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‘Goodness,’ Bel said weakly. ‘And then what? You cannot possibly marry him. Think of his reputation.’
‘If he marries me, he will not be having affaires. And why should he not marry me?’ Maude demanded. ‘He is very well off. And his father, I believe, was an Italian prince.’
‘But was he married to Mr Hurst’s mother? That’s the point,’ Jessica queried. ‘Hurst is not exactly a Italian name, now is it?’
‘Er…no.’ She turned in a swirl of skirts and plumped down in a chair. ‘It is no use the pair of you looking at me like that. You don’t have to tell me it is going to be difficult. I want to marry an illegitimate, half-Italian theatre owner with a reputation. He is quite a rich illegitimate theatre owner,’ she added hopefully.
‘Maude,’ Bel said gently. ‘Money is not going to be the issue. Breeding is.’
‘I have enough breeding for both of us, and he is a gentleman, even if society won’t see it,’ Maude declared, beginning to be alarmed despite herself. She had expected Jessica and Bel to support her.
‘Yes, but what does he think about this?’
‘Nothing at all, as yet, other than I am very unconventionally intending to invest with him. I have been cool and businesslike. I intend to grow upon him.’
Jessica snorted inelegantly. ‘Maude, I am your friend, so I can say frankly that you are a very beautiful woman. The man has kissed you—passionately, by all accounts. And you are waiting to grow on him? I should imagine your financial assets are the last thing on his mind at the moment.’
‘He has done what?’ Bel’s face was a picture.
‘Kissed me. By accident. He thought I was someone else,’ Maude explained patiently. ‘It was wonderful, but he appears more than capable of restraining his animal passions when I am alone with him, believe me.’
‘Oh. That’s not very encouraging,’ Bel said, then caught herself. ‘I mean, what a good thing. To be fair, according to his reputation he does not appear to be dangerous to virgins.’
Maude determinedly ignored contemplating who else Eden Hurst might be dangerous to. ‘Well, I am not concerned. I want him to fall in love with me, gradually. Not lust after me. That, too, of course, in time, but I am sure desire clouds men’s brains. Love first, then lust.’
‘It doesn’t work that way round,’ Bel observed, smiling. Jessica nodded in agreement as she continued, ‘I’m afraid the poor weak things work on the basis that anything female between the ages of sixteen and sixty is looked at with the eye of lust. One’s finer features, such as your mind or your skill at the harp, or your lovely nature, have to grow upon them.’
‘Oh.’ Somewhat daunted, Maude regarded her two friends. ‘I wanted him to be so passionately in love with me that he would disregard the difference in our positions.’
‘Not if he has the gentlemanly instincts you say he has,’ Jessica pointed out with depressing logic. ‘If he loved you, then he would sacrifice himself by refusing to see you any more. As Bel said, he does seem to restrict himself to married women, so he has some scruples.’
‘And anyway,’ Bel added, ‘it isn’t what he thinks about your respective positions, it is what society thinks.’
Maude fell silent, wrestling with the conundrum. The only possible solution appeared to be to become his lover, then hope he fell in love and realised that, having hopelessly compromised her, he must marry her. But what if he did not fall in love and felt he had to offer anyway?
‘This is 1817,’ she said, raising her chin and meeting their sympathetic looks with determination. ‘Things are changing, men with wealth and intelligence are breaking into society.’
‘Merchant bankers and nabobs, maybe,’ Jessica said doubtfully. ‘But the theatre is simply not respectable. Not for marriage.’
‘In that case,’ Maude declared, getting to her feet, ‘the Unicorn is going to become the first respectable theatre in the country.’
‘The evening post, sir.’ Eden’s butler proffered the laden salver. ‘Dinner will be served in thirty minutes, sir.’
‘Thank you.’ Eden took the pile of letters and began to flick through them. He was dining at home, alone, for the first time in weeks and finding it hard to relax. His brain was still working on too many levels. There were the remaining issues with the staging for How to Tease, there were the tactics to persuade Madame to take the role of Lady Macbeth and, if she did, the problem of producing a version that would not bring down the wrath of the Patent theatres and the Lord Chamberlain for performing ‘legitimate’ drama without a licence.
Ways of improving the scene shifting were beginning to form at the back of his mind, there was the situation between Golding, Merrick and Poole to resolve and decisions about investments to make.
Investments. He tossed the letters down on to his desk unopened. They were not normally a problem. His instructions to his broker were straightforward enough, he simply had to decide on one or two points and send a letter to the man. No, it was Lady Maude Templeton and her harebrained desire to invest in the Unicorn that was baffling him. And Eden Hurst did not like being baffled. Challenged, yes—he enjoyed a good fight. But not baffled by a brown-eyed lady with a pointed chin, a cool manner and a staggering disregard for convention.
