“I don’t wish to discuss it now.” Russell’s mind was too busy thinking about the future to rehash the recent past. Marcus’s coachman opened the door to the carriage when Russell reached it, and he entered ahead of his friend. Marcus climbed into the carriage and settled on the bench across from him.
“No explanation is required,” Marcus said, “but you will be hard pressed to ignore your solicitor’s advice on marriage now.”
“Yes, and I imagine it will be difficult to turn a deaf ear to his shouting when he learns I intend to cancel the sale. I expect he will be quite livid.”
“Can you blame the man? He has been searching for a buyer for months.”
Marcus leaned against the seatback as the carriage lurched onto the street. “I cannot see Mr. Gordon making a fuss, though. He seems too dignified. I bet he seethes in the privacy of his study at night.”
“I believe you have Mr. Gordon pegged.” Russell braced his hand against the wall to keep his seat as the driver seemed to seek out every hole in the street.
“You do realize heiresses are in high demand.”
“There will be plenty of time to worry about heiresses later, if I really need to marry one, and I am not convinced I do. Right now, I’m more concerned with reviving the theatre.”
“Ha! You are most interested in besting Jonas and wooing the French actress.”
“I wasn’t trying to woo her.”
“Weren’t you?” Marcus asked with a slight chuckle. “She is pretty in the way you like, and she is an actress.”
“Yes, well. Theatres tend to have pretty actresses. It is unavoidable.” Russell directed his gaze out the window even though nothing but the silhouettes of dark buildings rested beyond the glass. He didn’t care for the way Marcus spoke of her as if she were one in a thousand. Miss Bellerose had been captivating on stage, unlike any dramatist he’d ever encountered. Her talent was unique, and she belonged in a major theatre. Nevertheless, he rather liked that she had chosen to perform at the Drayton.
“Do you recall that summer between terms when I could be found at Drury Lane most evenings?” he asked. “I fell in love with the theatre that summer.”
Marcus smirked. “I thought you fell in love with bedding actresses.”
“That is untrue. I only fancied one actress.” She had been one of the younger players with limited experience on stage, but she liked talking about her career, and he had enjoyed listening. When she had spoken of the applause, her exhilaration became contagious and left him slightly intoxicated. Acting was a life choice that would never be available to him. He’d always been envious of the actors' and actresses' freedom to choose.
“I’ve always wanted to know what it would be like to become another person,” he said. “Temporarily, of course. I have no complaints about the life I’ve been given. Managing the theatre for a while could quench my thirst for acting.”
“Of course, your decision has nothing to do with getting close to Miss Bellerose.” His friend’s smugness was getting under Russell’s skin.
“I will be in Jonas’s office most of the time. I doubt Miss Bellerose and I will even cross paths.”
“Don’t mistake my concern for disapproval,” Marcus said. “She would make a fine mistress.”
“And you know my thoughts on the matter.”
Russell suspected his father had kept a mistress years ago. He vaguely recalled visiting her once when his father brought him to London for the day. He’d been a young boy and didn’t remember much about the visit except he’d been given sweets, and he’d played hoops with a group of boys in the park. He did remember his mother asking him questions about the woman and later listening to her cry in her chambers. He hadn’t understood then, but now it seemed the most heart wrenching sound he’d ever heard. He refused to be responsible for causing a woman that type of pain.
“Russell, if your solicitor has counseled you to marry an heiress, you should heed his advice.” Marcus sighed when Russell directed his gaze out the window again. “You cannot afford to develop a tendre for Miss Bellerose, and you certainly cannot marry an actress and expect your mother to approve.”
Russell ground his teeth. He was bloody tired of being told what he could and couldn’t do.
* * * *
The next morning Claudine hummed to herself as she glided down the stairs to have breakfast before heading to the theatre. Sophia’s Wing Chun lessons had been well received by the actresses yesterday, and Claudine had agreed to meet Tilde, Jane, Natalia, Rachel, and Anastasia at the Drayton to practice before rehearsals today.
