“And who would do such a thing? Colman and the other theater managers?” She knew they were critical and did not wish her well, but to be violent? Actors did not toss things at other actors on the stage. It was just not done.
“The name I was given was Rovington. A man called Rovington is said to have hired men to embarrass you. He is determined to shut your play down. I’m sorry, Sarah, I won’t go on. I’ve been in front of a crowd like that before. A man can be seriously injured and if I can’t work, then what happens to me? It does nothing for my reputation in the theater. My advice is to delay the opening—”
“Is that what you are being paid to say?” Sarah accused, stepping forward. The mention of Lord Rovington did shake her, but she could not afford to let Thom frighten the other actors. She had a full house. It would be a nightmare to account for all and return money.
“Paid?” Thom blustered as if offended but, as was so often the case in his acting on stage, his response was not truly convincing.
“Yes, paid,” she snapped. “Was this part of a plot from the beginning or did someone approach you recently, about the time you started showing up late for rehearsals?” She didn’t wait for an answer. She suddenly knew the truth. Thom had been planted in their midst to disrupt her play. “Go. Leave. We don’t need you.”
“Sarah, trust me, you do not want to go out there. If you show your face—”
“I said leave.” If she’d had a stick in her hand, she would have chased him with it. Thom appeared affronted, and then dashed out the door like the coward he was.
She turned and addressed the other actors. “I know Lord Rovington. He is a scoundrel, a man without honor. It is also possible that he would do what he could to upset this night, but we won’t let him.”
She spoke as a general rallying the troops because that is what the cast needed. No actor wanted to play before a hostile crowd. “We also don’t know if anything Thom said is true. It actually sounds quite fantastic,” she continued—and then seeing Lady Baldwin by the door where she had apparently been listening, drew her friend into the conversation. “Does it not, my lady?”
Lady Baldwin did not sound terribly confident as she chimed in loyally, “The seats are filled. Everyone is expecting a good evening.” She stepped back.
“Marcus,” Sarah said to a young man standing to the back of the group. “You are Thom’s understudy. Tonight is your opportunity to shine upon the stage.” He was of middling height with lank brown hair and a huge nose—not exactly the characteristics Sarah had imagined for her romantic hero Jonathan Goodwell, but she had never expected Thom to not go on.
Instead of stoutly agreeing, Marcus shook his head. “I don’t know, Sarah. Thom is right about the risk going out there. I don’t know that I can play the part, what with worrying about a cabbage being thrown at my head. Those things can be as hard as a rock.”
“You must,” she insisted. “Without you, we don’t have a play.”
“Perhaps that might be for the best,” Louisa, one of the actresses, suggested. Several heads nodded.
Sarah could not let her show close. “We don’t know that Thom is telling the truth.”
“When was the last time there was a theater this full for new play and a new manager?” Louisa said. “Sarah, it may be a trap. We will all be ruined—”
Sarah jumped up on a chair. “Not if we keep our heads. What if the excitement is because word has spread about the play? What if everyone is here to be the first to witness our triumph?”
“Are you talking about a London crowd?” one of the actors scoffed. By the looks on their faces, the other actors agreed with him.
“I can’t do it,” Marcus said. “I’m out.” He flew from the room. Sarah tried to step in front of him but he dodged her.
“That is it,” Louisa said. “Without Thom or Marcus, we can’t put on the play—”
“Or I can play the part,” said a familiar male voice from the doorway.
The Duke of Baynton stepped forward from where he had obviously been listening outside the door.
Sarah stared at him, a thousand different emotions assailing her at once. She wanted to fly into his arms, she wanted to hurl things at him, she wanted to embrace him . . . His presence threw her off. He looked so noble and handsome standing there.
And what was she? A failure. He was right to choose the young, lovely heiress. Sarah would never be anything.
“I know the role,” Gavin said as if interpreting her silence for doubt. “I have the lines memorized and I believe I’ve seen enough of the rehearsals to have a general idea of where to move.”
“But you have never been on stage,” Sarah reminded him. “It won’t work. It can’t work. We are done.”
Lady Baldwin voiced all the actors’ opinions when she said, “Why won’t it work? His Grace would be perfect for the part. And this Rovington would not dare to throw anything at the Duke of Baynton.”
“Rovington?” Gavin asked.
“Yes,” Lady Baldwin, always the chatterbox, said. “We have learned he has paid men to ruin the play. He wants to ruin and disgrace Sarah.”
That was not true. Rovington was after Gavin and he and Sarah knew it.
“I am definitely playing the role,” Gavin said. “And,” he continued, raising his voice to include the others, “I will double your wages for this evening. You will have earned it if Rovington and I come to blows.”
A cheer went up among the actors.
Sarah did not join them. She wanted to run from the room, from London, perhaps even from England.
Gavin came to her. “Sarah, don’t back down now,” he said in a voice only the two of them could hear. “You have more courage than this.”
“Do I?” She could almost laugh but the sound would be too bitter. Her actors already were continuing to prepare for their parts. The matter was solved. Her play would go on.
Gavin had watched her struggle with her emotions. He understood why she did not want to rely on him. Besides their argument last night, she was not one to ask for help, especially his help.
