No Occupation For A Lady

Alistair had not been moved. Giving her a handkerchief to dry her eyes, he had advised her to take herself back to Lord Lansing or whichever gentleman was keeping her and not to trouble him again. The one thing he would not tolerate from those closest to him was deceit. A woman who lied to him once would have no compunction about lying to him again and he had no reason to believe Celeste would not end up back in the arms of the man with whom she had already betrayed him.

Women like that always landed on their feet. Or on their backs, as the case might be.

It was then, as Alistair turned to ask Collins about the evening’s performance, that his attention was caught by a movement in one of the boxes opposite. A young woman had stepped through the curtain and into view, emerging like a radiant butterfly into the sunlight. She was garbed in cream-coloured silk that shimmered with every movement and long, smooth-fitting gloves that covered slender arms from fingers to elbow. Her hair, a soft mist of golden curls, was arranged attractively around her head and, in the flickering light, Alistair saw flashes of crimson at her throat. She paused for a moment to watch the antics of the dandies and young bloods in the pit below, then turned to bestow a smile on the older woman and younger gentleman already seated in the box.

It was the smile that stopped him. As innocent as a child’s, it tugged at something deep within Alistair’s subconscious, reminding him of a time when life was simpler and pleasures more easily found. She looked as though there was nowhere she would rather be and nothing she would rather be doing than sitting in her box watching the performance taking place below.

Was that what drew him to her so strongly? he wondered. The pleasure she took in an activity he and the rest of society took so entirely for granted? Or was it the fact that she was, even to his experienced eye, an incredibly beautiful woman? Draped in silk and chiffon, she had the face of an angel, but a lush, sensual figure that made him think of hot nights between soft sheets and the sweet rush of intimacy as scented limbs wrapped around him and drew him close.

Unfortunately, given that the first thing the lady did was reach for the hand of the gentleman who rose to greet her, Alistair doubted it would be his body she ever wrapped them around. The two soon had their heads close together in conversation, and while it was clear the gentleman was no match for her in appearance or style, there was no denying the strength of the connection between them.

Lucky devil, whoever he was.

Then a ripple of anticipation as a tall and distinguished-looking gentleman walked out on to centre stage. He was dressed all in black, his long cape over breeches and boots giving him a decidedly swashbuckling appearance. Not a young man—his dark hair and beard were liberally threaded with silver and his lined face reflected the experiences of a lifetime. But he had a presence that could not be denied and when he held up one gloved hand, silence descended.

‘Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the Gryphon. My name is Theodore Templeton and tonight we present for your enjoyment two productions making their début on the London stage. Mi Scuzi, an operetta in Italian by Giuseppe Fratolini, and A Lady’s Choice, a new work by the renowned playwright Valentine Lawe. The inimitable Signy Chermonde will play the role of Elizabeth Turcott opposite Mr Victor Trumphani in the part of Elliot Black. And now I invite you to sit back and prepare to be entertained.’

A polite round of applause greeted his words, as well as the expected whistles and jeers from the dandies in the pit. No sooner had he left the stage than the orchestra began to play and the curtain swept majestically upwards to reveal a setting reminiscent of a Mayfair drawing room, with a single actress, an elderly woman, seated in a wingback chair.

Alistair, who knew all too well that the build up to such productions was often the highlight of the performance, settled back and prepared to be bored.

He was not bored. He was mesmerized, the opening scenes of the play capturing his attention in a way no other stage performance ever had. The plot was intriguing, the dialogue witty and the cast gave such outstanding performances that, as the evening wore on, Alistair found himself growing more and more surprised.

This was not the type of performance he had come expecting to see. Knowing the play to be new and the company young, he had expected the production to reflect those shortcomings. But try as he might, he could find nothing to fault in either the play or in the actors’ portrayals of their characters. Even the rowdies in the pit were silenced.

If this was an example of Valentine Lawe’s talent, Alistair could well understand why the man was so popular. He was actually disappointed when the actors left the stage at the end of the first act.

‘Well, what did you think?’ Collins asked over the sound of enthusiastic applause.

‘That it was far, far better than I expected,’ Alistair said generously.

‘Not the play! Signy! Is she not the most glorious creature you’ve ever seen?’

