Harry angled his body away from her, frowning. “I am all right.”
Adele would have done the same if their stepmother had tried to touch her. It was best to keep Millicent at a distance—much like one should avoid setting up house in a viper’s den.
“You are not well.” Millicent’s hands landed on her hips. “Have you been eating? You look pale.”
“When I eat, the pain is worse.”
“Nonsense. You must keep up your strength.” Their stepmother plucked a sandwich from the tray and waved it beneath Harry’s nose. If she had her way, Harry would probably be as round as her dog.
“Just one bite,” she cooed, “for me.”
“Egads,” Jefferson mumbled. “I think I’ve caught Harry’s illness. I might toss up my accounts.”
“Hear, hear,” Leo said.
Harry nudged the sandwich away. “No, thank you.”
“Your father swore two fingers of Scotch every night kept him hearty and hale.” Millicent held the sandwich aloft, gesturing with it as she spoke before popping it in her mouth and speaking while she chewed. “I expect you would be well in no time if you followed his example.”
Neither Adele nor her three brothers pointed out their father’s faith in Scotch whisky as a cure for all manner of illness had been misplaced. He was, after all, no longer hearty, hale, or even alive.
Jefferson took the newssheet from their youngest brother and placed it on the low table in front of the sofa. “If Harry is not feeling up to snuff, Leo and I could escort you.”
Adele hesitated. “Are you certain? I would hate to inconvenience you.” More precisely, she didn’t wish to spend any more time with Millicent than necessary, and she would not be able to enjoy the visit with her friends if her stepmother was lurking about.
“It is no inconvenience,” Jefferson said. “We will see Mother back to our uncle’s house then continue to Marylebone.”
Adele expected relief was evident in her sigh. “Your escort would be lovely. Thank you.”
Leo shifted to the edge of the sofa, his youthful face alight with eagerness. “I’ve never met a theatre person. It could be an entertaining diversion this afternoon.”
Millicent’s face pinched. “See that you steer clear of the actresses. The whole lot is trouble.”
Harry stood when Adele excused herself to gather her bonnet and reticule. “I’ve decided I need that lie down after all.”
She and her brother retreated above stairs together. She slanted a glance at him as they strolled the corridor toward their separate chambers. His complexion appeared dull, which could be a trick of the lighting, but Adele worried it was a sign of malaise.
“Please, reconsider allowing the doctor to examine you. I can call on Lars and Tilde a different day.”
“I will be fine, Adele. Go, enjoy your reunion while I rest.”
She didn’t press him further. If he continued to feel poorly at dinner, she would insist on summoning a doctor.
Adele bade him well before retrieving her belongings from her chambers. His door was closed when she returned to the corridor and made her way to the staircase. Jefferson and Leo were waiting for her in the foyer. She glanced around the space. “Where is your mother?”
“She is speaking with the downstairs maid,” Leo said. “She will only be a moment.”
“Whatever for?” Adele practically stomped the rest of the way down the stairs. “Where is she?”
Leo pointed toward the back of the house. She could not turn her back on Millicent for even a second without the woman taking advantage and trying to re-establish her position at Corbyn Place.
Her stepmother had cornered the young maid in the narrow passage behind the stairs. The maid’s cheeks were pink, and she looked as if she would bolt if Millicent were not blocking the path to the kitchen.
“And the Limoges vases are a pair,” Millicent snapped. “They belong together on the sideboard. See that you do not make that mistake again or your wages will be garnished.”
“Y-yes, ma’am.” The girl curtsied. As soon as Millicent stepped aside, she fled.
Adele cleared her throat. Millicent jumped. When she turned with a smile, Adele held up a hand. “Save your pleasantries for someone who doesn’t know you like I do. And stop harassing the help. The vases are where Harry wants them.”
“Harassing?” Millicent huffed. “I do not know why you think so little of me.”
“Do you not?”
Her stepmother barreled on. “I would like to speak with Mr. Quinton, too. A footman should bring your brother a nightcap every evening before bed.”
