Improper Advances

by Margaret Evans Porter

  “When I found out Burford was selling Combustible, I couldn’t let her go to just anyone. Too many owners are ruled by their desire to win at any cost, and their grooms and trainers behave accordingly. If she can attach a victory to her name in her next race, the Duke of Halford might take her. Any horse would be happy at Moulton Heath.”

  “Or I could take her to Skyhill. Would you object to that?”

  For a fleeting moment, he saw alarm on her lovely face. “Only if you put her to work at your mine.”

  “Certainly not. She’s been coddled all her life, and is bred for a different sort of labor.”

  For a long time she said nothing.

  Curling an arm around her shoulders, he placed his lips against her ear, and murmured a suggestion.

  “At the inn,” she replied.

  Her reluctance troubled him. He accepted that her mysterious ritual with the lemon was a necessary prelude to lovemaking, and tried to respect her pragmatism. Her unwillingness to bear his child might be a rejection of a permanent bond with him, or it could be that she feared the harm to her career. But she’d admitted to taking no such precautions with Teversal, and that nettled him.

  “You aren’t cross?” she asked him.

  He shook his head. “A moving carriage is so much less comfortable than a mattress.” To demonstrate his goodwill, he ran his fingers lightly across her cheek. He wished he could know what she was thinking as she sat there still and silent.

  Glancing out the window, she observed, “We’ve reached Islington—and later than I expected. Suke will give me up for lost.”

  “Is she likely to wait up for you?”

  “I didn’t ask her to. She’ll be sleeping in a separate chamber. I’ll be alone.”

  “No you won’t be,” he contradicted, squeezing her waist.

  Her smile promised many delights, and he felt better.

  When they had traveled a little farther, he said, “I’ve noticed Wingate’s interest in the girl. Is she offering encouragement?”

  “I’m sure she likes him. But she’s no girl, she’s a year younger than I am. I never interfere in my servants’ private lives, but if your man means to seduce my Suke, I will. I’d do anything to keep her from suffering as I did, after Thomas—” She jerked her head as if shaking off the bad memory.

  Completing her unfinished statement, he said, “After Thomas Teversal betrayed you.”

  She regarded him through narrowed eyes. Then she asked coolly, “How did you find out his surname?”

  “Entirely by chance. I actually met him, less than an hour ago. He knew you were performing at Vauxhall tonight, and would’ve waylaid you—if the doorkeeper hadn’t cast him out for unruliness.”

  “He wanted to see me?” She sank against the cushions, her expression one of horror. “If you think less of me for loving someone like that, my only excuse is that he concealed his true nature very well.”

  “A pity you never saw him when he was drunk,” said Dare lightly. “Three years ago, he might have seemed dashing and seductive, but tonight he proved himself to be a boisterous sot with a foul tongue. I hope his ducking in the Thames sobered him.”

  “Dare, you didn’t!”

  “It was that or challenge him to a duel, which would bring about the sort of publicity you abhor. Don’t fret, I didn’t explain why he had infuriated me. As far as he’s aware, I’m as much a stranger to you as I was to him.” When she pressed her palms together, her face a study in dismay, he said, “Perhaps I shouldn’t have told you.”

  “I’m glad you felt you could.”

  “You don’t look glad.”

  “He’s supposed to be in Wiltshire, not London—his father-in-law gated him. Matthew Powell shares all the best gossip with me, whether or not I figure in it.”

  “Do you ask him what people are saying about you?”

  “Of course,” she said blithely. “And he always tells. Whenever I ask Rushton for the latest Ana St.

  Albans stories, he prims up his mouth and changes the subject. During your weeks in London, you must have heard some choice gossip about me.”

  He didn’t deny it. “But I know the truth, Oriana. The only time I was worried was my first day in town, when that imp Merton Pringle said you were immoral and depraved. And sang that detestable ballad.”

  “There’s a songbird who makes the most glorious sound,” Oriana caroled, “her name is Ana St.

  Albans.”

