Two Hearts

by Barbara Miller

  “Yes, there would not have been any need for your carriage to wait in the alley.”

  “But it was more fun that way. Don’t you ever pretend you are making a secret assignation?”

  Maria looked at her as though she had run mad. “No, do you?”

  “Yes, on those mornings I sneak to the park to ride alone. I pretend I am going to meet my lover, that we will ride off and that I will never come back.”

  “But you always do.”

  “It’s the fog, leading me to fanciful daydreams. But people do not do that in real life, just ride away. In real life there is always baggage.”

  “I think when you and Lord Morewood ride away you will be glad to be followed by a coach with your servants and luggage.”

  “Dear Maria. I need your practical nature to keep my feet here on the ground.”

  Just then Brand carried his mother in, trailed by her maid and Dahlia. Lady Morewood managed to greet all the guests with a personal word before he carried her up the stairs to his box. Grace followed after them and was just showing Joshua where her box was when Lady Charlton caused a scene by insisting she and Lucy must sit in Brand’s box, so they could see the stage.

  Brand gaped at the ill manners of the woman but since she entered the box and made herself at home he felt powerless to evict her.

  “Would your mother like to watch the play from my box?” Grace asked.

  “I would love to,” Lady Morewood said. “There is nothing wrong with my eyes.”

  Brand carried her into Grace’s box and placed her lightly on a chair. “Sorry for the confusion. I suppose I will have to sit with that woman now.”

  “Either that or stick William Marlowe with her,” Grace said, “but that might be like throwing a sheep in with a she-wolf.”

  Lady Morewood laughed. “Not to insult you, Brand but Grace and Maria are nearly as interesting to talk to as you.”

  “I know they are. Otherwise I would never abandon you tonight of all nights. But there will be other opening nights when we will not be plagued by Lady Charlton. I have arranged for you to have tea during the intermission.”

  “And how did you manage that?” Grace asked. “Stone has always nixed the idea.”

  “I simply—you seem to be terribly familiar with Mr. Stone,” he said.

  Grace swallowed. “One does what one must to get good seats.”

  Brand nodded with his brow furrowed and left them, appearing in his own box a moment later.

  “Poor Brand,” his mother said. “Between Lady Charlton and his sister he will be bored all evening but will have the good manners not to show it.”

  “I have never observed that he held back any such emotion.”

  “Oh, really?” Lady Morewood chuckled.

  “Yes, we met because he came to my box to evict a gentleman who was talking over the lines of Blackwell’s Revenge.”

  “Then his interest in the theater is more serious than I realized. By all means, we must be quiet.”

  Marlowe got the other guests settled in the box on the other side of Brand’s, then came to sit beside Lady Morewood. Grace saw Everson’s scarlet coat below them and wondered why he had bothered to come. But he did seem to have an avid interest in the theater. At least he could converse of recent plays and actors without faking his knowledge.

  The play began with a garden party at Lord Astly’s country estate. Grace smiled with relief that they had lowered the right backdrop and settled in to enjoy the evening.

  She had studied the contraband script intently. But even the first time she had read it the words seemed familiar, as though William Marlowe were of longer acquaintance than a day or two. Grace glanced across at the author but he was so enraptured by his own play that he did not notice. At the end of the first act he breathed a sigh of relief and said, “I must go check on something.”

  “If you are going backstage anyway, make sure they change the backdrop for act two.”

  The man gave her a puzzled look and nodded.

  Maria pinched her arm from behind as Lady Morewood stared at Grace.

  “Just joking,” she said with a grimace. “They forgot once for Blackwell’s Revenge.”

  The footman arrived with the tea then and broke the tension of the moment.

  Once Lady Morewood accepted her cup, she sighed contentedly and said,” I think William Marlowe must have known Brand for some time.”

  “What makes you say that? I had the impression they had just met.”