“The butler falls under the category of hired help. I do not want you harassing him either.”
Millicent flicked her hand dismissively. “I am harassing no one, and if I were, it is only because I care about your brother’s wellbeing. You should take better care of him.”
Adele found it hard to believe their stepmother cared anything about Harry’s wellness, but she did seem interested in winning his favor.
“You are no longer the lady of the house,” Adele reminded her, “and your interference is unneeded and unappreciated. If I discover you taking matters into your own hands again, I will personally ban you from Corbyn Place.”
Millicent rolled her eyes. “Harry wants us here.”
Harry wanted a relationship with their half-brothers, and so did Adele. Millicent’s company, however, was being forced on them. They had agreed to tolerate her for the sake of becoming better acquainted with their brothers, but Adele would not tolerate her worming her way back into the house.
“You have been warned,” Adele said before turning on her heel to rejoin her younger brothers.
“Shrew,” her stepmother mumbled as she trudged behind Adele like a scolded child.
Jefferson and Leo were waiting for Adele in the foyer. She aimed a smile at them, determined to enjoy their afternoon together despite the squabble with their mother. “What is the name of the playhouse?” she asked.
“The Drayton Theatre.” Jefferson held out his arm to escort her. “Shall we be off?”
“Yes, let’s.”
Marcus sauntered into the Drayton Theatre in Marylebone at the end of dress rehearsal. Several of the players called out greetings, which he readily returned. He had become a regular fixture at the theatre since his closest friend, Russell Hawke, had taken an interest in reviving the struggling playhouse he had recently inherited.
Russell raised a hand in acknowledgment of Marcus but continued his conversation with the theatre manager at the front of the auditorium. With the success of opening night a few days earlier and a full house every night since, the theatre likely would turn a profit by the end of the season. Russell succeeded at every undertaking. It had been that way from the beginning of their friendship at Eton.
Russell had also found love at the Drayton with the leading lady and playwright, Claudine Bellerose, and Marcus suspected his friend would soon be turning his attentions toward a new venture—marriage.
“Now that Claudine’s dressing room door has been replaced,” Russell was saying to the manager as Marcus approached, “I want the others checked. We do not want anyone else becoming trapped in their rooms.”
The manager nodded once and walked away, grumbling as he went.
“I see Jonas still dislikes taking orders from you,” Marcus said.
“He does.” Russell rubbed the back of his neck as if thinking about the manager brought him pain. “But we are making progress. At least Claudine believes we are.”
“You are,” the actress called from the stage. She had stayed behind to help one of the stagehands gather props while her fellow players returned to the dressing rooms. “You’ve gone twelve hours without almost coming to blows. Perhaps a full day will pass without incident.”
Russell grinned as his ladylove thanked the stagehand and headed toward the stairs leading to the auditorium. “Claudine is an optimist,” Russell said in a stage whisper.
“And Russell pretends that he is not.”
Miss Bellerose walked up to Marcus’s friend and twined her arm with his. Russell hugged her against his side, and that damned pang of envy Marcus felt each time he saw them together returned.
Miss Bellerose smiled at him. “Mr. Fletcher, you had best be careful calling at the theatre so often. You might find yourself recruited for the stage.”
A few weeks ago, Marcus would have been more likely to receive a dagger through the heart than a friendly welcome from the pretty, auburn-haired actress. He had been convinced Miss Bellerose would take advantage of Russell’s obvious attraction to her to advance her own aims. Believing himself honor-bound to protect his friend, Marcus had interfered in Russell’s affairs and angered him.
Marcus’s worry about the actress’s intentions had been for naught, however. She seemed to genuinely care for Marcus’s friend, and the gossip that had circulated after Russell assumed the lead role on opening night hadn’t lasted long. Marcus credited the thrilling performance for shifting the focus away from a member of the gentry cavorting with inferiors on stage and onto the play itself. It also helped that the real actor hired to reprise the lead role had been well enough to perform the following night.
