Jack was sitting in the family box with Alice, his mother, and his sister-in-law, Rosamund, and studiously ignoring the internal buzzing sensation he always got when seeing a play he’d written being performed in the presence of people he knew.
He’d attended the opening night. As was his custom when one of his plays was opening, he’d gone alone, dressed in the sort of clothes a shopkeeper might wear, and taken a place near the back. He’d been able to see the play while also gauging the audience’s reactions and lingered afterward to listen for their comments.
He liked to have his family members’ unguarded reactions to his plays as well, and he would likely get them that night. Though his mother and sisters had so far enjoyed all his plays, he always prepared himself for the possibility of mockery, likely from Marcus, who if he ever did something so questionable as to write a play, would certainly not write one so lacking in gravitas.
But tonight, the person whose reaction he most wanted was Kate’s. It had been eighteen months since she’d met Joshua Gregson, an affable, wealthy landowner who rarely came to Town, but whom Kate had met at a ball. Fiona in particular had been delighted as Kate and Joshua began courting. And when they’d become engaged, the Hallaways had all thought it a wonderful thing.
But despite the growing closeness between Joshua and the Hallaways, Kate apparently had begun to have reservations, though she hadn’t spoken of them to the family. Joshua had not been the only one astonished when Kate broke the engagement. Fiona had been the most disappointed, but all the Hallaways had liked Joshua, and most of Society, it became apparent, now thought that Kate was hard to please. No one could specifically point to the broken engagement as the reason why she’d had no more offers, though she never lacked for partners, but they all knew that Kate was now considered a poor prospect.
She bore the whole thing with predictable stoicism and had rejected any hint of pity from anyone in the family. She let it be known that she would have resented it if any of them had walked on eggshells around her. But a few comments she had made since the broken engagement had suggested to Jack that Kate had doubts she’d done the right thing. Not, he gathered, because she missed Joshua. But marriage was, after all, the goal of every young woman.
Jack had written the play with Kate in mind, because she’d said that John Smith-Jones was her favorite playwright, and he hoped that she might find, through the play, encouragement to trust herself and the choices she made.
At that particular moment, though, Kate was not in the box, because she and Marcus had gone to find Kate’s reticule, which she had managed to lose between the carriage and the box.
“I don’t know how she does it,” Fiona said. “It’s as though Kate has a special talent for losing things.”
Jack, who had on numerous occasions helped Kate look for things that she absolutely wasn’t supposed to lose, like keys and heirloom jewelry, said, “Look, here they are now, and I see Kate with a reticule, so all’s well that ends well.”
“I wish we were seeing All’s Well That Ends Well tonight,” Marcus said, arriving in time to hear Jack’s remark. “What is tonight’s play called again? The Ninny and Her Swain? A Catalog of Nonsense?”
“Hush,” said Alice sternly. “It’s called She knew She Was Right, as you know perfectly well. It’s supposed to be wonderfully diverting.”
“If it’s anything like the last play I saw by this Smith-Jones fellow,” Marcus said, flipping through his playbill, “it’s bound to be full of people going off into transports of emotion.”
“I’ve loved all of Mr. Smith-Jones’s plays so far, but then, some of us are not afraid of a little emotion,” Alice said to Marcus with wonderful condescension.
Marcus favored her with a dry look over the top of his playbill.
“Do you think his name is really John Smith-Jones?” Kate asked.
“I think it’s the sort of name I’d choose if I wrote plays like this,” Marcus said.
“I liked the play we saw last week,” Fiona said. “That was the one about the rogue who was secretly spying for the king. Though I thought it very disappointing the rogue didn’t end up with the damsel in distress, or indeed, any of the damsels.”
“I thought that part made a great deal of sense,” Jack said rather generously, considering the play was by an author he considered his main competitor. “Since the rogue was going to continue spying for the king, how could he be involved in such dangerous work with a wife and family?”
“I think he just wanted to keep himself available for the next damsel in distress he’d meet,” said Kate. “Gentlemen always do.”
“Do what?” said Jack.
“Want to wait for the next damsel in distress. They’d rather endlessly rescue damsels than settle down with any of them. Aren’t you a case in point?” she teased.
“Am I?” Jack said. “I can’t recall rescuing any damsels of late.”
“I meant the settling-down part. Isn’t there always another pretty lady around the next corner for most gentlemen? It’s just so unappealing, isn’t it, for them to pick only one.”
“Marcus did,” Jack pointed out.
“Marcus doesn’t count. He was never a rogue.”
Marcus treated both his siblings to a haughty look and declined to dignify their conversation with a comment.
“And I am?” Jack said innocently.
Kate laughed. “You know you are, but you can hardly complain. Ladies love a rogue.”
Society had been lumping Jack in with its rogues since around the time he went to university, and Society had not been wrong to do so. But Jack was in truth getting rather tired of being considered nothing but a charming rascal. He paid his bills and honored his debts. He was loyal to his friends and unfailingly considerate toward women. He might like to have fun, but didn’t most people? But he wasn’t interested only in fun.
“Kate, dear, you’re getting to be rather cynical,” Fiona said, casting a glance at Jack. “What you need is a nice ball to lighten your spirits.”
