Regency Disguise: No Occupation for a Lady / No Role for a Gentleman

‘Yes, but she seldom appears on stage any more,’ Victoria said. ‘They are both more involved in the production end of things now. Pity, really, since they were both exceptional performers.’

Alistair stared at her in bemusement. A stunning young woman, eldest daughter of a gentleman, speaking not only without embarrassment about the black sheep of her family, but with admiration …?

‘Devlin, where on earth have you … oh, I beg your pardon.’ Lord Collins came to an abrupt halt. ‘I wasn’t aware that you and the lady were engaged in a conversation.’

‘Then you’re the only one in the room who isn’t,’ Alistair drawled. ‘Miss Bretton, I believe you are acquainted with Lord Collins?’

‘Indeed, I’ve seen him at the Gryphon quite often of late,’ Victoria said with a smile. ‘I believe he has a fondness for Miss Chermonde.’

To Alistair’s delight, Collins actually blushed. ‘The lady and I are … acquainted, yes.’

‘Then a word of advice, my lord,’ Victoria said. ‘As my uncle is aware of your … acquaintance with Miss Chermonde, I feel it only fair to warn you that, if you do anything to adversely affect the quality of her performance, he will take you to task. My uncle demands a great deal from the members of his troupe and if an actor or actress delivers a substandard performance, he will be looking to know the reasons why. And I should tell you that in his younger days, he had quite a reputation as a pugilist.’

Collins’s blush receded, leaving his face starkly white. ‘I appreciate the warning, Miss Bretton, but I can assure you I would never treat Miss Chermonde with anything but the utmost respect and I intend to shower her with gifts that will keep her very happy indeed.’

‘Good. Just please do not feed her oysters,’ Victoria said with a sigh. ‘She will ask for them, but they make her sneeze and that ruins her voice for a good day and a half.’

‘Then there will definitely be no oysters,’ Collins said stiffly.

‘Thank you. Well, I had best take my leave. Good evening, Lord Collins. Mr Devlin.’

Alistair bowed. ‘Miss Bretton.’

Collins gave just a brief nod and waited until she was safely out of range before saying, ‘Trumped-up little baggage! Imagine telling me what I should and shouldn’t do with my own mistress. I should have told her it was none of her business!’

‘But you did not,’ Alistair said with a broad smile. ‘In fact, your response was uncommonly meek for you, Bertie.’

The other man flushed. ‘It was not meek! I was merely being polite. But you see what I mean about her being outspoken. And about how people treat her.’

‘I saw a few old tabbies turn up their nose, but if she was that unacceptable, she wouldn’t be here. They don’t get much stuffier than the Holcombes.’

Collins sighed. ‘You know Theo Templeton’s her uncle, right? Well, he’s also reputed to be worth a bloody fortune. No one knows where the money came from. Some say it’s his wife’s, others say he won it at cards. Either way, he’s as rich as Croesus and doesn’t give a damn what society thinks about him.’

‘What has any of that to do with Miss Bretton?’

‘Last year, when Holcombe ran into financial difficulties, Templeton bailed him out, no questions asked,’ Collins said. ‘Everyone’s dying to know why, of course, but Holcombe isn’t talking and neither is Templeton. But it’s the reason Holcombe won’t hear a bad word spoken about Templeton or about any member of his family, if you know what I mean.’

Alistair did. ‘You’re saying Templeton’s kindness to Holcombe is the reason Victoria Bretton is accepted in society.’

‘In part. Her immediate family are mindful of the proprieties, but her aunt and uncle are not and neither is she. She has gained a reputation for being blunt and there are those who predict she will suffer for it. In which case, having Holcombe on her side is a definite advantage. There’s not many who’ll gainsay a marquess.’

Alistair stared into his empty glass. No, there weren’t. He’d dealt with his fair share of toad-eaters in his life and his father was only a viscount. There was even more grovelling the higher one climbed on the social ladder.

But Victoria’s uncle wasn’t even on the social ladder. He and his wife had both acted upon the stage, and the fact he was rich or that he had bailed out a peer of the realm would make no difference. He would still be viewed as a mushroom at best and an actor at worst; both of which would serve as strikes against him and against members of his family. ‘Does Templeton move much in society?’ Alistair asked now.

‘To the extent he wishes. Beyond that, he doesn’t seem to care.’

‘What does he care about?’

