by Diane Gaston
Chapter Fifteen
The next two days followed the same routine. Flynn arrived to take her to her lesson, and Lord Tannerton escorted her back. They all four went to Vauxhall and supped afterwards. Rose consoled herself with the pleasure of having at least one dance with Flynn each night.
She forced herself to think only of performing in the opera in her tiny chorus part.
On the Saturday of her performance, Flynn brought her to King’s Theatre early where the rest of the company rehearsed with her. One of the girls let it slip that they had been paid well for their time.
Flynn had been very quiet on the walk to the theatre, and she’d sensed the pent-up emotion inside him. Was he suffering as much as she? She was afraid to ask. Once in the theatre, he wished her luck, giving her a kiss on the forehead she could feel still, though hours had passed and the performance was about to begin.
Then she was onstage performing her minor part in Don Giovanni. Rose imagined her mother walking a stage much like this one, looking out into the same vastness of the theatre audience, wearing the same heavy paint on her face and the same sort of costume. Though Rose’s nerves jangled throughout the performance, she did not miss a cue and she remembered all the lyrics.
Lord Tannerton, Flynn and Katy were in Tannerton’s box, Rose knew. Tannerton—through Flynn, of course—had even included Madame Bisou. Rose could imagine them in their seats watching her. She knew Flynn’s eyes would be upon her the whole time. She knew he wished her well.
She managed to get through the entire performance without a mistake. When the final curtain call brought shouts of ‘Bravo!’ for Miss Quinn, Signor Angrisani and the other principals, Rose felt a rush of relief. She had done it. She had performed in King’s Theatre.
Afterwards, dressed again in her own gown, the other girls took her with them to the theatre’s green room, the room where gentlemen came to meet the female performers. She endured many frankly admiring glances from the waiting gentlemen before she saw Lord Tannerton standing with Mr Ayrton.
‘Ah, here she is.’ Tannerton stepped forward to take her hand.
She dropped into a curtsy.
‘You did very well, Miss O’Keefe.’ Tannerton smiled at her. ‘At least as much as I know of it. Flynn said so, in any event, and he knows of such things. I can only say I enjoyed it.’
Mr Ayrton bowed to her. ‘I have been speaking to the marquess, as you can see. We have made a nice arrangement. If you should like to remain in the chorus, it will be my pleasure!’
Rose surmised the ‘arrangement’ meant some sort of monetary compensation for having her perform with the company, employment based on the fact that she had a wealthy and generous patron.
She managed an appreciative expression. ‘How kind of you, sir.’
Tannerton offered his arm. ‘Shall we be going? Our party awaits.’
She walked out on Tannerton’s arm, eager to see Flynn, wanting to explain to him how she’d expected her spirits to soar with joy at having her dream come true. She was happy to have performed at King’s Theatre, but it had not compared to the first time she sang at Vauxhall, that magical evening when Mr Hook let her sing one song. Flynn would understand.
As they walked down a hallway, the marquess leaned down to her, his eyes twinkling. ‘I have a surprise for you.’
She was not sure she wanted more surprises.
They turned a corner and there waiting with Flynn and Katy were Mary and Lucy, the girls she knew at Miss Hart’s, and their husbands. Rose was speechless in disbelief.
Tannerton whispered in her ear, ‘Surprise.’ He gave her a little nudge.
She ran towards them, Mary, Lucy, and Katy meeting her halfway with hugs and tears.
‘Madame Bisou sent us messages that you were performing,’ Mary said. ‘What a lovely surprise!’
‘It was grand!’ Lucy said. ‘I’ve never seen the like, and to think you were there on that big stage!’
‘Oh, never mind that!’ Rose cried. ‘How are you both faring? Is there any news from Miss Hart—I mean, Mrs Sloane?’
Lucy gave a shy smile. ‘I call her “Miss Hart,” too. Can’t help it.’
‘Lucy has a letter. Tell her, Lucy!’ Mary said.
‘Later,’ Lucy said. ‘I have it with me. But say hello to Elliot!’
Mr Elliot, Lucy’s husband, stepped forward and Rose could not help but give him a hug, and Mr Duprey, Mary’s husband, as well.
