Gail Whitiker

by No Role for a Gentleman

  Laurence could think of no other young lady—and he had met a great many over the last eight months—who would welcome such an adventure, which was all the more reason for getting to know the charming and decidedly intriguing Miss Joanna Northrup a great deal better.

  * * *

  Joanna did not speak to Laurence Bretton again. Though she was aware of him browsing through a selection of books on a table close to the window, she could think of no reasonable excuse for approaching him a second time—other than to correct his erroneous assumption that she was Miss Joanna Northrup—and so, tucking her purchases under her arm, left the shop and climbed into the waiting carriage.

  Why she had allowed the error in address to stand was something she was not so easily able to explain. She’d had eight months to come to terms with the fact that she was now Lady Joanna Northrup. Eight months to accept that as a result of the untimely deaths of her uncle and his heir, her father was no longer a humble academic, but the Fourth Earl of Bonnington. Surely that was time enough to come to terms with such a drastic alteration in one’s circumstances.

  ‘Obviously not,’ Joanna murmured as the carriage clipped smartly towards her new home on Eaton Place. Otherwise she would not have allowed a handsome but completely unknown gentleman to come up to her in a shop, offer to lend her a book then use the offer as an excuse to introduce himself, all without informing him of her true position in society.

  The Practice, as her father’s eldest sister was so fond of saying, was to wait for a person acquainted with both the lady and the gentleman to make the introduction, then for the lady to enter into the conversation to the degree to which she felt it appropriate, that degree being determined by the gentleman’s position in society and, to a much lesser degree, by the nicety of his manners and comeliness of his person.

  From what little Joanna had been able to glean of Mr Bretton’s situation in life, the conversation was not one of which her aunt would have approved.

  Of course, had he not introduced himself, she would not be in the enviable position now of having Mr Volney’s book to read over the weekend. She would still be scouring London’s many bookshops, quizzing inexperienced clerks in her search for the elusive volume and probably meeting with the same disappointing results as she had in all of her previous attempts. So, in fact, her meeting with Mr Bretton had been most fortuitous in that it had saved her from all those endless hours of tedium!

  The fact he had initially been sceptical of her interest in Egypt was a failing Joanna was willing to overlook. She had encountered it countless times before, both from gentlemen who thought she hadn’t a brain in her head and from women who couldn’t understand her desire to be more than a wife or mother. But given that his interest in the subject was surely as keen as her own, she was willing to forgive him his boldness in approaching her, and to excuse herself for having encouraged the conversation. She was even looking forward to seeing him at her father’s lecture tomorrow evening.

  It would be a pleasure talking to a London gentleman who really did know more about pharaohs than foxhunting and wasn’t ashamed to admit it!

  * * *

  Upon arriving home, Joanna turned her attention to the events of the upcoming days. Now that the family’s period of mourning was at an end, invitations had begun arriving again. While she wanted to believe that most were extended out of a genuine desire to welcome the new Lord Bonnington and his daughter to society, she suspected that just as many were prompted by morbid curiosity.

  After all, in the blink of an eye, her father had gone from being the ignored younger son and brother of an earl, to being the Earl of Bonnington himself, while she had been elevated from a bluestocking nobody to the highly eligible Lady Joanna Northrup.

  Astonishing, really, how far reaching the effects of a single gunshot could be.

  ‘Ah, there you are, Joanna,’ Lady Cynthia Klegston said as Joanna walked into the morning room. ‘All finished with your shopping?’

  ‘For now.’ Joanna bent to kiss her aunt on the cheek—a token of respect rather than affection. She had never been entirely comfortable in the company of her father’s eldest sister, a brusque, plain-speaking widow with two married daughters who had paid little or no attention to her youngest brother before his unexpected elevation to the peerage and who only did so now because she realised it was in her best interests to do so. ‘I left your necklace with the jeweller to be repaired, checked on the order for your stationery and advised Madame Clermont that you would be in to see her at two o’clock this afternoon. She said that would be convenient.’