‘His wife, his theatre, his brother and his niece. Everything else can go to hell as far as he’s concerned. At least, that’s what I’ve been told.’

And Collins would know, Alistair reflected, given his current association with Signy Chermonde. ‘An interesting man.’

‘Eccentric, if you ask me,’ Collins said with a sniff. ‘But, when you’re that rich, you can afford to do as you please. Victoria Bretton, however, is another matter. The lady falls somewhere between the devil and the deep blue sea. Even her own sister keeps her at a distance.’

Yes, Alistair had seen first-hand evidence of that. The lovely Winifred had all but curled her pretty little lip during her conversation with her sister, and if her mother was pushing her in George Compton’s direction, it was evident the family was determined to marry Victoria off to any man who expressed an interest.

And yet the lady didn’t seem to care. She had walked around that room with her head held high, blissfully serene in the face of all those hostile stares. She was the one who had drawn his attention to the way people were looking at her and to the effect it could have on his reputation.

What did that mean? That the lady truly was impervious to the snubs and the remarks people were making about her? Or that she was simply a better actress than the celebrated Signy Chermonde could ever hope to be?

It was Victoria’s habit to write early in the morning, usually long before the rest of the family were out of bed. Her mind was clearest at that time of day, and it was during those pre-dawn hours that she did her best work. But when on the morning following the Holcombe’s soirée, the words did not flow freely, Victoria did not immediately put it down to anything that had taken place at the soirée.

While it was true the memory of her conversation with Alistair Devlin had kept her awake long into the night, she couldn’t believe it was the reason she was feeling creatively stifled this morning. That kind of reaction usually came about as a result of her emotions being tied up in knots, and given that she and Alistair had spoken on only two prior occasions, the chance of having developed any kind of feelings for him was highly unlikely.

Yes, he was charming, and there was no question he was intelligent, but while those were qualities she would always admire in a man, Victoria wasn’t looking for them in Alistair Devlin.

She shouldn’t even be thinking about the man. Her uncle had made it very plain that she would end up nursing a broken heart for her trouble because Alistair’s position in society, and his father’s antipathy towards the theatre, would always preclude them from having a relationship.

Then why did she keep thinking about him? And why, if he wasn’t interested in her, had he sought her out and spoken to her at the theatre?

That was the question plaguing Victoria as she trotted her mare along Rotten Row an hour later. She had given up on the idea of writing and had asked for her mare to be saddled and brought round, hoping that a change of scenery would be good for her. But even though her groom rode far enough behind so as not to disturb her concentration, her mind remained stubbornly and most disappointingly blank. No clever ideas leapt to mind, and while she was reluctant to put a name to the cause, Victoria had a sinking feeling it was all because of—

‘Miss Bretton,’ came an all-too-familiar voice. ‘What a surprise. I’d not thought to see you out so early in the day.’

Victoria looked up—and instinctively her hands tightened on the reins. ‘Mr Devlin.’ The last person she’d needed—or wanted—to see. ‘I cannot think why. I did not stay late at the Holcombes’ soirée.’

‘No, but most ladies do not care to ride in the Park at a time of day when society is not around to admire them.’

‘Ah, but I ride for pleasure. Not to be stared at by those who opinions matter not in the least.’

‘Yet, anyone who sees you cannot help but be impressed by your beauty.’

Unexpectedly, his boldness made her laugh. ‘It is a little early in the day for such excessive flattery, Mr Devlin,’ she said, flicking a glance at the lady at his side, who wore a striking burgundy habit and was riding a pretty dapple-grey mare. ‘Are you not going to introduce me to your companion?’

‘But of course. Miss Victoria Bretton, may I present my cousin, Miss Isabelle Wright.’

Victoria started. His cousin?

‘How do you do, Miss Bretton,’ the lady said in a bright, youthful voice. ‘What a pleasure to finally meet you. I was introduced to your sister at the Roehamptons’ reception a few weeks ago and thought her ever so nice. Your aunt and uncle were there as well.’

Not having been at the reception, Victoria assumed Miss Wright was referring to her mother’s brother and wife who lived in Edinburgh. ‘I wasn’t aware Aunt and Uncle Taitley were in London.’

‘Oh, no, not that aunt and uncle. I meant the ones involved with the Gryphon Theatre. They are related to you, aren’t they?’ Miss Wright said. ‘Mr and Mrs Templeton?’

