoming impatient, especially the Earl of Cosgrove. Lord Cosgrove was a man in his late thirties, tall and blond, who could have been handsome had he not spent the last decade or so indulging himself in a variety of vices.

  He’d been getting more and more aggressive the last few times he’d been to the Orpheus to see her perform, and Lavinia had begun to feel threatened. It didn’t help that Alfred Hinchcliffe, greedy bounder that he was, encouraged these attentions to her, especially from wealthy, titled admirers like the Earl of Cosgrove.

  Even thinking about the earl gave Lavinia the shudders.

  She snatched up the ring and hurriedly slid it onto her finger. She could tell by the rumble outside the door that her admirers were getting restless. “You have the receipts I got from Hinchcliffe?”

  “Yes, Livvy.”

  “Good. And you remember the plan?” she asked Hannah once more. “Most importantly, you remember that if I don’t make it there by midnight—”

  “We goes on to the next post stage without you. I don’t like that part, Livvy, and I mean to tell you—”

  “I’ll be there, don’t worry. It’s only a contingency plan. Now, go!”

  Hannah picked up the bag and opened the door. “Move back and let me through,” she grumbled to the group of men gathered there. They groaned and booed when they saw it wasn’t Ruby Chadwick finally making her appearance. Through the crack in the door, Lavinia could see Lord Cosgrove standing amongst the other men.

  She shut the door, leaned her back against it, and gritted her teeth.