by Jaima Fixsen
“I hope you have a fine time,” Laura said, ruffling his hair in the split second before he ran off.
She spent the morning copying minutes from Anna’s mother’s Benevolent Society and tallying donations for their vaccination campaign. In the afternoon she walked with the Morrises and their son in the small square nearby. Anna was in high spirits, having persuaded her husband to escort her to a public dissection.
“I’ve seen enough gore for a lifetime,” he said, “but Anna finds it interesting.”
“Doctor Ferguson is so skilled, he’s able to demonstrate how the hands work,” Anna said happily. “You should come.”
“Jasper’s asked me to go driving,” Laura said, grateful for the excuse.
“Maybe next time,” Alistair said with a smile.
They waved Laura off in the early evening.
“Good luck,” Anna said.
Laura grinned. “The correct thing to say before a performance is break a leg.”
“Really?” Anna’s look made her disapproval plain. “That’s incredibly silly.”
“We’re a silly lot I’m afraid,” Laura said.
“You aren’t. I’ll be watching tonight. Take him down.”
“Saltash?” Laura clarified.
“Yes, but I wouldn’t stop there. Go for the lot of them.”
Laura laughed. “I’ll certainly try.” For a moment the empty space between them threatened to dissolve into a hug, but they held back a second too long. “I’ll look for you at the curtain,” Laura said, dashing down the steps to the waiting carriage. In a week or so perhaps a hug between them would be acceptable. Today was too soon.
It was comforting to forget herself in the familiar panic before a show—in last-minute checks, line revisions, frantic searches for stray props, and hasty costume repairs. Dan got in a towering fury when Rollins suggested trimming one of his speeches, and Alice, Laura’s sulking understudy, was only partly mollified by an additional scene and Laura’s assurance she was no longer required to act as her maid.
The bell rang and they hovered in the wings while Dan gave the prologue. He swept off stage to generous applause, his smile triumphant. The orchestra played a snatch of music to give them a few last seconds to organize their thoughts and take their places. Laura stiffened her spine, absorbing the voice and manners of yet another Maria—some playwrights weren’t that imaginative with names.
The curtain rose and Laura plunged into brilliant light and heated air. Her heart jumped, then steadied. She was Maria, and her lines came like she’d thought of them herself.
“If you’d given me more of a chance,” Alice began bitterly as they exited stage left and raced for the dressing rooms.
“You’ll get another,” Laura interrupted. “I won’t last. None of us do. You’d be wise not to forget it.”
Be patient. You’d feel bad too after a burst of success that was suddenly snuffed, Laura told herself. If she wasn’t careful, Alice might decide to lock her into a wardrobe.
No time to worry about it. Kate, hurrying from another errand, helped Laura out of her breeches, which fit more snugly than usual. “Sorry. I’ve gotten thicker,” Laura admitted. Soft living in Suffolk had downsides.
“I can let the breeches out a stitch or two,” Kate said in her soft lisp.
“Don’t trouble,” Laura said. No harm in giving the audience a jolt. Most of them seemed to like it. Kate helped Laura into her gown and hooked her up the back, since Laura had offered Betty’s services to Alice as a sop to pacify her. Laura was getting used to Betty, but Kate had gentler hands.
“Thank you, Kate.” She kissed the girl’s crumpled mouth, dropped a pat on her smooth hair, then slipped out and made her way back to the wings. She flashed a smile at Peter as she went and one at Dan, who lounged on a stool next to the curtain puller on the far side of the stage. No mistakes; Rollins was counting on her. The orchestra finished one piece and struck up another, so Laura took the chance to peer through a worn place in the curtain. Silly, imagining she could see clearly through that bit of ruined velvet when it was difficult to distinguish the pit from the boxes. Saltash hadn’t been present in the first act but he was here now, she felt sure of it. The shadows in his box had different shapes. Her heart hadn’t beat this fast during a play in years.
He was a duke; she, practically nothing, but she’d won this life of hers with skill and schemes and luck and wouldn’t let some cold-hearted gargoyle steal it away. It was hers and worth guarding—even from her brother. She’d written to tell Jack of her safe arrival, but she didn’t expect a reply.
