Regency Disguise

‘As best I could without coming out and saying the man is pure fiction. But I did feel guilty about having to deceive her.’

‘What else could you do? Mother would be furious if you’d told Miss Wright the truth, especially in front of Devlin. She hasn’t stopped talking about him since Aunt Tandy let slip that you’d met him at the Gryphon.’ Laurence grinned. ‘He must have been surprised to see you at that time of the morning. Did you exchange pleasantries?’

‘A few, but in truth, I spent most of the time listening to Miss Wright go on about Valentine Lawe. I believe Mr Devlin was as amused by her fascination with him as I was.’

‘A point of similarity, then.’

‘The only one.’ In spite of herself, Victoria felt her cheeks grow even warmer. ‘Mr Devlin and I really have nothing else in common, Laurie. He has no fondness for the theatre, and that would have to make matters difficult for me.’

‘Not necessarily. Not all husbands and wives enjoy the same things,’ Laurence said. ‘Our parents don’t have many similar interests, yet they manage to rub along fairly well.’

‘Only because Papa is not concerned with his position in life. Mr Devlin has to be and it’s quite likely I would be a terrible embarrassment to him,’ Victoria said. ‘Besides, I’m sure he has his clubs and his politics, and lives as indulgent a life as most other gentlemen in his circle. And he will be Lord Kempton one day and so has to bear in mind the responsibilities and obligations owed to the name. What could he possibly want with a woman who has no desire to be married and who does exactly the opposite of what society expects her to?’

At half past two the following afternoon, Alistair Devlin snapped his pocket watch closed in frustration. He had instructed the estate agent to meet him at Gunninghill House at precisely two o’clock and it was now half an hour beyond that. If the man did not wish to sell the building, he should have just said so.

‘Mr Devlin!’ A rotund little man clutching a satchel under his arm came hurrying up the lane towards him. ‘Hedley Brown. Apologies for my tardiness. I was delayed by my last client. Quite forgot he was coming.’

‘Never mind, you’re here now. I take it you have brought a key?’

‘Yes, indeed, I have it here.’ Mr Brown reached into the satchel and withdrew a key, which he proceeded to insert into the lock. ‘Took me a while to find it. We haven’t had much interest in this old place.’ When the key wouldn’t turn, he pulled it out, brushed off a few flecks of rust and reinserted it. ‘I suspect it will need a bit of work to make it comfortable. Ah, there we are.’ He pushed the door open to reveal a large, empty hall. ‘However, it is a fine house and the price makes it quite attractive for … whatever purposes you have in mind.’

Alistair stepped across the threshold and gazed around the shadowy hall. No doubt Mr Hedley thought he intended to house his mistress here, though why he would establish a night-time lover at such a distance was anyone’s guess. ‘Lead on, Mr Brown. I am anxious to see more.’

The agent began the tour on the ground floor, which boasted a dark and rather dingy dining room, a breakfast parlour and what might once have been a library. Climbing the stairs to the first floor, Alistair was shown several good-sized rooms, some with windows that faced the road while others looked out over the badly overgrown gardens. Climbing yet another flight brought them to the bedrooms, each with its own dressing room, any one of which was large enough to accommodate several small beds. Above that were the servants’ rooms and the attics. The kitchen, located below ground, was surprisingly large and well laid out.

It took fifteen minutes to view the house, less for Alistair to come to the conclusion that it was exactly what he needed. The space was commodious and, while there weren’t sufficient windows, the ceilings were high enough that the space did not feel cramped. Outside, there was plenty of room for vegetable gardens and the fields could be used for play areas. There was even a small pond. Mrs Hutchins would have to keep an eye on the younger children around that, but the older ones could help out. ‘I’ll take it,’ he said.

Mr Brown stared at him. ‘But we haven’t discussed the price.’

‘There is no need. I told you how much I was willing to spend and instructed you to find a house that fell within that range. I assumed when I received your note that you had found such a place.’

‘Well, yes, but—’

‘Then there is nothing to discuss,’ Alistair said, ‘except when I can take possession.’

‘Well, I suppose if everything meets with your approval, there is no reason why you may not do so as soon as you wish.’

‘Excellent. Have you brought the papers with you?’

‘Er … no.’ Mr Brown’s cheeks coloured. ‘I had no idea our business would be concluded so swiftly.’