Astonished that a cousin of Alistair Devlin’s would be familiar with the owner of any theatre, let alone the Gryphon, Victoria said carefully, ‘Yes, they are.’

‘I thought so. I was terribly pleased to meet them. I truly believe your uncle stages some of the finest productions in London.’

‘Why don’t you tell Miss Bretton the name of your favourite play, Isabelle?’ Alistair said with a smile.

The girl laughed. ‘I don’t suppose it’s all that surprising. A Lady’s Choice, by Valentine Lawe. Cousin Alistair tells me you’ve seen it too, Miss Bretton.’

‘Yes, I have.’

‘Did you not think it brilliant?’

‘Well, I’m really not sure—’

‘Oh, but you must, because Valentine Lawe is the most talented playwright in all London. Surely we can agree on that?’

Somewhat nonplussed, Victoria took a moment to straighten her mare’s reins. How bizarre. She had never been asked a question about Valentine Lawe before, so really had no idea how to answer it. ‘I suppose I would have to say that he is … quite good.’

‘Quite good? My dear Miss Bretton, he is exceptional!’ Miss Wright exclaimed. ‘I’ve seen all of his plays: A Winter’s Escapade, Genevieve, Penelope’s Swain. But I think A Lady’s Choice is definitely his finest. Have you met him? Cousin Alistair said you must have, given that your uncle produces all of his plays.’

‘That would seem logical, but as it happens, Mr Lawe tends to keep … a very low profile,’ Victoria said, sticking as close to the truth as possible. ‘My uncle says he’s never met a more reclusive playwright in his life.’

‘Is that so?’ Miss Wright’s face was, briefly, a study in disappointment. ‘I wonder why?’

‘Perhaps he is afraid of being mobbed in the streets,’ Alistair drawled, ‘by overly enthusiastic fans like you.’

To Victoria’s amusement, the girl actually blushed. ‘It isn’t nice of you to make fun of me, Cousin Alistair. I know you don’t think much of Mr Lawe’s plays, or of anyone else’s for that matter—’

‘On the contrary, I think Lawe’s work is head and shoulders above everyone else’s. I may only have seen A Lady’s Choice, but based on that I am more than willing to acknowledge the man’s talent. Just because I don’t go to the theatre often doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate excellence when I see it.’

For a few heady moments, Victoria allowed herself the pleasure of basking in the warm glow of his praise. That was the worst part of not being able to acknowledge who she really was: being unable to express gratitude to people who enjoyed and appreciated her work. Especially a man like Alistair Devlin …

‘Is he very handsome?’ Miss Wright asked suddenly.

Guiltily, Victoria started. ‘Who?’

‘Valentine Lawe. Your aunt must have made some comment as to his appearance.’

‘Oh. Well, I’m really … not sure. I’ve never asked her what she thought of him … in that regard.’

‘I have a picture of him in my mind,’ Miss Wright admitted. ‘He’s as tall as Cousin Alistair and his hair is just as dark, but he has the most amazing blue eyes you’ve ever seen. When he looks at you, you feel as though he’s gazing right down into your soul.’

‘Really?’ Victoria hardly knew what to say. She’d never given a moment’s thought to her alter ego’s appearance. ‘How … interesting.’

‘And he’s brooding, just like a romantic hero should be,’ Miss Wright went on. ‘But as brilliant as he is on paper, he’s very quiet and withdrawn in person. And he dresses well, but only in black and white. And he wears a single red rose in his lapel and—’

‘A diamond stud in his ear?’ Alistair enquired. ‘Or a gold hoop?’

‘He is not a pirate, Cousin Alistair,’ Miss Wright said, rolling her eyes. ‘He is a playwright. And I’m not the only one who fantasises about his appearance. Ellen Standish thinks he’s fair, Jenny Hartlett is convinced he has red hair and Mrs Johnston is of the opinion he hasn’t any hair at all. But she is partial to balding men, so I suppose that is her idea of attractive.’

Victoria just stared, aware that the conversation was getting more bizarre by the minute. ‘Well, if I am ever fortunate enough to meet … Mr Lawe I will be sure to communicate the details of his appearance to you.’

‘You would do that for me?’ the girl said, looking as though she had been given the secret to eternal youth.

‘Happily. But I should warn you that I have no expectation of seeing the gentleman any time soon.’