Time for Maria’s problems. Laura waited for a nod from the prompter, then gathered her breath as the curtain parted.
Chapter Eighteen
Good fun
Jasper knew Laura’s character began the second act; he even knew all the words. The orchestra’s swell and dramatic crash into silence told him the moment was come. Still, as she flew into the speech he caught his breath. Foolish of him. She knew what she was about, winning them with words and gesture and feeling. Retreating behind a door in the set to generous applause, there came a check. Saltash rose abruptly, turned his back and left, followed by his baffled guests.
“Bless me, what is that scuffling?” Laura said, peeking out from the door, alerted by the stir in the audience. “Rats? Vermin?” She winked, the crowd laughed and the Welsh actor came on, starting with mock surprise at the sight of Laura, half out of her hiding place. Improvising, they fell into a discussion on rats—when the rat catcher must be called and what good people could do to convince them to leave on their own.
“Perform, my dear! Perform! Everyone knows the vile creatures can’t stand good theatre,” the actor said. Just as well Saltash was gone for the audience collapsed in a wave of laughter. Deftly, before they stopped crowing, Laura and her partner returned to the script. There was a comic miscommunication, a series of flying exits and entrances, then a shuddering scene change and the actors were parading back and forth in front of a painted forest. After a sword fight and Laura in breeches once again, fleeing the amorous pursuit of the rival actress Sarah Rawlings, the drama of Saltash’s snub retreated, but Jasper knew the gears of speculation would be whirring again once the show ended. For such a gudgeon, Saltash had a real talent for magnifying things all out of proportion. Served him right.
Laura muffed a line late in the third act but turned the lapse in a blink and earned a laugh. “She’s marvelous, Jasper,” Anna whispered beside him, intent on the drama. “Are you sure you’re as high-minded as you claim?”
Alistair cut in before he could reply. “If not he only has himself to blame. We’ll see how long he sticks to his resolve. I warned him consciences are expensive.” He looked smug.
Easy for Alistair. Anna hadn’t taken too long to fall in love with him. Though they’d traveled a difficult road, at least they’d found one together. Anna adored his cousin; Laura saw him as merely useful. He’d like to see Alistair in his shoes—course, Alistair probably wouldn’t mind being able to wear two of them. In his place, then. It wasn’t a joke, bound by scruples to behave honorably while being tempted beyond what any man should have to bear. He shouldn’t have kissed her. It was torment, now he knew how good it could be.
The only consolation he had was that everyone would think he was having her. A paltry satisfaction that grew feebler the longer he spent with her. Suppose the time came when he was no longer satisfied with just the illusion?
It was foolish to allow thoughts like that.
When the curtain fell the house shook with applause and not just for Laura. The company had been exceptional tonight. “Quick,” Protheroe said, rising behind him. “We’ll never make our way through the crush if we don’t hurry.”
“Go ahead,” Jasper said. He gathered himself slowly, apologizing to Anna for parting company.
“I expect we’ll see you again before too long,” she said, a stern slant in her brows.
“Naturally.” He kissed
her hand, bowed to his cousin, and struggled into the packed corridor, Boz lamenting at his heels.
“I wish you’d give over. Neither of you will win this bet. Even if she gives up that fellow in the mask.”
Shaking himself free of gloomy thoughts, Jasper allowed himself a smile. True, he couldn’t have everything, but that needn’t stop him from enjoying this particular pleasure.
The usual sample of gentlemen clustered outside her door: tall, short, some young, some only wishing they were, specimens from the rich and titled, and some with only one of these two virtues. Even pride wouldn’t let Jasper think he was Gemma Holyrood’s natural choice. There was Smyth-Gordon, for instance, heir to an earldom with a reputation for indulging his mistresses. And Mercer, who, if he chose, might fill a lake with his money. Kind-hearted Protheroe was intellectual, easy with his fortune and…useless to go on, really. The point was she’d chosen him, no matter the reason.
