Gail Whitiker

by No Role for a Gentleman

  But he wouldn’t feel better. In fact, Laurence couldn’t imagine anything worse. He had no desire to engage in polite conversations with Joanna. He wanted more. A lot more. And the realisation he wasn’t going to have that opportunity brought home the futility of his hopes.

  He was beginning to care deeply for Lady Joanna Northrup. And he had no need of anyone telling him that down that road lay the path to destruction.

  Chapter Six

  The days leading up to Lady Cynthia’s dinner party were not restful ones for Joanna. Aside from being assiduously courted by Mr Rowe and Mr Osborne—who had taken to appearing almost daily in her drawing room—she was subject to the ever-changing whims of her aunt, who became more of a tyrant the closer the party came. Nothing was done to her satisfaction and the servants were kept busy from morning until night polishing silver, sweeping floors and dusting furniture.

  For her own part, Joanna sought solace at the British Museum. The building on Great Russell Street had become a refuge of sorts and she had spent many hours gazing at Mr Towneley’s classical sculptures or admiring the marble statuary Lord Elgin had acquired from the Parthenon and Erechtheum.

  Today, however, it was not the stone busts or intricate friezes that drew her attention, but the fragment of black granite taken in the looting of Alexandria after Napoleon Bonaparte’s defeat. The famous Rosetta Stone.

  As she approached it now, breathless in the face of such a monumental piece of history, Joanna wondered about the people who had carved it. It was a substantial block of granite, standing almost four feet high, two feet wide and about twelve inches thick. Tiny lines of script covered the entire surface of the stone, each distinct and different from the other. Each, clearly, its own unique language.

  But what did it say? Joanna wondered as she ran her finger over the lines. What secrets did it really hold—?

  ‘The bottom portion is Greek,’ a voice said quietly to her left. ‘The middle contains a cursive script known as Demotic, and the top portion is hieroglyphic. Scholars have been able to translate the Greek portion because the knowledge of the language is still with us, but it is only recently that the meaning of the hieroglyphic portion has become known.’

  Joanna inhaled sharply. She had not expected to see Laurence Bretton today and the degree of pleasure she felt upon hearing his voice was undeniable. She strove to keep any sign of it from her voice. ‘Does anyone know how old it is?’

  ‘The Greek inscription indicates that the stone is a decree originating in 196 BC,’ Mr Bretton said, his expression as solemn as hers as he gazed at the stone. ‘Which would place it in the reign of Ptolemy V. But what matters is that the identical inscription is written in each of the three languages, thereby allowing scholars to isolate similar letters and words in each. Once they knew what the letters were, it was possible to form an alphabet and then go on to decipher other hieroglyphic writing.’

  Joanna knew that what he was telling her was not imparted with a view to impressing her with his knowledge, but rather in the hopes of educating her and to share his enjoyment of this incredible piece of history. ‘I really don’t know very much about it,’ she admitted.

  ‘No one does. Jean-Francois Champollion was the first to decipher the hieroglyphs. He was well schooled in the ancient languages and said the symbols were basically phonetic in nature.’ Mr Bretton reached out and reverently touched the stone. ‘I have a feeling we will learn a great deal more about it in the centuries to come.’

  Joanna slid a sideways glance in his direction, aware that it was becoming more and more difficult to equate the educated scholar with the flamboyant playwright she had glimpsed so briefly on that one occasion. There were so many levels to this man, so many facets to his personality. And as each new facet was revealed, Joanna felt herself being more and more hopelessly drawn in.

  ‘I think about that every time I travel to Egypt,’ she said now. ‘I find myself wondering about the discoveries yet to be made and if I will be fortunate enough to be there when they are.’

  ‘You are lucky just to have been to Egypt,’ Mr Bretton said. ‘Most men and women will learn no more than what is to be found in their books and see no more than what is on display in this room.’

  ‘But I should like to feel I have participated in some way.’

  ‘You have. Your sketches will serve as an invaluable record of all you have seen.’

