“If you need to blame anyone for my fall from grace, then blame me. I allowed it to happen. I wanted it to happen.” She was just so bloody tired of it all.
“I don’t understand you, Beth. I don’t know you any longer.”
“Mother, I’m not sure you ever really knew me.” Beth squeezed her eyes tight to stem the burn of the tears. Her mother saw what she wanted to see. Beth dealt in reality. She had to. No one else would. Her father lived in his fantasy as an artist. Her mother lived in her own version of reality. Neither was wrong, but neither was a realist either. Food had to be purchased, rents paid, and Beth had been handling it since she was old enough to take charge. “I’m going to bed, Mother. We can discuss this further tomorrow.”
Beth stood and turned and climbed the stairs to the studio. She walked into the room and was hit by the scent of Michael and the love they’d made on the chaise. She systematically went around and blew out the flames of the lamps they’d left burning until the only light was from the small stove. Her heart actually hurt, but she couldn’t stop herself from lying on the chaise and burying her face in the fabric that covered it. She pulled her legs in close wrapping herself in the shawl she’d grabbed when she went downstairs. It took a long time to finally find sleep. She dreamed of him.
Chapter Fifteen
Two days later, burying herself in her work, Beth added light feathered strokes to the column she was painting to transform the wood into marble for the next production. The performance date for The Taming of the Shrew was approaching and there was so much to do yet. Beth left the house before her mother rose and returned late. She said little and ate less. Most of the crew left her alone, noting her sad expression. The fact she snapped orders to the crew and screamed at them like a shrew herself, kept everyone at a distance.
She’d been able to complete almost all the larger pieces for the new play. The backgrounds were done. Now the set pieces were almost complete. She’d also spent a great deal of time at home painting. Her mother had stood in the doorway of her room last night, with that look on her face, demanding answers, but Beth couldn’t talk about Michael or what had happened. She could only paint her pain into new canvases. Langston had promised that her work would be in the exhibition and she intended to make him keep that promise. She would not let that dream go.
She had made one decision. Despite how much she felt for Michael Langston, she could not become his mistress. She didn’t want to share. She didn’t want to be just a tiny sliver of his life. She wanted to be important. She wanted to be first. She’d never been first in anyone’s life, not even her own parents. She would not allow herself come lower than first in Michael’s life. Given the impossibility of a marriage between them, she was going to have to learn to live without him.
Beth stood and stretched before going back to her work table to refill the paint in the small cup she was using. There was still quite a bit of detailing to finish before the end of the week. She mixed a bit of paint and poured it into the cup, stirring with her brush.
“Beth, you’re a sly one,” Sally Morgan said as she breezed into the large room. Her blue silk skirts brushed against the floor with a swish. “Here I thought you were mourning the loss of a certain marquis, but that’s not the case, is it?”
“Careful, you’ll get paint on that gorgeous dress and I have no idea to what you are referring.”
“This is too important to worry about paint!” Sally approached the table with a paper in her hand. “Why didn’t you tell me you were engaged to Langston? I thought we were friends.”
“I’m not engaged to him, as well you know.”
“It’s in the paper, Beth.” Sally held out the paper and pointed to a small box toward the bottom center of the page.
“What?” Beth set the cup down with the brush and wiped her hands on a nearby rag. She picked up the page and read. Her heart stopped, her stomach twisted. It could not be so. She read it again. “Bloody hell.”
She needed to sit down before she fell down. Beth groped for the stool she kept nearby and plopped onto it. “Bloody hell.”
“You keep repeating that. Not exactly the language a young lady needs to be using when she’s engaged to a marquis,” Sally reprimanded, her tone prim. “In fact, you’ll be too good for the lot of us.”
Beth glared at her friend. “That will never happen, Sally.”
“A marchioness cannot be seen with an actress. It’s just not done.”
“I’m not going to be a marchioness. This is a lie.” Beth tossed the paper on the top of a pile of rags on the worktable. “Langston did not propose. Nor does he intend to do so. I’ve not seen the man since the other night.”
“When you threw him out of your house after making love to him. Perhaps he did it to get your attention?” Sally picked up the paper and stared at it. “It seems rather a small article for a marquis, doesn’t it? Rather like he doesn’t want to attract any attention.”
“I doubt very seriously Langston did this,” Beth said derisively. “He knows I won’t marry him.”
Sally gave her the look. “We both know how I feel on that topic.” She glanced down at the paper. “Who would put such a thing into the paper, then?”
Beth had a good idea. Her mother would do this with no thought to the consequences of her actions. She’d tried talking to Beth about this, but Beth couldn’t. Reliving it only reopened the wound. “How do I go about having a retraction printed?”
Sally picked up the paper and begun pacing, her finger tapping her chin. “Are you sure you want too?”
“Sally, I’m not going to marry a man just because there’s an engagement announcement in the paper. Besides, society will know it’s false. What paper is it? Perhaps no one will see it.”
Beth didn’t like the look in Sally’s eyes as she finished her question.
“It’s The Times, love. Everyone sees it.”
“Bloody hell!”
“Beth, you have to stop saying that! Marchionesses do not speak in such a way.”
