The Earl’s New Identity (The Regency Renegades - Beauty and Titles) (A Regency Romance Story)

by Jasmine Ashford

  “Did you give her a coin?”

  “I did,” Wesley replied. “We had a little bit of a chat---”

  There was a silence and then Corrigan gave him a shove.

  “And ask her to dinner?”

  “No!” Wesley replied, horrified that they were assuming he was that forward. Even Aaron laughed at that, the color starting to return to his cheeks.

  Later that evening, as they gathered for dinner, without the recovering Bamber, Harold took a moment to have a word with the still shaken Wesley.

  “He's alright,” he said. “Aaron has had fits since we were both powder monkeys, 10 years old on our first ship. They are startling to encounter, but not frightening, and he's usually all right within a few hours.”

  “Just like that?” Wesley's mind was turning. “That can't be...”

  “They have gotten worse over the past few years,” Matheson admitted. “Broke Corrigan's nose once.”

  Corrigan grinned, touching his nose in memory.

  “He did, and he even told me I must have deserved it after. Mr. Bamber, he's strong. Been through worse than this.”

  “Right,” Wesley said, although he was doubtful.

  “Tell us more about your girl in town,” Matheson said, as they were led into the grand dining room. The family was away tonight, and so they were dining alone. Still, Wesley wasn't sure it was appropriate to discuss her at the dinner table.

  “She's not---Maybe we should stroll into town and see her tomorrow.”

  “Maybe I'll get there first,” Corrigan was, without a doubt, the most unrefined of the bunch, and Wesley rolled his eyes.

  “You're deplorable.”

  “And proud,” Style replied, as the first course was served.

  “If you keep it up,” Matheson gave his protégé a look. “Mr. Bamber will just leave you here tomorrow night.”

  “What's tomorrow night?” Wesley had clearly missed something while he was out.

  “Theater tickets,” Harold replied. “It wouldn't be a visit to Bamber Manor if we didn't see every play on Drury Lane at least twice. Consider it your cost of room and board. And, if you complain, he just gets more theater tickets.”

  “Aye, what did we see the last time, Mr. Harper?” Matheson asked. “At least six plays. I perfected the art of sleeping with my eyes opened. Have you ever been to the theater, Wesley?”

  “In Ireland,” he replied, not wanting to let on that his family used to be a patron of the Irish theaters. He wasn't sure how his father actually felt about the theater. It was just something that noble families were expected to do. If Earls didn't patron at least three art institutions, they were frowned upon. He suspected Lord Bamber's family was the same. “Never in Drury Lane. Although I may have gone close to it today for all I know, I was lost.”

  “Blinded by love,” Corrigan put in and Wesley wondered whether throwing a loaf of bread at him would do any good. They were quite a group of opposites, that was for sure. Then, he wouldn't have it any other way.

  The next morning, despite a late start, Aaron seemed almost back to his full self. He was sitting rather than in his usual pose of running about, but his face glowed again.

  “Because, Heaven forbid, you miss a show,” Harold said, clearly unimpressed by the plans that they were still going.

  “If we were on the ship, it would be business as usual,” Aaron replied. “Besides, Lola is in it. We can't miss it.”

  “Is this your theater friend?” Wesley tried to recall the conversation from the ship as he took a cautious seat on the couch. He had slept well, and he was glad of it, because the sight of Mr. Bamber made him want to jump into action all over again. The bed was comfortable, and his night had been half filled with the angel-face he had seen on the street.

  “The one and only,” Aaron replied. “Tonight, it's Excalibur, and she's Olwyn the Silver, Merlin's little goddess. There's original compositions and all, so I'm quite excited to see it.”

  “That's King Arthur?” Wesley said, in surprise. He was quite the fan of King Arthur, spending hours in his bunk over the years, reading every variation on the story.

  “Yes, and---” Aaron got up to demonstrate something, and Harold reached up without looking from the book he was reading, shoving him back down.

  “Sit.”

