‘I doubt altruism had anything to do with it, Aunt,’ Joanna said, surprised that her aunt had been so thoroughly taken in by his act. ‘He clearly enjoys being the centre of attention. Look at the way he is dressed. What is that if not a blatant attempt at drawing all eyes to himself?’
‘Nonsense, Joanna, it isn’t at all like that. You were not here, of course, so you cannot be expected to know, but the first time Mr Bretton appeared in public as Valentine Lawe, that was how he was dressed.’
‘I cannot think why, unless his first appearance was made at a masquerade ball.’
‘As a matter of fact, it was. Lady Drake’s masquerade, to be exact,’ Lady Cynthia said. ‘No one had any idea who Valentine Lawe was before that. Some thought him a half-mad recluse while others believed it was the nom de plume of someone highly placed in society. For a time, it was even whispered that his sister, Victoria, now Mrs Devlin, was the famous playwright and that caused quite a stir, I can tell you. But it wasn’t long after those rumours began to surface that Mr Bretton stepped forwards and claimed the role as his own.’
‘An interesting story, Aunt, but this is not a costume ball and the gentleman’s appearance is years out of date.’
‘Of course it is, but you cannot deny how dashing he looks in the part,’ Lady Cynthia said. ‘The ladies all adore it, of course.’
‘I still think it speaks to an outrageous sense of vanity,’ Joanna muttered, refusing to admit, even to herself, that the elegant clothes and raffish manner did suit him uncommonly well.
‘Nonsense, Mr Bretton is the most humble of men! You heard him just now. There was no arrogance to his speech. No condescension to his manner. He is exactly what he seems. A charming man gifted with the ability to write excellent plays. And to think you already knew him,’ her aunt said in a tone of exasperation. ‘I cannot imagine why you did not bother to tell me.’
‘I did not bother to tell you because I did not know he was anyone of consequence,’ Joanna said. ‘He introduced himself as Mr Laurence Bretton, plain and simple.’
‘Well, he is neither plain nor simple and I suspect if he was better placed in society, Lydia would have already snapped him up.’
‘His lack of a title doesn’t seem to be an impediment as far as she is concerned,’ Joanna drawled. ‘But I am astonished you invited him to Papa’s gathering. Will that not throw off your seating arrangements at dinner?’
‘Yes, but I shall send a note to Mrs Gavin and insist that she bring Jane,’ Lady Cynthia said, referring to Joanna’s other aunt and her eldest daughter. ‘It will be a pleasant change for the two of them to mingle in such elevated society and it will be a feather in my cap to have Valentine Lawe at my table.’
‘I think you overestimate his worth. A number of Papa’s colleagues will be there, not all of whom attend the theatre,’ Joanna reminded her. ‘Mr Bretton may find himself without an audience to impress.’
‘I am sure he will manage just fine.’
‘What if he is already engaged for the evening?’
‘If he is, I suspect he will do whatever is necessary to disengage himself,’ her aunt said with a complacent smile. ‘I saw the way he looked at you. If I don’t miss my guess, he is already quite taken with you.’
‘Taken with me?’ Joanna said, blushing furiously. ‘What a ridiculous thing to say! I barely know the man and, I can assure you, I have no interest in furthering the acquaintance.’
‘Not in any serious way, no,’ Lady Cynthia agreed. ‘Mr Bretton would have to be as rich as Croesus to even hope to justify such a mésalliance. Nevertheless, it will not hurt your reputation to be seen as someone he admires and it may draw the attention of other more suitable gentlemen, like Mr Rowe, your way.’
Joanna, having caught sight of Mr Rowe through a break in the crowd, said, ‘I am not at all sure I wish to draw his attention my way, Aunt. He is corpulent, balding and well into his fifties.’
‘Nevertheless, he is the sole heir to his father’s fortune and, given the state of your father’s finances, we cannot afford to dismiss him out of hand,’ Lady Cynthia said, smiling in the portly gentleman’s direction. ‘When the roof over one’s head is in danger of collapsing, one cannot be too picky about the manner of the man who brings hammer and nails to repair it!’