‘Then I shall meet you at your office in precisely two hours. Pray have the papers ready for me at that time.’

Without waiting for the estate agent’s reply, Alistair headed back in the direction of his phaeton.

It always amazed him how some people could make an entire afternoon’s work out of what should have been a simple transaction.

Still, the main thing was that the house was perfect for what he had in mind. It would take work to make it into what he wanted, but he had accounted for the cost of renovations in his calculations. It was unlikely he would have found anything better. If he had, the price would have been that much higher, or it would have been too far out of London to make it viable.

No, Gunninghill House would do nicely, Alistair decided, glancing up at the old stone building one last time. It had everything the children needed. For that, he could forgive the less-than-efficient Mr Brown his numerous shortcomings.

Although Victoria preferred dramatic works, she occasionally went to the King’s Theatre for operatic performances. She had been fortunate enough to hear the great Italian soprano, Angelica Catalani, perform some years earlier and remembered it as being one of the few performances where the audience had actually been well behaved. Even the dandies who typically made the evening performances into something of a spectacle had been content to sit and listen to the diva sing.

Tonight, she and Laurence were to see a production of Tancredi by Rossini before going on to a card party at the home of one of Laurence’s friends. Victoria had heard great things about Fanny Corri, who had been cast in the lead role, and expected it would make for a pleasant change.

What she had not expected was to see Alistair Devlin and Miss Wright seated in the company of another well-dressed couple in one of the best boxes in the house.

‘If I didn’t know better, I’d swear the man was following you,’ Laurence murmured.

‘Good thing you know better, then, isn’t it?’ Victoria quickly looked down at the stage. She had no wish to be caught staring at Alistair, but it was hard not to let her eyes drift in that direction. He was like fire on a winter’s night—a source of heat that could burn if one ventured too close.

The performance began shortly thereafter and was a delight from beginning to end. Miss Corri was exceptional in the role of the heroine, Amenaide, and the mezzo-soprano singing the part of Tancredi had a marvellous voice. Only the gentleman playing Orbazzano fell short of expectation.

‘I think he might have been the understudy,’ Laurence said as they made their way out of the box at the end. ‘He certainly wasn’t up to the calibre of the other singers. But Miss Corri was well worth hearing. I suspect there will be a line up outside her door this evening. I wonder if Devlin will be one of them. Rumour has it he’s looking for a new mistress.’

If either of them thought the nature of the conversation unusual, neither of them said so, perhaps because they had each been exposed to the theatrical world for most of their lives—a place where morals were lax and love and sex interchangeable.

Yet another reason, Victoria reflected, for men like Alistair Devlin to avoid her.

Still, the thought of him vying for the favours of an opera singer left her with a distinctly unsettled feeling. She preferred not to think of him as a man who took advantage of such women, yet everyone knew that well-born gentlemen chose mistresses from within the acting profession. She’d heard stories about his liaison with Celeste Fontaine and of their tumultuous parting, but she couldn’t recall there being whispers about any other woman having taken her place.

Not that she cared, Victoria assured herself. What Alistair Devlin did with his personal life was certainly no interest to her.

Pity, then, that he should be the first person she encountered upon entering the lobby.

‘Good evening, Mr Bretton,’ Alistair said. ‘Miss Bretton.’

‘Mr Devlin,’ Victoria said, striving for a casual tone. ‘Did you enjoy the performance?’

‘Mildly. I am not a great fan of opera, but I was persuaded to come by my sister and brother-in-law and prevailed upon to bring Cousin Isabelle as well.’ He turned to introduce the couple standing behind him.

‘A mediocre performance at best, wouldn’t you agree, Miss Bretton?’ the Archdeacon enquired.

‘The tenor’s performance, perhaps, but I thought Miss Corri was exceptional,’ Victoria said, grateful not for the first time for the anonymity of her name. In her last play, she had poked fun at the character of an archdeacon, and while she hadn’t had any particular archdeacon in mind, she suspected if Alistair’s brother-in-law had seen the play, he would have taken offence. ‘While she is not in the same league as Catalani, her voice is very fluid and her range is astonishing. I venture to say she has a promising future ahead of her.’

Mrs Baltham’s left eyebrow rose a fraction of an inch. ‘You seem to know a great deal about such things, Miss Bretton. You are an aficionado, perhaps?’

