She flushed, chagrined that she hadn’t understood his meaning. “I have no such obligations to his lordship, Mr. McGraw,” she said as firmly as she could. “On the contrary, it is his express wish that I continue on the stage, and earn my living by acting if that is possible.”
“Oh, it’s certainly possible,” McGraw said, smiling warmly. “Especially since his lordship has stipulated that the return from tonight’s benefit is to go to you, not him.”
Her flush deepened as she considered the significance of Rivers’s generosity. He knew she wouldn’t take money directly from him, but that she couldn’t object to this, the money having been earned through acting rather than in his bed. It was a clever, thoughtful arrangement, and an honorable one, too, and entirely in keeping with Rivers’s personality. He had said that he would do whatever was necessary to make her happy, and he had. It was also as sure a sign as the diamond brooch that he was done with her.
“Then I will consider whatever offers you make to me, Mr. McGraw,” she said, striving to sound businesslike. “Another performance of Hamlet?”
“Another, and another after that,” he said. “I should say six nights to begin, and after that, if we continue to suit each other, we might discuss a more permanent role for you in the Russell Street company.”
She nodded, her head spinning with possibilities. She had acclaim, she had a future as an actress, and she had money in her pocket. What more could she want?
Rivers, her heart whispered. You don’t have Rivers, and most likely you never did.
Swiftly she shoved aside the thought. “One more question, Mr. McGraw,” she said. “Can you suggest respectable lodgings near to Russell Street that would be suitable for me?”
“I can recommend a half dozen without hesitation that would be perfectly agreeable for a lady,” he said, studying her shrewdly. Despite clearly realizing the truth about her background, it was in his favor to perpetuate the myth of Mrs. Willow as a gently born lady driven to the stage by personal misfortune, even though most of London would know otherwise by now. “But if you’re looking for a place for this night, Mrs. McGraw and I would welcome you as our guest until you find yourself a, ah, new situation.”
Lucia raised her chin with determination. She might play Ophelia, but she’d no intention of withering away or going mad for the sake of Rivers. Part of her would never recover from losing him, yes, but she would be strong, and she would survive.
“Thank you, Mr. McGraw, on all accounts,” she said, holding out her hand to the manager. “It would seem I’ve found my new situation already.”
—
Impatiently Rivers shifted in his chair in the royal box, praying for the play to be done. Although Ophelia had already died and made her final appearance as a corpse, there was still the rest of the act to complete, and nearly all the other remaining characters to kill. Shakespeare was a bloodthirsty playwright like that, and it was a shame he hadn’t kept Ophelia lingering a little longer to make things more interesting.
He couldn’t wait to see Lucia, to congratulate her and kiss her and tell her how very fine she’d been. That was what mattered now, not the infernal bet that was keeping him here in this uncomfortable chair. Although he was surely the one person in the entire theater to know what Lucia was capable of as an actress, even he had been stunned by the depth of her performance and the emotions she’d brought to poor doomed Ophelia. All around him ladies and more than a few gentlemen, too, were shamelessly sniffing and blotting their eyes with their handkerchiefs, and he remembered how making the audience weep had been her goal as a dramatic actress. She’d done that, and more. Much, much more, and he was eager to tell her how proud he was of her.
“I say, Fitzroy, is this nearly done?” Everett whispered, leaning over to Rivers. “We all know your little filly has won the wager for you, and since her character’s gone and drowned herself, there’s really no use in wallowing through the rest of this, is there?”
“It’s nearly done,” Fitzroy said. “There’s still a couple of poisonings and a sword fight to finish off the rest of the Danish royal court. Then you and I will shake hands, everyone cheers, and we’re free to go to the tiring rooms.”
“A good thing, too.” Everett’s attention wandered from the stage to the ladies in the other boxes. On account of the wager, they’d agreed to sit by themselves and not include any other guests in their box tonight, and Everett was clearly bored without a nearby female to toy with. “What I still don’t understand is how you could have looked at your Mrs. Willow when she was whoever-she-was amongst the Di Rossis, and predicted she could turn into this. A worm into a butterfly.”
“She’s hardly a worm,” Rivers protested.
“I said she was,” Everett said. “She isn’t now. But that’s what I mean. How did you know then that she’d blossom like this?”
“I didn’t,” Rivers said, remembering back to that night in the dancers’ tiring room. Lucia had been completely unnoticeable, until she’d spoken. Then he’d seen the spark that had nearly been driven from her, the same spark and spirit that he’d come to love so well.
“Whatever you saw in her then, she’s become a tasty small morsel of beauteous womanhood, ripe for amorous indulgence,” Everett was saying. “If ever you tire of her, Fitzroy, then I’d be happy to—”
“No, Everett,” Rivers said sharply, unwilling to consider such an eventuality. “Speak of her again, and I swear you’ll be meeting me with pistols at dawn. Content yourself with Magdalena.”
“Magdalena,” Everett said fondly, musing philosophically. “That is true. I can safely call my darling Magdalena my own. I do like a lady with spirit and fire, and she has that in spades. But then, I don’t have to tell you that, do I?”