* * *
Laurence was not in the best of moods as the carriage made its way from Cavendish Square to Green Street in the early hours of the morning. He knew he had no reason to feel that way. Compliments about the play had rained down upon his head and he had been sought after and celebrated from the moment he had walked into the house. But it was a house in which he had not expected to see Joanna Northrup—or rather, Lady Joanna Northrup—and that, Laurence admitted, was most certainly the source of his consternation. Had he known beforehand that she was going to be there, he would have left off the velvet and lace and worn more conservative attire. But because he’d known that Valentine Lawe was expected, he had dressed for the part and the exquisite Lady Joanna Northrup had seen him in the role.
What must she think of him now?
‘You’re very quiet tonight, dearest,’ Victoria observed from the seat opposite. ‘Did something happen at the reception to upset you?’
‘Hmm? Oh, no, not at all.’ Laurence drew his gaze from the window and rallied a smile. ‘The evening was a great success. You must have heard all the praise being lavished upon your plays.’
‘I did and it was flattering in the extreme, though even after all these months, it still seems strange to hear people talk about my plays as though they were yours,’ Victoria said. ‘Do you know, one elderly lady called me Miss Lawe the entire evening? I was happy to play along, of course, but it did make me smile, given that she was far more correct than she knew.’
‘Of course, because you are the famous playwright and the one deserving of all the praise,’ Laurence said. ‘God knows I’ve done nothing to warrant the attention.’
‘Don’t be silly. You stepped forwards and said you were Valentine Lawe at a time when it was most important that you did and I will always think you a hero for that,’ Victoria said. ‘Goodness knows what would have happened to our family’s reputation if you had said nothing. Still, hearing you talk about my plays as though you wrote them does take some getting used to.’
‘Sometimes, I almost forget I didn’t write them,’ Laurence mused. ‘But if I don’t talk about them that way, people won’t find me convincing.’
‘Exactly, and I am perfectly content to let my plays be thought the work of my brother so that I can still appear to be the very correct wife of Mr Alistair Devlin,’ Victoria said with a twinkle in her eye. ‘But are you sure there’s nothing bothering you, dearest? You seemed in a much better frame of mind upon arrival at Mrs Blough-Upton’s house than you do upon leaving it.’
‘It’s nothing,’ Laurence said, shaking his head. ‘I’m fine.’
‘Good, then you can tell me about the young lady I saw you with not long after we arrived,’ Victoria said eagerly. ‘The very pretty one with dark hair and rather astonishing green eyes. I noticed you talking to her just before Mrs Blough-Upton swooped down and carried you off again. Who was she?’
Laurence briefly debated the wisdom of pretending he didn’t know who Victoria was talking about, but, suspecting that his all-too-observant sister was unlikely to believe it, said, ‘Her name is Lady Joanna Northrup. We met in a bookshop earlier in the day.’
‘Lady Joanna.’ Victoria’s eyes widened. ‘Good Lord, isn’t her father the new earl? The one who assumed the title after his eldest brother fell off a cliff and his nephew was shot in a duel?’
Remembering fragments of the conversation he’d had with Lady Cynthia, Laurence nodded. ‘Yes, I believe so.’ He paused, frowning. ‘I thought duels weren’t fought any more?’
‘They’re not, but gossip has it that the husband of the lady with whom Lord Foster was involved was so incensed that he punched Lord Foster in the face—’
&nb
sp; ‘A crime punishable by death,’ Laurence observed.
‘Yes, and believing himself the superior marksman, Foster offered him a challenge, only to find out he was not superior in any way. But never mind that, tell me about Lady Joanna. Wasn’t her father an archaeologist of sorts before he inherited the title?’
‘Yes. He lectured at the university and is a recognised authority on Egyptian history.’
‘How delightful! You have finally met a woman who shares your fascination with the past.’
‘She may share my fascination with the past, but she was not at all impressed with my being Valentine Lawe,’ Laurence said in a rueful tone.
‘Ah, I see. And you’re afraid,’ Victoria said slowly, ‘that having first seen you in the guise of an academic, the young lady will doubt your credibility after having seen you tonight in a far more glamorous and, therefore, less admirable role.’