He wanted to make love to her. Oh, yes, he most definitely wanted that. His imagination had no trouble conjuring up the image of her naked on his big bed upstairs, that thick hair tumbling around her shoulders, her hands gripping his shoulders as he sank into the tight wet heat of her. But he also, oddly, wanted to get to know her. Understand her, not simply discover why she had come up with this madcap scheme. And why should he want to do that?
Eden gave himself a brisk mental shake and returned to his post. Bills, letters from aspiring players, the opening scenes of a play written in odd green ink… He really should get a secretary for all this.
One plain white wrapper of fine quality paper, sealed with a crest pressed into the dark blue wax; that looked more interesting. He cracked the seal and spread out the single sheet.
Lord Pangbourne requests the pleasure of Mr Hurst’scompany for refreshments during the second interval at theUnicorn on Monday next.
‘My God, she has told him.’ Eden stared at the invitation, reluctant admiration stirring. No sign of a horsewhip, not yet at any rate. Perhaps the earl was as unconventional as his daughter, or perhaps he thought to show her just how unsuitable a person Eden was for her to associate with by putting him into a social situation.
That was the logical answer. And in order to remove the puzzle of Lady Maude from his life, all he had to do was to turn up and act as Lord Pangbourne would expect. Eden toyed with the combination of clothing and manner that would make him appear louche, dangerous and entirely impossible.
His on-stage style was already established; he just needed to develop that to the point of caricature. He had seen enough old-school actor-managers to be able to assemble the worst characteristics of all of them. And then even the most indulgent father would take fright and bundle his daughter off out of harm’s way, leaving Eden to manage his theatre in tranquillity.
He picked up the paper and as he did so the faint scent of gardenias wafted to his nostrils. So, this firm black hand was not that of the earl or his secretary. Lady Maude herself had penned it. Eden smiled thinly. Was her father even aware he was going to have a visitor to his box on Monday night?
Chapter Five (#ulink_552a40bf-b5a7-54f9-b414-06a1f86de42d)
‘It is fortunate that the private boxes at the Unicorn are spacious, for this one seems very full of large men tonight,’ Jessica remarked to Maude on Monday evening as the Derehams entered with their guest. Lord Pangbourne, with Gareth at his side, was greeting them, giving the friends the opportunity to study As he’s naval acquaintance.
‘Why not fall for him?’ Jessica whispered. ‘He looks so distinguished in that uniform and he is very good looking and not too old either. Not more than thirty, do you think? A younger son, of course, but excellent connections. Your father would be delighted.’
‘I have no interest in other men, as you very well know,’ Maude hissed back, too tense to enjoy being teased. The officer was tall and rangy in his dark blue uniform, his hair close cropped, his eyes, as he turned to be introduced to the two young women, a deep and attractive blue against weather-tanned skin.
‘Lady Standon, Maude, this is Captain Warnham. My lord—Lady Standon, my daughter Lady Maude.’
Greetings exchanged, the captain settled his long frame between Maude and Jessica. ‘It is a long time since I have been inside an English theatre,’ he commented, looking around with interest. From the boxes opposite came the flash of light on lenses as opera glasses were raised to scrutinise comings and goings. It would be all round the ton before long that a handsome naval officer was newly in town.
‘You have been at sea for many months?’ Maude enquired, fanning herself. The theatre was crowded and the heat rising from the gas lamps added to that generated by the crowd and her own anxiety.
‘Three months in the South Atlantic, ma’am. I am back for some weeks before sailing for Jamaica on another mission.’
‘The West Indies? How fascinating, I have always wanted to go to those islands.’ Maude, her twitching nerves over Eden momentarily forgotten, leaned closer. ‘They always sound so romantic and exotic.’
Captain Warnham smiled. ‘They have their charms, I am sure, but they also have slavery, hurricanes, tropical disease and pirates.’
‘And sunshine and blue seas and parrots and waving palm trees,’ Maude said wistfully, thinking of the drizzle that affected London.
‘My husband and Lady Belinda have a cousin in Jamaica, do you not, Bel?’ Jessica raised her voice to catch Bel’s attention.
‘Jamaica? Yes, Clemence Ravenhurst. We are expecting her father to bring her over to England this summer to stay so she can have an English come-out next Season. I expect your ships will pass in mid-Atlantic, Captain.’
They began to chat, Bel and Gareth explaining what they knew about their youngest uncle, a highly successful West Indies merchant.
Now he is in trade, Maude thought resentfully. Theyoungest son of a duke and no one thinks the worse of himfor it. But, of course, Lord Clement Ravenhurst was a very successful man and did not soil his own hands with the details of his luxury goods business. Presumably wealth and birth wiped out the stain of trade, if you had sufficient of both.
‘What a pity he will not be at home when you are there, Captain Warnham,’ Bel concluded. ‘We would have given you letters of introduction.’