All of her children stifled groans, though a sort of squeaking sound did emerge from Kate. “We just hosted a ball, Mother,” she said. “I danced with at least fifteen gentlemen.”
Fiona beamed. “The ball was rather a success, wasn’t it?”
Jack noticed that Kate, who’d received not a single bouquet after the ball, made no reply.
“And Alice made a new friend at the ball, that nice Miss Smith who’s joining us tonight,” Fiona continued. “But Lady Winstonhurst’s masquerade is coming up, and you don’t have a costume yet, Kate, which I really don’t understand, because it’s such fun coming up with costumes for a masquerade.”
“I’ll just wear a mask,” Kate said.
Fiona looked as though she was going to say something, on the importance of choosing a good costume, Jack guessed, but the curtain at the back of the box opened at that moment to reveal Miss Smith and Miss Porter.
Jack observed that Miss Smith, dressed in a silky dress the color of cornflowers, with her golden ringlets piled on her head and her delicate features set in a small smile, really was quite lovely. But it was to Miss Porter that his eyes were drawn. She was wearing a wine-colored gown, and her dark blond hair was arranged in a handsome coiffure.
Miss Porter was intriguing. Miss Porter made him want to look again, and to keep looking, to try to read those intelligent eyes, to see what expression would form on her well-shaped lips. Miss Porter, he was certain, had interesting thoughts.
It was funny: What had finally jogged his memory about her two nights before was her nose in profile, because it was an unexpected nose, a nose a woman would likely not want because it wasn’t what women were supposed to be, delicate and feminine. But he rather thought Miss Porter would not be half as pleasing to look at if she’d had a less distinctive nose.
When the curtain was pulled back for Sarah and Annabelle to enter the Boxhaven box, Sarah saw that Lord Jack was present, along with the rest of his family. Even though pa
rt of her reason for insisting they accept Lady Alice’s invitation was for Annabelle to become accustomed to the company of gentlemen, Sarah felt a hitch of annoyance at the sight of Lord Jack.
She’d secretly been hoping that only the marquess would be present for Annabelle to practice on. She hadn’t been able to shake the sense that at the Boxhaven ball Lord Jack, like most handsome men, had been secretly laughing at her, Sarah, because she could never tempt him.
“You’re here!” Lady Alice said, jumping out of her seat and coming to embrace Annabelle. “I’m so glad you came. Come sit by me, right in front. We’ll have the best view.”
Lady Alice welcomed Sarah as well and presented the ladies to her sister, Lady Kate, first and then to the marquess, as if he were no different than anyone else, which Sarah found amusing. He struck her as remarkably warm for so august a personage, but perhaps that was because he was standing with his arm draped affectionately around the waist of his wife, Rosamund, Lady Boxhaven.
“Alice told us about the lemonade incident and how gracious you both were about it,” the marchioness said with the twinkling eyes of someone who laughed frequently. “I have a feeling you’ll fit in well with this family.”
“A tolerance for irregularity is certainly an advantage when one is among Hallaways,” her husband said with a chuckle. A reply did not seem required, so Sarah offered a bemused smile.
She was a little amazed at the strong resemblance among the Hallaway siblings, who all had brown hair of varying shades and eyebrows of the same neat, arching shape.
“It was so kind of you to invite us, Lady Alice,” Annabelle said, following her with barely a shy nod at Lord Jack as she passed the short row of seats where he was.
Lady Alice said, “Kind nothing, it was entirely selfish on my part, since I wanted to see you, and I wanted you to see this play with me so we could talk about it. Talking about plays with someone else who’s seen them and who’s capable of appreciating them,” she shot a meaningful glance at the marquess, “is one of my favorite things to do.”
Sarah was a little charmed by the look the marquess gave his youngest sister, a combination of a soberly raised eyebrow paired with a quirking of his aristocratic lips.
“It looks as though we will be sitting together, Miss Porter.” Lord Jack gave her a lazy grin and gestured to the seat next to where he was standing. She supposed a rogue such as he must have a ready supply of lazy grins, lopsided grins, winking grins, and whatever other flavor of grin could be conjured. From her wallflower’s vantage point over the years, she had observed no end of the grins that rogues employed. Not that any of them had ever been used on her, until tonight, and she knew there wasn’t anything behind that grin but a reflex to charm any woman in the vicinity.
“One does what one must,” she said, which would have been rude for her to say to anyone else and, frankly, was rude for her to say to him, especially as she was a guest of his family. But her reply was in keeping with the conversation they’d had at the ball, and she certainly didn’t like him any better now.
He chuckled. “I’m delighted that you did not disappoint me,” he said, dropping smoothly into the seat beside her.
“Disappoint you?”
“You are a clear-eyed woman who’s taken my measure and found me wanting, and I should be disappointed if the budding friendship between your cousin and my sister forced you to abandon your principles and soften toward me.”
She treated him to a dry look and was grateful when, a few moments later, the curtain rose on the stage so that they needn’t converse further.
The play entertained her from the opening moments, though it was impossible, even as her eyes were trained on the stage, not to be aware that she was sitting next to one of the most handsome men she’d ever met. He was also, it had to be admitted, witty.
