Two Hearts

by Barbara Miller

  “Me?” he squeaked.

  “You know how such talk starts. And you are the only man in the house young enough to have done so.”

  “This is the outside of enough.” He threw down his napkin and left the room.

  Maria turned a pleased face toward Grace and gently applauded, just tapping the tips of her hands together.

  Grace acknowledged her with a nod as she took a bite of her toast.

  “That is the first battle you have ever won with him.”

  “Thank you. I think it has to do with attacking rather than defending. But I’m sure you softened him up for me.”

  “This does not get rid of him.”

  “I know but Brand has solved our chief worry. We are moving the opening night party to his house. I need you to help me with the notes.”

  “This takes a load off my mind. I was wondering how we were going to keep little Ned from causing a stir if he woke up and started squalling.”

  Grace stopped chewing. “I had not even thought of that.”

  “Why look so bereft?”

  “I wonder if Brand did. Maybe that’s why he wanted me to move the dinner, not so his mother could attend, or even to keep Wallace away but to hide what he considers my charitable indiscretions.”

  “What if he did? At least he defended you to Lady Charlton.”

  “Nothing, it only means he is not so open as I have thought him or that he underestimated me.”

  “I repeat, what if he did?”

  “But that means we are not evenly matched. For some reason I would rather we were. That I would neither win nor lose every argument with him.”

  “You and your arguing. You are going to lose him if you do not forget about stupid dinners and challenges and focus on Brand.”

  “Once we get past this dinner and get rid of Wallace, then I can think about myself and Brand.”

  * * * * *

  Stone glared impatiently at Morewood. “We do not serve refreshments in the boxes. If you want that sort of thing you will have to bring your own footmen.”

  “I will, then. I did not think asking for a pot of tea would create such a crisis. My mother enjoys her tea.”

  “But if we serve your mother tea the next thing you know everyone will expect it. Then it will be work, work, work.”

  “Very well, I will have my own people provide the tea.”

  “Is that all, for I am very busy especially since you are going to revise the final scene. The actors must have a chance to rehearse it. It had better play well.”

  “Don’t worry. I will run through it with someone. It will be smooth.”

  Brand found himself riding home polishing the last lines of the play in his mind and wondering how he had gotten his mother to agree to go to the theater. It would mean him carrying her up the stairs to the box. She hated to let anyone but the family notice her infirmities. Somehow Grace’s genuine enthusiasm had managed to put things into perspective for the proud woman. He shook his head as he left his horse with the groom and went in the back door, making for his bed chamber.

  The sound of female voices in his mother’s sitting room caused him to pause. It was Grace and Maria. He would swear to it. When he looked in he caught Grace taking a sip of tea and her eager look made his heart leap.

  “Making plans, ladies?”

  “We may have touched on the menu,” his mother said, “but hear what Grace has been telling me about William Marlowe.”

  “I decided to deliver his note by hand since he was not at the theater. Stone gave me his address. And the place where he lives is terrible.”

  Brand cursed himself for not anticipating this possibility, then saw tears come to her eyes. “Drury Lane cannot be so bad.”

  She took a deep breath and continued, “He was not home but his brother was. Poor man, so weak and I doubt his health will improve in that neighborhood. I must get them out of there. What would you think if I offer them rooms in my house? They would be more likely to accept that than me finding them better lodgings. Or perhaps an anonymous gift.”

  Brand was about to slam a “no” on all these plans when the thought occurred to him that even Grace would not do anything so scandalous as to invite two unmarried men to live with her. Besides ruining her it would send her brother into an apoplexy. He considered for a moment if that’s what she had in mind but likely that would only make Wallace stay longer. He cast that possibility aside with a shake of his head. “I don’t think you have room for them, not with all your girls there. Besides, how could Marlowe write with little Ned crying half the night. No, the Marlowes need adjoining rooms and a sitting room. We have rooms here that will do for them. You won’t mind, will you mother?”

  “You know I would love to see the house filled. And Mr. Marlowe is such a charming young man. He will write better if he is not forever worrying about his brother’s health.”

  “And Thomas gains another patient,” Brand finished triumphantly, raising his arm theatrically to encompass his tame surgeon. “What do you think of the plan, Grace?” He strolled to the tea tray and got a cup for himself, knowing in his heart that it had been her plan all along.

  “I think you are one of the best men I have ever met. You lay all my cares to rest.”

  “They should not be your cares but you do seem to take on more than your share of woe.”

  “Oh, by the way,” Grace said, “their names are not Marlowe.”

  Brand choked and wondered if she had sprung that deliberately while he was taking a sip. “Not Marlowe?” he croaked.

  “No, that is a pen name Joshua Lake has taken. His brother is Lieutenant Gavin Lake.”

  “I see. But we had better remember to call Lake by Marlowe when in company.”

  “That will be easy since I met him as Marlowe. I don’t know how to thank you for inviting them here.”