Like many of their contemporaries, her fellow actresses roomed at the theatre in exchange for a portion of their earnings, so practice could begin as soon as Claudine arrived. She was anxious to see what moves Sophia had taught them.
Regina, Evangeline, and Sophia had befriended her six weeks earlier after she fled from her benefactor. Her new friends had shown great compassion and understanding when she admitted the Duke of Stanhurst often lost his temper and hit her. Not many women would have opened their homes to a man’s mistress, much less offered their friendship, but the sisters and their great-aunt had graciously welcomed her.
Once Regina had doctored her injuries, and Claudine was feeling more like herself, Regina had insisted on teaching her how to protect herself if anyone ever tried to hurt her again. The Darlington sisters had learned Wing Chun from their uncle when they were girls. It was an ancient warrior art used to surprise an attacker and escape.
Claudine’s knowledge of Wing Chun was limited, but Regina had taught her enough to defend herself in dire circumstances, and Sophia had offered to continue her lessons while Regina and Evangeline were traveling on the Continent.
Benny was already at the table partaking of his usual fare of porridge and sliced beets when she arrived at the breakfast room.
“What a beautiful morning,” she said in a singsong voice as she swept to the sideboard where a spread of her favorite foods had been laid. She filled a small plate with fruit, ham, and thin slices of cheese then joined Benny at the table.
He looked up from his porridge. “Do we have errands to run this morning?”
“No, we are expected at the Drayton. It will be a long day, I’m afraid, but we only have thirteen days until opening night.”
They had lost time, thanks to the chaos yesterday, but at least there would be an opening night. Memorizing lines and learning the blocking before the deadline would be easy for seasoned players like Lars and her.
She chattered about everything that needed accomplishing that day while Benny shoveled beets into his mouth and nodded every once in a while. As breakfast was near an end, there was a knock at the front door. Benny pushed from his seat.
Claudine waved for him to sit. “Mrs. Voss will answer. Finish your porridge. We might not eat again until evening.”
She never asked Benny to answer the door, although she had been grateful on a few occasions when he had. Once word of Stanhurst’s death made the rounds, she began receiving visits from gentlemen who wished to offer their patronage. Claudine had refused without hesitation, and Benny had escorted the unhappy ones from the premises.
She would never be a man’s mistress again.
She hadn’t wanted to be Stanhurst’s either, but she had recently lost Nan to the wasting disease when the duke began pursuing her in earnest. She’d been frightened of being alone like she was after her father died, trying to survive on her own. Prolonged hunger had a way of branding itself into one’s memory, and the fear of starvation never seemed to die away, even though Nan had left her well settled. Nan’s career on stage and wise investments had allowed her to support herself and Claudine, and her gift for theatre allowed Claudine to be independent now.
Surrendering to Stanhurst’s relentless pursuit had been a mistake Claudine would always regret, but she had learned from it. Loneliness was not the worst fate that could befall a person. She still believed in love and remained open to marriage. S
he expected some day she would fall for a fellow thespian like Tilde had, but she would never again choose a man out of desperation.
The housekeeper appeared in the breakfast room doorway and stood in place wringing her hands until Claudine bade her to enter.
“Who was at the door, Mrs. Voss?”
“It is a man. He refused to supply his name, but he said you would want to speak with him. I showed him to the drawing room, miss.”
Claudine frowned and placed her napkin beside her plate. She couldn’t think of a single man she wished to see. Perhaps it is Russell Hawke? Her pulse sped even though she definitely didn’t want to see him. The unwelcome attraction she felt for him could become her undoing unless she remained vigilant, because gentlemen like Mr. Hawke only wanted one thing from women like her.
Without her needing to make the request, Benny accompanied her to the drawing room. Claudine stiffened as soon as she spotted her former butler standing in the middle of the room with his battered hat in his hands.