‘I don’t care!’ Miss Wright cried. ‘It is enough to know that when you do see him, you will tell me what he looks like and I shall know whether I have been right or wrong. Thank you so very much, Miss Bretton!’

Victoria inclined her head, grateful for having emerged unscathed from what could have been a very embarrassing situation. She didn’t like telling lies, but what was she to do with Alistair Devlin sitting right there? She could hardly admit to being Valentine Lawe now when she had not told him the truth during any of their previous conversations.

She glanced at him sitting relaxed and at ease in the saddle and wished with all her heart that she might feel as calm. But her pulse was racing and when he smiled at her, it only grew worse, so much so that Victoria feared he must surely be able to see her heart beating beneath her jacket. Because his was a smile that was at once beguiling and disturbing, a smile that hinted at things she knew nothing about and had never experienced.

A smile that lingered far longer in her mind than it had any right to, and that would not be shaken, no matter how hard she tried.

Chapter Five

There were only two cast members on stage when Victoria arrived at the Gryphon to speak to her uncle the following morning. Miss Catherine Jones, the young lady who had been engaged in the role of understudy to Signy Chermonde, and the actress playing Elizabeth Turcott’s mother. Why the great actress herself wasn’t on stage was anyone’s guess, though Victoria suspected it probably had something to do with Lord Collins.

Fortunately, Miss Jones was giving a marvellous performance as Elizabeth, communicating the character’s emotional suffering in a quiet and thoroughly believable manner.

‘She has the makings of a fine actress,’ Uncle Theo said as he came and sat down next to Victoria. ‘I predict she will do very well.’

‘Where did you find her?’

‘At a small theatre outside Cardiff. She was playing Ophelia and caught my eye at once. After the performance, we talked for a while and I said if she was ever interested in coming to London, she should contact me. Much to my surprise, a year later, she sent me a letter, asking if the offer was still open.’

‘How fortunate for you,’ Victoria said. ‘She hasn’t Signy’s exotic looks or her flair for the dramatic, but there is an innocence about her that is highly engaging.’

‘I thought the same thing the first time I saw her. I’ll likely cast her in ingénue roles and ensemble pieces until I’ve had a chance to work with her. She’s already learned a lot from watching Signy.’

‘Dare I ask where the great lady is this morning?’

‘ Still in bed, I suspect.’ Her uncle kept his eyes on the stage below. ‘The question is, whose?’

Victoria knew she shouldn’t have laughed. Had she been more like her mother or sister, she would have been deeply embarrassed by the decidedly risqué comment. But her association with the theatre had long since stripped away those blinds of false modesty, allowing her to appreciate the humour in her uncle’s remark. ‘I did warn Lord Collins about the risks involved in doing anything that might adversely affect Signy’s performance,’ she said now.

‘So far, other than make her late for rehearsal, he has heeded your advice. If anything, Signy’s performances have become even richer and more compelling since she became his mistress. God knows what will happen when he discards her.’

‘Do you believe he will?’

Her uncle shrugged. ‘He did it to Sarah Littlewood last year. Completely devastated the poor girl. Couldn’t remember any of her lines and spent most of her time crying. It was the reason I had to let her go.’

‘But Signy is far more beautiful.’

‘Yes, but men like Collins don’t take relationships like that seriously. Once they tire of their mistresses, they move on. When that happens, I predict an emotional storm of such staggering proportions it will leave Signy incapable of performing in any but the most pathetic of tragedies. I shall have to have a play in hand for just such an occasion.’ Her uncle grinned. ‘In the meantime, I am well pleased with Miss Jones. She makes a very appealing Elizabeth.’

‘She does indeed,’ Victoria said. Then she sighed—and her uncle picked up on it at once.

‘What’s wrong?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Yes, there is. You only sigh like that when you’ve something on your mind. Has your mother been complaining about us again?’

Victoria managed a weak smile. ‘No. This has nothing to do with you or Aunt Tandy.’

‘Then what?’

Victoria stared down at the stage, listening to Miss Jones recite the lines she had written. Lines that had come so easily to her in the past, but that didn’t any more. Not since Alistair Devlin had walked into her life. ‘You said something the morning after the play, about there being … very little chance of Mr Devlin pursuing a relationship with me,’ Victoria said slowly. ‘Why did you say that?’

