Drury Lane Darling

by Joan Smith

  “This is not the point at which our interests touch, Fleur,” he said, but in a bantering way. “I’m in no hurry to lose my leading lady.”

  “Oh, I don’t plan to retire for three years. I have every intention of performing in a few tragedies first,” she said, and placed her hand on his arm.

  “Make it a few comedies, and I might be coerced into helping you.”

  “You know how to put me in an agreeable mood,” she teased, and began walking down the hall with him. “Greed is the last infirmity of noble minds, according to your Shakespeare.”

  “Actually it was Milton, and fame is the spur, not greed.”

  “Pedant!”

  Pamela watched them from the saloon. She felt a little stab of annoyance when the Flawless Fleur reached up and wagged Breslau’s chin. Such a familiar gesture betrayed close intimacy. Nigel followed her gaze and his eyes blazed with jealousy. He was on his feet in an instant, pelting toward them.

  “Sonny.” The marquise smiled fondly and put her hand on his arm. This motion stirred no emotion but a mild surprise in Pamela’s bosom. “Be a darling and show me to my room. You know Maria, my dresser, was unable to accompany me because of her wretched cold. I must prepare my own toilette. And really I’m aching with fatigue.”

  “I’ll call a servant to help you,” Nigel said at once.

  “I wouldn’t dream of it. I’ll run along now and rest before the ball this evening. What hour does your dear mama serve dinner?”

  “Usually at six, but with company here she’s putting it off till seven.”

  “Not on my account, I hope! I wouldn’t want her to change her routine for me. Pray, tell her to consider me as family.”

  “Wes don’t like country hours,” he said.

  Pamela wanted to hear the conversation. She noticed the marquise had left her favorite shawl on the sofa and took it up as an excuse to join them.

  “Thank you, Mees Calmstock.” The marquise smiled. “I should have worn this to your papa’s study, Nigel, and he wouldn’t have lost his temper with me.”

  Nigel blanched. “What did he say to you? You didn’t tell him—” He came to a red-faced, guilty halt, and looked at Pamela, who was regarding him suspiciously.

  The marquise said archly, “Ask Wes. He was listening at the door, I think.” Then she turned and made her exit. Nigel went with her to point out the way.

  The remainder of her audience watched her undulate gracefully away, toward the guest suite at the end of the hall. Nigel soon came hurrying back.

  “What did Papa say to her, Wes?” he asked.

  “Nothing to worry about. They parted on excellent terms.”

  “More importantly, what is it you fear she might have told him?” Pamela demanded.

  “It’s none of your business,” he retorted before turning back to Breslau. “Did you hear anything?”

  “I’m not a dog. My ears have only human capacity. I heard raised voices, that’s all.”

  “I knew this visit would be a disaster,” Nigel moaned. “I thought Papa at least would like Fleur. I was sure it’d be Mama who squelched her.”

  “Then why did you invite her?” Pamela asked.

  “I didn’t! That is, well…it’s hard getting a moment to go over the memoirs in the city. Wes gave her two nights off from the theater and she kept pestering me to come here. It had to be done sooner or later,” he added grimly.

  “Why?” Pamela demanded. The awful idea was beginning to take hold that Nigel had offered for the marquise.

  “You’ll know when the time comes. Just remember I never asked you to marry me. It was all Mama’s idea.”

  This was as good as a confirmation. “Nigel, you idiot!”

  “She hasn’t said yes,” he admitted. “I wonder if I should ask her again now?”

  “This is hardly the optimum moment. She’s aching with fatigue,” Breslau reminded him. He had no fear that Fleur had raised this ridiculous matter with Nigel’s father.

  “Then I suppose I might as well entertain you,” Nigel said to Pamela with an amazing lack of enthusiasm. “It will put Mama in a good mood. Would you like to play fiddlesticks or something?”

  “No, I’d like to beat you with a mallet. I can’t believe you actually proposed to the marquise. She’s old enough to be your mother.”

  Breslau saw no jealousy in her behavior, only the frustration of a sane adult for the folly of youth.

  “Lots of men marry older ladies.”

  “You’re not a man. You’re a stupid boy.”