Alistair frowned. ‘Signy?’

‘The actress playing Elizabeth. Jupiter, don’t tell me you didn’t notice her?’

Alistair glanced down at the stage. Of course he’d noticed her, but as Elizabeth Turcott rather than Signy Chermonde. She was the glorious, titian-haired temptress who had made her first appearance on stage in the guise of an elderly woman sadly recounting the events of her long life, only to reappear in the next scene as a blushing bride on what was clearly the eve of her wedding. ‘Yes, she was beautiful,’ he agreed, ‘but I was more impressed by her talent than I was by her appearance.’

‘Then I can only hope she is as gifted in bed as she was on stage,’ Collins drawled. ‘Speaking of that, what did you think of Miss Lambert? And don’t tell me you didn’t notice her. Old Parker nearly fell out of his box the first time she walked on stage wearing that filmy white nightgown.’

Alistair laughed. ‘Yes, I noticed her. She was very convincing in the part of Miss Tremayne.’

‘Miss Tremayne?’ Collins said. ‘What’s got into you tonight, Dev? The last time we went to the theatre, you couldn’t even remember the title of the play, let alone the names of the characters.’

‘That’s because the play wasn’t worth remembering and the actors were similarly forgettable,’ Alistair remarked. ‘This, however, is a first-class production.’

‘Well, of course it is. Valentine Lawe is fast becoming one of England’s foremost playwrights. Even a Philistine like you must have known that.’

The fact Alistair did not know failed to arouse any feelings of remorse or guilt within his breast. None of his family were ardent theatre goers. His parents refused to go as a result of the tragic events surrounding their eldest son’s scandalous marriage to an actress, and his sister and brother-in-law, the Venerable Simon Baltham, Archdeacon of Swithing, were of the belief that the theatre was a breeding ground for sin. It was their studied opinion that those who disported themselves upon the stage were vain and immoral creatures who sought aggrandisement through their occupations and were possessed of neither high moral fibre nor any discernible degree of integrity.

Ironically, it didn’t stop them from attending the occasional operatic work, but seldom were they heard to praise a performance or to compliment any of the singers.

For his own part, Alistair didn’t care. The only reason he had limited his exposure to the theatre was out of respect for his parents’ sentiments and in an effort to maintain family harmony. A decision he hadn’t come to regret … until tonight.

He let his gaze fall again on the occupants of the box opposite. The young lady was watching the antics of two young men rearranging props on stage, and looked, if possible, even more radiant than she had before the commencement of the first act. Her hand was again clasped in that of the gentleman sitting beside her, and when he leaned over to whisper something in her ear, she laughed and looked up—and, unexpectedly, locked eyes with Alistair across the theatre.

It was a fleeting glance, no more than a few seconds in length, but for the brief space of that time, the noises around him seemed to subside and it was as though only the two of them sat in that crowded theatre. He watched her laughter fade until only the shadow of a smile remained, and though she didn’t acknowledge his gaze, the soft colour blooming in her cheeks told him she was just as aware of him as he was of her.

As her glance slid away, Alistair leaned over to his friend and said, ‘Collins, that woman in the box opposite …’

‘Lady Lucy Prendergast?’

‘No, the box above. Wearing the cream-coloured gown.’

Collins raised his opera glasses and trained them on the lady in question. ‘Ah, yes, Miss Victoria Bretton. Eldest daughter of Mr and Mrs John Bretton.’

‘How is it I haven’t seen her before?’

‘Because you don’t move in the same circles, old boy,’ Collins said, lowering the glasses. ‘The family reside in Kent, but for the last two Seasons, have taken a house in Green Street for the purpose of introducing their daughters to society. Miss Victoria Bretton made her bows last year, and her younger sister, Miss Winifred Bretton, is doing so this Season.’

‘Who’s the man with her?’ Alistair asked ‘Dedicated husband? Devoted fiancé?’

‘Good God, no, that’s Laurence, her brother. Dry as a stick and completely lacking in fashion sense, but frightfully intelligent from what little I’ve heard. Apparently he speaks four languages and knows more about the classics than did most of his professors at Oxford. He and Victoria are said to be very close.’

