Three Weeks with a Princess

by Vanessa Kelly

  Eventually, he jostled his way through to the back of the crowded saloon, where liveried footmen served refreshments. He gave Lester credit for creating an elegant atmosphere that had obviously attracted a fair number of nobility and other prosperous folk to the opening. Right now, though, he was tempted to throttle the man for throwing his stepdaughter to the wolves.

  He secured a glass of port and bolted it down in one shot. It seared its way down his throat and exploded in his stomach, but it did the trick of blunting the edge of his fury. Taking a deep breath, he began prowling the room, exchanging the occasional word with a friend but always moving.

  And listening.

  Although most of the discussion was about the leading lady and the plays, he overheard a number of the men talking about Lia in the most vulgar terms. Two particularly repugnant fellows were graphically parsing her figure, each vowing to seek her out in the green room after the performance. Jack was considering the best way to warn them off without exposing Lia’s identity when a voice blared right next to his ear.

  “I say, Lendale, I didn’t expect to see you here tonight. Theater ain’t usually your style, you know.”

  Sighing, Jack turned to greet Viscount Medford, a generally harmless rattle with an unfortunate tendency to gossip. He normally tried to avoid him, but Medford’s mother was bosom bows with Jack’s mother, so in all good conscience he couldn’t snub the poor fellow.

  “No, it isn’t,” he said tersely.

  Medford, never the sharpest of pins, peered at him with a puzzled expression. “Then what the devil are you doing here?”

  “I came with friends.” Jack caught sight of the Levertons making their way over. “If you’ll excuse me, I see them—”

  “Certainly, certainly,” Medford interrupted. “But before you dash off, I was wondering if you could do me a favor.”

  “If I can.”

  “Splendid. I was hoping you could introduce me to Mrs. Lester’s daughter after the performance. You must know her, of course, because she lived on your uncle’s estate all those years, did she not? Ah, perhaps that explains your presence. You’ve come to see your little friend. She’ll no doubt be very popular after tonight, eh? Let’s hope she’s as lively as her dear mama once was.”

  A series of small explosions reverberated through Jack’s skull.

  “I say,” the viscount said as consternation descended on his amiable features, “is she already your light o’ love? If so, didn’t mean to steal a march on you, old man. I was just hoping you could slip me ahead of the line. You know, before the other fellows got to her.”

  Before the top of Jack’s head could blow off—or he could smash in Medford’s vapid face—a slender gloved hand clamped onto the viscount’s arm and Gillian spun him around to face her. Medford gaped, obviously surprised by the strength contained in the slim body of the young woman standing before him.

  “I suggest you put that thought completely out of your mind,” she said in a voice that all but resembled a snarl.

  “How-do, Your Grace,” Medford said in a weak voice. “Um, what thought would that be again?”

  “Engaging in any kind of nasty thoughts, much less conduct, with my cousin,” she said.

  “Your Grace,” Jack warned, appalled that Gillian would so brashly allude to Lia’s parentage.

  When she held up an imperious hand, he bit back a curse. In that moment, she looked entirely like a woman with the blood of princes running through her veins. He cast a glance around the room. Where the hell was her husband?

  Jack spotted Charles across the room with Sir Dominic Hunter, a magistrate with close connections to the royal family—and to Lia’s family as well. The two appeared to be speaking earnestly.

  “Your cousin?” Medford repeated, peering at Gillian with all the comprehension of a plate of boiled potatoes. Then his brow cleared. “Yes, of course, Lia Kincaid is your cousin! You’re both royal bas—”

  “Careful, Medford,” Jack interrupted in a lethal voice.

  “Yes, of . . . of course,” Medford stammered, taking in Jack’s glare. “And I understand completely, Your Grace. No need to worry about a thing.”

  “There’d better not be,” Gillian said. “Now, please be off before I decide to become unpleasant.”

  Since Gillian’s version of unpleasantness could be an uppercut to the jaw or worse, Medford gave a fumbling bow and retreated, almost running into Charles.