‘Something like that,’ Laurence murmured. ‘My being a famous playwright didn’t impress Lady Joanna nearly as much as it did her aunt.’
‘And do you wish to impress Lady Joanna?’
Yes, he did, Laurence admitted. He had been looking forward to attending her father’s lecture tomorrow night, not only because he was interested in hearing what her father had to say, but because he wanted to see more of her. He wanted to get to know her better, to find out what she thought about matters of interest to both of them and to ask her about the time she had spent in Egypt.
But how seriously was she going to take him after having seen him tonight in the guise of Valentine Lawe? There had been no mistaking the chilliness of her greeting, nor had her manner improved as the evening wore on, Laurence acknowledged grimly. Did she already believe him a fraud? Think the only reason he had come up to her in the bookshop was to initiate a flirtation? A woman that beautiful must have numerous suitors for her hand, not to mention the fact she was the daughter of an earl and well beyond the reach of a man like him.
‘Let’s just say, I would rather not have her doubting my reasons for attending a lecture her father is giving at the Apollo Club tomorrow evening,’ Laurence said, neatly sidestepping the question. ‘She may not believe a playwright would have a genuine interest in ancient Egypt.’
‘I cannot think why. We are all entitled to more than one interest in our lives,’ Victoria said. ‘Why should someone who writes plays be any different?’
‘I don’t know, but Lady Joanna was noticeably more distant when I spoke to her this evening than she was when we met in the bookshop this afternoon,’ Laurence said. ‘Which is why I intend to do everything I can to convince her that I am an avid student of history and that my appreciation of all things Egyptian is genuine. And you can be sure I plan on doing it sooner rather than later!’
* * *
Acting on his convictions, Laurence did not wait until the lecture to settle matters between Lady Joanna and himself. He suspected he wouldn’t have much time to talk to her after the lecture, and that even if he did, it would not be with any degree of privacy, so he decided to pay a call on her at home the following afternoon and to use Volney’s book as an excuse for stopping by.
As such, he dressed carefully for the interview, choosing a well-cut jacket of dark-green kerseymere over a linen shirt and breeches. With it, he wore a pristine white cravat, a very pale-gold waistcoat and boots that, though polished to a high sheen, bore no fancy tassels or spurs. He was determined that when he saw Lady Joanna again, his appearance would in no way remind her of the man she had seen last night.
Unfortunately, when he was shown into the elegant drawing room of the house on Eaton Place, it was to find her in the company of an older woman; one whose wide-eyed expression upon hearing his name confirmed Laurence’s fears that the anonymity he had hoped for would not be forthcoming.
He advanced, somewhat hesitantly, into the room. ‘Good afternoon, Lady Joanna.’
‘Mr Bretton.’ She looked like a vision of spring in a white-muslin gown encircled by a band of pale-green silk, with a darker paisley shawl draped over her shoulders. Her hair, reflecting shades of copper and gold in a bright shaft of sunlight, was arranged in a loose cluster of curls around her face and she looked, in every way, the picture of feminine grace and refinement. But her brow was furrowed and her expression left Laurence in no doubt as to where he stood in her estimation. ‘I had not thought to see you until the lecture this evening.’
‘That was my intention,’ Laurence said, ‘but I had errands that brought me in this direction and I decided to take the opportunity to drop off Volney’s Travels on the way.’ He set the book on the table beside her chair. ‘I thought you might like to start reading it before the weekend.’
‘How thoughtful.’ Her eyes fell hungrily to the book, but Laurence knew good manners would prevent her from opening it. Instead, she looked up at him and said, ‘Are you acquainted with my aunt, Mrs Gavin?’
‘I have not had the pleasure, no.’
‘Ah, but I know you, Mr Bretton,’ said that lady with a smile. ‘Or rather, I know of you and I am very pleased to make your acquaintance. Unlike my niece, I have seen all of your plays and enjoyed them very much.’
‘Thank you, Mrs Gavin,’ Laurence said, liking the rosy-cheeked lady and grateful for her recommendation. ‘It is always a pleasure to hear that my work is being appreciated.’
‘Of that there can be no doubt. I hear there are even rumours that your next play will be produced at Drury Lane.’