  “Fleur don’t think so! And what you really mean is that Fleur ain’t a lady.”

  “No more she is!”

  On this rejoinder, Nigel strutted into the saloon and went to the cupboard where the games were kept. “Well, do you want to play fiddlesticks or not?” he asked brusquely.

  “No, that’s childish.”

  “You don’t know how to play chess.”

  “Neither do you.”

  “I beat you last time at least.”

  “That was checkers.”

  Breslau listened, with a mocking smile tugging at his lips. “Do you have any puppets in the house? Punch and Judy suggests itself as a suitable game for you feuding young lovers.”

  “We must talk,” Pamela said. “You can’t have mentioned this to your parents yet, Nigel, or they’d be in the boughs.”

  “I’ll tell them when the time comes, and meanwhile I don’t want you running to Mama.”

  “I shan’t embarrass you, for there isn’t a chance in the world the marquise would have you. What do you think, Breslau?” she asked.

  “I think we should all play fiddlesticks.”

  When Lady Raleigh returned, she found the three of them at this childish pastime, and was happy she had an excuse to remove Breslau. She beckoned him to the hallway and spoke in low tones.

  “Sorry to inconvenience you, Breslau, but I have a small favor to ask. Would you mind terribly if Nigel used the cot in your dressing room tonight? His bedroom is being redone.”

  She went on with her highly unlikely tale. Breslau listened impassively and expressed every pleasure at the annoyance of having a puppy snoring in the next room. He wanted his duties to be quite clear and asked bluntly, “You want me to keep an eye on him, I take it?”

  “Oh, no indeed! It is just that—why did she insist on having the downstairs suite? That looks a trifle odd you must own.”

  It was true that Fleur had never expressed this fear of an upstairs bedchamber before. Her apartment in London, in fact, was on the second story. He didn’t believe she was after Nigel in a romantic way, though Fleur was known to have a filly’s tooth where young gentlemen were concerned. If Maxwell should publicly spurn her at the assembly, there was no saying what her temper might lead her to do.

  “Why don’t we slip a draught of laudanum into his wine after the assembly?” he suggested.

  “I never have it in the house. I disapprove of laudanum. Oh, and there is one more thing, Breslau. I would prefer if you would ask Nigel to share your suite. He wouldn’t question it, coming from you. He’ll insist on using one of the vacant guest suites if I suggest it. And with his lungs, you know…”

  “What reason could I possibly give?”

  “You got him this assignment editing the actress’s memoirs.” A note of accusation crept into her voice. “Perhaps you can make up some new job you wish to discuss with him.”

  “I don’t know any other actors who are writing their memoirs.”

  “He writes as well as edits. Ask him to write you a play for Drury Lane. He would be flattered.”

  Breslau’s eyes widened in amazement. “Well he might be!”

  “You will think of something,” Lady Raleigh assured him, and went off to attend to other hostessing chores.

  She went tapping at the marquise’s door to see if she required anything. The woman didn’t answer. She hadn’t brought a maid or dresser with her, as a lady should. That meant she’d be requisitionin
g one of the servants for her dressing. At least the wretched woman was sleeping. Her sort was probably up half the night, and slept the daylight away.

  There was no denying the actress was pretty, though, in her own garish way. She’d take the shine out of the ladies at the assembly. Some vestigial atom of feminine competitiveness urged Lady Raleigh to enliven her own evening toilette. Her usual outfit for winter do’s was a well-aged blue silk gown. There wasn’t time to have a new gown constructed, but she would wear the Raleigh diamonds. The local assembly generally merited no more than her pearls.

  When she went after Aubrey to get the diamonds out of the family safe, she found him in his study, going over his account books.

  “You always wear the pearls,” he reminded her.

  “Usually, but tonight I shall wear the family heirlooms.”

  “They’re not family heirlooms. Not entailed,” Sir Aubrey pointed out brusquely.

  “They were passed down from your mama, and Pamela shall wear them when she marries Nigel. They are family heirlooms, whether they are entailed or not.”

  “Wear your pearls,” Aubrey said. “I don’t see why you must ape the manners of an actress.”