“It was so long ago, I scarce remember,” Rivers said. “Besides, Magdalena suits you far better than she ever did me, and I wish you well of her. Look, the queen has finally died, and there goes the king. Hah, now we’re well rid of Hamlet, too. One more speech, and then we’ll be done.”
That last speech ended, and the players came out together to bow, holding hands as they strung across the stage. In the middle was Lucia, still dressed in her madwoman’s costume, with her hair loose and her eyes ringed with black paint. McGraw led her out to stand on the edge of the stage by herself, and she curtseyed as the crowd cheered and clapped.
She grinned, and flipped her hair back over her shoulders. There, pinned to her bodice, was the brooch Rivers had given to her, the jeweled flowers a bright spot on her white costume. For luck and for love, he hoped, and it pleased him no end to see it there at her breast.
She was peering up at the box, shading her eyes against the candlelit stage. Not only were all the other players doing the same, but the rest of the audience had turned to look as well.
“Stand, Everett,” Rivers ordered. “They’re all hunting for us, so make a show of it for Lucia’s sake. Shake my hand, there, to show we’ve no hard feelings between us.”
Reluctantly Everett rose and did as he’d been told.
“Damnation, I didn’t know I’d be part of the show,” he said, handing Rivers the small pouch heavy with the coins from the wager. “Though these guineas should all be going to Mrs. Willow. She’s the one who won them.”
“That she did,” Rivers said, tucking the pouch into his coat. “I’ll tell her you said so.”
He’d already decided to give Lucia the wager, and hoped she’d accept it, though he suspected she wouldn’t. Roses were safer, and he bent down to retrieve the enormous bouquet that he’d bought earlier. At once he plunged into the crowds thronging the passageway outside the box, determined to make his way down the stairs and back to the tiring rooms where Lucia would be waiting. He knew he wouldn’t have her to himself—tiring rooms were always very public places—but he still intended to congratulate her, and give her both the roses and the key to her new house. He could already imagine her little gasp of pleasure when he explained about the house, and how warm
ly she’d thank him later in private.
But it seemed that nearly every person he’d ever met had come to Russell Street that night, and every one of them wanted him to stop to be congratulated about how he’d won the wager, slowing his progress to an interminable crawl. By the time he reached the backstage area and the tiring room, the celebration had clearly been in progress for a while. The narrow space was packed with well-wishers in addition to the actors and actresses, musicians, stagehands, and anyone else who wished a glass of the wine and ale that seemed to be flowing freely. Voices and laughter grew to a near-deafening level as each person raised his or her voice to be heard over the din, and if that wasn’t enough, a fiddler stood on a table in the corner playing jigs.
All Rivers cared about was finding Lucia, which wasn’t easy given her small size. He held the roses high, not wanting them to be crushed, and that must have been what caught her eye.
“Rivers!” she called, and stupidly he thought of how well she’d learned to raise her voice to be heard over a crowd. “Rivers, here!”
He turned to see her climbing on a stool or box, suddenly tall enough to rise above the crowd and wave to him. She looked happier than he’d ever seen her, her smile wide and her eyes dancing, and he felt a little catch in his chest at how much he loved her. She still hadn’t changed from her costume, a cheap, tawdry version of Ophelia’s burial dress that made the brooch he’d given her sparkle even more by comparison. She’d hurriedly braided her hair in a thick plait down her back and she’d missed one curling lock that hung free beside her cheek, and yet somehow all of it made her even more endearing.
“For you, love,” he said when he reached her, handing her the flowers. Her smile warmed, clear to her eyes. “You were magnificent.”
He kissed her quickly, self-conscious of the others around them. He hadn’t realized earlier how much paint she was wearing, with her face covered with white to show that she was dead, and black lines around her eyes. It had an odd, greasy scent that didn’t smell like her, and he recoiled from it.
“I’m so glad you are here, Rivers,” she said, her voice breathless with excitement. “I want to make a speech, you see.”
“One moment,” he said, and handed her the pouch full of Everett’s guineas. “This is for you, too.”
She looked warily from him to the pouch, guessing from the weight of the coins what it was.
“Yes, it’s Everett’s stake,” he said before she could protest. “He agreed that you earned it far more than I did. I’m sure you can put it to use.”
She paused, considering, then nodded crisply. “I can,” she said. “Thank you, and thank Sir Edward for me, too. Now I must make my speech.”
He had wanted to give her the key to her new house now, not listen to her make a speech. But others had overheard and suddenly the moment had passed, and then it was too late.
“Speech, speech!” called one of the other players nearby, and the cry was quickly picked up around them until Lucia raised her hand to silence them.
“Friends, dear friends,” she began, the roses cradled in the crook of her arm and the pouch in her hand. “Thank you all for joining me on this special night, a night that would not have been possible without this gentleman, Lord Rivers Fitzroy.”
She beamed at him as the others cheered, and Rivers nodded and smiled, thoroughly uncomfortable with being lauded like this. She was the one who loved the attention, not he, and he was relieved when she began to speak again.