Life had clearly blessed Lord Jack with a very good family and good fortune in every way. As she had already learned to accept from childhood, life was not fair, so she knew it would be wrong to hold any of those advantages against him. To do so would be petty of her. She would be giving in to envy.
But she was not made of stone, and something in her hurt a little at the knowledge that, though he might be polite to her—and he had been, despite her provocations—he would never look at her as a desirable woman. Desirable women were delicate and elegant. They didn’t have a prominent hawk’s nose of the kind that belonged on a man’s face, the kind of nose that was the first and last thing that distinguished her, or that anyone would remember about her.
Sarah had long ago accepted that the most she might hope for from a man—well, any man worth having, as there were certainly fools and cads who would have overlooked her besetting flaw—was for him to acknowledge that, her nose aside, she had rather nice features. But she didn’t want such an acknowledgment from Lord Jack or anyone else—it would smack of pity. And the last thing she’d ever want from a man like Lord Jack was his pity.
Far better that he should dislike her.
Chapter 5
Jane: Sometimes it seems as though I’m the only one who isn’t sure what the right thing to do is.
She Knew She Was Right, Act 3, Scene 1
Jack stole a few glances at Miss Porter during the play, but the only expression he could discern was an intent focus, which might mean she was storing up quibbles.
He knew that anyone might easily point to aspects of his play and term them silly or overly emotional, though any work of fiction could be ridiculed if one was inclined. Romeo and Juliet, for instance, might have got to know each other sensibly and not caused the deaths of numerous people. Any work might be fair game to mock— Kate, for instance, to their mother’s dismay, was fond of mocking the wholesome anecdotes their vicar liked to tell. For a story to be successful with a reader, the reader had to be willing to be taken on a journey.
He wondered if Miss Porter was the sort of person who would be willing to allow herself to be transported by a story. Some people, in Jack’s experience, refused to suspend disbelief, and he suspected many of those people to be the sorts who didn’t much care what they ate, or who couldn’t appreciate a good painting or the antics of kittens. Kate, at least, seemed absorbed in the play, which he took for a good sign. And Alice and Miss Smith, he was pleased to see, appeared entirely enraptured.
The curtain finally came down on the last scene, a triumphant turn of events for the heroine, who had saved herself from a desperate fate and looked likely to have found her true love after all.
Jack turned to Miss Porter. “So, what did you think?”
“It was interesting,” she said, sounding distracted. Dared he hope that it was the tone of one not quite returned to earth?
“And what did you find interesting about it?”
“The plot.”
The plot of She Knew She Was Right involved a young woman, Jane, who was being urged by her father, a good-hearted but not very smart gentleman, to marry a charming fellow who’d recently arrived in their neighborhood to a warm reception. Jane acknowledged the newcomer’s appeal, but she couldn’t bring herself to like him as much as everyone else did, because there was something about him she didn’t trust. Her instincts were proven correct when it was discovered that the handsome gentleman already had a wife.
“Oh?” he prompted, eager to know more of her thoughts, though he knew that the results of fishing for responses to his plays among friends and acquaintances were not always pleasing. At parties over the last two weeks, he’d heard Mr. Smith-Jones’s work called claptrap and nonsense, and more than one person had called the heroine of She Knew She Was Right a ninny.
But he’d also had many unwitting compliments and many comments that were helping him think about what he wanted to accomplish with his next play. He wanted opinions from smart people, and Sarah Porter was smart.
He also wanted very much to know what Kate thought of the play, but getting a true answer to that question would likely require subtle probing best saved for la
ter.
Miss Porter cocked her head. “Did you find the play interesting, my lord?”
He suspected her of employing the evasive trick of replying to a question with a question, though he couldn’t see why she would need to hide her opinion of the play, unless she liked it and didn’t want to admit it. Which thought made him smile.
“Yes,” he said, shamelessly complimenting himself, but he supposed the gods of literature would forgive him. “I thought it quite entertaining.” He paused, but he couldn’t resist asking, “Did you find it silly at all?”
She seemed to consider his words seriously, a little line forming between her brows. “Well, if the characters were real people, they would be quite annoying to be with, what with all the shrieking.”
He laughed. “True.”
She sighed. “But the truth is that some people are not very good at seeing when they’re being tricked. Which, while it’s amusing for others to laugh at, has real consequences for the people who are taken in. But we don’t think about those people very often, the ones who get tricked, because they seem pathetic, when they are often simply more inclined than the rest of us to believe the best about people.”
Jack thought so too—it was one of the things he’d been exploring with the play, along with wanting to write a story about a woman who made a choice according to her own lights and no one else’s. But Miss Porter’s words were so compassionate that he was temporarily left without a reply.
Her decisive manner suggested that she didn’t suffer fools gladly, and she’d indicated that she thought he might belong in this category. He was certain she would not be easily tricked by anyone—she was far too smart and, from what he knew of her, far too suspicious of humanity in general. But clearly she had some understanding of those who lacked her shrewdness, and that he’d been granted a view to this softer side of her made him feel a little privileged.
A Rogue Walks into a Ball Page 4