The Captain's Daughter (London Beginnings Book #1)

by Jennifer Delamere

  He thought he saw a glimmer of tears in her eyes, as well. The stage makeup looked garish up close. It was smearing in places, the result of performing so energetically for nearly three hours under the hot lights. There was a sheen of perspiration on her brow, and her hair was tousled from the moment when she and all the ladies removed their sleeping caps to take their final bows. And with all of this, she was still beautiful.

  “I don’t mind a little greasepaint,” he said. He couldn’t resist reaching up with his thumb to gently remove a smudge near her eyes. Warm, lovely brown eyes that were regarding him intently. “Not nearly as bad as the stuff that gets on me at the stables.”

  It was a foolish thing to say, but at least it eased some of the intense emotion battle-ramming him.

  She said with a teasing lilt, “I think you might have placed the limelight on me more times than was strictly directed by Mr. Gunn’s prompt book.”

  “I felt the performance merited it.”

  She beamed at him. “I could feel when the light was on me. It was an extraordinary sensation. I can understand why actors begin to crave it.”

  She lifted her face and inhaled deeply, as though gleefully recalling the experience. Nate realized what he’d done. While he’d been worrying about her going into acting tonight, his actions had spurred her desire to do just that.

  “It isn’t real,” he said sharply. “It only feeds vanity.”

  Her expression sobered. “Do you think I’m a vain person?”

  “No,” he said quickly, “that’s not what I meant.” Frustrated at his clumsy words, he tried again. “Rosalyn, be careful. You’ve had good experiences with the theater so far, but it isn’t always going to be this way. There are very real dangers to that life.”

  She wiped a strand of hair from her forehead, perhaps intending it to be a defiant gesture, but he saw a slight tremble in her hand. “Why are you telling me to take the safe route? Is that what you’re doing by returning to the army?”

  Her voice held an edge of recrimination, the same kind of accusation laced with worry that he’d gotten from his family. His nerves felt raw and taut, knowing he could not truly explain to her why he was leaving.

  “I know it will be hard work, and I’ve a lot to learn,” Rosalyn continued. “But tonight on this stage, I felt something very real, very rewarding. It’s a chance to use this gift I’ve been given. I have to pursue it.”

  She spoke with absolute conviction. He loved that fire in her, but now it was scorching his heart. How ironic that he could wish for her to be happy and yet be so pained to see it. He reminded himself—yet again—that he was in no position to object to her decisions.

  “I won’t try to stop you,” Nate said. “You have every right to live your life as you see fit.”

  She blinked, as though unsure what to make of his words, whether he was agreeing with her or still fighting. “Thank you,” she said, evidently striving for neutral ground.

  The activity around them was winding down as most of the actors filtered off stage, bound for their dressing rooms. Nate noticed Hayes was still there, though, on the opposite side of the stage. He was speaking with one of the other actors, but his gaze kept flitting back to Rosalyn.

  “Are you coming to the party?” Rosalyn asked, referring to the supper Mr. Gunn had arranged for them.

  The hopefulness in her voice, despite the things he’d just said, twisted something inside him. Never in his life had Nate thought it possible to run through such a range of emotions in one day. And considering what he’d gone through in India, that was saying quite a lot. “No. I’ll be working to get everything packed up and to the station. The morning freight train leaves at six.”

  Rosalyn gave him a tremulous smile. “I’ll see you in London, then.”

  She placed her hand on his arm as she spoke. It was the same placating gesture she’d used the night they’d argued about her going to the railway station alone. This woman had so much kindness in her. He prayed it wouldn’t be wrung out of her by her associations with the theater.

  Her touch reminded him that just a few short minutes ago, he’d held her in his arms. He would give anything to relive that moment, but it had passed, never to return.

  “Three cheers to Messrs. Gilbert and Sullivan for providing this wonderful feast!”

  The actor who had played the pirate king lifted his glass as he spoke. Although he was three tables away from Rosalyn, she heard his resounding voice easily above the clamor.