Jasper fought his way through the press with a growing smile. At the time he’d been the only weapon to hand and she hadn’t been thinking reasonably, but still…he would pass through her door and judging by the look on Peter’s face, no one else would. It was something of a relief to Peter, Jasper realized. It was dangerous setting her in front of this pack of panting dogs night after night. No wonder Brother Jack was so lined about the eyes.
“Mr. Samuels!” Jasper called to Peter through the thicket of tailored coats.
“Mr. Rushford, sir! Excuse me gentlemen,” Peter said, trying to clear a path to the door. “Yon fellow’s—”
“Will my so delightful dumpling be receiving tonight?” Jasper asked. Ahead of him Protheroe gasped.
“Just you, sir,” Peter said. The low-toned banter and jockeying for places ceased.
“What an agreeable girl,” Jasper drawled. “Is she ready for me?”
In a perfectly timed answer, the door swung open.
“My, what a flattering horde!” Laura sparkled in a patterned dressing gown and the rest of her Holyrood attire. “It quite breaks my heart, having to tell you—”
“Darling.” Jasper swept to her side and laid finger on her lips. “You are quite the sweetest rogue I’ve ever seen, but another word and you’ll surely break mine. Don’t make me wait any longer.” He glanced back over his shoulder. Protheroe’s jaw hung open. He was as dumbfounded as the rest of them.
“What happened to the other one?” some artless young pup asked.
“No others now,” Jasper grinned. “Night, boys.” Laura pulled him inside and he shut the door.
“Enjoying yourself?” Laura handed him a handkerchief.
“Exquisitely.” Jasper broke off his suppressed laughter and wiped his eyes. “Even if I have to give Protheroe back his two hundred it was worth it.” He chuckled again. “But maybe I won’t. As a mistress you’ve made me exceedingly happy.”
“Have you been drinking?” Laura asked.
“Only my own high spirits,” Jasper retorted. “Congratulations. You were wonderful.”
“So were you,” she said. “That was quite a performance.”
With false modesty Jasper dropped his gaze to inspect his fingers.
“How long do you think before it will be safe for us to leave?” Laura asked.
“A few hours yet.” Jasper said. “Betty, help her change into something inconspicuous so we don’t draw any eyes when we bring Miss Edwards back to Basil Street.” He reached into his waistcoat pocket for a small packet. “Laura, my dear, I hope you like cards.”
*****
It was fitting, Laura supposed, that after all her frenzied imagining on the drive to London she and Jasper passed what remained of the evening squabbling like children over cards, winning and losing fortunes in hairpins while Betty nodded in her chair with her feet resting on a cushion.
“She should probably stay awake,” Jasper whispered to Laura.
“I’m not making her,” Laura said. “She’s been up since before dawn. That’s inhuman.”
Jasper shrugged. “She’s here and that’s what matters I suppose.” He didn’t seem convinced.
Laura’s eyes flew to the ceiling. “Aren’t you supposedly impossible to seduce?”
“I’m a gentleman. I’d never say.” He pretended to be wounded.
“You and I both know I’m quite safe.”
“Your virtue at least. Not your pins.” He laid a card that made her groan and push over her dwindling pile. “You’re not very good. I’ll have to watch you when we go to Mrs. Reeves’.”
“Why not the one in Pickering Place?” Laura huffed, annoyed he’d tease her with absurdities. Both were gambling hells, but select for all that. He couldn’t bring her there.
“Oh, we’ll visit Pickering Place too,” Jasper said. “Eventually. Climb our way up—or down if you like.”
“Heavens. You’ll be promising me a voucher for Almack’s next.” Laura said.
“Lord, no. I can’t stand the place.” Not that she’d ever under any circumstances be admitted to that temple of snobbery. “What is it?” he asked and Laura realized she was staring at him again.
“You’re kind to me,” she said, unwilling to hide her feelings behind a joke this time. He’d spoken in earnest—so far as he was capable at least—and you didn’t expect that from scapegrace tricksters.