‘So good,’ Duprey said. ‘Nice performance. First-rate.’
‘Thank you.’ Rose wiped tears from her eyes. ‘I’m thinking it is good to see you, too. I have missed you so. I did not know you had returned to town.’ The Dupreys were to have spent the summer in Bath, and the Elliots at Mr Sloane’s country estate.
‘Come, let us depart.’ Lord Tannerton shooed them on. ‘They are to dine with us, Miss O’Keefe. You shall have plenty of time for conversation.’
At Madame Bisou’s, Tannerton and Flynn talked with Elliot and Duprey while Rose read Miss Hart’s letter, all the way from Venice. Her friends looked on.
‘Oh, she is increasing!’ Rose exclaimed, the news oddly making her feel like weeping.
Mary leaned over to her and grasped her hand. ‘I am, too.’
‘As am I!’ Lucy added.
Tears did spring to her eyes then. Her three friends, all to have babies. She hugged them again.
The meal was a lively affair, with much conversation and many toasts, most led by Tannerton, who seemed bent on making the ladies laugh. Rose noticed that Mr Elliot and Flynn were often conversing together. After the meal she found herself near Elliot.
‘Do you know Mr Flynn, then?’ she asked Elliot, who was Mr Sloane’s secretary.
He answered her, still sipping a glass of wine, and more tipsy than she’d ever seen him. ‘We’ve met a time or two. He’s a good man.’
That made Rose feel proud, though she had no right to pride about Flynn.
Elliot went on, ‘They say he’s destined to great things. An MP or something. It is known that Tannerton is grooming him for more.’
For a prince, thought Rose.
She glanced over at Flynn, at the moment talking with Duprey. Flynn looked up at the same time. Their eyes met.
After Elliot moved away, Katy sidled up to Rose. ‘What will you do?’
Rose blinked. ‘About what?’
‘About him.’ Katy cocked her head in Flynn’s direction.
Rose looked at Katy, unable to disguise her emotions. ‘I do not know, Katy. I do not know.’
When the first light of dawn appeared in the city sky, the party broke up. A very sleepy Mary and Lucy left in the arms of their husbands. Rose watched them. They both had chosen not to become courtesans. Instead they had fallen in love.
Now they were both so happy.
Tannerton walked up to Rose. ‘I’ll bid you goodnight, Miss O’Keefe.’ He swayed from too much drink.
She dropped into a formal curtsy. ‘Thank you again, my lord.’
He took her arm to make her rise and spoke with good humour. ‘None of that. I’d rather a kiss.’
Rose panicked. He wanted her to kiss him? She glanced wildly around the room for Flynn, but he was busy assisting Katy to stand. Katy laughed shrilly and wrapped her arms around Flynn’s neck.
Rose glanced up at Tannerton, still smiling down at her. She lifted her face to him.
He gave her a kiss on her lips. His lips were as soft as Flynn’s. They were as moist and as warm. They even tasted of the brandy he’d been drinking. But that was all.
He broke contact and gave a crooked grin. ‘Flynn will make the next arrangements.’
She knew what he meant, and her heart depressed to a cavernous state. She glanced over at Flynn again. Katy was no longer wrapped around him, but could be seen staggering out of the room. Flynn gazed back at her, eyes burning into her, his anguish unguarded and as clear to her as her own.
In the next few days, Flynn walked around like an automa
ton, winding himself up in the morning and wearing down by nightfall, falling into bed with eyes open, unable to sleep.
His task had been to find a house for Rose. A place convenient for Tanner, who preferred his mistresses to be in easy walking distance. There were plenty of such residences close by St James’s Street and the gentlemen’s clubs. The difficulty was finding one for sale or lease, one that would provide the comfort Flynn wished Rose to have.
Even more difficult was examining bedchamber after bedchamber and having to imagine Rose and Tanner sharing the bed. The images were too vivid, as vivid as the memory of Tanner kissing her, a now nightly occurrence Flynn was forced to witness when they escorted Rose to Vauxhall, then back to Madame Bisou’s.