  ‘Of course it will be convenient,’ Lady Cynthia snapped. ‘I bring her a great deal of business. It behoves her to find it convenient. And I think you had best come with me. I’ve decided you shall have a new gown for the dinner party. As a young lady who is not engaged or married, we cannot afford to have you appear anything less than your best, especially now that you are Lady Joanna Northrup and in need of a wealthy husband. Dash it all, where are my spectacles? I can never find the wretched things when I need them.’

  Having noticed the spectacles on the small table next to the wing chair, Joanna silently went to retrieve them. As a rule, she tried to stay out of her aunt’s way. Lady Cynthia was a forceful presence, who, like her late older brother, hadn’t bothered to keep in touch with her younger brother’s family until death had forced her to do so.

  Ironic, really, that her aunt, who had once been so openly disapproving of every aspect of William’s life, should now be heard to say that she was doing all she could to help her poor brother and niece cope with the unexpected changes thrust upon them.

  ‘Speaking of convenient,’ Lady Cynthia said, ‘did you find whatever it was you were looking for?’

  ‘It was a book and, no, I did not,’ Joanna said, surprised her aunt would even remember that her niece had gone out for reasons other than to see to her own errands. ‘But I happened upon a gentleman who offered to lend me his copy.’

  ‘How thoughtful.’ Lady Cynthia gazed up at Joanna over the rim of her spectacles. ‘I take it you were acquainted with the gentleman?’

  ‘No, but he knew Papa,’ Joanna said, stretching the truth a little. ‘He will be coming to the lecture tomorrow evening.’

  Her aunt’s expression was blank. ‘Lecture?’

  ‘Yes. The one Papa is giving at the Apollo Club. I did tell you about it,’ Joanna said. ‘Just as I told you that I would be in attendance as well, given that many of my drawings will be on display.’

  Her aunt’s reaction was exactly what Joanna had been expecting. She took off her glasses and said with a sigh of frustration, ‘Joanna, I really cannot understand why you and your father persist in this ridiculous occupation. He is the Earl of Bonnington now and with that comes an obligation to his name and his position in society. Both of which are far more important than sitting around with a bunch of stodgy old men talking about Egypt.’

  ‘I understand your concern, Aunt,’ Joanna said as patiently as she could. ‘But you must understand that up until now, archaeology and the study of ancient Egypt have been the focus of my father’s life.’

  ‘Of course, because his position in the family made it necessary that he find something to do with his time,’ Lady Cynthia said, ‘though why he could not have gone into the church or purchased a commission is beyond me. Either of those occupations would have been far more suitable. However, with both Hubert and Trevor gone, your father is now the earl and he must accept the responsibilities inherent with the title. That includes seeing to your welfare and he must know that your chances of making a good match will not be improved by his conduct,’ Lady Cynthia said, the expression on her face leaving Joanna in no doubt as to her displeasure. ‘Circumstances demand that you marry well, and your bluestocking tendencies and your father’s willingness to encourage them will not improve your chances.’

  ‘I doubt it will be my conduct or my father’s that will have a negative impact on my eligibility, Aunt,
’ Joanna was stung into replying. ‘I suspect much of society knows that Papa is heavily in debt as a result of his brother’s and nephew’s recklessness and if you would find fault with anyone, it seems to me it should be with those who are truly to blame for the predicament in which we now find ourselves!’

  It was a sad but true commentary on the state of their affairs. Joanna’s late uncle had gambled away a large part of the family’s fortune, and his son had squandered the rest on women and horses. Both had met with dramatic ends: her uncle from a fall off a cliff in a drunken stupor, and her cousin from a gunshot wound sustained during a duel with the angry husband of the woman with whom he had been having an affair.

  The sad result was that, while Joanna’s father had inherited a lofty title, there was precious little to go along with it. Bonnington Manor, a once-beautiful Elizabethan house, had been left to moulder in the English countryside, its stone walls overgrown with vegetation, its lush gardens choked with weeds. Even the town house in London was in desperate need of refurbishment. While both residences had come with a handful of loyal retainers, the list of unpaid bills that accompanied them was enough to make a king blush.