  “That was not very wise of you, my love,” the duke said in disapproving tones.

  “What?” She rounded her eyes in a completely unconvincing assumption of innocence.

  “You know very well. Announcing to the world that Miss Kincaid is your cousin.”

  “You have the most disgustingly acute hearing,” she complained. “I was barely speaking above a whisper.”

  “Trust me, you weren’t,” Jack said, eyeing the people around them. Several had obviously heard the exchange with Medford and would no doubt be spreading the most interesting on-dit to hit Town in ages.

  Gillian shrugged. “It’s not as if people don’t know who our fathers are. They’d make the connection soon enough. I simply refuse to stand by and let people insult the poor girl.”

  “I understand, but I’d prefer that we not draw the picture for them until we have a chance to come up with a strategy to deal with the situation,” Charles said.

  Jack shook his head. “Too late for that now. We might as well go back to our seats and see what other disasters are in store for us.”

  Gillian grimaced. “I’m sorry, Jack. I didn’t mean to cause more problems.”

  He briefly pressed her shoulder. “None of this is your fault. It’s mine for making such a hash of things with Lia.”

  “Perhaps we can save the self-flagellation for after this gruesome evening has concluded,” Charles said dryly. “For now, I’d like to return to our box and pretend that I’m not in the middle of yet another spectacular scandal.”

  “But I never cause scandals anymore,” Gillian protested.

  Her husband scoffed as he took her hand and led her out of the rapidly emptying saloon.

  As they made their way in silence back to their box, Charles made a point of directing his most killing glare at anyone who stared at his wife or dared to start to comment. Because Jack did the same, they cleared their path like a hot knife slicing through butter.

  The curtain rose on A Surprise for the Publican’s Wife and, as its unfortunate title suggested, it was a bawdy romp that soon had the audience roaring with laughter. Fortunately, Mrs. Lester was not in the production; she rarely played comic roles. Jack could only imagine the glee that would result if Lia and her mother appeared on the stage together.

  As Jack waited for Lia to appear, it felt like the Sword of Damocles was poised over their heads. When she finally walked onto the stage, carrying a large pitcher on a tray, he took in her costume and barely held back a groan.

  “That’s not good,” said Gillian in a massive understatement.

  Playing a tavern girl, Lia wore a simple blouse tucked into a skirt that displayed her shapely legs well above her ankles. Her blouse was cut so low that the top of her stays peeked above the neckline, over which her breasts swelled in tempting mounds. Her hair was pulled back from her face to fall in an extravagant tumble around her shoulders. With her cheeks flushed, she looked madly delectable, as the whoops and cheers from the male members of the audience made all too clear.

  “Oh, God.” Charles sighed. “This is a complete disaster. I have no idea how we’re going to fix this.”

  “We’re going to—” Jack broke off and leaned forward, frowning.

  Balancing her tray, Lia walked carefully across the stage, where the leading lady and other actors were gathered around a table singing a ridiculous drinking song. Clearly, her role was to replenish their mugs. It seemed a simple enough task, but Lia had the oddest look on her face. Jack swore he could see her nose twitching.

  Because he’d spent a lif
etime getting to know her, he knew for a fact something was very wrong now.

  The lead actress held up her mug to be refilled, not missing a beat of the song. When Lia froze, the woman waggled her mug and shot her a quick, fierce scowl. Pressing her lips together, Lia reached for the pitcher.

  Before her hand touched it, she let out an enormous sneeze. It was so violent that the tray flew from her hands and the contents of the pitcher tipped onto the head of the leading lady. To the utter delight of the audience, the drenched and furious actress leaped up from her chair and commenced screeching in a voice loud enough to wake the dead.

  Chapter Nine

  “Mama, it truly wasn’t that bad,” Lia said after blowing her nose for possibly the hundredth time since she’d come offstage. All week she’d staved off the cold that had swept through the company, but her luck, alas, had finally run out.