“Lars has been giving stellar performances,” Russell said. “I do not believe he will be replaced any time soon.”
Miss Bellerose directed her glorious smile toward Marcus’s friend. “Lars is marvelous, but I would welcome you back as my leading man any time. Simply give the word.”
Russell gazed back at her like she was the most beautiful woman in the world—the way Marcus used to look at Adele. He mentally shook off the memory of his former love and their last night together in Paris. He came to the theatre to forget how utterly foolish he had been to trust her with his heart.
“If you will excuse me, gentlemen,” Miss Bellerose said. “Tilde is waiting to help me change from my costume. Perhaps the two of you would like to share a brandy in my dressing room afterward. Natalia has been asking after you, Mr. Fletcher.”
Her eyes sparkled with mischief as she curtsied to him before making her exit.
When she disappeared from sight, Marcus took a seat on the front bench, stretched his legs, and crossed them at the ankles. “I believe she is trying to teach me a lesson about interfering in other’s affairs.”
“Or she is playing matchmaker for her friend.”
Marcus chuckled. “Then perhaps Natalia is no friend at all. I fear a romantic association would be unsatisfying for both parties.”
“In that case, might I suggest you cease flirting with her?” Russell sat on the bench. “Actresses are like any other women with hopes and dreams. If there is no interest on your part, it is unfair to encourage her.”
“Natalia and I agree it is a harmless flirtation.”
Marcus and the actress had struck up a friendship soon after he began visiting the theatre. Russell was often busy with the daily operations, and Marcus kept himself entertained.
He found he quite liked spending time at the Drayton. The players and crew members were refreshingly blunt with one another, and he enjoyed socializing with others who didn’t hide their intentions. After years of his sire’s machinations and his mother making excuses for Sampson’s behavior, Marcus expected most to use manipulation to get what one wanted. Natalia was an exception.
From the beginning, the actress had been honest about what she was seeking—a man like Russell who would afford her security—and Marcus had been equally candid that he would never be that man. With the matter put to rest, they had formed a platonic association and were getting on splendidly.
Russell scratched his jaw and frowned. “Are you certain you have not misjudged the situation? Natalia is seeking a romantic attachment.”
“I am aware of her aims, and she knows mine.”
“You’ve told her about Lady Adele?”
“No.” Marcus drew back in surprise. “What do my aims have to do with Adele? Our relationship has ended.”
“Do you deny you come to the theatre to avoid her?”
Marcus grunted, disconcerted by his friend’s intuition.
Russell tapped his finger to his own temple. “I am more perceptive than I appear, am I not?”
“Much,” Marcus agreed good-naturedly, “for I’ve always thought you resembled a dullard.”
Russell playfully punched him in the arm and laughed.
“You blighter.” Marcus rubbed his shoulder, laughing along with his friend. “You never did learn to soften the blow.”
Neither in fisticuffs nor in speaking his mind. It was a quality Marcus appreciated most in Russell—as well as his ability to not be dazzled by Sampson. The old man had been trying to prove himself superior to Marcus and lure away his friends for as long as he could recall, but Russell had simply dismissed him as a braggart and kept his distance.
As their laughter faded, Russell regarded him soberly. “Has Lady Adele attempted to contact you this Season?”
“No, I believe she realizes I do not wish to see her.”
Only he couldn’t avoid her entirely. She shopped on Bond Street, rode in Hyde Park, and attended the theatre at Drury Lane on occasion. More than one chance sighting had left him shaking. He despised her for choosing loyalty to her brother over him and abandoning him in Paris, yet every essence of his being still yearned for her.
Furthermore, he couldn’t go to his club without running across her brother. Rage simmered inside Marcus, holding him in its grip any time he thought about Harry Sinclair casting the blame for his crime on him. It was as if Marcus was still a prisoner, even though his bars were no longer forged from iron.
Russell cleared his throat. “I realize I might be overstepping my bounds, but are you not curious about what Lady Adele has to say?”