  Little wonder her father had not embraced his elevation to the peerage, Joanna reflected wryly. By necessity, one of his first duties was to find a way of raising enough money to carry out the extensive repairs required—and she was not so naïve as to believe that she did not play a role in that solution.

  ‘Well, no matter what the state of your father’s affairs, I do not intend to let you sit like a wallflower in a garden of roses,’ Lady Cynthia said. ‘You are a fine-looking girl. With luck, we will be able to attract a gentleman of means and to secure an offer of marriage, which we both know is your father’s only hope of salvaging the estate given his own stubborn refusal to marry again. Speaking of which, I hope you have not forgotten that we are going out this evening?’

  Joanna had, but given her aunt’s decidedly prickly mood, decided it would be wiser not to let on. ‘No, of course not.’

  ‘Good, because while I do not particularly care for Mrs Blough-Upton, it is important that you be seen as often as possible now that you are out of mourning. You will be one and twenty on your next birthday and I do not intend to allow this obsession with Egypt to ruin your chances for making a good marriage.’

  Sensing there was nothing to be gained by continuing the conversation, Joanna bid her aunt a polite good morning and then went upstairs to her room. She was well aware that her aunt’s only concern was to find her niece a rich husband. And that she could not understand why anyone would be so passionate about a country that was dirty, poverty stricken and populated by the most inhospitable people imaginable.

  Joanna thought the opinion a trifle unfair given that her aunt had never set foot in the country, but neither could she entirely find fault with the assessment. Egypt was dirty and poverty stricken and populated by some very questionable types—but there was so much to see and discover that the one negated the other. Tremendous finds had been made in the last few decades. Travellers were flocking to the banks of the Nile to see the wonders being discovered there, while explorers following in the footsteps of James Bruce and Giovanni Belzoni were setting out to uncover the tombs of long-dead kings, hoping to find in those burial chambers a cache of precious metals and jewels. And, more importantly, clues to deciphering the mysteries of the past.

  Joanna sincerely hoped her father would find such a tomb one day and that she would be at his side when he did. Together, they would see sights no English man or woman ever had and perhaps be able to write another chapter in the history of the world.

  It was hard to believe anyone wouldn’t view such a marvellous trip as the opportunity of a lifetime.

  Mr Laurence Bretton certainly had. His candid statements and earnest manner had left Joanna in no doubt as to his desire to visit Egypt and, despite the impropriety of his conduct, she was not sorry he had come up to her in the shop. Though he reminded her of one of her father’s students with his wire-rimmed spectacles, rumpled jacket and studious air, he was clearly an educated man. Intelligent, well spoken and dedicated to uncovering the mysteries of a bygone age, he was a far cry from the dandies and fops who were more concerned with the cut of their coats than with the secrets of the past. She was looking forward to seeing him again for that reason alone.

  The fact he had the most astonishing blue eyes and one of the most attractive smiles she had ever seen really had nothing at all to do with it.

  * * *

  At half past nine that evening, Laurence stood in his dressing room as his valet ran a brush over the back and shoulders of his perfectly fitted black velvet coat. Though the cut of the habit à la française was at least a decade out of date, it was perfectly in keeping with the role he would be playing tonight. That of Valentine Lawe, the wildly successful playwright, whose most recent work, A Lady’s Choice, was once again playing to packed houses at the elegant Gryphon Theatre.

  ‘Laurence, are you almost ready to go?’ his sister enquired from the doorway. ‘If we do not leave soon we are going to be late and that would be shockingly bad mannered given that you are the guest of honour.’

  ‘I am not the guest of honour, Tory,’ Laurence said, surveying the froth of lace at his throat with a critical eye. It was a touch more flamboyant than usual, but, given the nature of the event, he doubted it would go amiss. Lydia and her friends did so love a touch of the dramatic. ‘I am but one of the many guests Lydia will have invited and, in such a crowd, I doubt she will even notice what time we arrive.’

