Gail Whitiker

by No Role for a Gentleman

  ‘You mean irresponsible.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose I do.’ Her father stared down at his desk, then gamely rallied a smile. ‘However, the wolves are not yet at the door. We still have time and I do still hold out hopes of you making a good marriage.’

  ‘But if I do not,’ Joanna asked, hearing what he said...and what he did not, ‘our entire way of life is going to change, isn’t it, Papa? How then will we survive?’

  He looked at her and, for the first time, Joanna saw the weight of the burden he was carrying—and trying so hard to conceal. ‘We will do what we did before, my dear. We will live simply and within our means. We could become explorers in search of adventure and set off for places unknown. Who knows? Perhaps we might join a Bedouin tribe and ride across the desert on a camel!’

  It was wishful thinking...and they both knew it. Her father was Lord Bonnington and the responsibilities owed to the name could not so easily be put aside. He had to do all he could to preserve the good name of the family, so while he might not wish her to marry a rich man whom she did not love, neither could he afford to see her marry a poor man she did.

  And it was becoming clearer by the day who the two men were who occupied those roles.

  Truly, salvation came at a steep price.

  * * *

  Not surprisingly, Joanna’s aunt and uncle were the first of the dinner guests to arrive.

  ‘I did try to hold him back,’ Mrs Gavin said, looking exceedingly elegant in a deep plum-coloured gown and matching turban, ‘but you know how he hates to be late.’

  ‘Bad manners to be late,’ Mr Gavin stated flatly. ‘Evening, Joanna.’

  ‘Good evening, Uncle Carl, Aunt Florence. And Cousin Jane,’ Joanna said, bending down to kiss her cousin on both cheeks, ‘how delightful to see you again.’

  Jane Gavin was a pretty girl—pale, with fine features and clear, bright eyes. She looked lovely in an off-white gown edged with deep flounces of lace and pink ribbon, though the look of fear in her eyes suggested she would far rather have stayed home. Unfortunately, Lady Cynthia’s insistence that she be here to even out the numbers made such a choice impossible.

  Either that, Joanna reflected, or her mother had insisted that she attend because she knew there would be a number of eligible bachelors present. After all, Joanna wasn’t the only young lady in need of a husband.

  ‘So, how many are we tonight?’ Mrs Gavin asked after they retired to the drawing room and the butler handed around glasses of ratafia for the ladies and stronger libations for the gentlemen.

  ‘Thirty-two,’ Lady Cynthia said. ‘Lord Amberley and his wife will be here, of course, as well as the Stanton-Howards, Lord and Lady Barker-White, Mrs Taylor, Mr Rowe and the Chesapeakes. I do not believe you are acquainted with the other guests.’

  ‘Mrs Taylor is back in society?’ Mrs Gavin frowned. ‘I thought she was still mourning her husband.’

  ‘She put off her blacks two months ago,’ Lady Cynthia said. ‘I met her in Gunter’s last month and stopped for a chat. Delightful woman. I’ve always thought she would do very well for Bonnington.’

  Not surprisingly, the comment earned her a dark look from her brother.

  ‘And what have we in the way of single gentlemen?’ Mrs Gavin enquired, sparing a glance for her daughter.

  ‘Sadly, my nephew, Mr Osborne, was taken ill at the last minute and is unable to attend, but Captain Sterne, Mr Rowe and Mr Filbert will be here,’ Lady Cynthia said. ‘And, of course, Mr Bretton.’

  ‘The inimitable Valentine Lawe,’ Mrs Gavin exclaimed with pleasure. ‘How exciting!’

  ‘Yes, I was most pleased that he was able to join us. I thought since he was kind enough to invite Joanna and myself to share his uncle’s box at the theatre, the least I could do was invite him to be a guest at my dinner party,’ Lady Cynthia said. ‘Such a charming young man, though unfortunately lacking in any particular social status. You really should introduce him to Jane.’

  ‘Oh, no, you mustn’t, Mama!’ Jane cried, her pale-blue eyes filling with panic. ‘He is far too famous. I wouldn’t know what to say to him.’

  ‘There is nothing to be afraid of, Cousin Jane,’ Joanna assured her. ‘Mr Bretton is not at all intimidating. I have always found him very easy to talk to.’

