One warm August evening after she had played Portia, Peg came to Mary’s dressing room with a short, elderly man wearing a badly fitted wig, powdered in the style of fifty years ago. Peg brought the little man in and presented him to Mary, saying, “I want you to meet an ardent admirer of yours, dear. This is Lord Patrick Carter.”
Mary rose with a smile. “You see this room is filled with your roses! You are far too generous.”
The old man, who in his youth must have had an attractive face, said, “No rose can compete with your beauty, dear girl.”
Mary was delighted by his courtly manner. She said, “I do thank you. But surely — all these flowers …”
Peg said, “I’ll leave you two to talk.” And she withdrew from the room leaving an embarrassed Mary alone with the little man.
Lord Patrick wore a fine waistcoat of brown and dark brown breeches in the style of a bygone age. His shoes had elegant buckles on them and it was evident that he was a man of some taste, if somewhat antiquated. In his dry, rasping voice, he told her, “I have been afraid to come and visit you. Afraid my ugly old phiz might disgust you.”
She said, “Nonsense. I find you in no way disgusting.” Nor did she. He was old but he could not be blamed for that. “Won’t you sit down?”
“I would rather stand,” Lord Patrick Carter said. And then abruptly, he asked, “Do you like dogs, Miss Waddington?”
“I’m very fond of them,” she said. “I was born and lived my younger years in the country. I had many pets, several dogs among them.”
“Dogs are preferable to humans,” the old man said vehemently.
She smiled. “I know there must be times when we all are forced to think that.”
“It is a fact, Miss,” he said seriously. “I have more than thirty dogs! They are my best friends!”
“I had heard you were a dog fancier,” she said. She recalled that the stage manager had actually told her the old man dressed his dogs in clothes and shoes, and repressed a smile.
“Some think me eccentric.” His sharp old eyes fixed on her as he waited for her opinion.
“One is entitled to one’s beliefs,” she said.
“I sometimes like to pretend my dogs are people,” he went on. “I dress them in waistcoats, capes or flowing skirts. And my cobbler takes their foot sizes and makes special shoes for them. Does that startle you?” He looked searchingly at her.
Mary said carefully, “A little. But I can’t see that it does any harm if the dogs don’t object.”
“They seem to like it,” Lord Patrick Carter said. “I take them for rides in my carriage and they sometimes sit at my table. Or join me in my drawing room. I’m a lonely old man; I wouldn’t know what to do without them.”
“I understand,” she said, wondering if he would soon leave. He made her nervous but she did not want to dismiss him abruptly and hurt the feelings of the lonely old man.
His eyes fixed on her again. “I come to see you every night.”
“You are my most faithful patron,” Mary said with a smile.
“I have spoken to your parents,” he went on.
She was a little startled by this. “Have you?”
“Yes,” he said. “I will come to the theatre tomorrow night. You will be playing Beatrice again.”
“I will,” she said. “But you must have seen me in the role dozens of times.”
“I never tire of seeing you,” the little man said. “You have brought brightness to my old age.” He bowed to her. “I will say goodnight. My carriage is waiting and I must see to my dogs before I retire.”
She followed him to the door and said, “Goodnight! It was kind of you to visit me.”
Then she finished changing into her street dress and joined the Waddingtons for the walk home. It was a warm, lovely night and they walked slowly, savoring the fine weather.
As they walked she told Peg, “What a remarkable little man Lord Patrick Carter is!”
The older actress said, “I’ll tell you more about him when we reach our lodgings.”
Hector chuckled. “At least he’s a dedicated patron of the Maiden Lane Players!”
They were seated at the table in their lodgings having a late snack. Mary was aware of some excitement in the older couple and could not imagine what it might be. She felt they had some news they were witholding from her and wondered if they might have had word of Jeffrey Hunt.
She asked Peg, “Have you heard from Jeffrey?”
“No,” the older woman said. Then with a knowing glance at her husband, she continued, “But we do have something to discuss with you.”
Hector Waddington nodded soberly over his teacup. “And you must not be shocked, my dear.”
“What is it?” Mary demanded.
“It’s about Lord Patrick Carter,” Peg said.
“What about him?” she said.
“He has asked for your hand in marriage,” Peg said, studying her to gauge her reaction.
Mary gasped and then laughed. “You must be joking!”
“No,” the older woman said. “It is a serious business with him. He is infatuated with you. His coming to the theatre every night proves that!”
“That old man wants to marry me!” she said incredulously.
“Yes,” Hector Waddington said. “And you must not make mock of him. He is eccentric but extremely sensible at the same time. He knows he is a ridiculous figure and that you cannot take him seriously as a lover.”
“Thank goodness for that,” Mary said.
“But he is earnest in his desire to have you as his wife,” the veteran actor went on. “By his terms you would be his wife in name only. Your duty would be to preside over his household, be company for him, and take an interest in his dogs.”
As Mary listened in stunned silence Peg added, “And in exchange for that he is willing to make you Lady Carter and leave you sole heir to his estate.”
“I may add he is one of the richest men in all England,” Hector Waddington told her. “It is proper that you should know the facts.”
