Love Plays a Part

by Nina Coombs Pykare

  She lay quite still, listening to the earl’s footsteps receding down the stairs. She seemed to be floating in a kind of warm cloud, her body still retaining the comfortable feel of being cradled in his arms.

  Hester poked a curious face through the bed curtains. “Well, don’t just lay there with that stupid look on yer face. Tell me what’s been going on.”

  Samantha sat up. “It was terrible, Hester, just terrible. Three ruffians burst on us as we were coming home. They knocked Jake down. He’s all right,” she added as Hester made an involuntary move toward the door. “The earl and his men rescued us.” She shuddered. “They were dragging me away - the bullies. And he stopped them. He insisted on bringing me home.”

  Hester nodded. “This is Roxbury. I remember him. Jake told me he’s been hanging about. I suppose you’re going say you ain’t got no interest in him at all.”

  Samantha flushed. “Not in that way.”

  Hester snorted. “His lordship must be thinking different. He wouldn’t be wasting all that time otherwise.”

  “Oh, Hester. I’ve told him and told him.” Samantha did not wish to tell her friend and servant that she really did not want his lordship to desist from his efforts. She did not intend to give in to him, of course. She simply did not want to lose his company.

  Hester snorted again. “You ain’t fooling me none, Samantha Everett. I seen the look on your face.”

  “What look? Hester, you are imagining things.” Samantha felt her heart begin to pound.

  “Huh! I bet it were his lordship’s carriage that was following you every night. Weren’t it?”

  Samantha nodded. “How did you know about that?”

  “Jake told me,” Hester replied. “But we didn’t suspect it were the earl’s.”

  “Hester,” said Samantha in as firm a tone as she could manage, “you are making more out of this than you should.”

  Hester just shook her head. “I know what I’m about, Miss Samantha. I ain’t been living all these years for nothing. Yes, sir.” She rolled her eyes expressively. “He’s a real looker, that ‘un. And he’s got the power.” Her thin lips curved in a small smile. “I seen them eyes. Them eyes as’ll capture any woman’s heart. Now if you was just living proper, as a lady of quality ‘n’ all, you’d be in a fair way to get a proposal out of him.”

  “Hester!” Samantha jumped from the bed. “This is the man we saw at the inn. In the first place, if I were moving about in the ton, he would likely never have noticed me! And in the second place, Roxbury is not a marrying man. Why, why, just this evening he boasted to me of the large number of women whom he had kissed! He said there were more of them waiting than he can accommodate!”

  Hester’s smile broadened. “And probably so. He’s a real man, that earl. A prime article. What you want? Some little lordling still in leading strings?”

  “Of course not,” Samantha began, but she was cut off by Hester.

  “Then be glad you got a man like that dangling after you.”

  “But, Hester, he doesn’t want to marry me!” Her words were useless, however. Hester was already gone, presumably on her way to see to Jake’s injuries. With an exasperated sigh Samantha began to pull off her gown. Her mind was a mass of chaotic feeling. To have the earl rescue her like that, to be held so long in his arms - undoubtedly she was beginning to form a partiality for the man. And it simply must be stopped. For what she had cried out after Hester was quite true. Roxbury obviously had no intention of marrying anyone, least of all a simple country seamstress who worked backstage at Drury Lane. A man like Roxbury, a man of the first stare of fashion, would marry only a lady of quality, one with a beautiful form and a large dowry, she thought bitterly.

  With a cry of frustration she yanked her nightdress on over her head and threw herself angrily between the curtains of the bed - where she lay for long hours chasing the chimera of her thoughts, until finally exhaustion overcame her and she slept.

  Chapter 12

  The next day the earl did not appear at the theatre. Samantha went about her duties automatically, but her mind was elsewhere. Every unusual sound caused her to look up with a start and, when it was time for the performance to begin, she could not refrain from peeking through the curtain at the box where the earl sat. But it remained empty throughout the whole evening.