  ‘I know, but wouldn’t it be marvellous to be the one who stumbles upon the tomb of some great king and who shares his history with the world?’ Joanna said, feeling the thrill of it even as she spoke. ‘At the very least, I would like to be like Mr Champollion, able to decipher and read the words of the ancients.’

  Mr Bretton’s mouth lifted in a smile. ‘Champollion is a brilliant man. He has dedicated his life to the study of languages and many years to deciphering the writing on the stone. Knowledge like that isn’t gleaned overnight.’

  ‘I know,’ Joanna said. ‘It’s just that...I would so like to be able to look back on my life and feel I had made some kind of worthwhile contribution to historical exploration.’

  ‘Do you really place such little value on your art?’

  ‘No. I know my work is good,’ Joanna said. ‘But I am not in any way unique. There are many artists far more talented than I.’

  ‘There may be artists as talented, Lady Joanna, but I doubt there are many as unique,’ he said. ‘You have far gone beyond what is expected of a woman in our society. You are fearless, and for that must always be thought unique. But I’m sure I am not the first man to tell you that.’

  ‘In fact, you are,’ Joanna said, blushing. ‘Other than my father, of course, but one cannot put too much stock in what a father says.’

  Mr Bretton laughed, the sound drawing appreciative glances from a group of young ladies clustered around a display case on the other side of the room. ‘Of course you can. Not all fathers believe their children are unique. If your father compliments your work, it is because he truly believes you are deserving of it.’

  ‘But surely yours must think the same of you,’ Joanna said. ‘Not many sons can be as gifted in so many ways.’

  She was surprised to see him look momentarily uncomfortable. ‘Gifted goes far beyond what I am able to do, Lady Joanna. Gifted is a doctor who is able to heal the sick. Gifted is a composer like Mozart, whose music seems to come from the heavens. All I do is write stories that amuse people.’

  ‘Oh, now I really must take exception to that,’ Joanna stated. ‘I am told you are quite brilliant. If you would be so critical of your own abilities, do not think to elevate mine.’

  ‘You have not yet seen my play.’

  ‘I don’t need to. Enough people of my acquaintance have and they would not say you were brilliant if you were not,’ Joanna said. ‘You know how fickle society can be.’

  ‘Oh, yes, I know,’ Mr Bretton acknowledged. ‘But what brings pleasure to one brings pain to another. I do not care for the sound of the bagpipes, yet its music has stirred countless generations of Scots for centuries.’

  Joanna wrinkled her nose. ‘If it is of any consolation, I do not care for the music of the pipes either. I am surprised they even consider it music. But then, the Scots view many things differently from us.’

  ‘Aye, they do that.’

  Aye? Joanna glanced at him, an unwelcome suspicion dawning. ‘Please don’t tell me you have Scottish ancestry?’

  ‘No, but my Aunt Templeton does,’ he said, grinning. ‘Fiona Anthea McTavish she was before she married my uncle, with flaming red hair and eyes as green as shamrocks.’

  ‘Marvellous,’ Joanna said, laughing so that he might know she was teasing. ‘And here I was, hoping to make a good impression.’

  ‘Who says you haven’t?’

  Her laughter died as his eyes caught and held hers. Suddenly, she felt like a breathless girl who had just received her first compliment. One that meant more than any other ever would—because it had come from him.
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  Needing time to gather her thoughts, Joanna moved away to examine some of the other display cases. ‘Tell me about...your sisters, Mr Bretton,’ she said.

  ‘My sisters?’

  ‘Yes. What it is like to have them.’

  He watched her for a moment and then smiled, as if recognising her need to change the subject. ‘I have two sisters and they could not be more different. The eldest, Victoria, whom you’ve met, is accomplished, beautiful and uncommonly wise for her age. The youngest, Winifred, is more beautiful, less accomplished and far more inclined towards silliness.’

  ‘Are the three of you close?’ Joanna asked.

  ‘Victoria and I are. We share a number of common interests and see things in much the same way. Winifred and I have become closer over these last few months, but she is still very silly. All she thinks about is marrying Mr Henry Fulton.’