‘Of course she is!’ Miss Wright said with all the naïveté of youth. ‘Miss Bretton’s uncle owns the Gryphon Theatre. I’m sure she knows everything there is to know about opera and the stage.’

It was not a recommendation. Victoria knew it from the way Mrs Baltham’s nostrils suddenly dilated, as though finding herself in the presence of a vaguely unpleasant smell. ‘Really? I was not aware of the connection.’

‘It is not generally well known,’ Laurence remarked.

‘And I am sure you are happy it remain that way,’ the Archdeacon replied stiffly. ‘Come along, Isabelle.’

The dismissal could not have been more obvious. The Archdeacon and his wife moved away, leaving poor Miss Wright to follow numbly in their wake.

Victoria didn’t say a word. Quietly fuming, she kept her eyes on the floor, painfully aware of the snub she and her brother had just been dealt.

‘Well, I’ll just go and find the carriage,’ Laurence said, obviously feeling the awkwardness of the situation. ‘Coming, Victoria?’

‘A moment, Miss Bretton,’ Alistair said quietly. ‘Please.’

Victoria glanced at her brother and nodded. ‘I’ll be along directly.’

Laurence bowed and left them. As soon as they were alone, Alistair looked at Victoria with an expression she could only call pained and said, ‘I am truly sorry for what just happened. They had no right to speak to you like that.’

‘It is not for you to apologise, Mr Devlin,’ Victoria said, anger lending sharpness to her tone. ‘Clearly, your sister and brother-in-law are not as impressed with my connection to the theatre as Miss Wright so obviously is.’

‘I fear they share my father’s opinion in that regard.’

‘Then why did they come?’ Victoria was stung into replying. ‘Is opera not a form of theatre?’

‘I’ve always thought so, but the Archdeacon is of the opinion that the talent required to sing opera well puts those performers ahead of commonplace actors. It doesn’t make any sense, but it is beyond my power or interest to try to change his mind. But I am sorry that you and your brother had to suffer for his prejudices.’

Victoria managed a thin smile. She hadn’t been sorry to see the Archdeacon leave. She hadn’t liked him any more than he had liked her. But she did regret that Alistair had been there to witness his disapproval, knowing it only served to reinforce what she had told him the night they had met. ‘It isn’t your fault, Mr Devlin. It is not the first time I have been criticised for my associations and I doubt it will be the last. With both an aunt and an uncle so heavily involved in the theatre, such snubs are hard to avoid.’

‘Nevertheless, you are not an actress, nor have you anything to do with the profession. You simply enjoy going to the theatre, as so many do, and there is nothing wrong with that.’

Victoria glanced away, uncomfortable with the concern she saw in Alistair’s eyes. Every time she saw him now, the pretence of innocence grew harder to maintain. When Miss Wright had expressed admiration for Valentine Lawe, Victoria had been able to assuage her guilt by telling herself how disappointed Miss Wright would be if she were to learn that the object of her affection was actually a figment of Victoria’s imagination rather than a flesh-and-blood man. But standing here now, wilfully deceiving Alistair, left her with a decidedly hollow feeling, as though she was keeping secrets of a most immoral kind. ‘It is not for me to criticise your sister and brother-in-law’s beliefs, Mr Devlin,’ she said in a low voice. ‘But I hope you will not allow their prejudices to adversely affect Miss Wright’s enjoyment of the theatre. She should be allowed to form her own opinions.’

‘She will, but as long as she is a guest in my father’s house, she will be exposed to his beliefs,’ Alistair said slowly. ‘And I must tell you, they are not favourable.’

‘Yet she still goes to the theatre.’

‘Her parents indulge her and they have instructed that she be allowed to do as she wishes. My father doesn’t like it, but given that the final say is not his, he tends to ignore her. He finds her headstrong and opinionated.’

‘Yes.’ Victoria began to smile. ‘I liked that about her from the start. But I am grateful for the explanation. And for the apology.’

‘I would not wish you to think the Archdeacon’s feelings are in any way a reflection of my own,’ he said quietly. ‘Because they are not. I look at you … quite differently.’ He offered her a bow, then went to join the rest of his family.

Seeing Laurence waiting for her at the door, Victoria started in that direction, but the memory of Alistair’s words lingered. ‘I look at you quite differently.’