  Samantha was again washed with waves of uncertainty, not knowing whether she felt relief or disappointment. But he had said that he would see her soon. He had said that very clearly, she reminded herself as she met Jake and they stepped out into the night air. And there, waiting in the shadows, stood the earl’s carriage. A strange warm feeling swept over her at the sight of it. So he had meant what he said. And tomorrow night, Saturday, Kean would do the first Macbeth of the season. Surely Roxbury would be present for that. Maybe he would come backstage, at least to see how she was faring after the attack.

  In spite of the dark and the cold, Samantha felt safe and warm. The knowledge that the earl had sent his carriage made her feel very good. She had decided, however, not to ride in it. To do so might well give the earl the idea that he was succeeding with her. And of course he was not. Also, if she rode in the carriage when he was not there, she could hardly refuse to do so when he was.

  She passed a rather sleepless night and arrived at the theatre in a very restless mood. To her surprise Maria was not in the work room. Nor did she arrive as the day wore on. Finally a worried Samantha asked one of the dressers, “Have you seen Maria? She hasn’t come in today.”

  The dresser shrugged. “She’s probably taken a chill. She’s old, you know.”

  Samantha nodded and went on about her duties. By now she knew enough to do whatever needed doing. The thought that Maria might be ill preyed on her mind, but she finally convinced herself that she would be back on Monday.

  This performance of Macbeth was to have new music by Matthew Locke, and the scenery had been in preparation all summer. Kean himself had supervised the production of it. Samantha had already been struck by its grandness. She really looked forward to the evening’s performance. She tried, more than once, to convince herself that the whole of her anticipation was due to Kean’s performance, but a small voice that would not be stilled kept insisting that she wanted to see the earl. In the wings she was safe; she could enjoy his companionship and conversation, conversation which anyone would have to admit was very enlightening.

  So as she took up her station in the wings, she wiped her hands nervously on the skirt of her gown. Mrs. Bartley, who was playing Lady Macbeth, passed and nodded. Samantha nodded in return. Then she settled herself in her usual place. She absolutely refused to peek out at his lordship’s box. If he arrived backstage, she would be pleased to have his comments on the play. If he did not, she would enjoy it without him. There was no more to it than that.

  Still, she could not keep her eyes from searching for a tall, lean form. She had just forced her face back toward the stage when a strange prickling along her spine made her shiver. Could it have been caused by his lordship coming backstage? She tried to keep herself from turning to look for him, but some strange power seemed to force her head around. There he stood, some paces away, his dark eyes regarding her keenly. She fought to keep the wild joy that swept over her from showing on her face. He stood looking at her for what seemed a long, long time. Her heart pounded in her throat as she struggled to her feet.

  Slowly the earl moved toward her, and she willed herself to stand still. She would not let him see how his presence affected her. “Good evening, Miss Everett,” he said softly.

  “Good evening, milord.” She managed to get the words out past a suddenly dry tongue.

  “I trust that you have recovered from the other night,” he said gravely.

  Samantha nodded. “Yes, milord. You - you were very kind.”

  The earl sighed. “My men tell me that you did not use the carriage last night.”

  Samantha’s hands moved nervously. “Yes, milord, I did not. But -”
Truthfulness drove her on. “But I felt much safer knowing that it was there. Thank you.” She felt much relieved at having done the proper thing and thanked him.

  His lordship smiled slightly. “I appreciate your thanks. Please be assured that the carriage will be there every evening.”

  “Thank you, milord.”

  He nodded and took a step away as though to leave her.

  “Milord?” Samantha spoke hurriedly.

  “Yes, Miss Everett?” He eyed her with grave formality.

  “Could you - That is, Kean is doing Macbeth tonight. The first time this season.” She could not ask him outright to stay beside her. Yet that new part of herself refused to let him go.

  “Yes?” He waited patiently, but if he perceived her intent, he gave her no aid.

