Miss Billings Treads The Boards

by Carla Kelly

  Kate tiptoed into the room, careful not to waken Gerald. She padded quietly on bare feet to the table and stood a moment behind the marquess. She hesitated and then rested her hand on his shoulder.

  He seemed not to be startled by her unannounced presence, but only looked at her hand on his shoulder. He rested the pen on the table. “Do you know, Kate, you would make my joy complete if you would put your other hand on my shoulder and rub … ah, yes.”

  She laughed softly as she rubbed his shoulders, pushing the heels of her hands against the back of his neck until he sighed with pleasure. “Don’t stop,” he urged when she let up on the pressure.

  “I should abandon you to your discomfort,” she said, her voice light. “That would serve you right for staying awake all this time, hunched over a packing crate.” She continued to knead his shoulders, enjoying the warmth of his skin and the surprising resistance of his muscles. “I do wish you would relax.”

  “Maybe someday,” he said quixotically.

  She rubbed his shoulders in silence until her hands were tired. She stopped, but did not remove her hands. It should have surprised her, but it did not, when he leaned back and rested his head against her bosom. She was silent, scarcely breathing. When he did not move, she slowly looked around to see his face.

  The marquess was asleep, resting against her breasts, looking as comfortable as if he slept in his own bed. She watched him and then slowly brought her arms around until they encircled his neck. She rested her chin on the top of his head for a moment, wondering if she had ever felt so content before, and knowing the moment would pass too quickly.

  Sensing that he was waking up, she quickly moved away and rested her hands lightly on his shoulders again. She rubbed his shoulders until she was sure he was awake.

  “Dear me,” he said, passing a hand in front of his eyes. “I must have dozed off. What a pleasant dream I had,” he said, his voice quiet. “At least, I think I was dreaming.”

  “I am sure you were, my lord,” she said. “And now it is morning.”

  He nodded and picked up the pen again. Kate turned to tiptoe from the room, so as not to awaken Gerald, but the Frenchman was awake, a smile on his face. As she left the room, he winked at her.

  Chapter 13

  They began in earnest the following day when the parts were all copied and everyone rested. Hal approached the runner about joining the cast of Married Well.

  “Only think what an excellent opportunity this will be for you to keep me in sight,” he said, when Will Muggeridge came to continue washing the walls. “And it will add new horizons to scrubbing bat leavings and dangling from tall ladders.”

  Will regarded the marquess thoughtfully. “I cannot imagine you would want me at such close quarters.”

  The marquess shook his head. He reached for Kate’s hand and kissed her fingers one at a time. “We need you, sir. That is all, although I, for one, wonder why you are not chasing up leads in your search for the late and apparently unlamented Lord Grayson. Wouldn’t you agree, wife?”

  “Wh … what?” Kate asked, her mind on his kisses planted so lightly on her fingers that seemed to sink into her heart and settle there.

  The runner laughed. “I suppose I must humor the eccentricities of the aristocracy. I can certainly play along with you, my lord. And you, Mistress Hampton,” he added, the sarcasm unmistakable.

  The marquess bowed. “Very well, sir. But I do insist that you call me Hal. After all, it is my name.” He pulled Kate close. “And it’s good enough for my wife.”

  Kate smiled shyly at the runner and put her arm about Hal’s waist. “Of course it is, my love,” she said. At her words the marquess tightened his grip on her. He did not release her, even when the runner strolled away to join Maria, who held out a script for him.

  “That is the first time you have called me such an endearment,” he said, his voice soft. “I could almost think you meant it.”

  Kate took his hand off her waist. “Then I suppose I am getting into the spirit of this little adventure, Hal,” she replied. “When the runner is about, you will be ‘my love this’ and ‘my darling that.’ ” She looked into his eyes. “Isn’t that what you want?”

  “You know it is,” he said. “Only …”

  “Only what?” she asked. “What more can there be, sir?”

  To her amazement the marquess took her by the hand and dragged her into the shadows off the stage. His hands on her shoulders, he pushed her up against the wall and held her there. She held her breath, wishing her heart would not crash so hard against her ribs.