To his dismay, Flynn discovered a small set of rooms on Great Ryder Street, tucked away and private, but not too far from White’s or Madame Bisou’s, which should please Rose. Two parlours on the main floor, a bedchamber and sitting room on the first floor. Maids’ rooms above that. The kitchen was in the basement, as well as more servants’ rooms. The place was furnished so tastefully not a thing need be changed—except to find a corner for Rose’s pianoforte.
He made the deal, even managing to get the price lowered significantly, a last-ditch effort to sabotage himself that failed. His success made him inexplicably furious.
She could move in within days. It had been equally as easy to line up servants, a housekeeper, a cook, a housemaid, a lady’s maid, and a footman. She had one more week to sing at Vauxhall. She could move in before that week was over, and then she would be Tanner’s.
But as long as she performed at Vauxhall, he could see and listen to her as he had that first night. Perhaps if she accepted the offer at King’s Theatre, he could watch her there, where her beautiful voice would be lost in the meld of other voices. The thought did not cheer him.
Still, on stage she could be a dream, but everywhere else she must be Tanner’s mistress. The very idea seemed to unleash some deep Celtic rage, heretofore lying dormant in Flynn’s Irish soul. Perhaps Tanner would even send him on errands for her, purchasing and delivering gifts, arranging and cancelling meetings.
His fury burned hotter.
Flynn thought of the letter he’d posted that morning, addressed to his mother, informing her he was coming home. He had been ready to do battle if Tanner protested, but Tanner approved the request without question. Flynn planned to be gone no more than two months. Surely he could recover from this madness in two months.
Feeling as if he would combust from the inside, he walked back to Audley Street to inform Tanner the residence was acquired.
He entered the game room where the Marquess, in his shirtsleeves, played at billiards.
Upon seeing him, Tanner threw him a cue stick. ‘Join me in a game.’ He set up the red ball and aimed his cue ball for it. It hit, the red ball missing the pocket by a hair.
Flynn was determined Tanner would not win the game. He placed his cue ball on the table and made the shot, nicking the red ball just enough to put it in.
‘Lucky shot.’ Tanner grinned.
As Tanner lined up his next shot, Flynn said through gritted teeth, ‘I have found a residence for Miss O’Keefe.’
Tanner looked up. ‘Oh? Where?’
‘Great Ryder Street. Complete with furnishings and at a good price.’ Flynn tried to keep the anger from his voice.
He tried to remind himself that Rose was better off with Tanner, the Englishman who could make her dreams come true, than with the likes of Greythorne, who merely wanted to hurt her. What could the Irish Flynn offer her? Nothing.
Besides, he tried to console himself, he still had his ambition. Where he wanted to go, a courtesan songstress would not be welcome. An Irishman especially must be above reproach if he was to achieve high goals, and that would be true of his wife, as well. Rose would be shunned, a fate she did not deserve.
This was all useless pondering. Nothing had changed, Tanner had won Rose. Not Flynn.
Flynn frowned as Tanner replaced the red ball on to the table. “I must alert the servants I hired. All will be ready within a week.”
‘Ah.’ Tanner sounded as if he were barely listening. Flynn had lately seen him more excited by the purchase of a new hunter at Tattersalls. Somehow this merely made Flynn angrier.
Flynn took his next shot, hitting both the red ball and Tanner’s cue ball, but did not pocket either one.
‘By the way…’ Tanner took his turn ‘…I am dining with Liverpool tonight, so I must beg you to escort Miss O’Keefe alone.’ He knocked both balls into the pocket, flashing Flynn a grin. ‘The man is bent on keeping me busy for a few days. I do hope he does not prose on about Blanketeers and habeus corpus.’
Habeus corpus—the right of a detainee to appear before a court—had been suspended by Parliament that year, because of protests such as the Blanketeers and the mobbing of the Prince Regent’s carriage.
‘These are important matters,’ Flynn responded, but now the blood had begun to race through his veins.
‘I know. I know.’ Tanner gestured for him to take his turn. ‘It is just that Liverpool is so damned repressive and he proses on for hours. It becomes tedious after a while.’
Flynn had stopped listening. All he could think was he would be escorting Rose without Tanner.