  “I hoped - That is I thought perhaps - But only if you do not construe my intent falsely.” She floundered on, unwilling to ask him to stay, yet unwilling to let him go.

  “Yes, Miss Everett. Could you be a little plainer?” She thought she saw mischief dancing in those black eyes of his, but his tone was perfectly even. “What am I not to construe falsely?”

  “My - my request to have you stay and discuss the play with me,” she blurted. Then she stood silent, the bodice of her gown trembling with the fluttering of her heart. What an audacious thing to do! She was quite appalled at having been so forward.

  The earl smiled dryly. “I see. This seems to be quite in line with your previous statements concerning your preference for my theatrical self. However, as I have warned you previously, I cannot promise to keep the rake in me completely under control.” He allowed his smile to widen. “I can only promise to try.”

  Samantha knew she should send him away, but when she opened her mouth to do so, she was surprised to hear herself say, “I will content myself with that.” As his smile grew wider, she hurried to add, “But you must really try.”

  The earl nodded gravely. “I give you my solemn word.”

  “Very well.” She managed to keep her tone sufficiently sober, though her heart was beating triumphantly.

  “Now that that formality is over,” said his lordship softly, “let us make ourselves comfortable. The curtain is going up.”

  Samantha nodded, glad of the distraction this offered. She was really rather disturbed by her actions of the past few minutes. It was almost as though she had taken leave of her senses. But somehow it had suddenly seemed vitally important that his lordship stay with her. The force of these feelings was such that it was no longer possible for her to escape their significance. Where before she might have had a slight preference for his lordship, she now had a decided partiality. Under the circumstances the thought was not particularly pleasing.

  As the curtain rose, the earl leaned closer to whisper in her ear, and Samantha felt that strange tingling in her spine again. It was clear that the earl’s company was becoming dangerous, but equally clear was the fact that she did not wish to forego it.

  “You will enjoy this, I am sure,” he said. He sent a critical look toward the back of the stage. “I understand that Kean was responsible for some new scenery.”

  “Yes.” Samantha turned her head to confirm this and, finding her lips only inches from his, turned hastily back.

  When the curtain fell for intermission, she turned to him eagerly. He was still quite close, but not so near as he had been. “Tell me,” she said, “you must have seen Kemble do this. And others. Tell me about them.”

  The earl smiled dryly. “I wish I could bring such eagerness to your eyes, such brightness to your cheeks.”

  “Milord!” Samantha, endeavoring to look stern, could only be grateful that he had no knowledge of his real effect on her.

  “Yes, yes.” He arranged his features in a suitably solemn expression. “I must suppress the rake in me. Now, to your question. I have seen Kemble, Elliston, Cooke. Young too.”

  Samantha pulled her knees up under her skirt and rested her chin on them. “Which was best?” she asked, her eyes wide with curiosity.

  The earl smiled. “All right, my pet, I shall dredge my memory for every little nuance, anything to please you.”

  At Samantha’s small frown he raised a slim hand. “Yes, yes, I know. More theatre and less rake. Very well. Let us start with Kemble. His character of Macbeth has great stateliness, but the more impassioned scenes are damaged by the artifices he employs - the drooped eyelids, patient shakes of the head, and whining preachments.”

  Samantha nodded. From what she had seen of Kemble, this seemed a sound judgment.

  “Elliston,” continued his lordship, “is very noisy in the despair of the last scenes, but where deep thinking is indicated, all is lost with him.”

  Again Samantha nodded. Elliston seemed to her a somewhat superficial man.

  “Cooke is too rough and unimpressive,” his lordship went on. “Except in the death scene.” He sighed appreciatively. “There he falls like the ruin of a state.”

  Hugging her knees, Samantha was all attention.

  “Young does a competent job,” the earl said, “but his Macbeth is too somber. Kean’s is the best I have ever seen, and I make this judgment as fairly as possible.”