  ‘That is not uncommon for young ladies in our society,’ Joanna said. ‘It is what we are expected to do. Some of us more than others,’ she added, her voice dropping away.

  ‘But surely that will not be a problem for you. You must have numerous suitors for your hand.’

  ‘I do, but which ones are courting me because I am Lady Joanna Northrup?’ Joanna said. ‘Why do you think I didn’t tell you who I was the first time we met?’

  ‘I assumed it was because you didn’t want me to know,’ Mr Bretton said.

  ‘You’re right, I didn’t. I wanted to talk to you as though we were just two people who shared a common interest in Egypt,’ Joanna said. ‘One not affected by who I was or my position in society.’

  ‘I wouldn’t have spoken to you any differently had I known you were titled,’ he told her. ‘You are still who you are. And we still share that common interest.’

  ‘Yes, but it would have put a distance between us, as it does now,’ Joanna said sadly. ‘I wanted, for those first few minutes, to be able to talk to you as though we were equals.’

  ‘Even though you knew we were not.’

  Joanna nodded. ‘Even though. I had very few obligations in my old life, Mr Bretton. I was happy to work at my father’s side and content to arrange his meetings and catalogue his finds. Mr Penscott and I developed a very good system for doing so.’

  ‘You are fond, I think, of Mr Penscott.’

  ‘He and I share an interest in my father’s work,’ Joanna said. ‘Our friendship developed as a result of that.’

  ‘Is that all it is? A friendship?’

  ‘It is all it can ever be.’ She stopped and drew a long, deep breath. ‘The daughter of an earl does not associate with one of her father’s employees, Mr Bretton.’

  Joanna heard the brittleness of her voice and knew he had too. ‘No, she does not,’ he said. ‘Nor, if she is wise, does she associate with a playwright, which I should think would be even more damaging to her reputation.’ He smiled, and glanced over at her. ‘However, if it is of any consolation, we all bear obligations of one kind or another, my lady. Some are simply more onerous than others.’

  ‘I cannot imagine you having such onerous obligations,’ Joanna said, wishing for a moment that they could change places so that he might understand the restrictions of her life. ‘You can come and go as you please. You have achieved success doing what you love and are free to marry anyone you wish, and given how famous you are, I imagine you have quite a variety of young ladies from which to choose.’

  His mouth pulled into a cynical smile. ‘You might be surprised. I have only recently become famous, as you call it. Before that I led a quiet life and was content to do so.’

  ‘So you do not care to be the object of all eyes.’

  ‘Not of all eyes, no.’ He paused and then said, ‘Only of one lady’s.’

  Joanna looked up—and found his clear blue gaze steady on hers. Unwavering. Surely he didn’t mean—

  ‘Mr Lawe?’

  An unexpected voice intruded—and the moment was lost. Joanna turned to see that one of the ladies who had been admiring Mr Bretton from the other side of the room had come over in the hopes of talking to him.

  It was the excuse she needed...and strangely, did not want. ‘Well, I must be on my way. Lady Cynthia will be wondering where I am.’

  ‘I hope I have not unduly delayed your departure,’ he said, ignoring the lady at his side.

  ‘Not at all. I found our talk most...informative,’ Joanna said. And then, prompted by some flight of madness, added, ‘I look forward to seeing you this evening.’

  ‘As I do you, Lady Joanna. And I hope,’ he said with a wry smile, ‘that by the time the evening is over, you will feel I have been considerably more than just...informative.’

  * * *

  Not surprisingly, Joanna was on tenterhooks for the rest of the day. When it came time to dress for the evening, she changed her gown twice, had her maid arrange her hair with a band of small silk roses, only to change to ribbon at the last moment, and looked through an assortment of fans before she found just the right one. She tried to assure herself it was because of her aunt’s insistence that she look well for Mr Rowe and Captain Sterne, but Joanna knew that wasn’t the case.

  Her wish to look as lovely as possible had nothing to do with either of those gentlemen.