  “But Grace, Richard the character is Brand. From his mannerisms to the words he says. ‘Don’t look at me like that,’ is an expression Brand uses all the time. And the way the actor says it is just the way Brand does.”

  Grace thought for a moment and said, “You are right, he is like Morewood and now that I think of it, so are the heroes in Marlowe’s other two plays. The boy must have been studying Brand for years.”

  “Yes, that must be it,” the older lady said but the puzzled expression did not leave her brow.

  Brand looked in on them between acts and discussed how well it was going. “Even Dahlia is paying attention and you know how little of that she has to spare.”

  “Captain Everson is a casualty,” Grace said. “I saw him leave in the middle of the act.”

  “The theater is not for everyone.

  “I am disappointed Robin had no interest in coming,” Lady Morewood said.

  Brand pursed his lips then shrugged. “Perhaps when he is older.”

  “Yes,” Grace said, “no doubt he is at a lively party somewhere dancing with all the girls.”

  Actually he must have been pasting on his mustache for the second act. Robin made his entrance early with the stentorian words “You rang, madam,” before the Margaret character had even got her hand on the bell. The audience broke into laughter as did Grace.

  Fortunately his part was brief and then they got into the meat of the villain Astly’s visit. He was pressing his suit with Margaret, entreating her to marry him. Why did the wrong men always ask you to marry them?

  She was now picturing Richard as Brand. She had just witnessed him deceiving and lying to Margaret in the most blatant manner, tricking her, with the result that she had left London to avoid him. It did not matter that he had done all this to protect her from Astly’s lies. It only mattered that he did not trust her. She wondered if there were things Brand kept from her.

  Certainly there were secrets she kept from him such as her whole involvement with the theater. Though if she were not more careful that would perhaps be exposed. But the final scene healed all. The actors did it well just as she and Brand had rehearsed it. Except that last line was different. “What say you, Margaret? Can two like-minded souls mend each other?”

  “Leave our souls out of it. It is our two hearts that matter.”

  And then he kissed her. Grace stared raptly as though Brand were kissing her. Two like-minded souls, she repeated in her mind. That is what she had said when she was lecturing Brand on true love.

  Something seemed to writhe in her mind then break the surface of her reason. She had one of those sudden revelations that left her thinking what a fool she had been. “Ah!”

  “What is it, dear?” Lady Morewood asked over the applause.

  Grace looked around to discover that Maria and the maid had left the box, probably to get their wraps.

  “I just realized.” Grace licked her lips. “William Marlowe is a pen name.”

  “Yes we knew that, dear.”

  “I now know why it has such a familiar ring. William Shakespeare and Christopher Marlowe, two of Morewood’s favorite authors. William Marlowe.”

  “Oh, I see what you mean. So young Lake also worships those two.”

  “Too clever for Joshua Lake. You know they are Morewood’s favorite authors. I know it only because I have inspected his library. Unless Joshua had done the same years ago how could he know it?”

  Lady Morewood’s eyes grew wide and then she got a delightfully imp
ish grin on her face. “Yes, how could I not realize. Oh dear.”

  “Yes, Morewood wrote these plays, all of them. That is why Stone would never let me meet him. Finally they found someone, a young playwright to impersonate William Marlowe.”

  “I think you may be right but why hide such a talent?”

  “I do not know. Why does Morewood do anything?”

  He came for his mother then, a triumphant smile on his face. Neither of them would say any word that would ruin this night for him though Grace planned to say plenty to him later. Why had he not trusted her enough to confide in her? And since he kept secret the authorship of the plays what other secrets was Brand keeping. Later on she would trap him into confessing. But for tonight, perhaps he should suffer just a little. Without realizing it he had supplied to her the means she would use to torture him, the fake William Marlowe.