  His hand covered her mouth. “Don’t.” The verses inspired by her liaison with Teversal rankled more than ever, now that he’d met the man. Grasping her chin, he turned her head toward him, and declared, “It wouldn’t have mattered if that brat’s slander had been accurate. I wanted you so desperately, an entire legion of lovers wouldn’t have daunted me.”

  “One lover is the most I can manage at a time. I’m too busy to entertain any more.” Laying her hand upon his knee, she said earnestly, “I bear no happy memories of Thomas. He tricked me into relinquishing my heart and my virtue. He killed my love for him and trampled on my pride. For a long time afterward just hearing his name made me queasy.” Her other hand crept to his chest as she said, “Whatever the future holds for us, Dare, I shall never regret knowing you.”

  He drew no comfort from her words, because the desperation in her kiss disturbed him. Her searching lips communicated uncertainty, perhaps anxiety, and he had no idea why.

  Chapter 25

  Rushton Hall, thought Harriot Mellon, must be the most civilized place in all England. Lady Liza Kingsley, born into privilege, was as gracious a hostess as a guest could wish, and her father’s hauteur was less in evidence here at his country seat. Daily life in their beautifully appointed mansion was perfectly regulated. The household servants carried out their duties with cheerful efficiency, the women in neat gowns and starched aprons, the men in their livery. Her every request was attended to as though she were a lady born rather than a common stage player. And amazingly, her querulous parent had mellowed during their stay—an entire day had passed without a sharp comment or criticism.

  Harriot’s cup of contentment overflowed when Oriana arrived. She received the happy tidings while rehearsing her actors, and instantly dismissed them for the day. Together they all trooped out of the orangery and across the garden to the house to greet the travelers.

  Eager to see Oriana and her handsome Manxman together for the first time, she was disappointed that the singer and Suke Barry had traveled in one chaise, the baronet and his manservant in another.

  Lord Rushton, who hadn’t taken his gun out today because Oriana was expected, smiled upon her approvingly and nodded his silver-flecked head as if pleased.

  Lady Liza, with her customary aplomb, presented Oriana to the other guests and various friends from the neighborhood. “And here is dear Miss Mellon, who has the thankless job of transforming us into Suetts and Kembles and Jordans.”

  “How does your play progress?” Oriana asked Harriot.

  To avoid answering directly—and candidly—she replied, “I’ve offered the ladies and gentlemen advice on timing and inflection, and tell them when to move and where to stand. They’re far easier to manage than professional players, and not so temperamental.”

  Said Mr. Powell to Oriana, “Would you be willing to favor our audience with a few of your Manx songs?”

  The earl objected to this plan, saying firmly, “Madame St. Albans will not sing.”

  “But music is essential to the play,” Lady Liza countered, turning earnest brown eyes upon her father.

  “The stage directions call for soft music at Tilburina’s entrances. At the end of the last scene, the entire company sings ‘Rule, Brittania.’ Afterward there’s a grand procession, and for that we must have Handel’s Water Music, and a march.”

  Her betrothed complained, “We’ve got one of London’s finest harpsichordists here—why can’t she supply the necessary music?”

  Oriana poured oil on troubled waters, saying serenely, “I
shall. That’s to be my sole contribution, for his lordship doesn’t want me to take an acting role or perform any songs.”

  “The distinction strikes me as most odd,” Mr. Powell declared.

  Ignoring this comment, the earl turned to Oriana. “My daughter will show you to your chamber and see that you’re comfortably settled. We hope you’ll enjoy your first visit to the Hall.”

  Lady Liza led Oriana and Suke up the staircase, the earl retreated to his bookroom, and the young people scattered in many directions.

  Rather than joining the other gentlemen in a game of billiards, Mr. Powell remained in the great hall with Harriot. “Ana ought to sing—I’m sure she’d like to. What d’you think of Rushton’s edict?”

  “He thinks it unsuitable for professionals to perform with gentlefolk.”

  “That’s absurd.”

  “It’s the way of the world,” Harriot said simply. “Your world, sir. Oriana works at a trade, and so do I—a disreputable one at that.”

  “Don’t you mind that sort of prejudice? Does she?”