  “Tell me something, Kate,” he said finally, after he had observed her for a moment. “Do you like me?”

  His question surprised her. There was nothing loverlike in his tone, so she relaxed and considered him. It required only a moment’s thought. “Why, yes, I do,” she said, her eyes merry.

  There was a considerable pause, while several emotions crossed his face as she watched. “Why?” he asked finally. His voice was soft, and he was standing so close to her, but she did not fear an improper advance. He seemed to want information more than kisses.

  She went down the mental list that had been in her mind, for some reason or other, for nearly a week. “Because you are a hard worker, and thoughtful. And you are nice to look at, and you have beautiful hands, and I like the way you listen when other people talk, even when they must be boring you.”

  “Do I bore you?” he asked. He released her and leaned up against the wall next to her.

  “Heavens, no,” she said. “I do not think you could.”

  She watched in amusement as he shoved his hands in his pockets and brought out the pocket linings. “Suppose I told you that the Grayson family was in debt to the eyebrows, and I was doing a dance with the cent percenters?”

  Kate laughed softly. “With what I know of your character, I would suspect that you would find a way to pay them off and get out of debt and lead a more profitable life.”

  “Really? Well, suppose I told you that I was richer than Croesus.”

  “Then I would wish you the careful spending of it.” Kate took a deep breath and touched his shoulder. “Hal, what can this possibly have to do with me?”

  To her relief he seemed to relax. “I just wondered. Abner Sheffield seems to feel that I have turned into a useless fribble.”

  Kate straightened up and faced him, suddenly angry with their solicitor. “Then Mr. Sheffield is all about in his head! I think you should get a new solicitor.”

  “But Abner has known me all my life,” Hal insisted, “and you only three weeks. How can you be so sure about my character?”

  She paused and leaned against the wall again. Their shoulders touched, but she did not move away, as good manners would dictate. “I do not pretend to understand it, Hal. I just know that he is wrong.” She thought a moment. “Perhaps I know you better. Now, don’t tease me anymore about this!”

  Without another word Hal grabbed her by the shoulders again, pulled her in close, and planted a loud, smacking kiss on her forehead. “Bless you, Miss … Mrs. Hampton!” he exclaimed.

  From the stage the others applauded at the sound of his kiss, and then Gerald, his voice filled with amusement, called to them: “And now, Hamptons, if you are quite through … We have a play to learn!”

  They rehearsed singly and in pairs—the marquess, the runner, and Gerald trading lines as they washed walls; Maria, Phoebe, and Kate as they sewed the curtain and then repainted the gilt on the chandeliers. They quizzed each other as they sat at meals, walked to church on Sunday, and shopped in the market. Kate gulped as her funds dwindled lower and lower with each excursion to the baker or the butcher, but thrust images of the poorhouse from her mind and doggedly worked on her lines, wishing she had the easy facility for memorization that the others possessed.

  “It is a trial to me,” she admitted to Hal one afternoon as they sat together in the tree that had become their favorite memorization spot. “Why are they so goo
d at this, and we stumble and stutter over each line?”

  “It is a chore,” Hal agreed, “but, then, we have not been learning lines since we were first burped and breeched, as the Bladesworths have. Have you ever tried to count the parts they have memorized from other plays? They quote them all the time.”

  “It is quite beyond me,” Kate said. “All I want to do is learn this one part.” She nudged Hal and giggled as he grabbed the branch to retain his balance. “Oh, and look, Gerald showed me how to appear as the simple Miss Rowbottom. I merely let my mouth hang open as though I am catching flies.”

  Hal laughed at her attempt. “And you must open your eyes wide and stare adoringly at me if I should ever utter anything resembling a witticism. Ah, yes! That is the look. Trust me on this, Kate. And if you would flutter about and pick at my sleeve and gaze at me …” His voice trailed off, and he looked away, shaking his head.

  Impulsively Kate took his hand and squeezed it. “I’m sorry. I am certain I never knew that being such a catch on the Marriage Mart would be a chafing duty.”