“You all know how last month his lordship and I made a certain partnership for the sake of a wager,” she continued, her speech so polished and practiced that she might well have rehearsed it along with her lines in the play. “He promised to instruct me in the finer arts of being an actress, and I promised to quit my old place, do my best to learn what he could teach me, and mind his wisdom in all matters pertaining to acting.”
“Sounds like a good recipe for a wife,” a man called from the back of the room, and the others laughed in raucous appreciation. Lucia made a sour face, but she laughed, too, and didn’t correct the man.
Rivers didn’t laugh, because he didn’t find it amusing. In fact he found it both uncomfortable and disrespectful, but he didn’t see a way that he could correct the fellow’s impudence without appearing to be a prig. He tried to remind himself that this was how theater people often were, and that any other time, in any other circumstances, he likely would have been laughing, too. Instead he merely stood beside Lucia, feeling deuced awkward, until she once again held up her hand for quiet.
“His lordship and I have shared common goals for nearly six weeks,” she continued. “His lordship would win his wager with Sir Everett, and I would become sufficiently accomplished to take my place on the stage. His lordship gave me his confidence, and assured me that I wouldn’t be permitted to fail. He believed in my talent, and he told me I’d have no choice but to succeed.”
Her voice soared, and he heard the faint tremble that always betrayed her emotion. He was surprised she remembered that conversation in such detail. That morning when he’d been suffering badly from too much wine the night before seemed very long ago, but he knew he’d said all those things. He’d said them then, and he believed them still, just as he still believed in her. More, because he loved her, and he longed to pull her into his arms and tell her exactly that.
But she wasn’t done with her speech just yet. “Although our time together is done,” she was saying, “his lordship has kept his word, as I have kept mine. Now he has won his wager, and I’ve played on the stage here at Russell Street.”
She held up his bag of guineas as proof, and more cheers and huzzahs greeted her. Rivers continued to smile, but a few of her words caught his ear and stayed there unpleasantly.
What the devil did she mean by “our time together is done”? If she meant the time stipulated by the wager, then yes, that was finished. But their time together certainly wasn’t over—in fact, he believed it had only begun.
The key to the house with the yellow shutters was feeling very heavy in his pocket.
McGraw pushed his way through the crowd to stand on Lucia’s other side. He, too, was clearly in a celebratory mood, his face nearly as ruddy as the gaudy red waistcoat he wore in honor of the occasion.
“Tonight may have been this splendid lady’s first appearance on the boards here at Russell Street,” he said in a booming voice, “but I rejoice to inform you all that it will not be the last. Mrs. Willow has accepted my offer to reprise her role of Ophelia in a special engagement of Hamlet, to play exclusively for the next week, which I pray will be only the first of many roles with our esteemed company. To Mrs. Willow, the newest member of our company!”
The cheers and applause erupted again, the congratulations warm and genuine. They’d every right to be, since Lucia’s performances would bring extra revenue to the entire company. There was no doubt that Lucia herself was delighted, too, making tiny hops of excitement up and down on the stool. She turned toward McGraw and said something that Rivers couldn’t hear. Whatever it was, it made McGraw laugh, and he planted a swift kiss on Lucia’s cheek.
That was enough for Rivers. Gently but firmly he took Lucia by the arm, and turned her so she had no choice but to look at him.
“Why in blazes didn’t you tell me you were joining this company?” he asked. “Why am I the last to hear of it?”
“You’re not the last, Rivers,” she said defensively. “Mr. McGraw only asked me a short time ago, during the play, after I’d finished my lines. I couldn’t have told you.”
“Why not?” He wished she weren’t standing on the stool. It felt odd, having her nearly eye to eye with him. “You could have told me first, before you announced it to the world.”
“I thought you’d be pleased for me, Rivers,” she said, more wistfully than he’d expected. “I thought you’d be happy, too. You got what you wanted, and now I have, too. We both should be happy.”
He grumbled, and shook his head to
show that he wasn’t happy at all.
“This is not the place for this conversation, Lucia,” he said. “Why don’t you change your clothes, and we’ll go to dine.”
She hopped down from the stool and set the bouquet on a nearby table. She took him by the arm, not by the hand the way she usually did, and led him to the far corner of the room. It wasn’t the most private of places, but at least it was out of hearing of the rest of the crowd, who were noisily continuing their merrymaking.
She turned and faced him squarely, staring at his chest instead of meeting his eyes, and clasped her hands before her.
“I am sorry, Rivers,” she said softly, “but I’m not going with you. I’m dining with the rest of the company to celebrate.”
If she’d struck him with her fists he wouldn’t have been more surprised.
“Damnation, Lucia,” he growled. “You’re supposed to celebrate with me.”
“This is what I must do if I wish to make my way as an actress,” she said. “You know that’s what I want, above all things.”
His immediate response was that this wasn’t what he wanted, not at all, but with a manful effort he shoved aside his own wishes for her sake. This was her special night, and he did not want to deny her anything.
“Very well, then,” he said. “Where will you be dining? I’ll have my carriage waiting to fetch you home when you are done.”
“No,” she said, her hands twisting restlessly, betraying her. “I’m not coming back to your house, Rivers.”
He noted the subtle yet devastating difference between home and your house. What nonsense was this?
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