“Why?” Her eyes burned as tears gathered behind them. She had never spoken of her father’s past with anyone. It hadn’t seemed relevant when his title hadn’t provided them with shelter or food. The carriage slowed to a stop in front of her town house.
“I believe we are family.” Mr. Fletcher’s brow puckered. “I am deeply ashamed my father turned you and your father away. One never turns his back on family.”
She’d had no family except the one she’d made for herself since her father died. The word filled her with a longing she hadn’t known existed, and the blasted tears were coming despite her determination not to cry in front of this man.
“I am sorry for my father’s treatment. He has always been a selfish blackguard.”
“Mr. Fletcher, I don’t blame you.” She barreled from the carriage as soon as the coachman opened the door to seek refuge in her own home.
* * * *
Russell’s mother poured a cup of tea and handed it to him. “I can’t say I am surprised you agreed to be in Miss Bellerose’s play.”
Reluctantly, he had agreed to return to the hotel. His inspection of the theatre would have to wait, and he would have to trust Jonas to see to the repair of the trapdoor.
“I believe acting must be in your blood,” she said and prepared a cup for herself. “When your father was a young man, he shocked your grandfather by joining a company. William never had the chance to perform, though. Your grandfather learned of his plans and came to the theatre to drag him home.”
“I never knew that about Father.”
“Yes, he was up to quite a bit of mischief that summer. I’m told it is common for a young man to kick up a lark before settling into marriage. Once William returned, our betrothal resumed, and we were married a few weeks later.”
Russell sipped his tea rather than attempting to respond. He’d never known his mother and father’s betrothal had been broken at one time.
“Your father never liked to talk about his time with the company, and I didn’t care to hear about it either. I believe he realized what a huge mistake he’d almost made.”
Russell thought it best to change the subject. “I wasn’t expecting you to come to Town.”
“I saw no other choice when I received Mr. Gordon’s letter. He thought I could reason with you, and I hope he isn’t mistaken.”
Russell grimaced. He’d misjudged Marcus when he had assumed he was responsible for his mother’s arrival in London.
His mother’s thin eyebrows inched up on her smooth forehead. For a woman of six and forty, she had maintained a mostly youthful appearance. Any gray hairs she had blended with her blond hair, and the faint lines around her eyes looked natural. “I do hope that frown isn’t for me.”
“Of course not, Mother.”
“That is a relief, because I am not here to convince you to give up the play. I always suspected you inherited your father’s love for the theatre. I never thought you would become an actor, but it is a small production and only temporary. Hopefully, your yearnings will be fulfilled, and you can return to your duties knowing once upon a time, you were an actor.”
He smiled. “I suppose my experience will make for interesting dinner conversation one of these days.”
“Yes, quite interesting, although I do hope you keep it a secret until your sisters are settled in marriage.”
“Did my sisters accompany you?”
“I left them at home. The entire brood descending on Fiona would be too much. They are all well and send their love.”
“I’m anxious to see them again.” He placed his cup and saucer on a side table and took a cleansing breath. “Mother, I don’t think my yearnings will go away after this production. I have been enjoying my time at the Drayton. I’m not interested in acting as much as turning the theatre into a profitable business. I have already identified areas for improvement.”
“There is nothing wrong with giving it your best effort until you sell the theatre.” She watched him over the silver rim of her cup with her shrewd eyes.
“There has been a change in plans, Mother. I’ve decided not to sell the Drayton.” Her smile faded. As long as he was upsetting the apple cart, he should tell her everything. “My involvement will be less public in the future, but I want to ensure Father’s investment pays off. I don’t know why he bought the theatre only to neglect it. I have high aims for the playhouse.”
Mother’s mouth pinched, hinting at her disapproval. “Realistically, you will not have time to be involved with the theatre. Finding a wife and launching your sisters will require much of your attention, and there is Rowan Manor to consider.”
“I see Mr. Gordon’s letter was detailed.” He stood and crossed to the window to allow a moment for him to gain control of his temper. Mr. Gordon had served his family for years, but Russell wouldn’t tolerate the man circumventing him. They would have a talk very soon. Once his ire had receded, he faced his mother again. “Searching for a wife is unnecessary. I have a notion that I have already found her.”
“Oh?” She sniffed. “And whom might that be?”
He cocked an eyebrow. He had never seen this side of his mother, and he had to admit, he wasn’t fond of the changes in her. “I believe Miss Bellerose could be the perfect wife for me.”
His mother’s eyes narrowed to slits. “I guess you’ve taken after your father more than I realized. He had a weakness for actresses, too.”
“I am not interested in actresses. I am falling in love with Claudine, one woman who happens to be an actress.” Her insinuation that Claudine was nothing except a passing fancy for him angered him even more. It was disrespectful of Claudine and him.
“So despite Mr. Gordon’s excellent advice, you have decided to marry beneath you.” His mother’s voice dripped with derision, hardening his heart toward her. “I never thought you would put your own interests above your family. How will you ever afford to launch your sisters properly?”