  He turned his hand over and wound his fingers in hers. “You can’t imagine what it is like, wondering if any woman is truly sincere, or just lusting after my money and title. I confess to a rising cynicism.”

  The sun came out from behind a cloud, and Kate raised her face to its warmth. “Well, I have never had such worries, sir. Who in the world wants a twenty-six-year-old spinster with no fortune?” She laughed and gave him another nudge. “Any man I would attract would have to be entirely serious, Hal!”

  He joined in her laughter. “Twenty-six? I would have thought twenty-eight, at the very least!”

  She pushed him from the limb, but he landed gracefully on his feet, grabbed her ankle, pulled her off, and caught her in a froth of petticoats and shrieks.

  “I am a ripe thirty-five,” he confessed as he tried to dodge her hands reaching to pull his hair. “And don’t do that! I have little enough as it is.”

  “Very well, oh Ancient of Days,” she teased. “Now, let me down. I don’t want to put any undo strain on your heart.”

  “Kate, you already have,” he whispered as he set her down.

  She looked at him, so suddenly serious, and did not know what to say. A breeze sprang up and snatched away some of the manuscript. Grateful for the diversion, she hurried after the pages. Hal remained where he was, watching her, a half smile on his face. When she retrieved the last page, she headed for the theatre, knowing that he still gazed at her, and wishing he would not.

  After a night spent tossing and turning about on her thin mattress, Kate decided that it would be best for her to spend less time in the solitary company of the marquess. Thank the Lord they had at least proceeded to the point of full company rehearsals. They would work long hours, and perhaps she would be so tired that she would not dream about Hal Hampton anymore.

  Nothing worked, even though the marquess played a most unattractive character, a bumbling, fumbling suitor as liable to trip over a horse as a floor tile. Under Malcolm’s patient direction, he stuttered and floundered about, a woman’s worst nightmare as Antonionus Pinchbeck, but she could see only Hal Hampton, a man she loved and wanted with all her heart. It was a longing more powerful than anything she had ever experienced, and it left her shaken, frustrated, and almost ill.

  She found herself bursting into tears over the smallest difficulty, and it chafed her to lie and say that she was merely worried over finances, or the success of the theatre, and that it would pass. She knew her feelings for the marquess would never pass. She knew that when the summer was over, and he exerted himself to contact Sheffield, or admit the obvious to the runner, Hal Hampton would be gone. In his place would be Lord Henry Tewksbury-Hampton, marquess of Grayson, and he would be heading back to London and out of her life. Whatever mild flirtation he had undertaken for his own trifling amusement—surely it could be nothing more—would be soon forgotten.

  It was impossible to avoid Hal, and her cup ran over with misery. There was the runner, more of a friend now, after several weeks of rehearsal, but still demanding, by his presence, that she continue her fiction as Hal Hampton’s loving bride. Her heart cracked and snapped as she forced herself to flirt with Hal. It was the performance of her life, one that caused her the most acute compound of ecstasy and misery.

  She dared not back out of the venture. It would mean the ruin of the Bladesworths and all they dreamed of. Ivy and her little daughters, between rehearsals, had seen to it that nearly every mercantile establishment in Leeds exhibited the theatre bill for Well Married that Maria and the runner—their heads together, their concentration intense—had labored over. The poster, so cleverly drawn, seemed to mock her from every street. Her heart twisting into knots, she smiled and answered questions about the play from townspeople who accosted her on the street as she strolled in the evening hours, her arm tucked into Hal’s, carrying on the pretense that seared her heart like a heated brand.

  If Hal noticed anything different about her, he chose to keep it to himself, and she was grateful. She wished she had the courage to ask him his thoughts, but that much bravery failed her. Even more painful would be the acknowledgment that it was only a summer flirtation, with nothing meant. If he were to laugh away her love, it would be more than she could bear. Better not to know, she decided, not while there remained some glimmer that she could still extricate herself from this bumble broth and pick up the pieces before her heart was even more seriously involved. Recovery was still possible. It must be.

  And then the painters reached the stage.