  ‘But you find everyone easy to talk to, whereas I do not,’ Jane said in an anxious voice. ‘What would I talk to him about? I don’t know the first thing about writing plays.’

  ‘No, but you sing like an angel and I happen to know that Mr Bretton also enjoys music and that he plays the pianoforte very well.’

  ‘And how do you know that, miss?’ Mrs Gavin asked.

  ‘I happened to hear him play when I called at his house to return a book,’ Joanna said.

  ‘Oh, well, I suppose that would be all right,’ Jane said, sounding relieved and cautiously optimistic. ‘If he likes music, we would have at least one interest in common. I don’t think I could speak to him otherwise. He is so very handsome, he quite takes my breath away.’

  ‘Don’t worry, my dear.’ Mrs Gavin knowingly patted her daughter’s hand. ‘You are not the only one.’

  * * *

  The rest of the guests arrived within the next ten minutes and the room was soon filled with the light-hearted sound of conversation and laughter. Mr Rowe had come in with Sir Anthony and Lady Clifford, and while his attire was perfectly correct, there was no chance of his ever being mistaken for a Pink of fashion. The claret-coloured jacket looked to be cut one size too small and his ivory pantaloons clung to his short fat legs like a second skin, making them look more like sausages than legs. His bald head was already damp with perspiration and when he walked, Joanna fancied it was to the accompaniment of a wheezing sound.

  Captain Sterne arrived a few minutes later with Lord and Lady Amberley, but, unlike Mr Rowe, there was nothing one could find fault with in his appearance. His dark-blue jacket was impeccably cut, his white cravat beautifully tied and on his finger a magnificent ruby sparkled in the candlelight. While one might not go so far as to call him handsome, he did possess a certain rugged appeal that was not unattractive. Given his interest in Egypt, he was far more welcome company than Mr Rowe.

  ‘Lady Joanna, may I say how exquisite you look this evening,’ he said, bowing over her hand.

  ‘Thank you, Captain Sterne; it is kind of you to say so.’

  ‘I did not have an opportunity to tell you at your father’s lecture how very pleased I was to see you out in society again. You have been missed and by none more than myself.’

  It was patter she had heard before and, knowing it was expected, Joanna replied in kind. ‘I’m sure you were far too busy entertaining the other ladies, Captain Sterne, to even notice my absence.’

  ‘On the contrary, I could never be so preoccupied as not to notice the absence of one of society’s brightest lights,’ he murmured.

  ‘Captain Sterne, how very nice to see you again,’ Lady Cynthia said, coming to stand beside them. ‘Your mother and father are well, I hope?’

  ‘They are, Lady Cynthia. They would have come tonight, but had already accepted an invitation from the Duke and Duchess of Valemore.’

  ‘I am surprised you did not join them, Captain,’ Joanna said, knowing of his fondness for elevated society.

  ‘I would rather be here, Lady Joanna,’ he said smoothly, ‘given that you would be here as well.’

  ‘An excellent reason for coming,’ Lady Cynthia commented with approval. ‘Now that Lady Joanna is out of mourning, a number of gentlemen have been making their interest in her known and I do not think I am speaking out of turn when I say it would benefit a gentleman to keep that in mind.’

  Wishing she could disappear into the floor, Joanna glanced away, just in time to see Laurence Bretton make his entrance. And suddenly, the room seemed brighter and the evening more interesting. Once again, he had left off his dramatic attire for a fashionable black jacket over light-coloured pantaloons and a spotless white shirt.
His cravat, tied in the stylish Oriental, was tucked into the neck of an elegant white waistcoat, and while there was nothing flamboyant about his appearance, with the exception of the red rose pinned to his lapel, he was still, in her eyes, the most attractive man in the room.

  ‘My dear Mr Bretton,’ Lady Cynthia said, going to the door to greet him. ‘How very pleased we are that you are able to join us.’

  ‘It was good of you to invite me, Lady Cynthia,’ he said in a voice as rich and as smooth as melted chocolate.

  ‘Come, I am anxious for you to meet our guests,’ she said, drawing him forwards and introducing him to the people he had not met.

  Mr Rowe, who had come across the room to stand beside Joanna, Mrs Gavin, and Captain Sterne, watched the introductions with a jaundiced eye. ‘Fellow’s a little out of his league here, isn’t he?’