‘As I do you, Mr Devlin,’ Victoria whispered under her breath. What a pity the gulf between them suddenly seemed wider than ever.

Chapter Three

Lord and Lady Holcombe lived in a magnificent house filled with more exquisite artwork than many of London’s finest museums. The walls were covered with paintings by every famous painter, living and dead, and entire rooms had been given over to showcase the hundreds of sculptures and historical relics Holcombe had collected during his travels around the world.

Meandering through one such room filled with ancient Roman artefacts, Alistair stopped to admire a jewel-encrusted dagger and wondered if anyone would notice if he slipped out through the French doors. As much as he liked the marquess and his wife, they really did invite the most boring people to their gatherings. If he heard one more lurid tale about Lady Tavistocke taking up with a gondolier, he would go mad! Surely there were more interesting topics to discuss? The deplorable conditions in the East End. The bodies found floating in the Thames. Riots and child labour and conditions in the mills. Anything but this mindless prattle …

‘—think Shakespeare was intent on pointing out the frailty of the human mind,’ he heard a woman say. ‘Lady Macbeth was clearly mad, but was it due to the guilt she felt over the murder she convinced her husband to commit, or as a result of her own unending quest for power?’

Alistair frowned. A bluestocking at the Holcombes’?

He turned to see who was speaking—and promptly bumped into another young lady who had clearly been waiting to speak to him. ‘I beg your pardon—’

‘No, that’s all right, Mr Devlin,’ the lady said, blushing furiously. ‘It would be difficult not to bump into someone with so many people crammed together in one place.’

She smiled up at him in a manner that led Alistair to believe they had previously been introduced, but while her face was familiar, her name escaped him entirely. ‘Are you having a good time, Miss …?’

‘Bretton.’ She pouted prettily. ‘We met two weeks ago at the Roehamptons’ reception. I was hoping you might remember me.’

He didn’t remember her. He remembered her name. ‘You’re Victoria Bretton’s sister?’

Her smile faltered, as though he had said something distasteful. ‘Yes. Do you know my sister?’

‘We met last night at the Gryphon.’

‘You spoke to Victoria?’

‘Indeed. I had the pleasure of conversing with her at the conclusion of the play.’

‘A play, which, as I recall, you enjoyed very much.’

Alistair smiled. Oh yes, he knew that voice. Lower pitched and decidedly less breathless, it was not in the least anxious or in any way eager to please. ‘Good evening, Miss Bretton.’ He turned to find the elder Miss Bretton looking up at him. ‘What a pleasure to see you again.’

‘How nice of you to say so. Mr … Devlin, wasn’t it?’

Her deliberate hesitation made him smile. ‘I’m flattered you would remember.’

‘Why would I not? It was only last night.’

‘Yet how long the night seems to one kept awake by pain.’

She raised an eyebrow in surprise. ‘I doubt you were in pain, Mr Devlin. Unlike Saurin’s Guiscard.’

‘Ah, but you do not know how I suffered in being so cruelly dismissed.’

The effect of this rejoinder was to make her laugh. ‘You were not dismissed. And even if you were, it was not with any degree of cruelty.’

‘Victoria, how nice of you to join us,’ her sister interrupted in a chilly voice. ‘When last I saw you, you were enjoying the pleasure of Mr Compton’s company.’

Alistair frowned. ‘Mr George Compton?’

‘Yes. Victoria was partaking in a most lively conversation with him.’

‘It was not a lively conversation, nor did I particularly enjoy it,’ Victoria said. ‘I made the effort because Mama asked me to, but having now fulfilled my social obligation, I am ready to go home. She sent me to ask if you would like to leave as well.’

‘I would rather not.’ Winifred sent Alistair a coquettish glance. ‘I am enjoying a conversation with Mr Devlin.’

‘So I see. Unfortunately, Mama said that if you were not ready to leave, she would like you to keep her company for a while. Papa is playing cards and you know she doesn’t like to be left alone at these large gatherings.’

‘But surely you can keep her company,’ Winifred said. ‘You don’t have to go home right away.’

‘In fact, I do. I promised Laurence I would help him with a project and I know he would like to work on it this evening. I am sorry, Winnie,’ Victoria said gently, ‘but I really do have to leave.’