  Lady Raleigh was much impressed by this streak of common sense from her lord and master. “You’re quite right, Aubrey. There is some insidious evil in having a woman like that under the roof. I was being drawn into the snare without realizing it. I shall read a few chapters from my Bible before dinner. And by the by, I arranged to have Breslau keep an eye on Nigel. He’ll not be visiting that harpy downstairs, and neither shall Breslau,” she added contentedly.

  She was happy to see how this pleased her husband. Shows of affection had been rare nearly to the point of nonexistence between them for a decade, but she placed her hand on his now and squeezed gently. Aubrey returned the pressure. She would leave the door between their adjoining bedrooms open tonight. A man had his needs, and it was best to fill them when an evil woman was amongst them, however unpleasant it might be. Lady Raleigh spared no exertion in her quest for salvation for her and hers.

  “I keep the pearls in my jewelry box, so I shan’t bother you any longer.” She glanced at his account books, and at the frown that furrowed his brow. “We haven’t outrun the grocer, have we, Aubrey?”

  “No, no, but I shall put off mending the stalls till the spring. I like to keep a little beforehand with the world.”

  In Lady Raleigh’s opinion, the stables ate up more than their share of the family income. “That might be best.” She smiled, and finally left.

  The Lord did indeed work in strange ways, His wonders to perform. Who would have thought a visit from an actress would open up Aubrey’s eyes to the folly of human vanity? Perhaps Nigel’s work with the creature would bring him to a proper appreciation of Pamela. He would be better served if he had a good wife with him in wicked London. Twenty-two was old enough for a man to marry. And poor Pamela must be growing impatient.

  Chapter Four

  Pamela Comstock stood at the mirror examining her hair. At home, the upstairs maid did it for her. She didn’t have a personal maid, or want one. Neither did she want one of Lady Raleigh’s servants twisting her curls into some style of yesteryear. Her hair was her crowning glory. A rich mane of chestnut waves tumbled to her shoulders and gleamed in the lamplight. She always wore it tightly pinned in Nigel’s presence, but on this visit she would risk wearing it in a more becoming style. Nigel would be fully occupied with Fleur, and there was no reason the other gentlemen at the assembly should take her for a dowd.

  Her mind roamed to Breslau, and she regretted once more not having brought her new rose gown with her. She was far from considering him a possible husband, but an eligible gentleman who honors a lady with a flirtation merits a good gown, especially when he is accustomed to London toilettes.

  She tilted her head this way and that, assessing her face. Her eyes were all right. Her mouth was too small and her cheeks were pale. She pinched her cheeks till they burned, and stretched her lips in an O, an exercise vigorously followed, but one that showed no results. This done, she took up the brush and softened the waves over her forehead, allowing a few tendrils to tumble along her cheek. The rest of her hair was loosely pulled back in a basket with blue ribbons to match her gown.

  Her simple toilette done, she opened the door and hurried along the hallway, past Lady Raleigh and Sir Aubrey’s suite. The door was closed, but Nigel’s piping voice carried through the door quite audibly. His stuttering, apologetic syllables suggested he had confessed his hope of marrying Fleur.

  “…not to say it is settled, you know, but I thought I should just drop you a hint.”

  “Have you spoken to your father?” Lady Raleigh’s voice was as stiff and tough as a whip.

  “I thought you might…”

  “I never want to hear another word of this, Nigel. We shall forget you had the ill manners to speak to your mother about marrying an actress. I’d rather see you dead.” She sounded as though she meant it literally.

  Pamela heard footsteps approaching the door and darted back to her own room, as it was closer than the stairway. She remained there a moment, regretting Nigel’s rashness. Not that she could entirely blame him. Working with Fleur must be a terrible temptation. The editing of the memoirs would now come to a halt. Lady Raleigh would see to that. Dinner promised to be extraordinarily uncomfortable.

  When Pamela went downstairs, all the party except the marquise had assembled in the saloon. Lady Raleigh looked as stiff as an Egyptian mummy.

  Other than that and a certain pallor, she revealed no sign of her agitation. Nigel, of course, was sulking.