  “Don’t forget Mr. Carte and Miss Lenoir!” someone called out. “I think, if left to make the decision, Mr. Gilbert would have sent us all home with nothing more than a ‘well done’ and maybe an apple.”

  “Do you think he’d have been that generous?” Tony quipped.

  The pirate king said, “Let us all raise our glasses once again to honor the venerable impresario Mr. D’Oyly Carte and his redoubtable assistant, Miss Lenoir, who, I believe, also has the title of this show’s producer.”

  Rosalyn joined in the toasts, but her happiness was tempered. The exaltation she’d experienced during the show had been muted by the unsettling discussion she’d had with Nate afterward. Why had he gone out of his way to give her the spotlight, and then roundly criticized her for liking it? It made no sense.

  Had she somehow offended him with her impulsive hug? She’d done it without thinking, carried away by the excitement of the moment. And he had not rejected her. Quite the opposite. He’d held her carefully—gingerly, even—as though she were made of glass. Yet it had felt surprisingly tender, too. For those few moments when she’d felt his breathing against hers, his warm arms around her waist, she’d been intensely happy. Even now as she recalled it, the sensations it aroused in her were impossible to define.

  From his seat beside her, Tony gave her shoulder a little nudge. “Rosalyn, are you there? I think we’ve lost you down the deep well of thought.”

  She gave him an apologetic smile. “It has been quite the trip. There is a lot to think about.”

  “I saw you talking with Moran after the show. Did he say something to upset you?”

  Rosalyn shook her head, not wanting to bring Tony into this particular problem. “It’s nothing.”

  “Is there something—anything particular—between you two?”

  Tony was asking, as he’d done once or twice before, whether Nate was her sweetheart. Unfortunately, the answer was far from straightforward. That there was something between them was undeniable. That nothing could come of it was equally true. That was what she must focus on.

  “He’s a good friend. Friends disagree sometimes, that’s all.”

  “I see.” Tony took her hand and caressed it, his bright blue eyes smiling into hers. “You were splendid out there tonight. You know that, don’t you? This is your moment to dream and to follow your heart. Don’t let anyone stop you.”

  “Thank you,” she said. “You’re right.”

  Tony pointed to her empty wine glass. “Let me refill that for you.”

  When the meal was over, Mr. Gunn announced, “London crew, don’t forget you are needed at the theater tomorrow night. Therefore I expect to see everyone in the hotel lobby, ready to leave for the station, at nine-fifteen tomorrow.”

  Elsie had been sitting at another table with some of the actors from Torquay, whom she knew from a previous touring production. “How can he expect us to be anywhere at nine in the morning?” Rosalyn heard her say woefully as she passed them on the way to the door. “I need my beauty sleep.” She stumbled over a chair that had been pushed back from one of the tables.

  Tony looked at her askance. “With the quantities of wine you’ve consumed, I should think you’d be able to sleep quite well tonight.”

  Elsie glared at Tony. “I don’t know how people the likes of you get any sleep at all.”

  She actually moved to slap him, but Tony stepped nimbly away. Caught off balance, Elsie wobbled dangerously.

  Sarah took her arm. “Let’s go,” sh
e urged, and guided Elsie from the room.

  Rosalyn hated to see the ugliness that kept cropping up between Elsie and Tony. This was the first time she’d seen Elsie try to strike him, though.

  Tony seemed to have immediately dismissed the matter from his thoughts. He settled his attention on Rosalyn, offering her his arm. “May I walk you back to your room?”

  She nodded. “Thank you.”

  But when they reached the third floor, Tony paused long before they reached the room Rosalyn was sharing with Helen and Elsie. He drew her closer. “There’s something I’d like to say to you tonight, if I may.”

  She looked at him expectantly. “Yes?”

  “It’s too important to say out here in the hallway where anyone might interrupt us.” He reached out and opened the door next to them. “Wait here.”

  Rosalyn stood alone, looking around uneasily. After a moment, Tony slipped back into the hallway. “My roommates haven’t come back yet. We can talk in here.”

  “But—”

  “Shhh,” Tony said, tugging her through the doorway.