  * * * * *

  Brand managed to get to ride in the carriage with Grace only by insisting he had to go with his mother. He vowed never to invite Lady Charlton to anything again. Once they were settled for the short drive to Morewood House he thought all the women unnaturally quiet. He would not have expected Dahlia, Maria, or his mother’s maid to say much about the play. But perhaps his mother and Grace were going over the play in their minds. Brand looked across at Grace and smiled. She looked down rather than return the smile. What was wrong with her? She had been so looking forward to this night and it had been a triumph for William Marlowe. Of course, no one understood what that meant to him. And suddenly he wanted to tell Grace to let her know how much she had helped him with the play. Then he realized Dahlia was staring at Grace. Dahlia’s regard could repress the Archbishop. And Grace was sensitive enough to realize his sister did not really like her.

  The other two carriages arrived slightly before them so there was a noisy group already celebrating in the supper room when he finally wheeled his mother in. He noticed that Grace went to talk to Lake and joke with him. Was that a worshipful look on her face? It had occurred to him that hiring such a handsome young man to impersonate William Marlowe could be dangerous but if Grace Montrose’s head could be turned with pretty words then she wasn’t the woman for him.

  Lady Charlton managed to put her daughter next to Brand at the table so he spent most of the short meal talking to his mother on his other side. She was asking him the oddest questions about specific lines of the play. He had better give her a copy so she could study it more closely. For Grace he could spare no more than a sad smile and nod. She was sitting next to Lake and they were deep in conversation. Much as he liked the man he could not suppress the burn of jealousy that flashed across his heart. He felt laid open and bleeding like when the bullet had cut through his arm during the duel. Seeing Grace with someone else wounded him so badly he would never be able to live happily again if she did not become his wife. But how to attract her away from William Marlowe? Each time she attended a performance she would become more enchanted with him. All the morning rides in the world could not compete with that.

  He had been so looking forward to this night. Like a fool he thought he would be spending it with Grace. Was it as she said? Was he infatuated with her? How had she put it? If love was not returned it was not really love. He had thought she cared for him but here she was leaving the table with Lake, promising to play something for him on the pianoforte.

  “I believe I shall go up to bed now,” his mother said.

  “I’ll take you.”

  “You have guests to attend to.”

  “They can wait.” He picked her up and walked slowly up the flight to the bed chambers as two footmen brought the wheeled chair up behind them.

  “I hate that you have to carry me all the time.”

  He laughed. “You carried me often enough when I was little.”

  “Quite a triumph for William Marlowe tonight.”

  “Yes and it will play even better tomorrow night.”

  “You’ll see it again?”

  “Yes, I can’t help myself.”

  “I’m sure Miss Montrose’s enthusiasm for it will equal yours.”

  “Hmm, yes, you may be right.”

  He left her with her maid and started down the stairs feeling more optimistic. This was only opening night. If the play ran for two weeks and Lake made himself useful backstage, as he seemed inclined to do, Brand would get to discuss Two Hearts with Grace as much as he wanted. He returned to the drawing room, thinking to suggest cards but Lady Charlton press-ganged four couples into making up a set. Not to his surprise he found himself paired with Lucy. And Lake stayed by Grace to turn the pages for her. As though she even needed sheet music. She played by heart. She did everything by heart. And did she have to smile at Lake in that way?

  Brand forced himself to look at Lucy. She was pretty but he saw that as temporary, that she would one day be the image of her hatchet-faced mother. There was no harm in the girl, he supposed but he must not encourage her. She blushed, so he cast his eyes about the room. There was Thomas laughing at him and Gavin Lake had joined the party. Those two were getting on well at any rate.

  Brand forced himself not to look in the direction of the pianoforte. He must never let Grace or Lake know how jealous he was. And it was not his pride he was worried about. How could he offer to help Lake and his brother, then act like a churl over a woman he had no right to claim as his own. No, he would leave the next move up to Grace. If her interest in Marlowe waxed stronger, then he would not press her with marriage. And he would work to help Lake in his career. It was the right thing to do.

