Love Plays a Part

by Nina Coombs Pykare

  Samantha swallowed her protest and remained silent, noting only that the carriage was headed back toward the theatre.

  They drove in silence for some moments. Then his lordship spoke again. “I do not mean to importune you unduly,” he said with a slight smile, “but I do wish you would give my offer due consideration. I am, after all, a man of some means, and I should deal quite handsomely with you.”

  “Please, milord, do not continue to insult me. No matter how foolish they may appear to you, my principles are important to me.”

  The earl bowed his head gravely. “I concede your point, Miss Everett. But I must admit that I will continue to press my suit.”

  “But milord -” Samantha took her courage in both hands. “Why me? There are dozens of women in London who would be pleased by your attentions. Why do you harass me?”

  The earl smiled. “I find your choice of words somewhat harsh, Miss Everett. I thought you enjoyed my conversation.”

  “Your theatrical conversation,” she interjected.

  “My theatrical conversation,” he amended. “And surely this afternoon’s ride, which saved you a cold, wet walk, could hardly be called harassment, now could it?”

  Samantha shook her head. “No, milord. But -”

  “Yes?” His eyes sparkled at her.

  Samantha forced herself to go on. “You - you took certain other - liberties.”

  “You mean I stole a kiss or two?” His eyes danced.

  “Yes, milord.” She tried to speak severely. “That is precisely what I mean.”

  The earl grinned brashly. “Alas, I admit to my sin. But the provocation was so great. Surely no man could have resisted.”

  “Milord.” Samantha shook her head. “You are teasing me. Besides, you have been with me this afternoon,” she began triumphantly, “and you have resist -” She stopped suddenly, seeing the trap that she had prepared for herself.

  His lordship smiled and moved closer.

  “Please, milord, you must not!” Samantha clutched the robe.

  “But surely you can see where your reasoning leads,” he said with a devilish smile that was quite maddening. “I dare not resist or I prove myself a liar.”

  “Milord, I beg you -” Samantha began, but already his arms had encircled her and his lips brushed hers ever so lightly. She felt the strangest sensation down her backbone. Then he released her and held her off slightly. “However, in deference to your feelings in the matter, I shall restrain myself. And since we have just reached Drury Lane, I shall send you back to Maria with your package of laces.”

  Samantha, whose knees under the sable robe were trembling from something quite other than cold, could find nothing to say to this. His lordship was out of the door instantly and offering his gloved hand to help her descend. Samantha’s hand trembled as she laid it in his, but it was certainly cold enough to account for that.

  Once on the pavement she stood awkwardly clutching the package. His lordship looked down at her with a bright smile. “Have you no word of thanks for me?” he asked genially.

  Samantha shook her head. “You are a very trying man. I know I should thank you for assisting me in this errand, but your subsequent actions make that rather difficult.”

  His lordship chuckled. “Come, Miss Everett, be fair. I thought that for a man in love I was quite restrained.”

  This remark moved Samantha to action. “In love? Milord, do not joke about such things. Now” - she drew herself up to her full height - “thank you for the ride and good day, sir.” And without waiting for a reply she turned smartly on her heel and marched off to the stage door, her back ramrod straight. She was extremely conscious of him standing there behind her, his bright black eyes taking in her every move.

  It was not until the stage door closed behind her that she heaved a sigh of relief and let her shoulders sag. Such an irritating man he was. And yet - she could not refrain from a slight smile - he was rather charming too. For him to go to all that trouble for her certainly made her feel good. But one thing she was sure of. Charm or no, she did not intend to succumb to his lordship’s blandishments! Absently touching her mouth where his lips had brushed hers, she moved off to continue her duties.

  Chapter 8

  Samantha saw no more of his lordship during the remaining days before Kean’s performance as Iago. He did not seem to frequent the theatre at all. Of course, she was grateful to be spared his harassment, yet she could not help thinking that the performances of Policy, which were really quite dull, might have been considerably enlivened by his comments.