The burning in Marcus’s gut returned. Adele’s betrayal went deeper than leaving him to rot in prison for a crime he didn’t commit. Her willful silence had placed him in a position where Sampson could control him and steal his inheritance.
“Excuses will not change the facts,” he said. “Some damages cannot be undone.”
Russell offered a half-smile. “Could you not decide after you hear her excuse? Maybe it is a splendid one.”
“You live a charmed life, my friend. It has clouded your judgment.”
“I believe the opposite,” Russell said. “I think it allows me to see clearly without bias. Nevertheless, I do not assume to know what is best for my friends—unlike someone else I know sitting on this bench.”
Marcus shook his head, chuckling softly. “Another solid hit. I will be limping home once you are through with me.”
Russell slapped his back. “You’ve had enough, I think. Let’s find that brandy Claudine mentioned.”
“Indeed, let’s.”
Marcus and Russell headed backstage. Laughter and merrymaking greeted them as they neared the corridor leading to the dressing rooms. One might expect everyone to be withdrawn or anxious in the hours before going on stage, but the atmosphere backstage was always lively.
When they turned the corner, he could see a few of the actors and actresses had changed into regular clothing and were gathered in the corridor. He spotted Natalia propped against the doorjamb to the dressing room she shared with another young woman. Her face lit with a bright smile.
“Have you come to wish us well, Mr. Fletcher?”
“I thought it was considered bad luck to do so.”
She met him in front of Miss Bellerose’s dressing room. Russell disappeared inside with his lady, leaving the door open. Natalia brushed a lock of red hair off her forehead. “It is bad luck, and I was planning to scold you properly if you dared.”
“I have already been scolded once today.”
She gasped, her hand covering her heart in mock dismay. “You poor, poor man. Were you called on the carpet?”
“I’m afraid so.” He glanced at Russell, who had returned to the corridor with tw
o tumblers filled with brandy, and leaned forward to whisper in her ear. “I’ve been forbidden from flirting with you.”
“Why?” Natalia whispered back.
“Doing so might mislead you and break your heart.”
“How would that happen?”
Marcus shrugged.
“Law, I hope you told Mr. Hawke to worry about himself.”
“I did, although not in those words.”
She narrowed her eyes at Marcus’s friend, and Russell’s eyebrows shot up. “What did I do to deserve the evil eye?”
Natalia ignored Russell’s question, her eyes twinkling with amusement, and continued the whispered conversation with Marcus. “Did you tell him our relationship is platonic?”
Marcus nodded.
“Did he believe you?”
“He was skeptical.”
A wicked smile spread across her lips. “Should we make him squirm a little?”
“Nothing would bring me more pleasure.”
Natalia slanted a look in Russell and Miss Bellerose’s direction before taking a step closer to Marcus. “How dare you, sir?”
She slapped him across the cheek, creating a satisfying crack that echoed in the small space. Conversation ceased; everyone gaped. Since her hand had been cupped, he barely felt the sting, but it was a convincing strike.
Marcus couldn’t decide who was more stunned—him or their audience. When he had agreed to her charade, he hadn’t known what to expect.
“How dare you toy with my affections, Marcus Fletcher? Have you no shame?” The actress burst into tears, ran into her dressing room, and slammed the door.
The lead actor Lars glowered in his direction. “What the devil did you say to her?”
“Marcus?”
His heart skipped at the sound of the voice behind him. He didn’t need to look to realize Adele had somehow found him here at the Drayton. Awareness of her trickled through him.He struggled to maintain an air of nonchalance as he turned to face her.
“Lady Adele.” His greeting was cool, detached, but his blood soared through his veins.
“Adele, what are you doing here?” Lars came forward to gather her hands in his. She smiled weakly at the actor. Her rich brown hair was secured in a knot at the back of her neck, drawing attention to her sculpted cheekbones. Pink tinged her usually porcelain complexion. “Tilde, look who has come to see us.”
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