“Ma’am.” He bobbed his head. “Thank you for seeing me. I owe you an apology, and it is long overdue.”
His contrite posture did not fool her. Mr. Tabron’s only regret was being turned out without a reference. Nothing he could say would convince her to pen a letter of recommendation on his behalf. The man had no conscience.
He had spied on her to win the duke’s favor and thwarted her chance of escaping from Stanhurst two years ago. Mr. Tabron had sent a message to the duke informing him that she was packing her trunks. She’d nearly lost her life that time. But the butler hadn’t merely reported on her once. He’d continued to inform on her for small infractions, such as writing a letter to a friend, even though he knew Stanhurst would fly into a rage and hurt her.
“I want you to leave,” she said in a voice as hard as armor.
His head shot up, and he pulled his hat closer to his chest as he eyed Benny. “Who is he?”
“He is none of your concern.” Claudine dismissed Tabron with a flick of her hand. “See yourself to the door. You know the way.”
She turned to leave, but he called out.
“I have nowhere to go. There is no work to be had without a reference. All I want are the wages owed to me, and a letter of recommendation. I promise, you won’t see me again if you do right by me.”
She clenched her teeth. After all the years she’d been forced to share a house with Tabron, she was well acquainted with his blackmail tendencies. Only now, he had nothing to hold over her. Stanhurst was dead, and she was a free woman.
Mimicking a calm, detached smile, she faced him again. “You cannot find employment in service. Other jobs exist. I wish you luck with finding a position that suits your talents. I hear there are often opportunities to muck the stalls at the mews. Good day, sir.”
She remained standing, so he wouldn’t question her desire for him to leave.
Red splashed across his cheeks in uneven patches. He held his head high in an arrogant manner that did not encourage her sympathy. “My family has been in service for decades.”
Before he could launch into the recitation of his pedigree, she raised her hand. “If you want a recommendation, speak with the current Duke of Stanhurst, because you clearly never served me.”
“His Grace refuses to see me.”
The Duke of Stanhurst’s heir was as different from his sire as any son could be. After his father’s death, he had called on Claudine to present her with the deed to her town house. The elder Stanhurst had signed the property over to her possession some time ago as an apology for one of his outbursts, but he’d kept the deed locked in his safe to control her. The current duke came with reassurances that she was free to do as she wished with the town house, and to offer his sincere regrets for his father’s treatment of her. Claudine had trouble believing a man so noble could share the same blood as the duke who’d terrorized her.
“Benny, would you please show Mr. Tabron to the door? It seems he has forgotten the way after all.”
Quiet and ever respectful, Benny offered a grim nod. “Yes, ma’am.”
The former butler scooted around a chair to avoid him. “I remember the way.” He glowered as he stalked from the room.
When the front door closed, and she knew the man was gone, she exhaled. She wanted to put her past to rest, but it seemed to have more lives than a cat. Suddenly, she was even more eager to arrive at the theatre, so she could forget about Mr. Tabron’s visit.
RESISTING ROMEO
CHAPTER FIVE
Russell woke with the birds the next morning, since he wasn’t yet accustomed to town hours. It had been two years since he’d been in London during the Season. His father had let a town house as usual that year and brought the family for his sister Lilith’s debut.
Last summer Father had complained of being too tired for social niceties and declared the trip to London unnecessary. Lilith had found a husband her first time on the marriage mart, and Russell’s three younger sisters were not old enough to worry about such matters. Therefore, the Hawkes had remained at Rowan Manor.
Russell had chosen to forego the Season as well. He’d just returned from Paris after visiting Marcus, and he was eager to be home. He’d justified his decision by telling himself that his mother and sisters would need entertaining, but they hadn’t needed him really.
During the summer at home, Father had been uncharacteristically attentive to his ladies, which was how he’d always referred to Russell’s mother and sisters.
Looking back, his father might have sensed it would be his last summer, and he’d made the most of his time with his family.