She acted as if she had knowledge of the family accounts, which might be the case with Mr. Gordon’s wayward tongue. His father had acquired a few debts before his death, but nothing that was insurmountable. If Russell managed the estate well and made wise investments, there would be enough for his sisters to make decent marriage matches.
“A marriage for financial benefit would be selfish,” he said. “I would be taking advantage of an innocent young woman.”
“You would be securing that young woman’s future. Everyone knows marriages are brokered to both parties’ advantage. Have you thought about your sisters? What about my comfort?”
He suppressed a frustrated growl. “You needn’t worry about your comfort. I will provide for everyone, and with Claudine at my side, I know I will be an even better provider.”
His mother sat down her cup with a punctuated clink. “I refuse to stay and listen to this nonsense.” She pushed up from the sofa and gathered her hat and gloves.
“Where are you going?”
“Back to Cousin Fiona’s.”
When she marched for the door, Russell’s jaw dropped. “Are you really leaving? This is ludicrous.”
“You are being ludicrous.” She jabbed the air with her finger. “You need to think long and hard about what you are doing, Russell Hawke. Search your heart and make the right decision. If your father can do it, so can you.”
She stormed from his rooms and slammed the door. He was too shocked to do anything except gape at the closed door.
By the time he returned to the theatre to complete his inspection, the hour was too late to call on Claudine. Perhaps it was for the best until he’d had time to convince his mother to behave. She could rant and carry on about his desire to marry Claudine in the privacy of her cousin’s home as much as she liked, but he wouldn’t hear a derogatory word against Claudine. And he certainly would never allow his mother to speak ill of Claudine in front of her.
The next day he tried to smooth over the rift with his mother by sending a bouquet to apologize for qua
rrelling with her. In addition, he called on her at Cousin Fiona’s town house three times over the next week. Each time his mother had been indisposed, although Fiona graciously received him. His last attempt to make peace was the morning of dress rehearsal, and his mother turned him away again.
He’d had enough.
“Thank you for receiving me, Fiona.” He placed tickets for the show on the side table next to her and kissed her cheek. “Tell my mother that I won’t be returning. She knows where to find me.”
“I’m sorry, Russell.” She nibbled her bottom lip as if debating whether she should become involved any more than she already was. Eventually, she must have decided it was worth the risk. “For what it is worth, I don’t think she realizes you are suffering, too. When she recovers her senses, I hope you will forgive her.”
“I’m unconvinced she wants forgiveness.”
“She will, and if you grant it to her, she will come to cherish the gift.” Fiona smiled ruefully. “I know how much my sister-in-law’s forgiveness means to me. I was horrible to her when my brother was courting her. I will try to help your mother see that she is making a huge mistake.”
He wanted to wish her luck, but he would have been sarcastic, and he didn’t want to revert to using his mother’s weapons.
RESISTING ROMEO
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“Turn around.”
Claudine presented her back to Tilde, so she could loosen her corset. It was the end of dress rehearsal, and her friend had offered to help her change out of the costume she’d helped her don earlier.
Claudine inhaled. “Not so tight tomorrow night, please. Breathing is essential.”
Tilde clucked her tongue as she wrestled with the bindings to allow Claudine more breathing room. “You British are too pampered. Mutter used to say, there will be time for breathing when you are dead.” She imitated an exaggerated German accent. “It never made any sense.”
They shared a laugh. Claudine had missed spending time with her friend, but she had understood Tilde’s devotion to Lars. He was a good man.
Outside Claudine’s dressing room door, the corridor hummed with activity. Rachel could be heard playfully teasing Jane as they rushed past on their way to the dressing room that they shared. Dress rehearsals always left everyone in high spirits. The only time one would see more jolliness at the Drayton was on opening night. They would all be giddy, especially Claudine.
“I cannot believe the time has come,” she said, catching Tilde’s eye in the looking glass. “Is Lars still doing well?”
“Yes. Now I think he is becoming lazy. He doesn’t want to get out of bed.” She winked as she retied the corset laces, allowing more breathing room this time, and Claudine knew it wasn’t truly a problem. “Although he was anxious to see today’s dress rehearsal.”
“I hope Lars knows I am grateful to him for allowing Russell to perform even though he is feeling better. Russell has improved a great deal.”
“He has an excellent teacher.” Tilde carried the calico gown that served as Claudine’s costume to the small wardrobe and hung it on a peg. “What did he say about his mother arriving without notice and interrupting your kiss?”
“Nothing.” Claudine sighed. “He has kept all conversation focused on the production. I wouldn’t describe him as unfriendly, but he is more reserved than he was. I wish I knew what Mrs. Hawke said to him after I left, or perhaps it is better for me to remain ignorant.”
Tilde returned with a simple lavender muslin gown Claudine had worn to the theatre that morning. “You believe she doesn’t approve of you.”
“Oh, I know she doesn’t approve. Mr. Fletcher already told me as much, although I didn’t really need it said. What mother is in favor of her son taking up with an actress?”
One side of Tilde’s mouth drooped. “I wish you were exaggerating. Lars’s mother despised me because of my profession. And he is an actor.” Tilde muttered to herself in German.
A knocked sounded at Claudine’s door. “Are you almost finished, schatz?” It was Lars. “I am retiring to the room for my afternoon rest.”