  “Yes, Master,” Aaron rolled his eyes. “I was just going to show him a painting of my sister, she'll be joining us. She was at the country estate until now, but she's come back early to see the show. She and Lola are quite close.”

  “Annabelle is coming?” Harold suddenly grew interested in the conversation.

  “Oh, now I can move?” Aaron grinned at him. “Your presence may have something to do with it. Anyway, it's an evening performance, so we can dine afterwards, if that suits everyone.”

  “Suits me fine,” Wesley said, wondering if his singing angel was going to be there, on the walk into town.

  Annabelle, upon arrival, was truly Mr. Bamber's twin. She had the same coloring, sparkling blue eyes, and energy, the pair stood even height, and even had the same laugh. She was stunning, Wesley thought to himself, and Harold was clearly smitten. Wesley, however, was plastered to the window of the carriage that night, keeping an eye on every beggar on the street.

  To his disappointment, though, they did not see her, and his vision was soon overtaken by the grand theater as they pulled up.

  “Welcome to Drury Lane,” Bamber said, as the carriage door opened. “My home away from home.”

  “Aaron would have been an actor if it wasn't so scandalous,” Annabelle whispered to Wesley. “I sometimes wonder if our entire inheritance will go this way when he goes.”

  “I think the theater is fascinating,” Wesley said, as they headed in to take their seats. Bamber had a box for them, off to the side of the stage. It was as close as they could get without being in the front row, the orchestra pit that seemed very crowded already. Wesley chose a seat at the front of the box, with Annabelle, Harold and Aaron. Matheson and Corrigan were content to sit on the second row of the box, and Wesley suspected he would hear snoring from them before the first act was over. “The ability to be anyone you want to be, at any time.”

  “Why, who do you want to be?” Annabelle asked him, and he blushed as the lights around them were blown out.

  The last light to be taken down was their box in the balcony. The only illumination in the theater at that moment meant that all eyes turned towards the box.

  “I guess it's just us tonight,” Aaron said to his sister, and they rose together. The audience applauded them as patrons and the only nobility in the house that night. Aaron waived to the crowd, and Wesley sank deeper into his seat. Once upon a time, that was his job, his duty, and he was quite happy to keep his head bowed.

  When they sat, the remainder of the audience lanterns were blown out, and only the stage lanterns blazed, as many of the actors came on stage. The orchestra started with a great boom, and a young girl, lithe and all in silver entered.

  She curtsied towards the noble box, and Aaron dipped his head. Wesley felt a flutter in his chest, like he recognized the song. When she opened her mouth, however, his heart nearly stopped.

  That was her, the woman on the street. Looking much more dignified and professional, she dominated the stage. She wasn't the lead role, but it was clear that she was a notch above her colleagues.

  His angel, his dream woman, was not a street urchin. She was an actress, and she had been practicing, that much was clear.

  Wesley came to realize at the end of the show, from the way they all rose to clap and cheer at her, she was the infamous Lola.

  His opinion of her performance was shared, as it was her that was called for an encore again and again. At her third curtain call, Lola tipped her head towards the noble box, and went into a deep curtsy, which brought the attention back to them so she could sneak away.

  “Sneaky,” Annabelle admired her friend's move. “Shall we head back stage? No doubt she'll be wa
iting for us.”

  “Are you alright, Wesley?” Aaron asked, as they navigated the crowds. He seemed to know the ins and outs of the theater quite well, leading them backstage through a hidden door in the lobby and then into a series of tunnels that lead to the dressing rooms. “You're white as a sheet.”

  “That's just the Irish coloring,” he managed, as they got closer to the dressing rooms. Inside, however, his heart was fluttering at the thought of seeing her up close again.

  Lola's dressing room door was open, and she was standing in the middle of it, still in full costume and silver body paint, talking passionately to a stage hand.

  “There's silver paint on the white curtain, stage left, and then I think I got some on Gilbert's costume, no doubt he's unaware. My apologies. Again.”

  “Lola, causing trouble again?” Aaron said, interrupting. She turned with a smile, and Wesley took a step back out of reflex. She was just as beautiful as he remembered, her eyes blazing into his mind.