Father had stayed up late listening to Mother read, smiling faintly even as he dozed in his chair. Maggie was encouraged to play her favorite pieces on the pianoforte for him every day, and he insisted on seeing every watercolor painting Juliana created that summer. Fatigue made it too daunting for him to accompany Russell and Constance on their daily rides, but afterward, their father would pat the settee cushion and invite Russell’s youngest sister to sit and share every detail. Russell couldn’t recall a more pleasant time in their lives. It was both a gift and a curse, because he and his family felt Father’s absence more sharply now that he was gone.
Shaking off his bittersweet memories, Russell entered the Drayton Theatre to find the auditorium empty. He was early. After perusing the newssheet over breakfast and posting a letter to his mother and sisters informing them that he would be staying in Town longer than expected, he hadn’t known what to do with his time at the hotel. Therefore, he had come to the theatre to dive into the Drayton’s books.
“Jonas,” he called. “Is anyone here?”
No one answered, so he headed backstage, hoping to find someone who could direct him to the manager’s office. As he entered a corridor, he caught snatches of conversations occurring behind closed doors. He listened for Miss Bellerose’s breezy voice. On stage last night, her French accent had disappeared, catching him by surprise. She was truly a master at her craft.
One of the doors flew open, and a young woman with blond hair darted into the corridor. She froze when she saw him and drew her pink wrapper closed to cover her nightrail. Her wide-eyed stare suggested she hadn’t expected to see anyone in the corridor. “Mercy!”
Her voice echoed in the small space, and it wasn’t long before more doors cracked open.
“Jane, what is it?” An attractive woman who appeared to be several years older than the girl in pink strode from her room, not bothering with a wrapper. She stopped to stare too, although she seemed less surprised than curious, and more comfortable in her state of half-dress. Her green eyes widened, and she pushed a lock of red hair behind her ear. “Are you lost, Mr. Hawke?”
“Not exactly.” For a fleeting moment, he wondered how she knew his name, until he recalled there had been several actresses in the theatre last night. He simply hadn’t noticed anyone besides Miss Bellerose standing at center stage.
“Could you direct me
toward Oliver Jonas’s office?” he asked.
“Of course. It is wonderful what you are doing for the Drayton, saving it and all.”
“Yes, well. I will give it my best effort.”
“Even half your effort is appreciated.” A friendly smile eased across her face. “It is nice to have another man in our midst, although Lars is in a bit of a temper about it. If I were you, I would watch out for him.”
“Natalia!” The sharp reprimand caused the actress to jump. She made an exaggerated wince for Russell’s benefit before turning to face the newest participant in their conversation. The newcomer remained in the threshold of her room.
“I was only speaking the truth, Tilde. Your man was still complaining when you retired for bed.” The redhead smiled like a cat that had gotten into the cream. “The walls are thin. I can hear everything.”
“I told you to stop pressing your ear against the wall,” a man called from the room. He appeared in the doorway a moment later and pulled a shirt over his head. It was the leading man, and he didn’t appear angry in the least when he was aiming a crooked smile in Russell’s direction. “I’ll show you to Oliver’s office. It is on the third floor.”
He placed a kiss on the woman’s dark hair before he exited the room and warned everyone to get dressed before the manager came looking for them.
Russell followed him toward the staircase, trying to ascertain if the actress had been serious about the need to watch out for the other man. “Is Miss Bellerose up and about this morning?”
Lars shrugged and kept walking. “Most likely. Claudine doesn’t stay here. She has a home close to Cavendish Square.”
“Oh.” It seemed Miss Bellerose was someone’s mistress after all.
“She inherited it recently.”
Russell exhaled, grateful the other man had offered the information without needing to be asked.
Lars tossed a grin over his shoulder as they reached the third floor. “I wish someone would leave me a town house. As you can see, there isn’t much privacy to be had at the theatre. Tilde has always wanted a place of our own.”
Once Upon A Regency Page 4