‘I’m surprised she isn’t married,’ Alistair commented. ‘She is an exceptionally lovely young woman.’

‘True, but she also has a penchant for speaking her mind and you can imagine how well that sits with the society matrons who believe young ladies should be seen and not heard. Also, do you see the rather flamboyant-looking woman seated in the box with her?’

Observing the lady’s flame-coloured gown, her striking blue-black hair and the circle of diamonds flashing at her throat, Alistair said, ‘It would be difficult not to.’

‘Exactly. That is Mrs Anthea Templeton,’ Collins said. ‘Once a celebrated actress, now the second wife of Mr Theodore Templeton, owner of the theatre, and a man who just happens to be Miss Bretton’s uncle.’

‘Ah. So her family connections are not the best.’

‘That’s putting it mildly. Templeton left his first wife for the lovely Anthea—who was rumoured to be playing Juliet to his Romeo at the time—and the two set up housekeeping without the benefit of marriage. They continued to live and act in that blissfully unwed state for several more years before coming to London and setting up shop here. Needless to say, Mrs Templeton has not been embraced by society.’

‘Hardly surprising,’ Alistair said. ‘She is no doubt accused of stealing Templeton from his wife and blamed for the demise of his marriage.’

‘Of course, and the fact that Miss Bretton seems to enjoy her aunt’s company naturally reflects badly on her. As does the fact that she has an unfortunate fondness for mingling with the cast.’

Alistair raised an eyebrow. ‘She fraternises with the actors?’

‘Oh, yes. Usually in the company of her brother, but she has been known to venture backstage alone,’ Collins said. ‘And while that is perfectly all right for him, it is not the thing for her.’

No, it wasn’t, Alistair reflected as he watched the actors return to the stage for the start of the second act. It was all right for a young lady to go to the theatre and even to express enthusiasm for the performance she had seen, but it was not the thing to be spotted in the company of actors. While Alistair didn’t agree with his brother-in-law’s sweeping condemnation of all stage performers, he knew that many were possessed of questionable morals and that spending time with such people was frowned upon by those in good society. He was surprised Miss Bretton’s parents would allow her to jeopardise her reputation by frequenting such a place, even if she did so in the company of her brother.

‘By the by,’ Collins said, ‘is it true you’ve stopped seeing Lady Frances Shaftsbury? I thought the two of you were as good as engaged.’

‘We were, until I found out Lady Frances was equally enamoured of the Marquess of Kope-ham,’ Alistair said distantly. ‘If I cannot trust a woman to tell me the truth before we’re married, what hope is there for honesty after the vows are taken?’

‘All women lie, Dev. Harkens back to the Garden of Eden,’ Collins said. ‘Eve probably told Adam nothing would happen if he bit into the apple, and we all know how wrong that went.’

‘Fortunately, there are more women in the garden now and a man isn’t compelled to marry the first one that comes along.’

‘Perhaps, but attractive daughters of wealthy earls don’t come along every day either.’

‘No, but I will not suffer the company of a woman who lies. Secrets may abound in society, but they have no place in the relationship between a husband and his wife,’ Alistair said. ‘If I cannot trust the woman to whom I would give my name, I would rather not give it at all.’ For a moment, his gaze returned and lingered, somewhat regretfully, on Victoria Bretton. ‘Life is unpredictable enough. No point making it worse by starting everything off on the wrong foot.’

Chapter Two

A Lady’s Choice was an amusing satire about the foibles of married life. It was clever without being condescending, moralistic without being straitlaced, and funny without being ribald. Alistair actually found himself chuckling at the subtle innuendos flying back and forth and was moved to think that Valentine Lawe was a man who understood the ups and downs of marital relationships.

As such, when the actors delivered their final lines and Mr Templeton walked back on to the stage, Alistair rose to his feet along with the rest of the audience to pay the cast a long and well-deserved tribute.

‘Thank you, ladies and gentlemen,’ Templeton said. ‘I am gratified by your response and delighted that A Lady’s Choice has lived up to your expectations.’

‘Where’s Valentine Lawe?’ shouted a voice from the audience.