  By the dim glow of the lamp, which had been set very low, she could see men’s clothes and other personal items scattered about. “I don’t think I should stay here,” she said. “It doesn’t seem right.”

  “Just for a moment,” Tony assured her. “Surely there can be no harm in that?”

  Before she could answer, he quickly cleared off the bed closest to them and led Rosalyn over to it. Slipping his arm around her waist, he gently coaxed her to sit down. “I’ve always been a perfect gentleman, haven’t I?”

  She had to admit that was true. Still, she swallowed nervously as she sat perched on the edge of the bed.

  “Rosalyn.” He said her name tenderly, his mouth very close to her ear. “I believe I have loved you from the first moment I laid eyes on you.”

  Rosalyn stiffened in surprise, her eyes opening wide. Tony had been flirting with her for weeks, ever since she’d come to the theater. But she never thought he would declare himself to her like this. The roomed seemed very small and far too warm. The rich food and the wine she’d consumed began to feel heavy in her stomach. She sent another glance at the door. Tony’s roommates might come through it any moment. How would it look to be found here?

  “My beautiful, sweet, charming Rosalyn,” Tony continued, still in that caressing tone. “The hours we’ve spent together have been among the happiest I can remember.”

  “I care for you, too, Tony,” she said, flattered and astonished at his words. “But surely this isn’t the time or place—”

  “You do care for me! I knew it. I could tell by the way we meshed so well today at rehearsal and during the show.” His hold tightened around her waist. “How I should love to take you away, just like one of those pirates, and make you my bride!”

  “Tony!” In her surprise, the word came out nearly as a shriek.

  “Shh!” he cautioned. “These are thin walls.”

  She twisted toward him, trying to look into his eyes, still unable to believe what she was hearing. “Are you . . . proposing to me?”

  “Dearest,” he murmured, his free hand gently grasping her chin. “We could be like the great stage couples—the Bancrofts or the Kendals—starring together in the best shows.”

  He leaned forward, placing a caressing kiss on her cheek, just to the side of her mouth. She had the feeling he was testing her. He must sense that she was poised to bolt. In truth, she was too bewildered to move. Tony had been kind to her over these past weeks, but in all the time they’d spent together, he’d shared almost nothing about his personal life. They discussed very little outside of matters relating to the theater. Why was he suddenly talking about marriage?

  Once more the appealing scent of his shaving lotion reached her, confusing her senses even more. It had been fun to dance with him, to sing together, their voices harmonizing so well. She had enjoyed pretending to be chased and caught by him, being held in his arms. But that had been only acting, hadn’t it? Hadn’t the other actors, also paired together as happy couples at the end of the opera, seen it that way? It had all been music and laughter, and she’d let her guard down, perhaps. She’d become too casual about allowing him to be so near her, and he’d taken it the wrong way. Or had he? Did she perhaps love him and not fully realize it?

  He placed a hand behind her head, gently drawing her toward him—not for a kiss, but for a hug, pressing her against him. “Just feel how right we are together,” he murmured.

  Rosalyn allowed herself to remain settled against him, trying to sort out the tangle of emotions. As Tony’s hands caressed her arms, a hollow uneasiness crept over her. This was no longer playacting, and despite what Tony said, it did not feel right.

  She’d been in another man’s arms that day. For those few, brief moments after she’d impulsively hugged Nate, he’d stood there, holding her. She recalled the way she’d found herself relaxing into his embrace, surprised by how warm and solid and comfortable it felt to be in his arms. That moment came back to her in a powerful flash, even as Tony tilted her chin upward, clearly intent on kissing her.

  She leaped from the bed, stumbling over a chair in the process and knocking it over. It hit the floor with a loud thump.

  “Rosalyn!” Tony quickly stood and took hold of her arm to steady her. “Dearest, what’s wrong?”

  “I have to go,” she said breathlessly. The heaviness in her stomach felt dangerously like nausea. She pulled open the door, though Tony still held one hand.

  “Don’t leave,” he begged, his voice low but insistent.

  “Let go of me, Tony.” There was no way she could have explained what she was feeling, even if she’d wanted to.