“Why wouldn’t I be? I’m not an ogre—or at least I wasn’t last time I checked. You must mention it, should you see me getting knobby round the knuckles and toes or if a hump sprouts on my back.”
“I’ll watch for signs.” Laura dealt out the cards. “What about Saltash?”
He chuckled. “For someone so concerned about scandal he really goes about it the wrong way. If people aren’t already saying you chose me over him, your bit with the rats was more than enough.”
Laura smiled. “He’ll be furious.”
“A tight-buttoned fellow like that? He might just explode. Now there’s a way to end to your difficulties. If I was a praying man—”
“Be serious,” Laura said.
“Can he hurt Rollins?”
She considered. “I don’t think so. Rollins has some debts from a failed show last year but trusts the man holding them. Saltash can’t know of them.”
“And you’re safe in Basil Street with Betty looking out for you. We won’t let out you are there.”
“No, that would ruin things rather spectacularly.”
“Not quite the sensation you were looking for? Me neither. So much more fun this way.”
“You enjoy the notoriety?” Laura asked.
“Oh yes.” He smiled and again swept away her cards. “Don’t worry about Saltash. We’ll just have to wait and see how he plays his hand.”
Chapter Nineteen
Henrietta is displeased
Jasper slept later than usual after the long night at the theatre but woke to good news. There was a splashy piece about him and Miss Holyrood in the paper and a note with two hundred pounds from Protheroe. The terse phrases weren’t quite provoking enough to quarrel over, but they were close. Smiling, Jasper stuffed the money into an empty mug and tucked the note into the frame of the mirror over the mantel. He had no intention of letting Protheroe call him out, but it would be amusing to look in on him. Tomorrow perhaps. Give the fellow a little time to drown his sorrows.
Jasper wasn’t quite dressed when someone banged open the door.
“You!” His sister Henrietta marched toward him, flags of angry color streaming across her cheeks.
Jasper glanced at his valet and hastily reached for his coat.
“You were expecting someone else?” He struggled into the sleeves. “Really Hen, bad enough to come round here as it is, but not the thing at all if you aren’t looking for your brother. I’m not even dressed. What will your husband say?”
“How could you?” Henrietta said. She wasn’t as good at the dramatic lines as Laura, but Jasper thought it prudent to move behind a chair.
“What did I do this time? Fawkes, w
ould you—?” His valet, not needing extra urging, melted away.
“You know perfectly well. I thought you were better than this!”
Glancing at the door, Jasper wondered if it might have been poor strategy to send his servant away. Henrietta hadn’t been the least inhibited by Fawkes’ presence, but now that she had him alone there was no telling what she’d do.
“Calm yourself. What—”
Henrietta sucked in a breath through clenched teeth.
“Think of the baby!” Jasper interjected.
She scowled. “What do you mean, taking up with Miss Holyrood?”
“Is that all? You’re supposed to pretend not to know such things,” Jasper argued.
“An actress?”
“It’s quite fashionable to have one of those. She looks good on my arm.”
“And black eyes? Are they fashionable too? I’ll make you a present of a fine one.”
Jasper took another step back. If it was come to that, he’d rather she delegated the business to her husband. Percy hardly ever left his library. Though hard to rouse, Henrietta had a wicked temper and a good arm. She marched closer, fury crackling from her fingertips to her clenched chin.
“She’s so alive,” Jasper said helplessly.
Henrietta stopped, her chest heaving. “Merciful God,” she said. “You’re in love with her.”
“I am not,” Jasper retorted, a little too late. Laura was witty, brave to the point of foolhardiness, and dashed easy on the eyes. She was a prize to flaunt in front of the world and a friend to tease in private. She wasn’t…
“Of course you’d deny it,” Henrietta said gloomily. “What’s to be done?”
“You’re quite mistaken. I have the situation well in hand,” Jasper said quickly. Henrietta was simply overwrought by her condition and her love for melodrama. “It will be best for all concerned if you leave me alone. Go home. Some tabby may have seen you get out of the hackney.”
“I drove my own carriage,” she said.