  “And although my little mishap wasn’t very nice for either Miss Parker or Mr. Thompson,” she added, “no one was really hurt.”

  Her mother, pacing back and forth across her dressing room, stopped to wave her arms. “Not hurt? Reggie has a lump on his head the size of a goose egg.”

  “That’s because that confounded tray is so heavy,” Lia said. “Besides, Mr. Thompson was very nice and said he didn’t blame me at all.”

  “Unfortunately, Serena does blame you. She was completely humiliated.”

  Lia winced. “Yes, but she did overreact, you must admit. It wasn’t my fault she slipped and fell.”

  Serena Parker had kicked up an enormous fuss after Lia spilled the ale, flailing around with such vigor that she’d fallen on her backside. The actress’s screeching had reached operatic levels at that point. Lia’s ears were still ringing.

  “I don’t think the audience minded,” she added. “In fact, they found it rather hilarious.”

  So hilarious that the gentlemen in the pit had given Lia a standing ovation. Yes, it was awkward, but they were performing a comedy, after all. Her blunder clearly had added to the popularity of the piece.

  Her mother flopped down at her dressing table and began rubbing her temples. Lia understood exactly how she felt as she subsided into the old, cane-backed chair tucked next to the costume rack. Her head ached and she felt utterly miserable. All she wanted to do was to crawl into bed and stay under the covers, perhaps permanently.

  “Serena certainly did not find it hilarious,” Mama said. “She’s threatening to quit and go to another company after so profound a humiliation, as she called it.”

  “That’s unfortunate.”

  After her mother, Miss Parker was the most popular actress in the company. She brought in the crowds, which meant she had power. “I’ll be happy to apologize to her, Mama. I tried to do so immediately after the performance, but she stormed away from me. I can go right to the green room this instant and tell her how very sorry I am.”

  It was customary at the end of the evening for the performers to remain in costume and congregate in the green room, meeting the wealthier members of the audience there. It was an important part of the night, where a theatrical manager could find potential investors or patrons willing to purchase an expensive box for the season.

  Her mother bolted upright. “Please do not even think about doing so. Serena would cause a scene, and you need to learn, my dear, that a leading actress in a snit is something to be avoided at all costs.”

  Lia eyed her mother, who could have been describing herself. Naturally, she refrained from making that observation.

  “Besides,” Mama continued, “it would draw a great deal of inappropriate attention to you. That is something we also wish to avoid.”

  “If that’s the case, then I shouldn’t appear in any more breeches roles,” Lia said, stating the obvious. She’d done her best to carry it off, but she’d hated every moment of that particular theatrical experience. Feeling exposed and half-naked, she’d cringed at the leering gazes and ribald comments after the audience discovered she was a female.

  “Half the company has been felled by that awful infection, which left us short of actors,” her mother said in a plaintive voice. “How was I to know you would succumb as well?”

  “Please just tell me what I must do to correct the situation with Miss Parker. I’m willing to do anything.”

  “Well, that’s just it, darling. I’m afraid there is only one thing you can do. You must not perform anymore.”

  Lia had been fighting another sneeze, but that announcement knocked the ticklish feeling right out of her head. “You cannot be serious!”

  Her mother’s chin went up in a stubborn tilt. “I’m sorry, Lia, but Miss Parker told your stepfather right after the performance that she will quit the company if you continue to perform in any capacity. Even in walk-on roles.”

  “But that’s so unfair. It was an accident and she knows it.”

  “I do realize that, but Serena feels your departure from the company is necessary for her to recoup her dignity. She’s deeply concerned she will become an object of ridicule.”

  “And is that how you see it?” Lia didn’t have the energy to conceal the pain that her own mother would fail to defend her.

  Mama hesitated, as if weighing the question. But then one side of her mouth lifted in a grimace. “I’m sorry, dearest, but it can be fatal for an actress to become the object of mockery, even a comic actress. Serena is too sensitive, but I understand her concern.”