  When Thursday night arrived and the theatre prepared for Kean’s first Iago of the season, she was again curiously ambiguous concerning his lordship’s presence. She took up her customary position in the wings not knowing whether she wished Roxbury to appear or not.

  In the last few days she had been very busy, but Kean had several times called her into his dressing room to talk to him. He seemed to like to hear about her childhood, and sometimes, to her intense delight, he practiced a new role or a bit of stage business before her and asked for her opinion. Samantha’s ideas of the theatre had already been greatly enlarged. The stage was not all enchantment and glory. There was a great deal of hard work that went into the making of even a reasonably good actor or actress. Men like Kean were always studying their craft.

  As she waited for the performance to start, Samantha glanced down nervously at her gown. When she’d dressed this morning, Hester had put out one of her better dresses, insisting that the others must be laundered. All day Samantha had felt slightly edgy. This gown, unlike the plain dark ones she habitually wore, was white muslin decorated with blue ribbons. It was only by being severely sharp that she had prevented Hester from putting a matching ribbon in her hair.

  “Ain’t no reason you can’t look nice,” that indomitable maidservant had replied crisply, and Samantha had not dared to tell her that she did not wish to appear any more attractive. Certainly the earl was only amusing himself and would soon tire of pursuing her. That was what she wanted, after all. To appear in a gown like this now might give him some strange ideas about her intentions. But a trip to the wardrobe had only proved that she must wear this gown or another even better one. All the drab gowns were gone.

  “They got to be washed,” Hester said unabashedly. “Can’t be going about in dirty gowns.”

  “Very well, Hester,” Samantha had finally said. “But understand very clearly. I expect them to be back in the wardrobe by tomorrow. And ready to wear.”

  Hester nodded. “Of course. They’ll be done by then.”

  Unconsciously Samantha began to play with the ribbons that dangled from under the gown’s high bodice. Then she moved toward the curtain and peeked out. Jake sat in his usual front row seat in the pit. The seats beside him were empty still, and as she watched, he waved away several newcomers. Whatever was he doing? Samantha wondered. The whole row did not belong to him! Then down the aisle came a dark, well-dressed figure that limped slightly. Lord Byron slid along the bench, was greeted by Jake as by an old friend, and settled into his seat. Samantha let the curtain fall with a little smile. So now Jake was saving Byron’s favorite seat for him.

  “I almost didn’t recognize you,” said a deep voice close to her ear.

  Startled, Samantha half-turned and almost fell. The earl’s hands encircled her waist to steady her, and she felt the blood rushing to her cheeks. “Please, milord.”

  His dark eyes sparkled down at her. “You are certainly an ungrateful sort of wench,” he declared cheerfully. “Here I have just saved you from a fall, and all you can do is frown at me in that nasty way.”

  “I do not mean to be nasty,” said Samantha, striving for a firm tone. “But if I had fallen, it would have been because you startled me. So I do not see why I should be exceptionally grateful.” She looked down pointedly. “Your hands, milord.”

  He chuckled. “Ah, yes. Are you quite steady on your feet now?” His dark eyes danced with merrimen
t.

  Samantha forced herself to remain stern. “Quite, milord.”

  Slowly he withdrew his hands. His eyes moved slowly over her gown and then came to rest again on her flushed face. “I like this gown. I like it very much.”

  “I - the others were dirty.” Samantha stumbled over the words. Why should those dark eyes make her so terribly self-conscious?

  “I am glad,” said his lordship, still wearing a brash grin.

  Not knowing quite how to reply to this, Samantha turned slightly away and moved toward the canvas that was now her habitual seat. His lordship was right behind her.

  “Does no one ever tell you that you look lovely?” he said softly.

  Samantha shook her head. “No, milord.”

  The earl sighed with exaggerated reaction. “No young men hanging about to tell you that you’re a lovely piece of womanhood?”

  Samantha shook her head so vehemently that several tendrils of chestnut hair escaped their bonds. “No, milord.”