The orchestra began to file into the pit and tune up, earning catcalls and jeers for the cacophony from the common folk up in the one-shilling gallery. The noise gradually subsided back to the usual hubbub and then the lights were dimmed and the curtain rose on the first piece of the evening, a short farcical item featuring the company heavy as a strict father, thwarted at every turn by the ingenious antics of his daughter’s suitors.
‘I have every sympathy with the fellow,’ Lord Pangbourne remarked as the furious father chased a young man over a balcony while, behind his back, another rake took advantage and snatched a kiss from the daughter. Maude recognised Tom Gates, the ambitious walking man, who whisked out of sight behind a convenient curtain in the nick of time.
‘It is an ingenious piece,’ Captain Warnham agreed, laughing at the business between the cast, the maid changing clothes with her mistress, while the two young men dressed as footmen and the baffled father searched frantically for his daughter. In a few minutes the happy couple escaped down a rope ladder, the remaining suitor consoled himself with the maid and the curtain came down on appreciative applause.
There was a short interval before the next piece, a ballet. Maude reviewed her preparations for the main interval: canapés, champagne, two small tables to be brought in and the seats rearranged. But who to place where?
She wanted her father to appreciate Eden’s strong points, not be distracted by long hair or diamond ear studs or over-emphatic tailoring. Perhaps best not to place him next to the clean-cut Lord Warnham in his dress uniform. Between Bel and Jessica then…
‘You are muttering,’ Jessica said.
‘I want you and Bel to sit either side of Mr Hurst,’ Maude whispered back. ‘I don’t want him sitting next to Captain Warnham and making Papa think of haircuts.’
‘I think the length of his hair is the least of your problems.’
One step at a time, Maude told herself, sitting through the ballet in such a state of abstraction that she would have been hard pressed to say whether there had been dancers or circus horses on stage if questioned afterwards.
Eden’s note in response to the invitation had arrived, punctiliously prompt and formal. But would he really come?
The waiter came in with the refreshments and, on his heels, a tall figure, dark against the brightness of the open doorway.
‘Standon, my dear fellow, would you—?’ Lord Pangbourne broke off in confusion, realising that the man he thought he was addressing was still seated to his left. The figure moved, the light fell across his face and Maude let out a long, inaudible sigh. Eden.
Her father got to his feet, ponderous and, for all his formal good manners, wary. ‘Mr Hurst?’
‘My lord.’ He came in, as the waiter closed the door behind him, and inclined his head to his host.
‘Allow me to make you known to Lady Dereham, Lady Standon, my daughter Lady Maude—’
Papa is pretending we have not met, Maude realised, returning the bow with slight curtsy, while her father completed the introductions and waved Eden to the chair by his side.
And then she realised what was different about him. Gone was the exotic theatre manager, gone too was the working man in his shirtsleeves, and in their place was a perfectly conventional gentleman in well-cut evening formality, a modest ruffle on his white shirt, the dull sheen of garnet satin on his waistcoat and just a hint of sparkle in the strange old ring, his only piece of jewellery. Even his hair had been ruthlessly pomaded and brushed into a fashionable style that distracted the eye from its length.
He is making an effort, she thought, astonished. It had never occurred to her that Eden Hurst might go out of his way to impress her father. Was it because he needed the money, or because he did not want to lose her as…as what? An investor? That was all she could be to him at the moment, surely?
Lord Pangbourne, nobody’s fool, even though he cultivated an appearance of bluff and bluster, had apparently realised that he could hardly explain to a boxful of guests, one of whom was a virtual stranger, that he had invited Mr Hurst there to interview him as a potential business partner for his daughter. He had also, while introductions had been made, managed things so that the men were all sitting to one side of the box and Maude was safely trapped between the other two ladies.
She realised, with sinking heart, that Bel and Jessica had not exaggerated the unconventionality of what she was doing. Gareth and Ashe were regarding Eden with expressions of politely neutrality, but she knew them both too well to be deceived. They were watchful and suspicious and, she feared, disapproving.
‘Good of you to join us,’ her father remarked, pouring champagne. ‘I’m very interested in this new gas lighting you have here. Thinking of installing it myself. What do you think?’
‘I would not put it in my own home, not just yet.’ Eden took the glass, but did not drink. Close to the naval officer’s tanned skin his colouring seemed less exotic. He looked and sounded just like the rest of them, yet he was the focus of more than polite attention. ‘There is an odour, and it is dangerous without proper ventilation. But, in a year or two, I think it will replace oil everywhere.’
Captain Warnham, for whom this was apparently the first sight of gas used inside, joined in the conversation with a remark about the gas lights installed on Westminster Bridge in 1813 and all four men were soon deep into the technicalities.