  “I know my place,” she answered, without admitting her desire to improve it. “But my father wasn’t a duke, and neither is my cousin. Unlike Oriana, I’ve known but one side of the footlights.”

  Although she gave the impression that she was resigned to her lot, a full week at Rushton Hall had shown her a richer, more luxurious existence that she couldn’t help but envy. During her years laboring in the provincial theater circuits, local merchants and country squires had bestowed their patronage, taking her on carriage rides or inviting her to tea. Their houses, however fine, had lacked the splendor of this one.

  Giving her a smile, Matthew Powell said, “I’ll wager Corlett’s presence won’t improve his lordship’s mood. An interesting week we’ve got ahead of us, Miss Mellon.”

  “You, sir, should worry more about mastering your speeches in Act I, Scene 2.”

  “Mangled them, didn’t I?” he responded, unperturbed.

  “I hope you’re not cross with me—but of course not, you’re too good-natured.”

  “I’ll drill you,” she offered helpfully, holding out her hand for the sheaf of pages he held. He failed to notice-Lady Liza was descending the stair, and his eyes were on her. “Better yet, why don’t you ask her ladyship to do it?”

  “Yes, an admirable suggestion,” he murmured before leaving her side.

  Her assumption that the engaged couple were genuinely in love had barely survived her first day as theater manageress. Lady Liza, who performed the role of the mock-heroine Tilburina, seemed more at ease in her playacting than she did in the company of her betrothed. And Mr. Powell, always so mirthful and jesting when he visited Soho Square, was strangely subdued at Rushton Hall.

  “Trouble in paradise?” asked Oriana, when Harriot shared her observations. “I can’t imagine it’s serious. Matthew lost his heart to Lady Liza over a year ago. And she wouldn’t have tried so hard to overcome her father’s objections to the match if she didn’t love him.”

  “What were the earl’s objections?”

  “Matthew’s lack of money, and his mania for the theater. He’d make a wonderful actor, if he hadn’t been born a gentleman,.” To her maid, Oriana said, “Take my blue silk to the laundry to be pressed for this evening. Tomorrow I’ll need the white muslin.”

  “New, aren’t they?” Harriot commented as Suke tossed the requested garments over her arm and left the bedchamber.

  “I’ve been very extravagant this summer, and must practice many economies in the coming months.”

  “Sir Darius doesn’t give you an allowance?”

  “Heavens, no. I wouldn’t have accepted if he’d offered one.”

  “Oh.” But there was no doubt that their relationship was an intimate one. Oriana had never looked more beautiful, as if she’d been feasting on love. After an embarrassed pause, Harriot said, “I saw him in Liverpool, after you left in such a hurry. If a man like that came after me—I don’t know if I could refuse him.”

  Amused, Oriana gently pinched her friend’s scarlet cheek. “Don’t let your mother hear you say that.”

  “If he asked you to wed him, wouldn’t you accept?”

  She felt her smile slipping away. “He won’t ask.”

  “You sound so certain.”

  “I am.” Though Oriana wouldn’t admit it, she’d be surprised if Dare remained in England after the October Meeting at Newmarket. She hadn’t forgotten his suggestion that he take Combustible to Skyhill if she failed to win her race.

  In a disappointed voice, the actress said, “I hoped Sir Darius would turn out to be different than all those other men.”

  “Oh, but he is,” she declared fervently. “He’s unlike anyone I’ve ever known. If Mick Kelly offers me employment at the opera house, I’ll have everything I could possibly wish for.”

  “Except a husband.”

  “I’m not so sure I want one.” From her small trunk, Oriana removed several music books. After her break with Thomas, singing had been her solace. If she lost Dare, she relied on Providence to return her to the King’s Theatre. When handing over the volumes, she told Harriot, “I brought all the pieces that seemed appropriately lively for background accompaniment. I must say, I’m eager to see how Matthew conducts himself as Mr. Puff.”

  “Mr. Sheridan would applaud his performance. He’s more comfortable in his role, and more serious, than his fellow players. To them, acting is a game. Lady Liza, a Tilburina, is by far the best of the young ladies. Some of the gentlemen have taken double roles. If Sir Darius wishes to join our company, we’ve room for him.”