  ‘Oh, she’ll notice,’ Victoria said with a feline smile. ‘The widow is over the moon at being able to tell her friends that the famous playwright, Valentine Lawe, will be at her gathering this evening. She is but another of your many conquests, my dear, and I do believe she is hoping for an opportunity to further the acquaintance, if you know what I mean.’

  Laurence frowned, all too aware of what his sister meant and none too pleased by the implication. ‘Thank you, but I have absolutely no intention of becoming the latest in a long line of Lydia’s discarded lovers, nor a potential candidate for her third husband. She may be one of the wealthiest widows in town, but having spent more time in her company than I like, I understand why people say what they do about her.’ He cast a last look at his appearance and then nodded his satisfaction. ‘Thank you, Edwards. As usual, you have done an excellent job of turning me out in a manner suitable to the occasion.’

  ‘My pleasure, Mr Bretton.’

  As the valet bowed and withdrew, Victoria picked up the boutonnière resting on the dressing table and drew out the pin. ‘Are you sure you want me to come with you tonight, dearest? You really don’t need me at your side any more. Lord knows, you’ve attended enough gatherings in the guise of Valentine Lawe to be able to carry it off without any assistance from me.’

  ‘Be that as it may, I like having you there,’ Laurence said, watching his sister pin the velvety-red rose close to his collar. ‘You are a refreshing breath of reality in the midst of all this madness.’

  ‘Madness you invited upon yourself,’ Victoria murmured, stepping back to survey her handiwork. ‘You were the one who volunteered to step into the role of Valentine Lawe. Before that, he existed only in my mind, the nom de plume behind which I wrote my plays.’

  ‘Exactly. Valentine Lawe is your creation so it is only right that you be there to hear the compliments being showered upon his...or rather, your plays,’ Laurence said. ‘Besides, what else have you to do this evening? I happen to know that your husband is otherwise engaged.’

  ‘Yes, but don’t forget that I am helping his cousin Isabelle plan her wedding, as well as picking out furnishings for the orphanage, and all while endeavouring to write a new play. I have more than enough to do and not nearly enough time in which to do it.’

  ‘Nonsense. Your mother-in-law is overseeing most of the arrangements for Isabelle’s wedding,’ Laurence said, ‘and your hu
sband has more than enough servants to attend to the requirements of his new orphanage. As for the play, I have every confidence in you penning yet another masterpiece that will garner the same high level of praise as your last four. Besides, you know you will have a much better time if you come with me.’

  ‘I’m not so sure about that,’ Victoria said. ‘Lydia Blough-Upton has never been one of my favourite people. She is an outrageous flirt, an insatiable gossip and she continues to make her feelings for you embarrassingly obvious. Still, I suppose I do owe you a few more favours. Your stepping forwards to assume the role of Valentine Lawe has certainly allowed my life to return to normal, though given what it’s done to yours, I do wonder if it wouldn’t have been easier just to admit that I wrote the plays and see how it all turned out.’

  ‘In some ways, I suspect it would,’ Laurence said, removing his spectacles and placing them on the dressing table. He only needed them for reading and, given that they did nothing for the image he was trying to convey, he felt no grief at leaving them behind. ‘No doubt you and Winifred would have been shunned by good society for a time and our family would have been ignored by those who felt it wasn’t the thing for the daughter of a gentleman to write plays that mocked society and the church.’

  ‘I do not mock the church,’ Victoria said defensively. ‘Only those who draw their livings from it and you cannot deny there is more than enough room for ridicule in that. As to society, I suspect the furore would have eventually died down, replaced by an even more scandalous bit of gossip about someone placed far higher up the social ladder than me. But when I see how much happier Mama and Winifred are with you in the role of Valentine Lawe than me, I have to believe you did the right thing, Laurie. Even if you did fail to give it the consideration it deserved.’