That evening, when he knocked on the door to Madame Bisou’s gaming-house, he vowed to do nothing to spark the tinder of his passion for Rose. He would simply enjoy her company.
The footman Cummings admitted him, and soon Katy came into the hall. Katy would act as chaperon, Flynn reminded himself. Her presence would assist him in maintaining his proper place.
‘Is the marquess waiting in the carriage?’ she asked.
‘He shall not attend tonight.’ Flynn did not explain. Katy would have less wish to hear of Blanketeers than Tanner did.
Her brows rose. ‘So you are alone?’
‘I am.’
She stared at him, her hands on her hips. Finally, she blurted out, ‘I cannot go to Vauxhall either. I have a…a gentleman who is meeting me here. I am expecting Sir Reginald. You met Sir Reginald before, didn’t you, Flynn?’
‘Katy…’ he began, but Rose appeared on the stairway, lovely in her deep red gown. She held her cloak over her arm.
‘I can’t go with you, Rose,’ Katy called to her. ‘So sorry.’ Katy did not sound sorry in the least.
Rose was putting on her gloves. ‘But, Katy—’
Katy interrupted her. ‘The marquess isn’t going either, so Flynn is going to escort you. You do not mind, do you?’
Rose turned her eyes on Flynn, and the desire he was so intent on dampening flared into life.
‘I am thinking I do not mind.’ Her voice was low and sultry.
Flynn took the cloak from Rose and wrapped it around her shoulders. Without a word, they hurried out of the door to Tanner’s carriage.
He lifted her inside, his hands spanning her waist. Her eyes were dark, her lips tantalisingly parted. He climbed in and signalled the coachman to start. As soon as the carriage moved off, Rose launched herself on to his lap, into his arms.
‘Flynn,’ she cried as her lips rained kisses on his neck and cheek. ‘I never thought to be alone with you again.’
He was a lost man. He sought her lips with all the hunger that had built up over the days he’d barely dared to look at her. He tasted her and pressed her hard against his groin. Nothing existed for him but Rose, her scent, her softness, the urgent sounds she made in the back of her throat.
Flynn wanted them both free of clothing, no barriers to impede them, but the confined space of the coach made this difficult. He freed her breasts from her low-cut dress and let his tongue play on the pebbled skin of her nipples. She moaned with pleasure. He no longer cared if the space was confined. He began to pull up her skirts.
The coach hit a rut and tipped suddenly, throwing her off him. It righted itself immediately, but the jolt was enough to return him to his s
enses.
‘We must stop this,’ he said. ‘It is madness.’
In the dim light of the coach’s interior, he could see her eyes still wide with passion, her breath still rapid. Slowly, like a sleeping child awaking, she nodded.
She fussed with the bodice of her dress.
‘Did I damage it?’ he asked, knowing he’d been close to tearing it off.
‘No.’ She looked up at him and smiled. ‘I’m just needing to put myself back in it.’
After setting herself to rights, she straightened his neckcloth and waistcoat, and then laid her head on his shoulder. ‘And don’t you be saying you regretted that, Flynn. Because you know you did not.’
No, he did not regret it. His only regret had been stopping.
Chapter Sixteen
Rose whispered to Flynn to secure one of the rooms on the Dark Walk for them, while she prepared herself to perform, and to watch her sing from the place where she first saw him. While she warmed her voice like Miss Hughes and the signor had taught her, Mr Hook walked by, looking displeased at her. She could not care. This was her night with Flynn. Her only night with Flynn. Nothing would make her unhappy.
When she stood in her place on the balcony facing the audience below, she immediately looked to the spot where Flynn would stand. He was there, face lifted towards her, as he had been on that first night. She smiled down at him.
The music began, and, like that first time, she sang ‘Eileen Aroon.’ Though she swept her gaze around the crowd, she returned to Flynn, and sang:
Changeless through joy and woe
Only the constant know…
She would be constant to him in her heart, even though she must release him into the world where he would achieve great things. She would take whatever brief time they had together and make it enough to last a lifetime. This was not a night for grief, but a time for joy and for love, and she poured these emotions into her song, forgetting how to breathe, forgetting how to project her voice.