  “No fat cit or old mushroom anxious to set you up in a neat little establishment for the privilege of cooing sweet nothings in that pearly ear?”

  His lordship’s tone remained light, but Samantha, if she had not been staring fixedly at the floor, might have noticed something very like anxiety in his eyes.

  “No, milord.” Then she forced herself to raise her eyes to his. “There is no one, no one at all. As I have told you before, I have no interest in that.”

  The earl shook his head. “What a rare creature you are,” said he. “Almost any young woman in your shoes would be overjoyed at my offer. Think of the pretty gowns, the lovely jewels. You would no longer have to work.”

  Samantha hastily swallowed a giggle. If only his lordship knew! “I like my work,” she said firmly. “I do not wish to leave it.”

  The earl sighed again. “How can a man please such an intractable creature?”

  “By leaving her alone,” she snapped and then was surprised to find that she was dismayed. This kind of talk made her extremely nervous, but she did not really want to lose his lordship’s theatre conversation.

  Fortunately he was not offended but merely shook his head and continued to smile. “Now you are asking the impossible.” That devilish sparkle appeared in his eye. “The temptation is simply too great for me to resist.”

  In spite of all her efforts, Samantha colored up again. She had not forgotten that he had used such an opportunity to steal a kiss in the carriage. She tried to compose herself. “Then, milord, if you insist on talking to me, kindly confine your remarks to the theatre.”

  “And would that please you?” he asked softly, his tone seeming to indicate an intimacy between them.

  “It would,” she said and then realized he had led her into yet another trap. “B-but not so that I should consider your - your offer.”

  The earl smiled in mock puzzlement. “I have no idea of what you are speaking. Now, what have you heard of Kean’s Iago?” And he presented to her a face as sober as any schoolmaster’s.

  Although she felt some relief, Samantha was still a little leery. Roxbury changed from rake to theatre scholar so quickly she could never be quite at ease. “I saw no reviews,” she said. “Papa died and Hester did not think it proper for me to read the reviews while in mourning.”

  “Hester?” said his lordship. “Who is she?”

  Only then did Samantha realize what she had done. She thought fast. Her position at Drury Lane depended on keeping her real identity a secret. “She’s a distant cousin of mine, much older than I. She came to London with me.”

  His lordship considered her speculatively, then sighed again. “Another obstacle to overcome, I fear. But I forget myself. That subject is forbidden.” He again put on the schoolmaster’s face.

  Samantha swallowed another giggle. The truth of the matter was that Hester, in her present mood, might well be on his lordship’s side.

  “Come now,” said Roxbury, continuing the schoolmaster role with such mock sternness that Samantha found herself smiling nervously. “How do you think Iago should be portrayed?”

  Samantha tried to consider this, but with his lordship behaving so strangely she could not think. Finally she shook her head. “Really, milord, you do not play the schoolmaster well.”

  His lordship looked startled, but his eyes twinkled as he replied, “I do not?”

  “You do not,” repeated Samantha firmly, “You are doing the part by convention rather than from nature.”

  Roxbury chuckled - a warm, strangely pleasant sound. “You are mistaken there, my dear Miss Everett. My schoolmaster was taken directly from nature. It was my, shall we say, misfortune to suffer under his ministrations for some years. And I assure you, I play him precisely as he existed.”

  Samantha twisted the dangling blue ribbons nervously. “Must you play a role of some kind? Have you no self of your own? I much prefer your ordinary way of conversing.”

  The earl’s face lit up in such a devilish grin that she knew she had again unwittingly played into his hands. “But you see, my dear, the man whose theatre conversation you enjoy is also the rake. I cannot separate them.”

  Samantha sighed. “Very well, but surely you can discuss the play without continually importuning me to desert my principles?”

  “Continually?” said the earl, raising a quizzical eyebrow. “And I thought I was being very restrained.”

  Samantha turned away, smothering another giggle, and tried to look stern. His lordship was really a very witty man.