Tilde answered him in German.
The noise outside Claudine’s dressing room had died away, and the corridor sounded deserted. “You should go. I can manage on my own.”
“After I help you dress.”
Three loud bangs rattled her door.
“Watch yourself,” Tilde yelled to whoever was in the corridor then tossed the lavender gown over Claudine’s head. “We live with Barbarians.”
Once she’d helped shimmy the gown over Claudine’s curves, she walked to the door. Claudine took a moment in front of the looking glass to fluff her skirts.
“Your door won’t open,” Tilde said.
“The doorjamb is warped and sticks. You have to pull hard.”
Tilde yanked the handle, but the door didn’t give.
“Let me try.” Claudine’s friend shuffled aside, so she could grab the handle and tug hard. The door didn’t budge. “That’s odd. It hasn’t rained the last two days. Usually, it is worse when it is damp.”
Tilde and Claudine took turns pulling the handle, but to no avail. Claudine tossed up her hands. “I give up. Should we yell for Lars?”
“Knowing him, he has stripped down to his drawers already. Let’s sit for a while. You and I haven’t spent much time together, and I’ve missed you.”
She and Tilde plopped down on the fainting couch. Claudine groaned with pleasure. “It feels good to sit. I’ve been on my feet for hours.”
“You forgot how grueling it could be on stage.”
“Oui, but it is nice to be back. What will we do if no one comes looking for us?”
“Lars will be along as soon as he grows impatient with waiting for me.” Tilde aimed a sly smile at her. “It’s too bad you don’t have a window. I could climb down the drain pipe and go for help.”
“That would be a sight.”
“I used to climb trees all the time when I was a girl.”
Claudine caught a subtle movement out of the corner of her eye, and she turned her head. A gray cloud was seeping under her door. It took a moment to register what she was seeing, and when it did, her heart lodged into her throat.
“Fire!” She jumped from the couch, pointing toward the smoke rising in her dressing room.
Tilde gasped. They rushed the door and banged on it with their fists. Claudine continued to yell for help. “Fire! There’s a fire!”
Screams came from the corridor, and the sounds of footsteps pounded past her door. No one could hear her over the pandemonium.
The smoke was spreading through her dressing room, burning her eyes and throat. Tilde started coughing.
“Cover your face,” Claudine said. “Don’t breathe in the smoke.”
“Claudine!” It was Russell. “Are you in there?”
“Yes! Yes! We’re in here,” she and Tilde screamed together and hammered their fists against the door.
“What the devil?”
“Tilde! It’s Lars. The handle has been broken off the door.”
The commotion outside continued as a man shouted for more buckets of water.
“Miss Claudine, it’s Benny. You and Miss Tilde need to stand back as far as you can. Try to get behind something to shield you. We’re getting you out of there.”
She and Tilde scrambled for the fainting couch, tipped it on its side, and crouched behind it. “We are ready,” Claudine shouted.
The first slam against the door shook the floor. There was another followed by two more in rapid sequence. On the fifth slam, splintered wood sprayed the room. The door caved in with the next ramming, and Russell appeared. He shoved the door aside and rushed forward to envelop her in his arms.
“My lord, Claudine. What happened?” He kissed her between questions. “Do you know who broke your handle? Did you hear anyone?”
She couldn’t catch her breath to answer. Benny clamped a hand on Russell’s shoulder, and he winced. “The f
ire is out, but she needs fresh air, sir.”
“Of course.” Russell hooked an arm under her legs and lifted her to carry her to safety. Lars was already ushering Tilde from the room. Smoke lingered in the corridor. The door to the prop room was charred, and the stagehands splashed through shallow puddles with buckets in their hands. Oliver exited the room with soot smeared on his face.
“Someone set the fire,” he said. “It looks like he used the gilded papier-mâché frames from a few years ago.”
Russell tensed and gently set her on her feet. “Benny, please take Miss Bellerose outside and see that she breathes in plenty of fresh air.”
“Yes, sir.”
Claudine debated the wisdom in leaving the men alone with the way Russell was glaring at Oliver, but she was growing lightheaded and accepted Benny’s escort outside.
* * * *
Fury coursed through Russell. He couldn’t stop shaking. Jonas stood in the charred threshold with his hands on his hips, taking stock of the damage. Everything in the room was burned beyond recognition, but it was clear Jonas hadn’t followed orders.
“You didn’t clear out the old props last week,” Russell said in a deceptively calm voice. His hand curled into a fist. “I warned you that the Drayton was one spark away from going up in flames.”
Jonas spun on his heel. “We put out the fire, and the theatre is still standing. Also, it didn’t set itself. Someone broke in and started it.”
“You hired guards. How the bloody hell did anyone break in?”
“How should I know? I was with you the whole time. I don’t know anything more than you do.”
Russell rammed a finger in his direction. “Your carelessness has almost gotten her killed again.”
“My carelessness? I didn’t set the fire.” Jonas’s face was crimson beneath the soot. “How is this my fault?”
Resisting Romeo (Gentlemen of Intrigue Book 2) Page 12