  “Pamela, my dear, you should have asked for a servant to help with your toilette,” Lady Raleigh said. “Your hair is all falling down. You must stick a pin in it, or you’ll look a quiz at the assembly.” It pained the dame to see Pamela falling into the snare of competing with the actress, but she could not be hard on her. Had she not herself been tempted?

  Nigel gave Pam a dismissing look. “Nobody will notice. What the deuce can be keeping Fleur?” He drew out his watch and tsk’d at it. Lady Raleigh’s jaws clenched, but that was the only betrayal of her mood.

  Pamela felt as though the room were resting on one of Mr. Goldsmith’s rockets, and that it might go off at any moment and blow them all sky high. Fleur’s dashing entrance at that moment occupied the others, and Breslau stole the opportunity to show Pamela a seat beside him.

  “Don’t frown, Miss Comstock,” he said. “I think your hair looks charming.”

  She ignored the compliment. “He told Lady Raleigh,” she said in a low voice. “Can’t you do something to divert disaster?”

  Breslau’s face froze. “Who told her? Sir Aubrey?”

  “No, Nigel. He wouldn’t dare tell his father. He told his mother he plans to marry Fleur.” Why this awful information should be a relief to Breslau was a mystery, but certainly the effect of it was to calm him noticeably. In fact, he even smiled. “What have I missed? What do you think Sir Aubrey might have told his wife? Has it to do with that argument in the library?” she asked.

  Before he answered, Fleur was with them, and all attention centered on her. Pamela had been looking forward to a display of city dissipation, and didn’t know whether she was relieved or disappointed at Fleur’s gown. It was a pretty emerald green silk whose cut would have passed without comment at a meeting of the Religious Tract Society. The bodice was cut high, and the favorite paisley shawl covered her arms. The only item worth looking at was an impressive set of emeralds on her ears and at her neck. One might have added that the color of the actress’s cheeks was unnaturally high, but that would have been mere quibbling. Fleur used a very light hand at the rouge pot. She looked respectable, but by no means a suitable bride for Nigel.

  The marquise felt the chill in the air and braced herself to be fascinating. She was confident she could win over the coldest audience. “What a lovely rest I had,” she said, smiling at
her hostess, who appeared to be the source of the frost. “There is nothing like country quiet after the rigors of London. And what a charming suite you put me in, Lady Raleigh.”

  Lady Raleigh had been feeling generous, as Aubrey showed no appreciation of the guest, but her generosity had left her with Nigel’s visit. Her breeding remained, and she said stiffly, “The wallpaper is from China.”

  “The chopsticks and fans suggested it might be,” Fleur said, in accents that only Breslau recognized as gentle irony.

  Sherry was served, and the little group began talking among themselves. Pamela leaned toward Breslau and said, “Well, this is a surprise I must say! I thought Lady Chamaude would wear a disgraceful gown. She dresses just like Mama.”

  He lifted a brow. “Then your mama is to be complimented.”

  “I just thought she would be more dashing.”

  “That would be because you aren’t aware of the role Fleur’s playing this evening. Country gentlewoman, I think, but don’t fear it is Nigel she has her sights set on.”

  Pamela assumed it was Breslau himself who was Fleur’s quarry. This struck her as being much closer to the mark. She noticed that a country gentlewoman did not empty her glass quite so quickly as Fleur, nor did she hold the empty glass out for a refill before her host suggested it. She kept these observations to herself. The idea was beginning to take hold that Breslau disliked any disparagement of his leading lady. One eyebrow had a way of rising to denote displeasure. He watched the marquise like a hawk, too, or like a man in love. Strange to think of Breslau being in love with anyone but himself.

  Before long Lady Chamaude realized that any attention to Nigel went down ill, so she ignored him. Lady Raleigh was coolly polite, for she didn’t want Aubrey to know what Nigel was up to. The meeting was extremely uncomfortable, but no uproar had broken out by the time dinner was announced. Fleur sat at Sir Aubrey’s elbow, a little removed from his wife, which was a relief. At the end of the table, the hostess watched Fleur as though her guest planned to pocket the silverware. Over the meal, assiduous praise of the viands brought a token glow of pleasure to Sir Aubrey’s face.