Beth glared at her friend. “Trust me when I tell you I’m holding back the really awful words to honor your delicate sensibilities. This has to be undone. I’m supposed to show my paintings in the Royal Exhibition. Langston is supposed to marry Lady Cassandra Hamilton.” She sank back onto the stool and cursed again. “Oh, dear God, his father will be livid.”
Sally took the paper and carefully folded it, creasing the edges with a devious expression on her face. “You can make him own up to the engagement.”
“I cannot! It’s not real!” Beth covered her face with her hands. Just when she thought things couldn’t get worse, they did. “I need to have it undone. Do you think I should just go to The Times and tell them it’s a lie?”
Sally shook her head. “Think about it. If you cry off after the papers have printed it, you will look like a fool. Don’t think if you tell the truth, that it was an error, they’ll just say sorry and forget about it. Not given that Langston is who he is, they will ruin you.”
“Then I’ll have Langston do it.”
“Then in addition to being a laughingstock in the ton, you’ll be ruined,” Sally said. “It is best to let the engagement stand for now. Find out who is behind it and talk to them. Once a few weeks have passed, you can end the engagement and no one is the wiser.”
“There is no engagement!” Beth cried. “This is all my fault.”
“You are always taking the blame for everything. It’s not your fault.”
“Sally, you are dear for defending me but in this instance, it is,” Beth said softly. The look in her eyes must have gotten through to Sally because she reached out and took Beth’s hands. “I should have never let him touch me. I should have sent him home, to his club, anywhere, but I couldn’t.” She swiped angrily at the tears on her cheeks. “Why do I keep doing this to myself? He cannot marry me. His father or society won’t approve. It seems the only thing I’m good for is to become his mistress and I can’t be that.”
&n
bsp; Sally leaned back in the old chair. “It’s not so bad, being a man’s mistress. You don’t get to be a part of his whole life, but the bits and pieces you get are lovely.”
Beth sniffed. “What if I want the whole?”
“What you want is a fairy tale ending complete with handsome prince.” Sally looked at her hands. “Girls like us don’t get the fairy tale. Besides, the fairy tale ending is highly overrated. I would know, I've played the part.”
Beth smiled. “I know you are correct, but I can’t seem to make myself give up wanting all of Langston, not just the parts left over from his wife and children. I don’t know that I could bear watching him with someone else, begging for moments of his time.”
“Even if those moments were the best moments of your life?”
“Even then, Sally. I can’t do things half measure. I’m just not built that way.”
Sally’s mouth tilted into a sad smile. “I wish I was more like you, Beth. That I could hold out for what I deserve rather than taking what’s offered.”
“Sally, I don’t mean–”
Sally grasped Beth’s hand and squeezed. “We are different. You are a lady, despite your circumstances. I’m just a woman who plays one on the stage.”
“I think I will take your advice and wait. Perhaps the furor will pass on its own.”
Sally shrugged. “Couldn’t get any worse, could it?”
Beth grimaced. “I best get back to work before Mr. Alderman comes in to reprimand me. I’m already behind in completing these new set pieces.”
“He’ll be so pleased with the work he’ll forget about everything else.” Sally said with a quick grin before breezing back through the large room. Beth took the cup and her paint brush and made her way back to the column she was painting, her thoughts jumbled.
How was she supposed to work with so much going on? She started painting, then dribbled paint down the column because there was too much paint on the brush. “Damn.”
She crossed back to the room to get a rag and paint to touch up her mistake. The door opened again and Randal Alderman stepped into the room. “Mr. Alderman, good afternoon.”
“Miss Bishop, a word.”
There was something in his tone. “Certainly, sir.” She quickly set down the cup and brush, and cleaned her hands. “Did you wish to see how the sets were coming? I know it’s been slow, but I should be done in a day or so. I’m just putting the finishing touches on now.”
Mr. Alderman approached the work table and glanced at the paper. His frown deepened as he poked his finger at the announcement on the page. “Is this true?”
Beth’s breathing caught and fear tore at her stomach. “There’s been some mistake, sir—”
“Are you engaged to a marquis? The very marquis who has been here every evening to see you home?”
Beth pressed her lips together. “He is a friend of the family, sir. My father was his mentor. He has felt some obligation to me because of that, nothing more.”
“Are you sure, Miss Bishop? The gentleman I’ve seen is more than just a friend of the family. I’ve seen the way you look at him.”
Beth winced at the coldness in his tone.
“Gather your things, Miss Bishop. Here are the wages owed to you.”
“You’re letting me go? The sets aren’t complete.”
“Someone else will finish them. I cannot have the gossip columnists coming to the theatre to stir up trouble. Your employment here would only add to the issue. The Duke of Stafford might see fit to cancel his box here at the theatre and encourage the rest of society to do the same. I cannot risk it.”
“But Mr. Alderman, there’s been some mistake. That announcement is false.”
“It’s in The Times, Miss Bishop. They do not print falsehoods.”