  “Like me, he prefers to make himself useful in a less visible capacity.”

  “I’m afraid we’ll want a good prompter,” said Harriot candidly. “The young men spend more time out with their guns than they do perfecting their speeches, and the ladies constantly chatter—mostly about the gentlemen. If they worked at Drury Lane, their salaries would hardly cover the sums they’d forfeit for tardiness and dereliction of duty.”

  Mrs. Entwistle swept in majestically, greeted Oriana in a perfunctory fashion, and made the pithy observation that this room was superior to her daughter’s.

  “These hangings are damask, not chintz—and the bed is as prettily curtained as Lady Liza’s. I shouldn’t wonder if this had been Lady Rushton’s chamber, when she lived.”

  “My room is perfectly nice, Mother,” Harriot stated.

  “Pinch your cheeks, child, and retie your hair ribbons. A fine gentleman has just arrived with his servant, and you’ll want to look your best.”

  Exchanging glances with Oriana, the actress replied, “It will serve no purpose. I cannot compare favorably to the lady he most admires.”

  “Well, she’s not here, and you must seize your chance to captivate him. Come along with me.”

  Said Oriana, “Before you go, Harri, direct me to the orangery. I must see your theater.”

  Harriot bobbed up from her seat and led Oriana to the window. “There,” she said, pointing to a white building in the distance. In a complicit whisper, she added, “When I see Sir Darius, I’ll tell him where to find you.”

  On her way through the house, Oriana found much to admire. Handsome paintings of people and places lined the walls, and elegant carpets covered its floors with bursts of colors. The furnishings were exactly what she expected to see in the Kingsleys’ ancestral home. Here was grandeur without ostentation.

  She followed a stony path across a tidy expanse of lawn to the glass-walled building Harriot had shown her. As she approached, she could see a male figure striding back and forth, flinging one hand about with abandon and carrying a book in the other. She stood outside the open double doors, shamelessly eavesdropping.

  “Ever while you live, have two plots to your tragedy,” Matthew Powell declaimed, facing his invisible audience. “The grand point in managing them is only to let your under plot have as little connection with your main plot as possible. I flatter
myself nothing can be more distinct than mine. For as in my chief plot the characters are all great people, I have laid my under plot in low life. And as the former is to end in deep distress, I make the other end as happy as a farce.”

  Oriana clapped softly. “Very well expressed, sir.”

  “Ana!”

  “I was just telling Harri it’s a crime you were born a gentleman.”

  “But an even greater one that you were not born a ladyship.”

  He wasn’t jesting, which was most unusual. “I’d rather be a prima donna at an opera house, thank you.”

  “I may yet be forced to seek my fortune on the boards,” he said glumly. “This betrothal of mine doesn’t prosper. The financial difficulties I told you about weeks ago threaten my future with Liza.”

  “How so?”

  “You said I oughtn’t to keep my debts secret, that I should be honest with her, and your eloquent arguments swayed me. I followed your advice, and it’s put me in the devil of a mess.” He flung his playbook aside, and it struck the stone floor. “It’s not your fault. After explaining that I was desperately short of funds, I suggested we have a hasty wedding, else the bailiffs would seize me and put me behind bars. As a joke, mind you.”

  “Oh, Matthew.” She shook her head at him. What was the matter with men. Why couldn’t they think before speaking?

  “I was serious about the quick wedding, but it’s nothing to do with money. As you know, it took me forever and a day to convince her that my proposal was inspired by true affection. And then, with a few ill-chosen words in an attempt to be clever, I gave the impression of being a fortune hunter. She no longer seeks my company-wouldn’t even help me study my part when I asked. I’m not absolutely sure that I am still engaged.”

  Oriana ached for him, he looked so distraught. “Should I have a word with her?”

  “Words are no use. I need money. I can raise a thousand, half what I owe. I’ve already sold my phaeton and the bays. I mean to give up both my hunters next.”

  “You’re so fond of them.” For her, the sale of a favorite horse would be a calamity.

  With a semblance of his cocksure smile, he said, “I’m fonder of Liza by far.”