  Kean passed at that moment to take his place on stage, and Samantha settled herself to watch the play. She watched in fascination as Iago was easy and bantering with the gulled Roderigo; social, frank, and jovial with Cassio. And with Othello - that, thought Samantha, was the ultimate in his portrayal.

  Behind her Samantha heard his lordship stir. “Kemble does it much more villainously, forgetting, perhaps, that the villain’s true character must be concealed if the dupes are to be properly deceived. Kean’s portrayal of an excellent good fellow shows how this can be accomplished.”

  He fell silent again, and Samantha watched in rapt anticipation as the play progressed. How skillfully the cunning villain dropped the damning seeds of suspicion into Othello’s unwilling ear. Samantha found herself wishing that Kean could be two people so that she might see him at the same time in both parts. What a performance that would be!

  As the play continued, the earl spoke rarely, only from time to time pointing out some felicity to the enchanted Samantha. When the curtain fell for intermission, she turned to him with sparkling eyes.

  “Playgoing certainly agrees with you,” he observed dryly. “One would think from your appearance that you were awaiting your beloved.”

  Samantha ignored this. “Such a performance,” she breathed in a voice of awe.

  The earl smiled laconically. “In which role do you most like the great tragedian?”

  Samantha frowned. “I cannot exactly say. Surely Othello is a noble man, but the role of Iago gives the actor so much more scope to display his talents. And how well Kean does that.”

  “I see that you still have stars in your eyes.” The earl allowed himself a slight smile. “But I assume that you have considered my warning about gods with feet of clay.”

  Samantha nodded. “I promise you, milord, I shall remember that Kean is a man - like other men.”

  The earl eyed her shrewdly. “See that you do.”

  There seemed more to this statement than the mere words, but Samantha chose not to pursue them. To do so might lead her into another entrapment; his lordship seemed very good at such things.

  Then the curtain rose again, and she was once more enthralled by Kean’s genius. Some moments later she was about to turn and make a comment to his lordship when a shadow fell across her lap and a strange voice said, “So this is where you have vanished to.”

  Samantha looked up to see two gentlemen. Both wore the traditional breeches and stockings and carrie
d chapeaux bras. Samantha recognized the haunted-looking Lord Byron, but the other, a smaller rather neat-looking man, she did not know.

  His lordship rose gracefully. “Hello, Brummell, Byron. Why have you deserted your places in the pit?”

  So this was the celebrated Beau Brummell, the man who told all male London what it could wear. Samantha was a trifle surprised to see that Mr. Brummell appeared to look like any other gentleman. His face was on the long side, his complexion fair, his hair a light, rather nondescript brown. His features did not seem particularly plain or particularly handsome. Certainly both Byron and the earl surpassed him in good looks. His linen was exceedingly white and his cravat beautifully tied, but Samantha could find nothing else outstanding about the man, nothing that seemed to mark him as the arbiter of fashion that she had heard so much of.

  “We came to see what it is that has caused you to desert your box,” said Brummell. He glanced down at Samantha, and she felt embarrassed.

  “I have watched Kean from the wings before,” said his lordship, and Samantha wondered if the earl meant to ignore her presence completely.

  “I had heard that you were hot on the heels of a certain Lily Porter,” continued the Beau. “But if I am not mistaken, Miss Porter sports tresses of a golden hue. This charmer is more in the chestnut line.” His gray eyes regarded Samantha curiously, and one of his eyebrows rose expressively.

  The earl frowned. “As you are quite aware, Beau, this is not Lily Porter.”

  Byron smiled. “Indeed not. This is the little seamstress I encountered outside Kean’s door the other day.”

  Samantha found herself clenching her fists angrily. Lord Byron had no right to make her being outside Kean’s door sound so - so degrading. She shifted her eyes back to the theatre. She would just disregard these ‘gentlemen’ who spoke so patronizingly of a poor seamstress. How embarrassed they would be to know that they were discussing a lady of quality, and as though she had no ears with which to hear them!