  Clearly, Marianne Lester sympathized more with her fellow actress than she did with her own daughter. That ugly little morsel of truth was a hard swallow.

  “But what am I to do?” Lia felt so miserable and desperate that her chest hurt. “You know better than anyone how limited my choices are. I can’t become a governess or a companion to a wealthy invalid—no one would have me.” In any case, those professions were akin to indentured servitude as far as she was concerned.

  Her mother folded her hands in her lap and adopted a perfectly calibrated expression of maternal regret. If only she truly were that maternal instead of playacting at motherhood.

  “My dearest daughter, it grieves me to the soul to be the one to bring about the ruination of your fondest dream.”

  When she heaved a dramatic sigh, fluttering a hand up to her heart, Lia had to work hard not to roll her eyes.

  “But I fear I must,” her mother continued. “To be blunt, you are not meant for a career on the stage. You are most welcome to remain with us in London for a spell. Your stepfather and I quite value your help backstage. But that is only a temporary solution. Sooner or later, I think you must return to Stonefell. I’m sure Lord Lendale will come up with some solution to your problem if you give him half a chance.”

  She shook her head. “That’s not a helpful suggestion, Mama. You know Jack can’t afford to support us. If you won’t let me continue with you, I will have to try another acting company. Perhaps you could put in a good word for me with some of the other company managers?”

  Her mother practically toppled off her stool. “I will do nothing of the sort. Can you imagine the gossip if we were to compete against each other in different theaters? I would be utterly humiliated—not to mention roundly criticized for not supporting my daughter in my own company.”

  It dawned on Lia that her mother’s refusal to help must be based at least partly on jealousy. Though Marianne Lester was incredibly popular and still very beautiful, the slightest hint of competition seemed too horrifying to contemplate, even if it meant depriving her daughter of the opportunity to make her way in the world.

  As Lia struggled to absorb the pain of that betrayal, a knock on the door interrupted them. Her stepfather cautiously opened the door. “I hate to interrupt, my love, but you and Lia have some visitors most eager to see you.”

  His wife fluttered her handkerchief in a distracted manner. “Stephen, I simply cannot bear the green room tonight. And Lia will certainly not be going out in public. You must make our excuses.”

  “They’re not i
n the green room, they’re—”

  Stephen bit off his words as the door jerked fully open and Jack elbowed him aside. Lia let out a quiet moan; it wanted only this to complete her humiliation. She’d seen Jack up in the boxes, of course, but she’d been certain he’d be too appalled by her performance to want anything to do with her.

  “Sweetheart, are you all right?” he asked, crouching down and taking her hands. “You didn’t get hurt in all that commotion, did you?”

  Actually, one of the other actors had trod very hard on her foot and her toes would be bruised for days. But that hardly seemed worth mentioning at the moment.

  She tried to tug her hands away, fighting an absurd desire to collapse into his arms and burst into tears. “I’m fine. There’s really no need to make such a fuss.”

  His fingers tightened in a gentle but determined grip. “You’re not fine. You look whey-faced and sickly.”

  “Thank you for that gracious assessment. Perhaps you’d better leave before you catch my cold.”

  “You know I never get sick,” he said, ignoring her sarcastic tone.

  He finally let go of one of her hands, rising to loom over her. He pressed his palm to her forehead, then her cheek. Lia suffered it with a sigh, hating that he was treating her like a child.

  “Right,” he said. “You have a fever. I’m taking you to your mother’s house and putting you to bed straightaway.”

  Lia blinked at the image that evoked—she and Jack in a heated tangle under crisp sheets. The notion was surprisingly enticing, especially considering how wretched she felt.

  He frowned. “Now you’ve gone flushed. Clearly, the London air and this theatrical environment have damaged your health. The sooner we get you well and back to Stonefell, the better.”

  He punctuated that comment by scowling at Lia’s mother, who bristled like a hedgehog, albeit one dressed as a Greek goddess.