  Brand had seldom seen her face so glowing and he knew that any charitable act on his part would bring the same response from her. “There is something you can do. Stone has not gotten the revised scene copied. So the actors have not rehearsed it yet. Would you read over it with me to make sure it is smooth? Then I will hire a clerk to write out the copies.”

  “I will do better than that. I’ll read over it with you and I will copy it for you.”

  “If you two are going to work, I will retire for my nap,” Lady Morewood said. “I must store up my sleep if I am to play hostess on Saturday.”

  “I will take you to your room if you wish,” Maria offered.

  “Thank you, dear.”

  When Maria had wheeled his mother’s chair out Brand produced the script and led Grace downstairs to the sofa in the library. He got a pencil in case he needed to make any notation, then he came to sit on the sofa beside Grace so they could both read from the single copy. “You are Margaret and I am Richard.”

  “Well, of course.”

  “You start.”

  “Richard. What are you doing here? Are you trying to ruin me?” Grace read, looking up at Brand as though he were an unwanted visitor.

  “In your own sitting room? Certainly not. But I felt I had to explain myself.”

  “I have heard quite enough from you and none of it makes any sense.”

  “I never had any interest in marriage until I met you and now I have ruined all by trying to protect you.”

  “From what?”

  “Not from what. From whom?”

  “Lord Astly? But I thought he had been most kind in finding me this house and visiting me here.”

  “Kindness was not what he has in mind,” Brand said with a sneer.

  “Wait, that is two kinds in a row,” Grace said in her own voice. “Margaret could say Lord Astly had been most helpful.”

  “That’s only a small change,” Brand said, making a note on the page.

  “Kindness was not what he had in mind,” Brand said again.

  “What else?” Grace asked.

  “Patent self-interest. He knows you have just inherited a
fortune.”

  Grace looked away. “He is rich enough not to care.”

  “Such men are never rich enough?” Brand took her hand with his free hand. “He meant to have you by fair means or foul.”

  “Then he used fair means indeed. Now he lies with a broken head from your brawl with him.”

  “His courtship may play fair in the country but he leaves a foul trail behind him in Town. He has given it out that you are in his keeping.”

  Grace spun in her seat, giving a good impression of being shocked. “I don’t believe you.”

  “You don’t want to believe me.” Brand caressed her cheek.

  “Why should he do such a thing? Then no one would want to marry me.”

  “No one else.”

  “I see.” Grace looked away. “But I am not such easy game for him or for you.”

  “I know. I was counting on that, on your integrity.”

  She lifted her chin. “You have an odd way of showing trust, by hiding such things from me.”

  “I did not want to hurt you and I almost lost you instead.”

  “How can you lose what you never had?”

  “Indeed. I tried to hide everything from you, my flaws, my past sins.” Brand leaned close, breathing the words into her ear. “I may as well have laid my heart an open book before you.”

  “A book with many mistakes and blots,” Grace said no more than an inch from his face.

  “Not like your heart, perfect and free.”

  “Never say that.” She cast her gaze down. “My heart is as tattered as yours. I had thought once that it was as hard as granite, impervious.”

  “What has happened to it?”

  “You,” she said, laying a hand on his sleeve. “I think I love you better with all your faults, knowing you are not perfect and no longer pretend to be.”

  “And I broke your heart by trying too hard. Have we enough pieces left between us to forge a love to stand against the world of spite and gossip.” He used his free arm to gather Grace to him.

  “You would bind your life to mine, ruined though it is?”

  “Because you can save me, not make me perfect but make me glad I am human and alive.”

  She glanced at the script in her hand to read the next few lines. “Perfect, no, that would be the work of a saint and I am none.” She was staring at his lips and smiling as she said his words. “But to make you happy and myself in the bargain. That is worth all I have. My heart is yours for what it is worth.”

  “And mine is yours, no matter what the spiteful Astly says of us, or all the gossips in London. Each to mend the other.

  Brand leaned forward and kissed Grace, drawing her into his warm embrace. She gave herself up to him as though she were Margaret and had no further thought at this moment. But the script crackled between them and she gave a start and leaned back. “I think it reads very smoothly, Brand.”

  “A better ending than him grabbing her after the duel as though she were some trophy.”

  “Yes. I like him convincing her with words, not just actions.”

  “It is hard to woo a woman with words when you would like to sweep her up in your arms and carry her to your bedroom.” He looked up, hinting as best he could that he felt as passionately about her as the hero in his play. His hands were still on her arms and he watched as her lips parted seductively.

  “Are we still speaking of Margaret and Richard?”

  “No. If only I had a tongue as nimble as Marlowe’s pen.”

  “I think you do quite well on your own. Stage love would never play that well between two ordinary people.”

  “Is that what we are?” He released her, feeling the chance to be intimate had passed. Once she started arguing there would be no more tenderness.

  “Yes, neither of us has suffered great tragedies in our lives. So we are not typically given to grand passions. Neither of us is in dire need, yet our wealth does not rest easy with us because we both have a conscience. We do what we can to use our money for good such as the school you started.”