Alistair wisely remained silent. It was obvious the younger Miss Bretton wasn’t happy at being summoned back to her mother’s side, but equally obvious that she knew better than to make a scene in front of an eligible gentleman.

‘Oh, very well.’ Winifred glared at her sister, then turned to offer Alistair an apologetic smile. ‘I’m sorry we are unable to finish our conversation, Mr Devlin. I hope we will have an opportunity to do so the next time we meet.’

‘I look forward to it, Miss Winifred.’

It was the polite thing to say, and when Alistair saw the sparkle return to the girl’s lovely green eyes, he knew it had been the right thing. But he waited until she was safely out of range before saying to the lady who remained, ‘Is your sister always so brusque, Miss Bretton?’

‘Only with me.’ Her smile appeared, but Alistair thought it vaguely preoccupied. ‘She can be exceedingly pleasant to people whose company she enjoys.’

‘She doesn’t enjoy yours?’

‘My sister does not entirely approve of me. She believes I am too opinionated and that I speak my mind when I would do better to keep silent. She also thinks I spend too much time at the theatre associating with people who are not worthy of my regard. An opinion shared by my mother and a number of others in society, I suspect.’

‘They are not wrong,’ Alistair pointed out bluntly.

‘No, but I would be lying if I said it bothered me enough to make me stop,’ she told him. ‘I enjoy spending time at the theatre. I appreciate the beauty of the language, the intricacies of the plays and the diverse talent of the actors and actresses. Had circumstances been different, I wonder if I might not have enjoyed being an actress.’ She gazed up at him without apology. ‘Does that shock you?’

‘You must know that it does. Most ladies take pleasure in more traditional pastimes such as reading and needlework. Activities that do not put their reputations at risk.’

‘Yet you believe what I do jeopardises mine?’

‘You’ve just said that it does, yet you do not seem to care.’

‘Why pretend concern where none exists?’

‘For appearances’ sake?’

She laughed, a low, throaty sound that did the strangest things to his equilibrium. ‘I am past doing things for the sake of appearances, Mr Devlin. Though you cannot be expected to know, I come from a rather unusual family. We are the equivalent of Lady Tavistocke and her gondolier … without Venice and its canals. And before you find yourself tarred by the same brush, I suggest you make good your escape.’

‘My escape?’

‘From my company. I did warn you last night.’ It took Alistair a moment to tie the two together. ‘Is that what you meant when you said we should not suit?’

‘In part. Look around if you don’t believe me,’ she advised. ‘But be subtle, if you can.’

Alistair casually turned his head—and saw a group of dowagers quickly avert their eyes. Standing just behind them, an earl and his countess abruptly resumed their conversation, and as he secured two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter, he observed the top-lofty Mrs Howard draw her daughter away. ‘Good Lord, is it always like this?’

‘No. Sometimes it’s worse.’

‘Then why do you come?’

‘Because Mama insists upon it. She is anxious for me to marry so that my sister can do the same. Hence the required conversation with Mr Compton.’

Alistair snorted. ‘The man has four unmarried sisters at home. What kind of welcome do you think you would receive in an establishment like that?’

‘None, but the fact I would have my own establishment is reason enough for my sister to believe I should make the effort.’

‘Nothing would be reason enough to encourage George Compton,’ Alistair said. ‘As for your reception here, surely there are places you could go where you would be made to feel more welcome.’

‘Actually, I don’t do so badly. My uncle and Lord Holcombe did some business together last year and ever since, Lord and Lady Holcombe have been very welcoming towards us.’

Alistair watched Victoria raise the glass to her lips, his gaze lingering on the tempting curve of her bottom lip. ‘So your uncle owns the Gryphon Theatre?’

‘Yes. Does that surprise you?’

‘Only in that if your mother is unhappy with the amount of time you spend at the theatre, I cannot imagine how she reconciles herself to the fact that her brother owns one.’

‘With great difficultly, but as it happens, Uncle Theo is Papa’s brother.’

‘But his name is Templeton.’

‘My uncle did that out of kindness to Mama,’ Victoria explained. ‘He was performing with a small repertory company when my parents met. Naturally, being the daughter of a minister, Mama was horrified that her future brother-in-law was on the stage, so hoping to make relations between them easier, my uncle assumed the surname of the first character he ever played. It made matters better at the time, though once he started buying up large chunks of property in London, I don’t think anyone cared.’