  “Hello, I heard you were back,” she approached Annabelle, who held her hands up.

  “I would embrace you,” Annabelle said. “But I rather like this dress, as I imagine the gentlemen enjoy their suits the same color as when they started.”

  “Right, of course,” Lola smiled. “Harold. Matheson, Corrigan. So lovely to see you again. Did you like it?”

  “Enchanting,” Harold replied, politely

  “And this--” Aaron turned to Wesley. “Is---”

  “Wesley!” Lola cried, to everyone's shock. “We met, yesterday.”

  “THIS is your singing angel?” Matheson said, in surprise, and it was Wesley's turn to blush.

  “I assure you---”

  However, Lola just laughed.

  “I was practicing that opening number yesterday,” she said. “It's so new, and the style is so different, so I wanted to see what people honestly thought. It's something I do frequently, if there's something new to work on.”

  “I should have made the connection,” Aaron said. “When I heard about it. My apologies, Wesley. My mind was---”

  “Elsewhere,” Harold put in, and Lola gave her friend a sharp look.

  “Again?” she asked, concerned. Aaron waived his hand.

  “All is well now,” he assured her. “Are you still considering dinner, Lola?”

  “Yes, I---” she was about to answer in the affirmative, when a blood curdling scream came from down the hallway. Everyone froze for a moment, and then another one came, followed by a crash.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  STAGE AND SWORDS

  STAGE AND SWORDS

  The boys tensed, and Wesley put his hand to his side, where his sword normally was. However, there was nothing there, having not come to the theater armed. The other navy men tensed as well, and all eyes turned to Harold to make the plan, as the most senior officer.

  “Stay with the women,” he said to Bamber, giving him an eye when he protested. “No, Aaron, you haven't been well. Wesley, Matheson, Corrigan, come with me.”

  They barged out of the room before anyone else had a chance to protest. Wesley looked to the left and right, as the winding tunnels of the backstage rooms giving no indication as to where the scream had come from. Luckily for them, it came again and again.

  The boys rushed towards the stage left entrance, and the sight that they found horrified them.

  One of the young men that had played on stage opposite Lola lay on the ground, blood pouring from his head, and his eyes wide open. It was clear that he was dead, barely 20 years old. His life was snuffed out, and the object that caused his death lay beside him.

  Three girls from the cast were screaming in horror at the sight of his body. Standing back, the navy men began to look around.

  “Here,” Wesley said, pointing to an object just beside his head. “That's from the rigging, look at the rust. It must have broken off.”

  “Blunt force trauma,” Harold shook his head. “From rust. Can you imagine?”

  Wesley tried to get a good sight line at the rigging, but it was already crowded with stage hands overlooking the scene in shock and horror. He could see the rust on the piece of metal that had fallen, and he wasn't sure how it had remained attached to begin with. What carelessness, he thought, as they slowly faded into the background.

  “Did you catch his name?” he asked Harold. “He played...Gawain, didn't he?”

  “Lola will know,” Harold said, as they headed back to the dressing room. “This is not how anyone expected the night to end.”

  “I thought we were dealing with an assassin,” Matheson said, as they walked back to the dressing room. “My heart was in my throat.”

  “Me too,” Corrigan replied. “I was quite ready to fight the French on the stage, as if I was in a play myself.”

  “Gentlemen,” Harold gave them a look. “Let's not wish for things we do not want.”

  Back in the dressing room, Lola and Annabelle were clinging to each other, pale as ice.

  “Is it true?” Lola asked, as soon as they walked back in. “Is it Jack?”

  “The actor who played Gawain,” Harold said. “It looks like an accident, I’m sorry.”

  “He was only here a week,” Lola shook her head. “How is this possible?”

  “Accidents happen,” Aaron piped up, quietly, and everyone was reminded of the fact that not 24 hours ago, his life could have been snuffed out as well. “We should leave you, Lola, I'm sure that there's much to deal with now.”