The cry was picked up and echoed throughout the theatre, but Templeton only shook his head. ‘I regret to inform you that Mr Lawe is not with us this evening, but I thank you on his behalf and will be sure to communicate your pleasure to him. And now, I am pleased to introduce the talented members of the cast.’

‘Here we go,’ Collins whispered in Alistair’s ear. ‘Pay attention. You’re looking for Signy and Miss Lambert.’

The performers came out two by two, with the lesser members of the cast leading the way. A young actress whose performance had greatly impressed Alistair turned out to be a Miss Catherine Jones, who took her bows with the portly gentleman who had played the vicar. Miss Lambert, a buxom blonde with a voluptuous figure, came out with the older woman who had played the part of Elizabeth’s mother.

Collins nudged Alistair in the ribs. ‘There. Take note so you can find Miss Lambert later on.’

Alistair smiled, but saw no point in telling his friend he would have been far more inclined to approach the sylph-like Miss Jones than the overblown Miss Lambert.

Then Signy Chermonde and Victor Trumphani made their entrance to a thunderous round of applause. Signy was truly a beautiful woman and Alistair had no doubt she would enjoy an illustrious career both on and off the stage. Trumphani, too, possessed the kind of polished masculine appeal that would appeal to débutantes or duchesses, and after taking their final bows, the pair stepped back to let Mr Templeton reclaim centre stage.

‘Thank you, ladies and gentlemen. I know I speak for Valentine Lawe when I say how pleased I am by your response to A Lady’s Choice. I hope you will come back and enjoy it again. Now, after a brief musicale interlude, we present Mi Scuzi!’

Not surprisingly, a good portion of the audience stayed on its feet to get a better look at the people around them, but, having fulfilled his obligation, Alistair decided it was time to leave. Collins would no doubt abandon him to seek out his hoped-for new ladybird, and given that the occupants of the box opposite had already left, Alistair saw no point in staying for the operetta. His grasp of Italian was such that he could follow the lyrics if they were sung with any degree of proficiency, but he feared an English soprano with no ear for the language would mangle it beyond all hope of recognition. Better he leave now while he could still take away a favourable impression of the evening.

He was almost at the door when he saw her. Victoria Bretton was standing alone in the vestibule, her head down, her attention focused on the evening cape in her hands. She seemed to be attempting to undo a knot in one of the ribbons, but her efforts were hampered by the weight of the garment and by the constant brushing of people as they passed.

Clearly, the lady was in need of assistance.

Alistair slowly made his way through the throng and stopped a few feet away from her. She truly was a pleasure to behold. Her face was a perfect oval set upon a slender neck that rose from smooth shoulders seductively displayed by the low bodice of the gown. As he moved closer, his gaze dropped to the rubies nestled in the shadowy cleft between her breasts, aware that the stones were almost as magnificent as what they were nestled in …

‘Can I help you, sir?’

The tone, completely at odds with the colour blossoming in her cheeks, caused Alistair to smile. ‘Forgive me, Miss Bretton. I was lost in admiration of your necklace.’ His gaze rose to a pair of bright blue eyes framed by long lashes under an artful sweep of honey-gold brows. ‘It is … a striking piece.’

‘It is a replica of one given to an Egyptian princess by a devoted swain. My aunt was kind enough to lend it to me for the evening.’ Her chin rose, but her colour remained high. ‘May I ask how you know my name?’

‘I noticed you when you walked into your box,’ Alistair said, seeing no reason to dissemble. ‘When I asked my companion who you were, he kindly vouchsafed your name. May I?’ he asked, indicating the cloak. ‘Undoing knots is a speciality of mine.’

She glanced down at the twisted ribbons and, after a moment, said ‘thank you’ and handed the cloak to him, adding, ‘Was there a reason you wanted to know who I was?’

‘Curiosity.’ Alistair tucked the garment under his arm and set to work. ‘Most people prefer to observe the antics going on around them than the ones taking place on the stage. You were clearly more interested in the play.’

‘It is the reason I come to the theatre,’ she said simply. ‘If I wished to observe society at play, I would go to one of the many soirées held for that purpose.’ There was a brief pause before she said, ‘Why did you come to the Gryphon tonight? To see the play or to watch the other entertainments taking place?’