And yet he was not sorry for this opportunity.
He had come backstage to wish her well. The moment he’d set eyes on her, he’d realized he would be a fool to lose her. His Sarah had more spirit in her small finger than a battalion of men had in their whole bodies.
The weight of the play was on her shoulders. But he was here now. He’d not let Rovington or anyone harm her.
She sized him up. “Your breeches are fine for the part as is your shirt. We will have to use your jacket as well.” He had on a well-tailored coat of marine superfine. “Tie a less complicated knot in your neck cloth.”
Gavin obeyed. While he did, she took a painted wooden sword from one of the other actors. “Wear this.”
Gavin buckled the sword on and stepped back.
“Better,” she snapped. She handed him the actor’s tricorn hat. Her gaze had not met his since he’d come backstage and volunteered for the part. There was definitely a divide between them.
As they walked to the stage, Sarah said, “You know the lines, but saying them is different when one is in front of an audience. If you become lost, look to me and I’ll mouth the words to you.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Her back straightened at his humble response, but she ignored it.
“You enter through the door on the opposite side of the stage,” Sarah directed and pointed him in the right direction while she took her place on the stage. The curtain had not yet been opened and he crossed to the other side.
The sounds of the audience were quite audible. Gavin could imagine them restless. It was past time for the play to start. He had been part of that crowd. He’d seen more than a few people he knew.
He thought of his mother and Dame Imogen in his box. This was not going to go over well . . . and yet, he was excited. Thrilled actually. He was about to test his mettle on the stage.
Gavin had not noticed Rov when he’d been out t
here, but that didn’t mean the man wasn’t there.
After a nod from Sarah that all were in their places, Lady Baldwin stepped out in front of the curtain. Gavin listened to her welcome the audience and then announce a change in the players. “The male lead will be played by—” she paused dramatically “—the Duke of Baynton.”
Her announcement was met with a stunned silence followed by twitters of interest.
Lady Baldwin retreated behind the curtain. “I did see some cabbages, Sarah,” she warned.
“You did?” Sarah squared her shoulders. “I was hoping that Thom was wrong.”
“It is hard to hide the cabbages. The small fruits and vegetables they can sneak in but with cabbages there is that tell-all bulge.”
“Is it sporting to throw cabbages back?” Gavin wanted to know. The male actors laughed and nodded at the thought.
Sarah was not so amused. “Not unless you want to start a riot.”
“Then you’d best be a good dodger, Your Grace,” one of the lads said.
That was met with good-natured laughing and a bit of the tension broke.
Lady Baldwin vanquished the rest when she said, “Oh, and, Your Grace?”
“Yes?”
“Is your mother, the dowager, in your box?”
“She is. With my aunt.”
“Well, when I made the announcement, one of them swooned. I’m not certain which.”
“Thank you, Lady Baldwin.” There would be the devil to pay for this, and Gavin felt himself smile.
“Oh, don’t worry, Your Grace,” Lady Baldwin said. “The woman with her, an older woman, called for sherry, so all should be fine.”
Gavin could only imagine the picture of his mother and Imogen fortifying themselves with sherry throughout the play. He’d have to carry them both home. Now he grinned outright and the other actors joined him.
Only Sarah was all business. She snapped her fingers. “Enough talk. To your places.” She gave a sign, and the curtain opened.
Gavin could see the audience from where he waited although they could not see him, he didn’t think. The actress named Louisa stood beside him. She played the Widow’s nosy sister. It was a choice part. She now advised Gavin to never look at the audience, especially when one is on stage.
Sarah said the opening lines and the play was on. Louisa knocked on the door and entered the stage. Gavin hung back. It would be some time before Jonathan Goodwell would be called upon. It gave him the opportunity to watch the other actors work.
Sarah was a marvel. She had donned Peregrine’s persona and seemed completely at ease.
At one point, someone from the pit yelled, “Why don’t you dance naked for us, Siren?” However, before Gavin could think to react, the audience itself shushed the person who had shouted.
They were already involved in the play.
However, Gavin had to see who had called out. Against Louisa’s advice, he edged to where he could look out and there was Rovington.
His Lordship did not look completely like himself. Rov wore a white bagwig and what appeared to be a cobbler’s coat. Damn the man. Did he not think he would be recognized?
Gavin had half a mind to leave his post, make his way into the audience and pull the wig off the scoundrel’s head.
Unfortunately, it was time for him to go on stage. He heard his cue to knock on the door as Louisa had done.
The Widow said, “Please enter.”
Gavin walked through the portal and was met with enthusiastic applause. Gavin was stunned.
Sarah took a step close to him. Out of the side of her mouth, she said, “Bow. Acknowledge them.”
Gavin obeyed. He made a courtly bow and earned a few cheers. Then audience grew quiet, a signal for the play to continue.
However, before Gavin could deliver his first line, Rov’s voice shouted out, “So now do we have the opportunity to watch him poke her in front of us?” His comment was met with a few ribald laughs.
Sarah edged close. “Ignore him.”