  In an effort to calm her nerves, Joanna went in search of her father. She knew he would avoid showing his face for as long as possible and suspected he had taken refuge in his study—a bolt hole where the two of them had spent many a pleasurable hour talking about subjects of interest to them both. It was here her father had first mentioned the possibility of her going to Egypt with him in the months following her mother’s death and here they still met to discuss his ongoing expeditions to that most fascinating country.

  Tonight, he was in a particularly good mood as a result of a letter he had received just that afternoon from Lord Amberley, confirming his intention to fund the trip to Abu Simbel. Now, preparations could begin and her father was never happier than when planning an expedition.

  ‘Yes, it is very good news,’ he said, ‘given that there is absolutely no way I could have covered the costs of the trip myself. There isn’t enough money left in the estate. This way, I suffer no guilt but still have the funding I need, which means I can start mapping out our next trip.’

  ‘A trip you are planning to take me on, I hope, Papa?’

  ‘Eh?’ Her father looked up and his bushy brows drew together. ‘Oh, well, I don’t know about that, Joanna. Your aunt is not at all keen on the idea. This is going to be a much longer expedition than those I’ve undertaken in the past and she is concerned that your first priority be to find a husband. Unless you have already made up your mind in that regard?’

  Joanna glanced at him in surprise. ‘Why would you think I had?’

  ‘Because Captain Sterne asked me if he might speak to you, which in turn led me to believe that you may have offered him some...encouragement.’

  ‘I can assure you, Papa, I have offered him no encouragement whatsoever,’ Joanna informed him. ‘We have spoken together a few times, but that is all.’

  ‘But is he a man to whom you could give your heart? He is not a bad fellow by all accounts. Indeed, I don’t mind spending time with him, though he can be somewhat overbearing at times.’

  ‘A great deal overbearing,’ Joanna murmured. ‘And not a little arrogant.’

  ‘No, I cannot disagree with you there,’ her father admitted. ‘Still, he is exceedingly wealthy and stands to become even more so after his father dies, which is certainly why your aunt keeps encouraging the association. He also shares your interest in Egypt, which is more than can be said for Mr Osborne, who I am quite sure doesn’t even know where Egypt is!’ her father said in disgust. ‘Mr Rowe, at least, has some understanding of the country and its politics, though I doubt he has any interest in going.’

  ‘I cannot think the heat or the exercise would be good for his health,’ Joanna agreed, thinking of the man’s size.

  ‘I suspect not. However,
all that aside, it is important that you be married, my dear. And while I cannot deny the need for you to marry a wealthy man, I would hope it would be someone for whom you could feel a genuine affection.’

  ‘Is that why you have no wish to marry again, Papa?’ Joanna asked. ‘Because you are still in love with Mama?’

  For a moment, the joy left her father’s face, making him look like an old man. ‘I loved your mother with all my heart, Joanna. The day she became my wife was the happiest of my life. But when she died, it was as though...a light went out in my world,’ he said quietly. ‘I didn’t know how to go on. Indeed, for a time I had no desire to. Even now, not a day goes by that I do not think about her. How fair would it be to marry someone else, knowing how little of my heart I had to give her?’

  It was a question for which Joanna had no answer. The infatuation she had felt for Aldwyn Patterson was insignificant when compared to the way her father had felt about her mother, but even so, she remembered how much it had hurt when Aldwyn had left.

  What must it be like to know the person you loved more than any other was never coming back?

  ‘You have your whole life ahead of you, Joanna,’ her father said, cupping her chin in his hand. ‘You need to be with a man who loves you and who you love madly in return. Whoever that man is, he will have my blessing. But I will not deny that if he were rich, it would go a long way towards solving a great many of our difficulties.’

  ‘What will happen if our debts are not paid?’

  ‘I suspect this house, and everything in it, will have to be sold,’ her father said, regretfully. ‘And quite likely Bonnington Manor too. Our debts are high and we have nothing else to fall back on. My brother and his son were quite...extravagant in their lifestyles.’