“Fifty a month? I say I shall be able to move my brother to decent lodgings. Thank you.”
“Do you think your brother might like to come to dinner as well? He would lend verisimilitude to your act.”
“I’m not sure he’s feeling up to it yet but I shall ask. Now I must get home and finish reading your manuscript.”
When the young man had left, Stone shook his head. “You’ll ruin him for acting. No one else will ever pay him so much.”
“If he does a good job, my worries of discovery are over.”
“But what if he returns to the country?”
Brand finished his whiskey. “Then Miss Montrose can scarcely expect him to come to dinner.”
* * * * *
Grace took her time detailing the stone wall on the backdrop and stood aside to look at her handiwork. Carstairs and Dame Devlin were reading the second act and she grimaced at what they were doing to William Marlowe’s beautiful words. She had stayed up all night studying the script and almost knew it by heart now. Occasionally she could hear Stone growling at them from the pit. She wondered if he could whip them into shape by opening night with Twelfth Night to run several more days. That was it! They were still using their Shakespearean voices and it made the contemporary play sound stilted. She would have to warn Stone about that.
Maria came around the curtain. “Are you finished yet?”
“Yes, so long as no one brushes up against it before it’s dry. What do you think?”
“Charming. Now let’s go home and get ready for tonight.”
“You seem terribly excited. I thought you were not that impressed with Marlowe’s work.”
“I’m not and I don’t think you should be either. If you make a fool of yourself over this playwright you are liable to disgust Lord Morewood and lose his interest.”
“I’m sure he realizes my interest in Marlowe is literary not romantic.”
“And what is your interest in Morewood? I thought you wanted an intellectual relationship.”
Grace stared at her companion seeing not prying and interference but a look of true concern. “I’m not sure.”
“I know he made an ass of himself the other day at lunch but he’s a man. You have to make allowances.”
Grace was about to tell Maria how hotly Brand had defended her and how he had apologized, but she held back. As she stripped off and folded her work apron she could not decide in her own mind what she wanted from Lord Morewood. She did not want to give her companion another excuse to push her into his arms. Today’s performance might have been to get the best of Lady Charlton and to bend Grace’s affections back toward him. Wouldn’t any man play the penitent if it would get him what he wanted? She would rather believe that he was sincere in his admiration of her charitable work but she did not feel it was a safe assumption.
As they were making their way out of the theater, a slight figure was flitting from curtain to curtain and Grace wondered if it was a spy for the competition or just a schoolboy trying to sit in on a rehearsal. She timed her walk across the stage so that she would nab him as he came around the Two Hearts backdrop and found that she had grabbed Robin Briggs by the wrist.
“Miss Montrose! What are you doing here?”
“I might ask you the same question,” she said and let go of him.
“I was delivering a packet from my uncle to Mr. Stone. Uncle is busy getting ready for the dinner tonight.” He folded his arms and waited expectantly. “Your turn.”
Grace refused to be put to the blush by a schoolboy. “I sometimes advise Mr. Stone on set design since he cannot afford a full time designer.”
“Advise?” Robin asked as he took her hand and raised it to eye level to reveal a smear of gray paint on her wrist.”
She cleared her throat. “Very well, more than advise. Are you going to tell Brand on me?”
“I would never tattle.”
“Good, because he doesn’t approve of half the things he knows I do. I would hate to burden his mind with any more.”
“That is how I have always treated him.”
Grace laughed. “So, we are friends then?”
Maria stood with her hands on her hips regarding the two. “An unholy alliance if you ask me. What does the boy want to buy his silence?”
Robin feigned a shocked look.
“I think we were just coming to that,” Grace said.
“I would never ask for favors as a condition of my good faith…”
“But if you did, it would be what?” Grace tapped her foot, her arms folded in front of her.
“I should dearly like to have a part in a real play.”
“You and half the striplings in London.”
“But you have influence with Mr. Stone. A small, tiny, little part.” He pinched two fingers together. “Just a line and I would be content. You could make it happen if you would.”
“I make no promises but I shall ask if there are any small parts for a young actor with an ingenuous expression who is willing to work for free.”
“Thank you, Miss Montrose. You will never regret this.”
“See that I do not.”
* * * * *
As Grace and Maria drove home in the carriage, she wondered what she was getting herself into. Stone had been none too happy to be interrupted with the news that she had hired a bit player for the footman in Two Hearts. In return, she had to promise him costumes for his next production whatever it was. A high price for letting Robin tread the boards for three weeks and speak only a line or two each night. Ah well, what was done was done. She could see in Robin much of what Brand’s charm must have been like before… Before what exactly she did not know. Perhaps before he had been disillusioned. He must have been pursued by fortune hunters as she had been. Traps must have been set for him.
Part of her reason for liking him was that he was not attracted by her money. What exactly was her attraction for him? Certainly her family was not noble, her house not a find, herself not that beautiful. When she went over in her mind what seemed to make him smile at her, she decided it was her conversation. What a lowering thought. Perhaps he only wanted a theater companion, after all, someone with whom he could trade witty barbs.