‘Are you asking because you like Mr Devlin and have some hopes in that direction?’

‘No,’ Victoria said, feeling her face burn. How ironic that where talk of mistresses didn’t make her uncomfortable, the mention of a romantic association with Alistair did. ‘I am well aware that he is far above my touch. But he is … an interesting man. Witty, clever. Exceedingly charming.’

‘Charm runs in the family. His grandfather was one of the most charming men I ever met,’ Uncle Theo said, ‘though he was also one of the most boring. His son follows in his footsteps.’ He leaned back in his seat and rested his arm along the back of the chair next to him. ‘Have you seen much of Devlin since the night the two of you met?’

‘Not really. I spoke to him at the Holcombes’ soirée, then again whilst riding in the Park. The last time I saw him was at the King’s Theatre. Laurence and I had gone to see a performance of Tancredi. Mr Devlin was there with his sister and brother-in-law, who, I must say, were not in the least charming.’

‘Ah, yes, the Archdeacon and his wife,’ her uncle said with a sigh. ‘I’ve run into them more than once and it’s never been a pleasure. You would think the Archdeacon’s position in life would make him more tolerant, yet I find he condemns rather than commends, and as far as he is concerned, the theatre is a virtual pit of human frailty.’

‘Yes, he made that quite clear the night I spoke to him,’ Victoria said. ‘I made the mistake of expressing an opinion as to the calibre of the performers, whereupon Miss Wright told him I knew everything there was to know about opera and the theatre because I was related to you. Once the Archdeacon heard that, neither he nor his wife had any particular interest in furthering the acquaintance.’

‘I’m not surprised. The theatrical world isn’t well thought of by anyone in that family.’ Her uncle hesitated before saying, ‘Has anyone told you the story about Devlin’s older brother, Hugh?’

Victoria didn’t have to pretend surprise. ‘I wasn’t even aware he had an older brother.’

‘He doesn’t any more. Hugh died some years ago. Tragic set of circumstances,’ her uncle said. ‘Hugh Devlin was a fine man. Handsome, charismatic, even more charming than his father and brother. But he fell passionately in love with an actress and when his father refused to let them marry, they eloped to Scotland and married there.’

‘Gracious! Who was she?’

‘Her name was Sally Tamblin. I doubt you would have heard of her. She wasn’t in the theatre long. But she was an extremely beautiful young woman who more than one young buck fancied himself in love with. But there was only ever one man for Sally.’

‘Hugh Devlin,’ Victoria whispered.

Her uncle nodded. ‘The pair were madly in love. And they did run away and get married, but it didn’t turn out well. Within a few years, Hugh contracted a fever and died, leaving Sally to raise their daughter alone. And though he wrote a letter to his father asking him to take care of his wife and daughter, Kempton refused, saying he wanted nothing to do with either of them.’

‘How cruel!’

‘Kempton’s a proud man,’ her uncle said. ‘He disowned Hugh the day he ran off, and when Sally and her daughter turned up at his door asking for his help, Kempton turned them away, saying they were no relations of his. He blamed Sally for the disgrace his son had brought upon the family, and, not surprisingly, his anger grew to encompass the entire acting profession. It’s the reason he won’t set foot in a theatre to this day.’ Her uncle sighed. ‘It is also the reason he would never condone a relationship between his son and a woman known to have close ties to the theatre.’

‘Close ties,’ Victoria said softly. ‘Like mine to you and Aunt Tandy.’

‘I’m afraid so.’

Victoria stared at the edge of the box where a loop of golden braid had come undone. Absently, she reached out and tied the pieces together. ‘I had no idea.’

‘There’s no reason why you would. No one talks about it any more. But because you asked, I thought it best to tell you the truth. I would hate to see you get hurt.’

‘I doubt it would have come to that,’ Victoria said, trying for a convincing smile. ‘Even without his father’s sentiments, I knew there was very little chance of anything developing between Mr Devlin and myself. He is a man who demands honesty above all, and I have told him nothing but lies since the night we met.’

Her uncle’s dark brows drew together. ‘Why would you say that?’

‘Because he doesn’t know I’m Valentine Lawe. And I can’t tell him because I gave Mama my promise I would not.’ Victoria stared down at the stage, though it was Alistair’s face she saw. ‘I don’t need anyone to tell me there is no future for a woman like me, with a man like that.’