  But if he had to give Grace up, his next play would not just be about war. It would be about loss, a story of unrequited love. He wondered how he could possibly get through the evening. In his abstraction he stepped on Dahlia’s foot when they traded partners for the set. She hopped to a chair and the dancing broke up into laughter after that. Robin had appeared sometime in the evening and looked not at all unhappy at his mother massaging her wounded foot.

  Now there was something he could take care of. “Come with me,” he said to the boy.

  “Where? I have not eaten.”

  Brand pulled him into the adjoining library. “What were you playing at tonight?”

  “A footman. I thought I did the part well.”

  “But if I recognized you, don’t you realize that others might.”

  “Do you really think so?” Robin seemed pleased by the possibility.

  “It is not something to be desired.”

  “No but I might start a rage among the young men and it is better sport than boxing the watch or cockfighting.”

  “Yes, yes but it would still be a scandal.”

  “Oh, not like what you do at the theater?”

  Brand exhaled a pent up breath. Robin seemed far more ready for this interview than he was. “What do you mean?”

  “The secret is not so well kept. Since I delivered your packet to Stone, he assumed I was in your confidence.”

  Brand groaned and covered his eyes.

  “Don’t worry, I won’t tell Mother.” Robin smirked as he went toward the door.

  Brand looked up at him to see his nephew’s eyes dancing merrily and was shocked into a laugh. “You have managed to turn the tables on me. And that takes some skill.”

  “You were distracted tonight. Are you going to let Lake lure Grace away from you? He didn’t even write the play.”

  “If she can be lured away then our love was never meant to be.”

  “We’ll talk in the morning on our ride. I shall manage to fall behind with the groom. A man of letters and words should be able to propose in the space of time it takes to circuit the park.”

  “Propose on horseback? That is not at all romantic.”

  “Uncle, I cannot picture you and Grace plighting your troth in any other way.”

  Robin left him then and Brand straightened his neckcloth and went back into the drawing room. The evening would pass. All he had to do was get through it without maki
ng a complete fool of himself. With any luck he would get to take Grace home and they could talk then. Maria would conveniently fall asleep in the carriage or make a pretense of it as she usually did.

  Around midnight the Fergusons departed reluctantly. Not long after that Grace came to take her leave of him. She was smiling and he thought perhaps she had drunk more wine than usual.

  “I’m taking you home,” he insisted.

  “Abandon all your other guests? There are some duties a host cannot shrug off.”

  “Wait in the lower hall. I’ll send to have my carriage put to. Where is Maria?”

  “Your mother sent for her. They seem to have formed quite an attachment.”

  “My sister is here. She can entertain for me. I’ll be with you in a moment.”

  As Grace went into the upper hall Brand went up to his sister and whispered his request to Dahlia, then retreated.

  “Brand,” Dahlia called as she followed him into the hall and closed the door behind her. “This is going to look very singular, you taking her home.”

  Brand glanced down the hall but it was empty. Grace must have gone down the two broad flights of steps to the main hall. “Keep your voice down if you must argue with me.”

  “What are you playing at with Miss Montrose,” his sister whispered. “It’s very unfair to be showing the woman favoritism when you don’t mean to marry her.”

  “How do you know that?” he was shocked into asking.

  “Your many other flirtations. Well enough with a girl like Lucy Charlton, who has no expectations. Miss Montrose may take you seriously.”

  “That is my business.” He heard anger clipping his own syllables when Dahlia was just trying to help.

  “It’s not fair to her. Besides, she is not the sort of woman for an earl. She has far too close an involvement with the theater.”

  “Miss Montrose has an interest. She is not involved.”

  “I was talking to one of the actresses.”

  “You went backstage?”

  “Only during the intermission. I had the most absurd notion that the boy playing that footman was Robin. Of course I did not find him but that is just the sort of lark I would expect him to get up to in Town. The girl playing the maid didn’t know who played the footman but she was very informative about Miss Montrose. Do you realize she designs the costumes and sets. She painted that very backdrop they were using tonight, painted it with her own hands, I tell you.”