‘We are only in the opening stages of negotiation,’ Laurence said, not entirely surprised that word of his uncle’s discussions with the manager of the Theatre Royal should have reached the streets. In London, only the wind travelled faster than gossip. ‘The play is not yet finished and there is still much to be discussed.’
‘Ah, but I am sure satisfactory terms will be reached by all parties. Not that I see anything wrong with your work continuing to be shown at the Gryphon,’ Mrs Gavin said. ‘It is a superb theatre and the cast is exceptional. Your uncle is to be commended for his efforts at making the Gryphon the success it is, as are you for contributing so greatly to it.’
Guiltily aware that he had contributed nothing to his uncle’s success, that it was his sister’s plays that had taken London by storm, Laurence gruffly cleared his throat. ‘Thank you. I will be sure to pass your compliments along to my uncle. But now, I must be on my way. I look forward to seeing you at the lecture this evening, Lady Joanna, and hopefully, to speaking with you afterwards.’
‘I doubt there will be time.’ The lady’s words were clipped, her tone discouraging. ‘I expect to be fully occupied assisting my father, both before and after the lecture.’
The remark confirmed Laurence’s suspicions that the chances of his changing her mind were slim. Clearly, she had not appreciated his being less than honest with her upon the occasion of their first meeting and, having seen him as something of a performer last night, was not interested in furthering the acquaintance. It seemed that while the lady could keep secrets from him, he was not allowed to keep secrets from her.
‘I understand. Nevertheless, I look forward to the occasion.’ He turned to offer the other lady a smile. ‘It was a pleasure meeting you, Mrs Gavin.’
‘And you, Mr Bretton. I look forward to seeing many more of your plays and wish you continued success with all of them.’
Grateful for having received at least one positive endorsement in Lady Joanna’s hearing, Laurence took his leave, keenly aware of two sets of eyes following him out of the room.
He had hoped to be able to explain to Lady Joanna why he hadn’t told her about his other life as Valentine Lawe, but clearly he was not to be given the opportunity. Whatever positive impression he might have made by offering to lend her Volney’s book had been overturned by his appearance at Lydia Blough-Upton’s soirée as Valentine Lawe. Lady Joanna was clearly not a fan of the theatre and had not been to see any of the plays. She was an academic and historian like her father and, despite Mrs Ga
vin’s glowing words of praise, Laurence knew her opinion of him was already formed.
It was going to take a lot more than an apology, however heartfelt, to change it.
Chapter Three
‘Well, it seems you have been keeping secrets from me, Joanna,’ Mrs Gavin said, breaking the silence that followed Mr Bretton’s departure. ‘You neglected to tell me you were such good friends with one of London’s most illustrious playwrights.’
‘We are not good friends, Aunt Florence,’ Joanna said, not quite sure how she was feeling in the wake of the gentleman’s unexpected appearance. ‘I had no idea he even was a playwright until I was informed of it at Mrs Blough-Upton’s reception last night. Mr Bretton and I simply met in a bookshop where he offered to lend me his copy of a book I happened to be looking for.’
Her aunt leaned over and peered at the title. ‘Travels through Syria and Egypt. Isn’t that more along your father’s line?’
‘It is.’
‘But Mr Bretton is a playwright.’
‘Yes, who professes an interest in ancient Egypt. He is coming to Papa’s lecture tonight.’
‘Is he indeed?’ Her aunt’s eyes twinkled. ‘Are you sure he isn’t using the book and the lecture as an excuse to further an acquaintance with you?’
‘I had no reason to think so at the time, but now I’m not so sure.’ Joanna nibbled on her bottom lip. ‘It does seem a little hard to believe after what I saw of him last night.’
‘Well, I have to believe all this attention is a problem of a most pleasurable sort,’ Mrs Gavin said, reaching for her cup and saucer. ‘I understand Captain Sterne has been paying marked attention to you of late and that Mr Osborne is in the habit of sending you posies.’
‘Yes, which I have asked him to stop,’ Joanna said. ‘I know he is related in some way to Lady Cynthia, but I cannot bring myself to like him. As for Captain Sterne, he had no time for me when I was plain Joanna Northrup, so naturally I am suspect of his affections now.’
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