Maude rolled her eyes at her friends, but Bel smiled and nodded encouragement. And, yes, superficially it was a success. They could have been any group of gentlemen engrossed in discussion, but she sensed relief all round at such a neutral topic that could distance the men from the ladies.
Eden, she realised, had muted his forceful character. He deferred to the older man, held his own with the others, yet it was as though he had turned down the wick on the lamp of his personality.
Clever, Maude thought. He is adapting himself to his company, blending in. She met his eyes across the table. His expression hardly changed, yet she sensed rueful amusement. He knew exactly what he was doing, but he did not seem entirely happy that he was doing it. And he sensed the raised hackles of the other men.
‘We are neglecting the ladies,’ he remarked, bringing all eyes to where his gaze was resting, her face.
‘But I am fascinated by gas lighting,’ she said sweetly, all wide-eyed feminine attentiveness. His lips were definitely quirking now. It was infectious. She bit the inside of her lip to stop herself smiling back. ‘Still, we do not have that much time before the curtain rises again. Will you not tell us about the next piece? My father saw it the last time it was produced in London.’
‘In 1810 at Covent Garden, my lord? We have had to adapt it here, of course, because of the licence, add a short ballet, and some songs, hence our choice of Mrs Furlow in the lead; she has just the voice for it. Still, it is very much the same comedy you will recall from before.’ He uses his voice like an actor, Nell thought, listening to how he spoke, not what he said. It was a deep and flexible voice, shaded with colour. He seemed to have it as much under his control as his face, betraying only what he wanted to show.
Her father was relaxing now; she saw his shoulders shake as he recounted some piece of amusing business from the production he remembered.
The conversation moved on while she was brooding. Gareth must have asked Captain Warnham about his new ship. ‘Do you welcome another commission so far from home?’
‘I am a career officer, I go where I am ordered and may do most good, but in any case I could not turn down the opportunity to make war on pirates. They are everything I loathe.’
‘But are there any left?’ Maude asked. ‘Enough to be a problem?’
‘Not so many now, we have them under control in many areas. But those that remain are the worst of them. And like rats they know we almost have them cornered and that makes them the more vicious. They used to take prisoners for ransom; now they cut their throats and throw them overboard.’
The party fell silent, chilled, Maude sensed, not so much by the horror of what he was describing, but the controlled anger with which he said it.
Bel, the more experienced hostess, picked up the thread of the conversation after a heartbeat had passed and moved them on to safer ground. ‘I love to read the shipping news in the daily papers,’ she remarked. ‘It is so fascinating to see where they have come from to reach us, bearing our luxuries all that way.’
All those luxuries, Maude thought, unfurling her Chinese fan and looking at it with new eyes, brought over huge distances at such risk. She looked up and found Eden was still watching her and was visited by the odd idea that he knew what she was thinking. Then the imagined look of understanding was gone and he rose to his feet.
‘You will excuse me, my lords, ladies. The curtain rises soon.’ He bowed and was gone, his champagne untouched, leaving the crowded box feeling somehow empty.
‘What a pleasant man,’ Bel remarked, carefully not looking in Maude’s direction. ‘Not at all what I would have expected of a theatre proprietor.’
‘Indeed not,’ Jessica added. ‘One can only think that the theatre is becoming so much more respectable these days.’
‘Superficially, perhaps. But it is scarcely eight years since the riots over the changes at Covent Garden,’ Gareth countered. ‘Nor can one call that sort of thing respectable.’ He nodded towards the box opposite where a party of bucks were becoming very familiar indeed with three young women whose manners and clothing clearly proclaimed them to be of the demi-monde. Gareth appeared quite unconscious of the dagger-looks his wife was darting in his direction.
‘And matters will be laxer on the Continent, I have no doubt,’ Ashe added, his eyes resting on the door as though he could still see Eden.
‘Oh, look,’ said Maude with bright desperation, ‘Here come the string players.’ Across from her, Lord Pangbourne appeared sunk in thought.
‘What did you think, Papa?’ Maude ventured as the carriage clattered over the wet cobbles on its way back to Mount Street.
‘Excellent production. In my opinion, adding the songs helped it. It was a lot livelier than I remembered.’
‘Not the play, Papa, although I am pleased you enjoyed it. Mr Hurst.’
‘Surprising chap. Not what I expected.’ Lord Pangbourne fell silent.
‘And?’
‘And I need to sleep on it.’ He sighed gustily. ‘Confound it, Maude, I know I promised you more freedom, but I don’t know what your mother would say if she were here.’
‘Yes, probably,’ Maude ventured. ‘She was very unconventional, was she not, Papa?’
‘Very fast, you mean,’ he said, but she could hear he was smiling. ‘Your mama, my dear, was a handful. And so are you. I don’t like refusing you anything, Maude; I promised your mother I would never make you feel as she did as a girl—caged. But I don’t want to see you hurt too.’