“The poor old man is demented,” Mary said, still in a state of shock.
“Not at all,” Peg assured her. “He knows what he is doing. He is dreadfully lonely and he thinks you could fill the void in his life.”
Hector smiled wearily. “I know it must seem ridiculous. But I suggest you think it over. Few girls have ever been offered such considerate terms.”
“He is more than eighty now,” Peg said. “He cannot live beyond a few years. You would be left a rich and titled lady.”
She stared at the two. “You are serious?”
Peg’s faded face showed a sad smile. “I am. I see this as a chance for you to rise to the very top of society. With a title and money you could live the best kind of life.”
“I wonder,” Mary mused. “What about the theatre? My stage career?”
“You could always return to it,” the older woman said. “I don’t think you would wish to.”
Mary said, “You’re asking me to sell myself to an old man for his money and title? I cannot believe it.”
Hector said, “He only asks you to be his friend. Not his wife.”
“He came to us, thinking we were your true parents. His lawyer had drawn up the proposal for him,” Peg explained. “We are not suggesting that you accept his offer but we had to convey it to you.”
Her husband nodded. “That is true, Mary. We would be the last to have you rush into anything that might be harmful to you. But think about this carefully before you turn the old man down.”
“I don’t want to think about it,” she said, unhappily.
“He will expect an answer,” Peg told her. “But I’m sure he’ll understand that you need time to consider it.”
Mary did consider it. She spent a sleepless night dwelling on the offer and what it might mean. Deep within her there was a desire for power and money. She wanted to prove to the Edward Blakes of the world that she was not common clay to be disposed of w
ith careless cruelty. To marry into the gentry would be an ideal way to do it.
She knew that Howard Blake wished to marry her and he was of the gentry. But while she cared for him, she doubted that he meant as much to her as Jeffrey. And there was also the problem of Howard’s family. She was sure that sooner or later Edward would expose her as the family’s kitchen slavey whom he had bedded and then what would happen to a marriage to his brother? It was hopeless.
She went to sleep praying that Jeffrey would return, again ask her to marry him and so solve her dilemma. As it happened her prayer was answered, but as so often happens with answered prayers, in a manner quite unexpected to her.
She was attending a rehearsal at the Maiden Lane and had just finished a scene when she saw a pale, phantom figure standing in the shadow of the wings. He was so emaciated and weary looking it took her a moment to realize that it was Jeffrey Hunt, returned to London.
“Jeffrey!” she cried and went to him with arms outstretched and tears of happiness in her eyes.
“Mary!” he said with emotion and embraced her.
When he let her go she looked up at him and said, “You are so thin! And you’ve aged!”
His smile was grim. “I’ve learned a few lessons. The world is not wholly my oyster. I have had to accept defeat and utter failure.”
“Your company?”
“No more,” he said with a sigh. “Only Noel Hastings is still with me. And we are both looking for jobs.”
“The Waddingtons will gladly have you back here,” she promised him.
Jeffrey’s gaunt face took on a stern look. “No,” he said. “I will not return here. That would be the final defeat. I will find employment elsewhere, even if it is only a travelling company in the provinces.”
“Don’t be stubborn!” she begged him. “Come back to the company and marry me!”
He shook his head. “I can’t marry you. I have nothing to offer you.”
“You have yourself,” she said. “I ask no more!”
“Not enough,” Jeffrey said. “Let me mend my fortunes. You are a London star now, I’m a player without work. When I can face you as an equal I will ask you to be my wife!”
“Don’t spoil things this way!” she begged him, now near tears.
“This is the way it must be,” Jeffrey said. “I must go now.”
“Without even discussing it with Hector and Peg?”
“Yes.”
Her consternation at his stubborn stand turned suddenly to anger. Tears in her eyes, she said, “Very well! If you intend to ruin our lives in this fashion I have no choice.”
Jeffrey looked startled. “What do you mean?”
“A titled old man has asked me to marry him! If you leave me now I’ll accept his title and his money!”
The young actor hesitated and then his face became grim again. “It might be a very good idea,” he said. “Acting is a precarious profession, we are given to falling on hard times!”
She stared at him with disbelief. “I’m not joking!”
“I’m sure you aren’t,” Jeffrey said. “You have my blessing. I think you could do nothing wiser!” And with that he turned and marched away from her.
Mary burst into tears and was still standing there sobbing in the wings when Peg Waddington saw her and came to her. “What is it, my dear?” the older actress asked.
“Jeffrey was here!”
“Why didn’t you call me? Or Hector?” Peg wanted to know.
She sobbed, “He didn’t want to see you. He’s gone! His company has disbanded and he’s out of work!”
“I was afraid of that,” Peg said, her arm around Mary to comfort her.
“I told him if he left I would marry old Lord Patrick Carter!”
“And what did he say to that?” Peg asked.
“He was hateful! He said it was a good idea.” Mary felt spiteful anger now which dried her tears. “And since that is the way he feels I vow Lord Patrick Carter will soon have a bride!”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Mary kept her vow and accepted Lord Patrick Carter’s offer of marriage. The wedding date was set for mid-September and the old gentleman was made ecstatically happy by her decision. Both Hector and Peg Waddington were quick to advise her she could back out of the agreement if she changed her mind, though she felt they favored the match.