  “Mama, I cannot bear it,” Phoebe said one morning as the fumes seemed to fill every inch of space around them. “Can we not escape this?”

  Ivy looked at Malcolm. “Husband, I suggest that we send them into the woods with a picnic and the fencing foils.”

  “Capital!” Malcolm said and mopped his streaming face. “And Ivy and I will stroll over to the silk warehouse to look at fabric.” He nodded to Gerald. “You can help these two swordsmen improve their faulty choreography. We cannot have them capering about like Russian circus bears.” He smiled at Hal. “Even Squire Pinchbeck should not be without some rudimentary agility.”

  Hal bowed and winked at Kate. “Good wife, bring along a blanket so I may rest my head in your lap after such exertion done in the name of art.”

  “Certainly, my love,” Kate said.

  The littlest Bladesworths leading the way, and Davy laboring with the hamper, they left the theatre, crossed the river, and headed into the trees. Hal and the runner walked together, carrying the foils and trading lines, while Kate and the sisters walked behind them, enjoying the paint-free air and each other’s company.

  As they left the path and looked for a spot among the trees,

  Maria tucked her arm through Kate’s and motioned for her to lean closer.

  “Do I imagine things, Kate, or does our friend the marquess appear to be considerably less flabby?” she asked, careful to keep her voice low. “I mean, walking behind him has become a pleasant experience, don’t you agree?”

  “He does have a nice swing to his walk,” Kate agreed, hard put not to laugh.

  “I wasn’t referring to the swing,” Maria said, “but to the … Kate, he looks awfully good in those wardrobe room castoffs.”

  “Well, perhaps a trifle snug still,” she said.

  “Exactly!” said Maria.

  She tried to smother her laughter by turning it into a coughing spell. Hal turned around, looked at Maria’s red-faced exertions, and shook his head. “I won’t ask, and you won’t tell,” he murmured. “Maria, you are a certifiable rascal. We shall leave it at that.”

  And thank goodness, Kate thought, as Maria went off in a gale of merriment. Hal had trimmed down to a high level of appeal. Taken with a natural grace not often found in the very tall, he had already been turning female heads in Leeds, or so Kate had observed on their nightly walks. She sighed and forced her thoughts into other, more se
emly channels.

  They took their time eating, Hal lounging about on the grass close by and filching food from her plate, laughing at Davy’s jokes, and letting the little girls tie his shoes into knots, pretending he did not see them. To their delight he took a few steps and fell down, before “noticing.” Davy stood up and headed for the river, removing his shirt, intent on a swim. When the marquess had retied his shoes, the runner tossed him a foil.

  “We had better practice before Gerald and Phoebe discover a rare bird that must be followed.”

  Gerald took Phoebe by the hand and kissed it. “You are already too late, sir! I seem to hear nature whispering. Remember, practice makes perfect.”

  Phoebe blushed becomingly and clung to his sleeve. “We need to concentrate on our lines in solitude,” she said with some dignity and then ruined the effect by sticking out her tongue when Maria laughed.

  The runner watched them go. “Now then, Hal,” he began, turning back to the business at hand. “En garde.” They touched foils and circled gracefully about, Maria shouting reminders about remaining open to the audience and watching their upstage hands. Kate drew the little Bladesworths close to her to watch. They lolled in the welcome shade, far enough back to avoid any chance encounters, even with buttoned foils. Maria watched in amusement as the men parried, tried to remember their lines, and then laughed at their clumsy attempts.

  Hal stopped for a few minutes and shaded his eyes with his hand so he could see them in the shadows. “Dear wife, it is rather like patting one’s head and rubbing one’s stomach.” He turned to the runner. “Will, why don’t we just spill out the dialogue fast, and then fight it out?”

  With a wild yell Will lunged at the marquess, who grinned and prepared to meet his mock attack. Suddenly two horsemen burst into the clearing, charging straight at the runner. As Kate watched in horrified paralysis, one of the riders kicked out at Will’s head. The runner dropped to the ground without a sound, still clutching the foil. Maria gasped and tried to rise, but Kate grabbed her and pulled her down beside her little sisters.