Beth watched as Mr. Alderman stomped his way across the room and out of the door before collapsing on the stool behind her. Her thoughts raced. How would she pay back the loan? No one would hire her now with the announcement in the paper. She stood again, and removed the smock she’d donned over the faded blue dress she’d worn today. She folded it and placed it on the work table by the paper. She picked up the paper and tore it until she didn’t have the strength to rip it into smaller pieces then threw it upon the table. The bits of paper scattered across the table and fluttered to the floor. She pulled out her reticule from the drawer in the table, made her way to the coat rack and put on her pelisse, gloves and bonnet. She then walked out of the large room slamming the door so loudly the windows rattled. She walked out of the theatre at the back entrance and started home, head held high.
Chapter Sixteen
Michael sat at the breakfast table in the morning room of his Mayfair townhouse, staring numbly out the window. His breakfast was a congealed mess in front of him. Candles flicked in the room because the weather outside his window was drab and rainy. Perfect match to his mood. It had been two days since Beth pushed him out of her life and it was like he’d lost everything. The click of the lock still hammered through his brain to the point he couldn’t sleep. And if that reminder didn’t get him, and he actually could fall asleep, he dreamed of her and woke up hard and wanting and alone.
Beth Bishop was now imprinted into his soul like no other woman he’d met. He could recall the way her skin felt against his fingertips. He could taste her on his tongue. He could close his eyes and imagine her swelling with his child, holding a baby, and holding his hand when they were old. She represented home. She was his future. He couldn’t explain why he felt this way. It just was. The stupid romantic nonsense he’d teased others about over the years had now bit him in the a. He loved her, not the way he had five years ago, but deeper. This felt like forever and losing her was like having a dull knife plunged into his stomach then twisted for good measure. It was a wound that wouldn’t heal and he’d done it to himself.
In making love to her, something he could not resist, he’d treated her like a mistress. He should have been strong enough to resist her, treat her with the respect a young lady deserved, the respect she’d deserved all of these years. He’d already ruined her five years ago, and he should have made it right, but when she’d turned those deep grey eyes toward him, eyes filled with heated desire and want, he was mesmerized. He couldn’t have said no if his life depended upon it. Even now that he’d had her, he craved more. But he couldn’t settle and she wouldn’t see herself as worthy of him.
The truth was, he was the one who wasn’t worthy. Beth was worth ten of him.
One of the footman cleared his throat and Michael turned toward him.
“There is a gentleman here to see you sir, a Mr. Jones.”
Michael frowned. The name was familiar, but hell, Jones was a common name. “I know of no one by that name.”
“He says he’s here to collect on a debt, my lord.”
The distaste in the footman’s expression made him curious. He owed no one money by the name of Jones. “Show him into the library and I’ll be there directly.”
“Yes, my lord.” The footman paused at the doorway. “Mr. Newton seems to consider him a rather unsavory type of person, should I wait with him?”
God forbid anyone cross Newton, his butler. “Yes. I won’t be long.” Michael intended to let the man wait a few minutes while he tried to recall where he’d heard the name of Jones . It was just on the edge of his memory. He closed his eyes and thought back through the last few days.
Beth. The man who was hounding her for money was named Jones. Michael rose from his chair, folded his newspaper and moved to the library. He entered the room nodding to the footman to leave and faced his visitor.
Mr. Jones was the same short, squat man he’d seen haranguing Beth behind the theatre. “Mr. Jones, good morning.”
Michael kept the man standing until he was behind his desk and took his seat. “Please sit down.”
The man toyed with his bedraggled hat. “I’ve come to collect the debt, my lord.”
“I’m afraid I don’t know
what debt that is. Explain.”
“Lady Bishop borrowed money with the express direction you’d pay the loan upon the announcement of your engagement.”
“I wasn’t aware I had become engaged.”
The man pulled out a dirty wrinkled piece of paper from his coat pocket and unfolded it before holding it out. “It says here, sir, you are engaged to a Miss Beth Bishop. The Times don’t lie.” He pointed to the paper.
“May I see it?” At the nod from the man, he took the paper from him. It had a few grease spots on the page, but Michael was able to find the entry the man spoke of. In black and white, it announced his engagement to Charlotte Elizabeth Bishop. Shock ran through his system. Lady Bishop had taken it upon herself to force his hand. This meant she’d heard Beth and him together upstairs. He could feel the heat creep up his face, but fought hard to keep his expression blank. He’d deal with Lady Bishop and her daughter later. Right now, he had to deal with this man.
“You seem surprised, my lord,” Jones said. “If it’s not true, I can take the matter of the debt up with the lady.”
Michael tossed the grimy paper across his desk toward Jones then leaned back in his chair. “What will you do if I deny this claim?”
“Collect the money.”
“And if they do not have the money?”
Jones grinned, showing yellow teeth as well a few missing ones. “The young lady is a right fine piece of fluff. I reckon she’d be good for the money, if you get my meaning.” He chuckled. “A man likes a girl that shows some spirit, right governor?”
He fought the urge plant his fist into the man’s face. “You were the man bothering her at the theatre the other night.”
“Had to make sure she understood the gravity of missing the payment. A man’s got to protect his business interests, don’t he?”
The Art of Seduction (Kings of Industry) Page 10