In the meantime she continued to appear in various roles on the stage of the Maiden Lane. Her elderly bridegroom-to-be attended almost every performance and the bouquets of roses continued to arrive backstage.
Mary was still badly hurt by Jeffrey’s attitude and she heard no more from him. Hector Waddington said there was a rumor the young man had gone to Scotland to join a travelling dramatic company there but no one seemed to be certain of this. For her part, she knew she still cared deeply for the young actor and was entering into this unlikely marriage chiefly to spite him.
Young Howard Blake was enraged when he heard she proposed to marry the ancient Lord Carter. Howard’s temper was not improved by her refusal to see him. She did not like snubbing the young man but she knew he had become seriously interested in her and because of circumstances, unknown to him, she had to discourage him. However, he was persistent, and she finally agreed to go out for a carriage ride with him one lovely afternoon in late August.
It was a perfect day for a ride in Howard’s landaulet. The driver sat up front very straight of back and aloof.
Next to Mary as they drove through the pleasant green of Regent’s Park was Howard Blake in a yellow waistcoat, brass buttoned fawn jacket and spotless high white stock. He had curbed his anger at her decision and his manner was now almost fraternal.
A perch phaeton passed them going the other way with a well dressed man in it wearing an elegantly distinctive cravat. He raised an ebony, silver-tipped walking stick at Blake and the young man nodded in acknowledgment. He said, after the phaeton had passed, “Do you know who that was?”
She smiled, holding a white parasol over her head to protect her from the sun. “No. But I imagine it was someone important.”
“How right you are,” Howard Blake told her. “That was the famous Beau Brummell!”
“Really?” she was impressed. “They say he is the best-dressed man in all England.”
“It’s perfectly true,” Howard agreed. “At the moment he is newsworthy because he has annoyed the Prince Regent with his waspish tongue.”
“Oh?”
Howard nodded. “The Prince Regent is touchy about his stoutness and Beau Brummell has continually made cutting comments about it. The story is the Prince Regent will no longer speak to him nor permit him access to his inner circle.”
“That must be distressing for a man who is known as a social butterfly,” Mary said. “If court circles snub him he will hardly be accepted anywhere.”
“True,” the young man at her side agreed. “It could well mean that poor Beau may have to leave England. And that couid be disastrous for him.”
The carriage rolled on and Mary pointed out a group of youngsters frolicking on the grass with a little white dog.
“How charming they look!” she exclaimed.
Howard gave her a meaningful look. “It would seem you’ll have plenty of dogs in your future but no children such as those you’ve just admired.”
“Howard!” she said in reproach. “You promised you would not bring up that subject if I saw you this afternoon.”
“I’m sorry,” he apologized. “I didn’t mean to break my word. But I can’t bear to think of you married to that eccentric old man!”
“Lord Patrick Carter is thoughtful and kindly,” she defended her husband-to-be. “I know he will offer me a good life.”
“You’ll become another of his pampered pets!” Howard said his young face crimson with anger. “Everyone laughs at him and his dressed-up dogs!”
“If he wishes to indulge in that bit of nonsense he can well afford it,” she retorted. “He knows he is the butt of rude humor but he
does not mind. He has a cynical view of human beings and that is why he prefers dogs!”
“And why are you marrying him?” Howard wanted to know.
Mary was unable to make a proper reply to this. She could not tell him that she had loved someone who now was lost to her, and that she had decided on this course in a fury of despair. Nor could she explain, that though she might have considered marrying him, this was impossible because of the relationship which had existed between herself and his brother.
To change the subject, she quickly said, “What have you heard from your brother in India?”
Howard frowned. “He was wounded in a night attack. But he is recovering.”
“Will he soon return to England?”
“Probably,” Howard said. “Why are you so interested? You have not met him.”
“You are wrong,” she said. “I met him once at a party given by the Prince Regent. He asked me to dance and I refused. I did not like him. He seemed far too arrogant, not at all like you.”
Howard smiled grimly. “I’m at least pleased you prefer me to my brother.”
“He is in no way your equal,” she said.
“Still he will succeed to the title,” Howard told her. “I am only the second son.”
“You will do well enough,” she said with a smile and patted his hand as the driver swung the carriage around and started back along the same roadway on which they had come.
“What sort of parents are the Waddingtons to allow you to marry a senile old man?” Howard wanted to know.
“They have not swayed me,” she said. “The decision is my own. I’m sorry for his loneliness and I do not wish to make any other match.”
“Is there nothing I can say to dissuade you from this mad decision?” the young man asked.
“Nothing.”
He was silent for a moment. Then with a deep sigh, he said, “I shall always go on loving you but it would be wrong for me to see you again.”
“I agree,” she said.
He looked straight ahead, distress shadowing his pleasant face. “I do not know what the future holds for me.”
“You will meet a charming girl of your own social set and marry,” she said.
Vintage Love Page 150