  “Who told you about that?” Brand lounged back in the sofa to regard her.

  “Your mother.”

  “What else has she told you?”

  “Many things.”

  “Faults? What a time for me to try to be serious.”

  “No, all the best about you. I admit there have been times when I thought you, like Richard, were hiding something from me but I no longer worry about that. If it were not for your forty-seven servants I might let you carry me up those stairs. But as it is afternoon and Wallace may come looking for me at any moment, I suppose I should collect Maria and go home.”

  “Perhaps we should retire to the country like Richard and Margaret so we can have some peace.”

  “Once we have seen the play opened, then we can have some thought for ourselves.”

  “Promise me?”

  “I promise.”

  Brand heard feet in the hall and knew Maria was coming. She was not a big woman so all the tramping was to warn them. What an ally. She wanted them together, as did his mother. He was sure of it. Only Wallace remained an obstacle but he could not camp in Grace’s house forever. And then there was Everson.

  “Yes, there is still much to consider. Who will sit with you in your box? Me or the handsome captain?”

  “If Lady Charlton still means to come I’m sure you will have to sit with her.”

  “So it will be Everson. What will you talk about?”

  “The theater actually. He knows a good deal, has seen many performances while he’s been convalescing.”

  “Hmm. I would not have thought it of him. How will you escape Wallace on the appointed night?”

  Maria entered and Grace answered him. “Since your dinner is a late supper after the play we shall have cook stuff Wallace.”

  “Yes, she is making all his favorites,” Maria agreed. “Then with three wines for dinner most likely he will fall asleep over his port.”

  “It does not matter for we will be gone by the time he finishes it.” Grace smiled.

  “Clever women. I shall send my carriage for you so as not to arouse suspicion. And yes, it can wait in the alley.”

  “One thing Wallace does add is the spice of intrigue.” Grace collected her reticule and left him.

  He continued to sit for a while wondering what would have happened at the end of their make-believe scene if he had spoken of marriage. He had been shocked when she had bolted from him at the ball, indicating she was not over her fear of wedding. Once the play was launched he would have time to spend with Grace and show her that she would lose none of her freedom by becoming his wife. How odd that he did not care at all about losing his.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Even though Grace had been up late making the multiple copies of the last scene she rose at her usual time, dressed in her blue habit and crept down the back stairs. But Wallace was succumbing more and more to Cook’s wonderful cuisine and sleeping later in the morning as well going to bed earlier at night. The horses were already saddled, but today Brand led her and Robin to Regent Park, rather than Hyde Park.

  “It’s smaller but after yesterday I thought we needed a change of scene.”

  “One with no water hazards.” She glanced back to see Robin and Hanson in close conversation.

  “Ideally.”

  “By the way, Captain Everson sends his apologies about the wet boots.”

  “My ruined boots are Robin’s fault, not the captain’s.”

  “So I said. But Everson fears if he had not offered to leap into the Serpentine, you would not have.”

  “But Robin is my nephew. Clearly it was my responsibility if anyone was going to help.”

  “So it isn’t as though he goaded you into it.”

  Brand grinned. “I have given some thought to that myself. But I knew you did not want him to injure his arm again. Certainly I did not want that to happen.”

  “And if there had been no Everson, would you h
ave let Robin fend for himself?”

  “I do try to let him get out of his own scrapes but I sensed it was a situation that needed to be resolved quickly.”

  “I see. Because of the gathering crowd?”

  “Because of the panicked horse. It’s odd but Thomas is always chiding me about examining my conscience to make sure my motivations are pure.”

  She ducked her head with a smile. “Do any of us have totally pure motivations.”

  “Not in real life. Only in my plays perhaps.”

  “Your plays?”

  “I mean my favorite plays. And even there the motives so often provoke the characters into unwise acts at variance with what they are trying to do.”

  “Yes, it is amazing how often the entire plot of a play hinges on a misunderstanding or assumption, often a motive as you say gone astray.”

  “Are you speaking of the plays of William Marlowe?”

  “Actually I was thinking of Shakespeare. Marlowe has more realism of events in his play and almost the same purity of emotion. The conflict derives from the mismatch of male and female aspirations and motives. I would not expect anything else from a male playwright.”

  “But would the problem not be the same if women wrote plays?”

  “No, men only understand men, Woman have had to understand both men and women for a very long time. It’s a different world view.”

  “What? Are you saying no man understands women? And every woman understands men?”

  “If that were true I would not have three unwed mothers at my house. I am saying that since most of the literature has been written by men and some women have access to it, it’s much easier for a woman to understand a man than the opposite. We have had more material to study.”

  “Study? I’m not sure but I think my whole sex has just been insulted.”

  “Merely stating the facts.”

  “So why don’t you write plays?”

  “Because even so disreputable a man as Stone would never have them performed.”

  “We’ll see about that.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “If you wished to write a play I think we could get him to perform it.”