“Show us your legs, lovely Sarah,” Rovington called and started clapping. A scattering of others took up clapping, and Gavin knew if he didn’t address Rov, the situation would grow worse. Either way, Sarah’s play would be ruined. All people would remember on the morrow would be Rovington’s crude comments.
Gavin walked to the edge of the stage.
The crowd grew silent. “Lord Rovington,” Gavin acknowledged, “I see you in disguise.”
Heads turned, searching for Rov. Some spied him.
Gavin placed his hand on the hilt of his wooden sword. “Are you asking for a rematch?”
The word of their duel had spread. Many in this room knew that Rov had disgraced himself. Most believed that by firing before the count, he had attempted murder, and now Gavin was calling him out by name. This was the sort of drama theatergoers liked.
Knowing he held the attention in the room, Gavin challenged quietly, “Or is there nothing of the gentleman left in you?”
Rov stood. He pulled off the wig. “You are a terrible actor, Your Grace.”
“But I am an excellent swordsman. Far better than I am a marksman.”
“Go on with your play.”
“No,” Gavin said easily. “We shall settle this between us. You came this night to destroy what this woman has created. You wish to make a mockery of not only the cast, but all those in this room who have gathered for the enjoyment of a play. Let us, you and I, give them entertainment, Rovington. The sort they will not forget soon. Mrs. Pettijohn, fetch another sword. I’ve challenged his lordship.”
“Are you mad?” Rov demanded.
“Is it madness to do what is honorable?” Gavin asked. He held up his wooden sword and then smiled down at Rov. “I think not. But let us ask our audience. My friends,” Gavin spoke to those in the boxes and in the pit, “Lord Rovington has come disguised to start a riot. He thinks to strike out at me by making a mockery of Mrs. Pettijohn, a woman I sincerely admire.”
Gavin had not looked over to the box where his mother sat. He knew she would not be pleased, but he was enjoying himself. This was far more fun than addressing Parliament.
“Now I ask you,” Gavin continued. “Should I not avenge her good name?”
Heads nodded. Fans fluttered. There was murmuring through the audience. “Yes,” one woman called out. It may have been Lady Baldwin. Gavin was not certain; however, the emphatic word was soon echoed and then the crowd began clapping and calling for a duel with wooden swords between Rovington and Gavin.
Gavin took the sword that Sarah had taken from one of the other actors. Her expression was worried.
“I know what I’m doing,” he promised.
“That’s what I fear,” she answered and Gavin couldn’t help himself—he had to kiss her on the forehead, right there in front of everyone. It was a playful gesture. An affectionate one.
He held the wooden sword out. “Lord Rovington, you came here with cabbages to toss at this stage. Now let us see if you are man enough to fight in the open and to be judged by your peers.”
Rov made his way down the bench to the aisle. People moved out of his way. Necks craned to watch his progress. They expected him to go to the stage. Instead, he stood in the aisle a moment, his head high, his shoulders back, and then he said, “I shall not play the fool, especially in front of your whore.”
On those fine words, he pivoted and started to walk out of the theater.
But Gavin would not let him off, not after calling Sarah that name.
Gavin hefted the wooden sword in his hand. With a strength that would have made his Norman ancestors proud, he threw it at Rov’s retreating figure.
The sword turned like a knife in the air. The flat of it hit Rovington’s back; the hilt thumped him in the head. Rov went down like a sack of bricks.
There was a stunned silence in the theater. The closest man to Rov’s prone figure leaned over in his seat and inspected him. “He is out cold,” he reported. He looked him over again
. “He’ll come to. His head will ache though.” The statement was met with laughter.
“Good,” Gavin said. “Remove him from this place.”
Several men jumped up to do as he bid. Rovington was carried out of the Bishop’s Hill to the sound of catcalls and hoots of derision.
Gavin addressed the audience. “There are men here whom I believe Lord Rovington hired to disrupt this play. I advise them to mind their manners. Or, I shall deliver to them the same treatment but with less respect. Am I understood?”
No one answered, but Gavin knew his message was clear.
“Very well,” he said. “Let us continue with the play.” He went back over to the door on stage, exited it, knocked, and made his entrance.
Once again he was greeted with applause and it was louder and wilder than before.
Gavin wondered what Sarah was thinking. He had no way of knowing because she delivered her line and off they went in their parts.
Just as they had for so many evenings.
Only this time, there was a difference. They wore the costumes and they were surrounded by a theater full of people who wanted them to be who they were, the Widow Peregrine and Jonathan Goodwell. The mantle of Duke of Baynton slipped away.
Gavin found himself responding to Sarah’s character in a way that was meaningful and real if only for this moment on stage.
The audience became involved. They laughed at all the right moments. They grew serious when the characters had need of introspection and doubt, and Gavin could feel them rooting for his character to win the Widow, to succeed in his pursuit of love. To be the noble hero who was still just a man.
And isn’t that what he wanted for himself?
Yes, he had worked hard to build his reputation but after everything was said and done, he was only a man—one who hadn’t realized how lonely he’d been until Sarah.
Now, acting with her, saying the words she had written, he knew there would never be another woman for him.
Ever.
It was exactly as Fyclan Morris had said—she was his destiny. The One.
A Date at the Altar Page 23