  “I'll come for dinner tomorrow,” she said, as a parting note. “If that's still alright?”

  “Of course,” Aaron said, and they bid their goodbyes. Wesley lingered a moment longer. He wasn't sure what to say, or how to say it. However, the sight of her, standing there, with tears in her eyes and shaking hands, stirred up emotions he didn't know he had. He wanted to wrap his arms around her, protect her from the horrors that would come. He didn't even know her, yet he was drawn to her, in a way he had not been drawn to any other woman.

  He was probably imagining things, but she seemed to look after him a little longer than the others. It was just a quick glance, but he was sure that she had almost spoken to him again. Did she feel the same way?

  He told himself not to be silly as they climbed back into the carriage. Girls like Lola, especially with her fame and her looks, looked at every man that way; it was part of their charm. They were unattainable, and irresistible.

  Despite knowing this, he couldn't help but bring it up subtly to Lord Bamber when they were back at the house.

  “She must have a husband who will be quite worried when he hears the news,” Wesley said, as they sat by the roaring fire. It seemed that the day had exhausted most of them, happy for a quiet book, or a cup of brandy. Aaron raised an eyebrow, breaking his gaze with the fire.

  “Lola?” he asked. “No, she's not married. There was...someone once,” he paused, trying to figure how best to put it. “But it was a childhood sweetheart thing. Fame changes people, and Lola found her schedule was too much for someone who was interested in her being home every night”

  “Oh,” Wesley replied. “So another actor, then?”

  “Not that I know of,” Bamber replied. “Why?”

  “No reason,” Wesley replied, and Aaron laughed.

  “Are you taking an interest?”

  “Don't be ridiculous, I just met her,” Wesley looked away, instantly. “I was just...curious. It's been quite a day.”

  “It has,” Aaron got up from his chair. “And we're supposed to be on leave! Vacation!”“If this is vacation, I'd rather be back on the ship,” Corrigan put in, quietly. “Not that your house isn't comfortable.”

  “And so is your brandy,” Matheson smiled. “You headed to bed, sir?”

  “I think so,” Aaron replied, turning to his sister. “I imagine you've made all the arrangements for dinner tomorrow?”

  “It'll be a grand feast,” said Annabelle, half an inch from Harold on the couch. “Like nothing you'v
e ever seen before. Fit for the tables of King Arthur himself, provided Lola is in the mood.”

  “I imagine she'll send a note in the morning if she's not,” Aaron said. “Goodnight, sister. Gentlemen.”

  With Lord Bamber turning in, the rest of them took their cue, slowly. As Wesley made his way down the dark hallways, he found he was not flooded with memories of home as much. Instead, he was eagerly awaiting the dawn, so that he could count the hours until he saw Lola again.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  THE ACTRESS

  THE ACTRESS

  It was promptly six o'clock when the butler went to answer the door. The feast had been cooking all day, and no note from Lola had come indicating a cancellation.

  When Wesley heard the door, he scrambled to his feet from inside the sitting room, where he had not been waiting as patiently as he would have liked. If the others had noticed his sudden lack of patience, they hadn't commented much on it.

  The woman in the hallway looked much different from the street beggar, or the actress. In a plain green gown that loosely fit her figure, her hair tied at the nap of her neck, and her face makeup free, she looked innocent. Her whole demeanor was quieter, silently handing over her shawl, her movements not quite as quick.

  “Wesley,” she said, with a half smile. “How nice to see you again.”

  “And you, miss,” he said, dipping his head as if he had casually strolled into the room, and not run. The footsteps of the others echoed in the hallway, and he knew he had little time alone with her. “I trust that you are somewhat recovered from last night?”

  She met his eyes, and he instantly regretted the question. Clearly, she was not, the dark circles under her eyes looking almost like makeup, and her skin was a bit pale.

  “My apologies,” he said.

  “No, it's alright,” she said. “Of course, it was a bit of a shock, but we are starting to come to terms with it. How was your evening? How did you find the town today?”

  “We mostly stayed in,” he replied. “It was starting to...not feel like a vacation.”