  “I read somewhere,” replied Samantha, “that the character of Macbeth produces a poor effect when done upon the stage because actors are usually not capable of mastering its intricacies.”

  “Yes,” said his lordship. He smiled at her. “You will see. Kean, however, makes us sympathize with the character. Pity wins out over justice when we watch the struggles of his integrity. It’s here that both Kemble and Cooke fall short. Their Macbeths delineate the ambition, the remorse, the villainy, but the irresolution, the gentleness, and the fear are slighted.”

  “Oh, yes,” breathed Samantha. “I felt all that in his portrayal.”

  The earl frowned slightly. “I hope you have not forgotten my admonitions about idols with feet of clay.”

  “Of course not,” Samantha replied. “I am quite aware of that.”

  The earl’s frown did not lighten. “You are young and idealistic. I should not like to see those ideals shattered.”

  Samantha could not forbear smiling. “But, milord, you yourself have attempted to do so.”

  He started visibly and then, realizing her intent, smiled dryly. “That is quite another matter. I have not tried to overwhelm you with protestations of undying devotion and eternal affection.”

  “No, you have not,” agreed Samantha, wondering why she should suddenly find a lump in her throat. He was watching her closely, and she struggled to keep her face calm. She must keep this conversation on an even keel.

  “I have been very frank with you,” continued his lordship. “I have made no vain promises or insinuated any forthcoming nuptials. I am a plain-speaking man. And frankly” - he grinned boyishly - “I have always profited from the straightforward approach. Until now.”

  Quite strangely she felt as though she were in the wrong. “You just don’t understand. You’re a man.”

  “I’m quite aware of that,” said his lordship laconically.

  “And you profit by it,” Samantha continued. “Every new light-skirts, every bit of muslin that falls to your charm only redounds to your credit. But what of the women? What happens to them when your short-lived passion is ended?”

  Roxbury looked perplexed. “What has happened since time immemorial. They find a new protector. Or, if none presents himself at that moment, they use a little of what they have squirreled away for a rainy day.”

  Samantha sighed. He simply could not see the justness of her remarks.

  “I don’t see why you are fussing yourself so,” he said calmly. “Women of your class have never been insulted by the chance to move up in life. Look at Harriette Wilson. Her father was a Swiss watchmaker and her mother mended stockings. Yet Harriette is a wealthy, respected person.”

  “Respected,” conceded Samantha, “but not respectable. No ladies will invite her into their drawing
rooms.”

  The earl frowned in annoyance. “Of course not. Nor would they invite you, no matter how ardently you undertake to remain a virgin. It is not chasteness which determines entre into society. It is a question of breeding.” He smiled sarcastically. “Why, some of the best-bred ladies in London have had more lovers than Harriette and her sisters put together. No, the prime concern here is blood. If you come from the right parentage, you may be as wanton as any light-skirts. Some ladies, I understand, also find it profitable.”

  Samantha shivered. Such a life seemed extremely fearful to her.

  “Just ask Maria,” he said. “She’s been around awhile. She’ll tell you as much. You might as well profit from your youth and beauty while you can.”

  Samantha sighed heavily. “You are right, Maria did tell me that. But - but I could not. It seems so - so crass.”

  The earl smiled gently. “I did not propose that you become one of those poor girls who walk the streets. You’ve too much understanding for that. Nor do I propose you take up with someone you detest.” He smiled brashly. “In my case I do not feel that any animosity exists. And where animosity does not exist, all may fare well even if passion is not present.”

  This calm discussion was extremely painful to Samantha. She swallowed over the lump in her throat. “I was brought up very differently from most girls of my class,” she began. “I’m afraid that such a life as you propose was described to me as the utmost in wickedness. In actual fact I should not even wish to contemplate matrimony unless it were accompanied by love.”

  Roxbury shook his head. “Love will not pay creditors or keep you safe against a rainy day.”

  Samantha frowned. “But the course you wish me to pursue is reprehensible to me.”