She was still mulling this over as she dressed. This reflection made her wear, instead of her gray silk, a turquoise gown with a deep neckline. Maria gave it a glance and shrugged so Grace knew it skirted the bounds of what was decent. And she wondered herself why she would prefer to attract Brand with her body rather than her mind. She only knew that she must make an attempt. She threw a shawl around her shoulders, a good hedge in case she lost her nerve.
* * * * *
Brand’s butler showed them into the withdrawing room on the second floor and told them Brand was bringing Lady Morewood downstairs.
Robin jumped up from his seat and greeted them with a smile. “Well, did you see him?”
“You have one line in each act.” Grace handed Robin a slip of paper. “Be there for rehearsal tomorrow at one o’clock sharp.”
“Yes, this will show Mother I can do something.” Robin memorized the lines and tucked the slip of paper safely in his pocket.
Grace gaped at him. “If you are looking to impress your mother I would not suggest treading the boards with an acting company.”
“I want to show her I can manage on my own.”
“Robin, this part does not pay.”
“But it’s only a beginning,” he insisted.
“Well, have a care your uncle does not recognize you or you may find yourself shipped home.”
The butler opened the door again and Brand carried his mother carefully to her wheeled chair.
When her maid had arranged her lap robe she greeted Grace and Maria. “I don’t know why Brand wants me here. I am just a bother.”
Grace took her hand and pressed it. “He wants your conversation. It will be an enjoyable evening, an exciting evening and he wants to share it with you.”
Lady Morewood smi
led and nodded.
“Just what I have been telling her,” Brand said.
Thomas entered carrying a glass. “Your cordial, Lady Morewood.”
“You mean my nasty medicine. The sherry does little to disguise it. Ah well, I might as well drink it down rather than have you observing me all evening to make sure I don’t douse a potted plant with it.”
Thomas laughed but stood by until she had swallowed the dose so he could take the glass away.
“Mister William Marlowe,” the butler intoned.
The shy, dark-haired man who blushed and bowed was not what Grace had been expecting but she graciously took his hand and smiled at him. “I am a great admirer of your work but you must hear that a dozen times a day.”
“Not from lips such as yours. The words never meant anything to me before.”
“Well said,” Lady Morewood remarked with a chuckle. “If you write half as well as you flirt you will be a smashing success.”
“Thank you, Lady Morewood,” Marlowe replied, “I value your opinion above all others.”
“Brand has let me read some of your work,” the older woman remarked. “Impressive for one so young.”
They were interrupted by Stoddard who arrived to announce dinner.
“Well,” Lady Morewood said, “I’ve had my sherry. Shall we go in before I’m too tired to eat?”
Grace was delighted that she was seated between Marlowe and Lady Morewood and across from Brand. During the first course of capon and fish they spoke of literature and Grace found out Marlowe had an Oxford background. She liked him partly for his deprecating manner and his obvious deference to Brand, more for his witty conversation. But she could not reconcile him in her own mind with the lines he had written so boldly for Blackwell’s Revenge. Perhaps if she had the license to say what she pleased anonymously, her speech would be bold and not so conciliating.
With the joint of beef and the lamb cutlets course Robin began questioning Marlowe about the theater so intensely that Brand was beginning to look on his nephew with suspicion. She tried to deflect attention by asking offhandedly if Marlowe had heard the actors rehearsing Two Hearts yet.
“I have not had occasion to sit in during a rehearsal. I leave the training of the actors in Stone’s keeping.”
Grace saw her chance. “I fear they are in too Shakespearean a mood to do your lines justice at the moment.”
“How would you know?” Brand asked.
Grace glanced at Robin and slowly chewed a bite of beef, as if to say to the boy, here is a delaying tactic you might find useful someday. He grinned back at her.
“I had to stop at the theater to count the chairs in the boxes for opening night. I do not trust anything to Stone’s keeping.”
“So you heard them rehearsing?” Marlowe asked. “Which scene?”
“Their first meeting in the country. In spite of the heavy-handed acting the subtlety of the writing comes through. All the things Richard does not tell Margaret to shield her would make her fall into his arms immediately. You are a master of restraint.” Grace took a sip of wine.
“High praise indeed,” Marlowe said. “I thank you and I will speak to Stone or the actors about their voices.”
“I can hardly wait to hear the resolution scene after the duel,” Grace added with a glance toward Robin.
Marlowe choked a little on his wine and glanced nervously toward Brand.
“The resolution scene?” Marlowe said. “Yes, of course. I’m-I’m still polishing that.”
Grace thought his reaction odd but Brand’s was even more bizarre. After an initial look of panic he sat staring at the candle as though he had gone into a trance. Then he blinked and looked at Grace. Grace had no idea what to make of it.
“Resolution scene.” Brand cleared his throat. “Isn’t everything resolved by the duel?”
Ah, he had read the script and he’d just been going over it in his mind. “The villain is vanquished,” Grace said, “which would be enough if Margaret were really as timid as a sheep. But I have a feeling Astly would have found himself confronting a cornered lioness rather than a helpless lamb.”