  A man came up the stairs just in time to see the two of them standing at Tony’s door. It was another member of the men’s chorus. He took one look at them and smiled a lazy, knowing smile.

  Now Rosalyn was sure she was going to be sick. She ran down the hallway, not stopping until she was in her room and had locked the door behind her.

  Helen turned, startled, from the vanity table as Rosalyn slammed the door behind her. “What on earth?” she cried.

  Elsie lay stretched out on the bed, only half undressed. She made a sound of protest at the door closing with such force. “Don’t do that,” she moaned, crooking one elbow over her eyes to block out the light. “My head hurts.”

  Helen came immediately to Rosalyn’s side. “Are you all right? What’s happened? I saw you leave with Tony. Did he mistreat you?”

  Rosalyn couldn’t answer. She leaned against the door, trying to regain her normal breathing, willing her stomach not to revolt.

  “Why don’t you sit down?” Helen said, coaxing her over to a chair.

  Rosalyn sank down onto it. Her stomach seemed back in place for the moment, but now tears were flowing.

  Helen handed her a handkerchief, studying Rosalyn with worry. “Tony can be a rogue sometimes, but I never thought he would . . . He didn’t . . . force you to do anything, did he?”

  “No,” Rosalyn breathed.

  He had been trying to seduce her, though. That was obvious enough. His weeks of compliments and casual forwardness that subtly tested the bounds of propriety, all the time he’d spent giving her singing lessons—these were things she’d ascribed to his interest in her as a fellow artist and the unconventional gregariousness of theater people. And yet, tonight he’d talked of love, as well. . . .

  “He proposed to me,” she blurted.

  “What?” Helen said in surprise. “In so many words?”

  “He said we could be like the great acting couples.”

  From the bed, Elsie made a sound of derision and hauled herself up to a sitting position. “That’s not a proposal, dearie. At least, not a proposal of marriage. You forget, this is the theater. Regular rules don’t apply.”

  “Speak for yourself,” Helen said sharply.

  This rebuke rolled off of Elsie. “Oh, you can trust me on this
one. I learned a piece of interesting information tonight from Emilie Petrelli,” she said, referring to the soprano who had come from Torquay to sing the part of Mabel. “Mr. Hollingsworth Hayes is married already.”

  “No,” Rosalyn protested, looking at her in shock.

  Elsie nodded. “Apparently he keeps the wife squirreled away up in Lincolnshire. She’s not in the theater. She’s a milkmaid or something. I shouldn’t be surprised if there are children, too.”

  “Married!” Rosalyn repeated in disbelief. She squeezed her eyes shut, overcome with powerful humiliation. “How perfectly willing he was to lead me into ruin.”

  Helen took her hands, giving them a little shake to grab her attention. “Rosalyn, listen to me. If you want a life in the theater, you have to accept that these things happen. It’s not a reflection on you. Not if you take the high road.” She glanced at Elsie.

  Rosalyn expected one of Elsie’s characteristic retorts. Instead, a raw, unguarded pain stole into Elsie’s eyes. “At least you found out before the damage was done.”

  In all the time she’d known Elsie, Rosalyn had never seen her display anything but hard-edged bravado. She ought to have guessed, perhaps, that it was a mask to cover deeper hurts.

  “Oh, Elsie, I’m so sorry.”

  Helen went to the bed and gave Elsie a hug. “That’s all right, dear. We all stick together, don’t we?”

  Rosalyn wiped the tears from her cheeks. Tonight she had learned a hard lesson—and she was determined not to forget it.

  CHAPTER

  22

  THE FOLLOWING MORNING, Rosalyn was armed with steely resolve as she walked toward the railway station in Paignton. She’d left early so as to avoid the possibility of seeing Tony at the hotel. She hoped she could get on the train without having to speak with him at all.

  The street was quiet. It seemed this seaside resort slept late during the off-season. Rosalyn savored the salty breeze as she walked, regretting that there had been no time to take in the little town or stroll along the seaside.

  She paused at a notice board that still had a poster advertising The Pirates of Penzance. “For one night only!” it proclaimed. “The first production seen in any country!”