Alistair smiled. It seemed Collins hadn’t been mistaken when he’d said that Miss Bretton was fond of plain speaking. ‘I came to see the play.’

‘And what did you think of it?’

‘That it was humorous, well plotted and skilfully enacted.’

‘Then you enjoyed it?’

‘I did.’

‘Do you come often to the theatre, Mr—?’

‘Devlin. And, no, I do not.’ The knots untied, he shook out the cloak. ‘On the few occasions I have, I’ve found the farces ridiculous, the historical adaptations weak and the melodramas pathetically overacted.’

‘But you did not feel that way about this play?’

‘No. I was caught up in the story from beginning to end,’ Alistair said, placing the velvet cloak around her shoulders. ‘Something rather rare for me and I admit to being pleasantly surprised.’

Then she did smile. Gloriously. Without reservation. The way she had smiled at her brother earlier—and the words were out of Alistair’s mouth before he even realised he was thinking them. ‘Miss Bretton, I wonder if I might call upon you tomorrow morning.’

Her eyes widened, but she did not blush. ‘It is very kind of you to ask, Mr Devlin, but I’m afraid I have a prior engagement.’

‘Of course. Tomorrow afternoon?’

‘I’m not sure what time I shall be home.’

‘The following day, then?’

This time, a hint of colour did rise to her cheeks. ‘Mr Devlin, pray do not think me rude or unkind, but there really is no point in you calling. You have told me all I wanted to hear.’

‘About the play, perhaps, but there is so much more—’

‘Actually, there is nothing more,’ she interrupted. ‘I appreciate the trouble you went to in finding me, but it would be best if you did not pursue this. It is evident we would not suit.’

‘Not suit?’ He gazed at her in confusion. ‘How can you say that when you know absolutely nothing about me?’

‘Ah, but I do know something about you, Mr Devlin, and it is that which compels me to demur. Good evening.’

With that, she walked towards the double doors where her brother was waiting for her and, slipping her hand into the crook of his arm, left the theatre with him.

Too bemused to offer a reply, Alistair watched them go, aware that for the first time in his life he was actually at a loss for words. The lady had put him off! He had gone to the trouble of tracking her down and of making his interest known—and she had put him off. Not because she hadn’t known who he was—but because she had!

‘What, still here, Dev?’ Collins said, sauntering across the floor to join him. ‘I thought you left half an hour ago.’

‘I did, but I ran into Miss Bretton and stopped to have a word.’

‘How providential,’ Collins drawled. ‘Well, what did you think? Was she as tactless and unpredictable as I led you to believe?’

The question recalled Alistair to the lady’s parting words. ‘I appreciate the trouble you went to in finding me, but it would be best if you did not pursue this. It is evident we would not suit.’

‘She was far from tactless, but I am not convinced that meeting me was the highlight of her evening,’ Alistair said drily.

‘Nonsense! Any girl would be delighted at being singled out for attention by a nonpareil like you.’

Alistair didn’t bother telling his friend that Miss Bretton hadn’t seemed at all delighted by her so-called good fortune. On the contrary, she seemed genuinely convinced they had nothing in common—and, irrationally, that irked him. While it was true they might not have anything in common, how could she know until they’d had an opportunity to spend some time together? A man deserved a chance to fall from grace before a lady cast him out. Surely it was only fair he be given that chance before being dismissed out of hand.

Victoria had not spent many hours in sleep that night. How could she have slept when everything within her was shouting with joy! She had wanted to dance across the rooftops, to shout her happiness from the top of St Paul’s.

A Lady’s Choice had been a success! The cast had recited their lines to perfection, the scene changes had gone without a hitch and the musicians had timed their crescendos and pianissimos exquisitely. If she died this very instant, she would go to heaven with the most contented smile on her face.

The fact she had spent time talking to one of London’s most eligible bachelors really had nothing to do with it. It had been pleasant to bandy words with the gentleman and flattering to know that he was interested in calling upon her, but at the moment, there was no room for romance in Victoria’s life. And certainly not with a man like that!

‘Alors, you are finally awake!’ her maid said, appearing at Victoria’s bedside with a cup of warm chocolate. ‘And looking very ‘appy.’