“So the rescue is unnecessary?” Marlowe asked.
“No, there is real danger from Astly but find a way for Margaret to help, at least verbally and then Richard has to settle accounts with her. After all if he had been frank, her reputation would not now be in shreds and she would not have trusted Astly and needed rescuing.”
“I see,” Lady Morewood said. “It takes more than swordplay to win this heroine. He will have to do it with words of love.”
“Exactly,” Grace agreed.
They had brought in the nut bowl and tray of fruit and Grace was waiting for the signal from Lady Morewood that the ladies would retire and leave the gentlemen to settle their dinner with port.
“Well, there’s not much time left,” Grace said. “I recommend you spend this next week at the theater to make sure the actors do not scramble your lines.”
“An excellent suggestion,” Marlowe agreed. “I think I will.”
Since they were an informal group or perhaps because a schoolboy made one of their number the gentlemen came with the ladies into the withdrawing room and Grace played the pianoforte for them.
After several short pieces Lady Morewood was effusive in her praise. “This has been a splendid evening but I am tiring fast. Brand had best take me upstairs before I nod off.”
“Oh how I wish you would come to our theater party,” Grace said as Brand prepared to wheel the chair toward the door.
“I went to my share of plays while I was able to mount the stairs. Brand will tell me all about it and get me a copy of the play too, won’t you dear?”
“Yes, I’m sure Mr. Marlowe will indulge us that far.”
“Of course,” Marlowe said with a smile.
Grace pictured Brand tenderly carrying his mother up the steps. How could she ever have doubted his kindness when he was taught to empathize with others by Lady Morewood?
“Wonderful woman,” Marlowe said as they waited for Brand to return.
“I hear you care for an aging mother as well.”
“Me?”
“Yes, Morewood said you lived with her.”
“Oh. No, he must have misheard. My brother stays with me while he recovers from his illness.
Grace nodded. Perhaps Brand had been thinking of his own situation and had misheard.
The butler opened the door and paused on the threshold, his face florid with some emotion not typical for a butler. “Mr. Montrose.”
“What?” shrieked Grace, spilling her tea on her gown. “Wallace, what are you doing here?”
Her brother entered with a dark look on his brow. Though he was only eight years Grace’s senior, high living had produced his heavy frame and jowls, making him look much older. She thought of him as a disgruntled bulldog.
“Your people told me where you were and as they were about to send your carriage around, I thought I would come to escort you home.”
“All the way from Yorkshire?” Maria asked.
“I had business in Town,” he said through gritted teeth. “So this is Lord Morewood.”
“Uh, no, I am William Marlowe.”
“Don’t look at me,” Thomas said from his position by the fireplace.
Wallace’s gaze fell on Robin. “This certainly is not Lord Morewood.”
“Forgive my manners,” Grace said. She introduced them to her brother, who greeted each man impatiently.
“Where is Lord Morewood?”
“Here?” Brand said from the doorway. “Who might you be?” he asked in his most arrogant voice so Grace assumed he knew already and wanted to make her brother uncomfortable. Good.
“Wallace Montrose, Grace’s brother.”
Brand offered his hand. “You should have told us you would be in Town.”
Wallace ignored the gesture of greeting causing Brand to dust his hands together. Grace thought they looked like a couple o
f bristling hounds circling before savaging each other.
“I did not know it myself until two days ago.” He swung around with a disapproving look for both Grace and Maria. “Now, Grace, if you are ready we will go home.”
Grace was still blotting her dress. “Home? You mean to my house? You still have not said what you are doing here.”
Wallace turned impatiently away from his sister and stood in front of Brand. “I find it mighty odd that a single gentleman would invite an unmarried lady as a dinner guest to a meal attended exclusively by men.”
“And what am I?” Maria asked.
Wallace glanced sharply at Grace’s companion.
“At least we are welcome guests,” Grace muttered as she rose. “Come, Wallace, before you make a complete fool of yourself.”
“I find it mighty odd to have my ton called into question,” Brand replied. “This dinner was my mother’s idea and I have just helped her upstairs. Have you any other observations about my character?”
“Not at the moment but I’m sure I will think of something later.” Wallace brushed past him and Brand turned to follow him with his most severe gaze.
“Well, don’t save it to mention behind my back.”
“Anything I have to say will be said to your face.”
Grace had been taking her leave of Marlowe, Thomas and Robin with a whispered apology to each. At this she shook her head and beckoned to Maria to follow her into the hall. Stoddard went to get their wraps and Wallace finally came out of the drawing room shutting the door behind him none to gently.
“I hope you are proud of yourself,” he said.
Grace glared at him and said through clenched teeth. “Not a word until we are in the carriage.”
Grace refused his aid in climbing in and fumed until the footman gave Maria his arm and helped her in. Wallace seated himself across from the women.
“You never did take to being rescued,” he said with a forced laugh.
“You are an idiot but I have told you that many times. Just which busybody gossiped to you about me?”
“If you must know we got a concerned letter from Lady Charlton.”
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