  ‘Out of his league?’ Joanna repeated.

  ‘Of course. Not the thing for a playwright to be mixing with lords and ladies.’

  ‘Ah, but he is not just any playwright, Mr Rowe,’ Mrs Gavin said. ‘He is Valentine Lawe.’

  ‘That doesn’t make him better than any man here, or as good as for that matter,’ Mr Rowe said, the fabric of his coat stretched tight across his stomach. ‘I was surprised when Sterne here told me that he’d encountered Bretton at your father’s lecture.’

  ‘He went to hear Papa talk about his latest trip to Egypt,’ Joanna said. ‘Mr Bretton has a keen interest in the subject.’

  ‘A playwright interested in archaeology?’ Mr Rowe let out a guffaw. ‘He was bamming you, Lady Joanna. Can you imagine a man like that labouring for hours under the punishing heat of the desert sun?’

  ‘I take it you cannot, Mr Rowe?’ Mrs Gavin said.

  ‘Indeed, ma’am. I suspect he’d wilt like a pansy in a drought and I’ll wager he doesn’t know the first thing about Egypt.’

  ‘I’m surprised you would venture an opinion,’ Joanna said stiffly, ‘given that you know almost nothing about him.’

  ‘I hear what’s going around.’

  ‘Do you?’ Joanna watched a bead of sweat form on Mr Rowe’s forehead. ‘If that is the case, you will also know that Mr Bretton is exceptionally well read on the subject.’

  ‘Being well read hardly makes him an authority, Lady Joanna,’ Sterne pointed out.

  ‘No, but neither does he claim to be one,’ Joanna said, hearing in the Captain’s voice the same patronising tone he had adopted during his conversation with Mr Bretton at her father’s lecture...and liking it no better. ‘But I have, on several occasions, had conversations with him that have convinced me he knows a great deal more than one might think.’

  ‘Well, it will be interesting to see, should the occasion arise, just how much Bretton does know about the subject,’ Mr Rowe said, exchanging a look with Sterne.

  Joanna watched the bead of sweat on Mr Rowe’s head begin to move. It picked up speed, rolling over the smoothness of his bald patch, slowing a little as it hit of the first of the six hairs plastered to his forehead, and then dropped into his left eye, causing him to blink uncontrollably.

  Joanna couldn’t help herself. She laughed.

  Captain Sterne, sporting a smirk, bowed and went to join Joanna’s father and Lord Amberley on the other side of the room.

  Mr Rowe, his face bright red, bowed, turned and walked away, waiting until he was at the other side of the room before surreptitiously wiping his eye and then his forehead.

  ‘That was not kind, Joanna,’ Mrs Gavin said, though her own lips trembled with barely suppressed mirth.

  ‘Neither was what he said about Mr Bretton.’

  ‘What’s this? Coming to the defence of the playwright?’ her aunt murmured. ‘I thought you did not like him.’

  ‘Whether I like him or not has nothing to do with it,’ Joanna said. ‘I simply do not wish to hear him denigrated by a man like Mr Rowe. After all, what has he to recommend himself?’

  ‘Ten thousand a year and the promise of a viscountcy,’ her aunt said drily. ‘And do not for a moment think that in Lady Cynthia’s eyes that does not count for a great deal.’

  Joanna’s gaze lingered a moment longer on Mr Bretton—who was chatting comfortably with Sir Anthony and Lady Clifford—before moving on to Mr Rowe in one corner and Captain Sterne in the other. Both looked a little too smug for her liking and she sincerely hoped it was not their intention to do or say anything that might embarrass Mr Bretton during the course of the evening.

  She would find it very hard to forgive any man such an act of unkindness...even those who circumstances forced her to consider marrying.

  Chapter Seven

  As expected, conversation around the dinner table was lively and entertaining. It moved, as good conversations do, from topic to topic, the gentlemen discussing politics and life in the country while the ladies discussed fashion and entertainments in town.

  Joanna, who was seated across from Mrs Chesapeake and to the left of Mr Blair, glanced at Jane, who was sitting next to Mr Rowe, and thought what a pity it was that she hadn’t thought to check with Lady Cynthia about the seating arrangement. She suspected Mr Rowe had few of the conversational skills necessary to put a timid girl like Jane at ease; a suspicion confirmed by her cousin’s heightened colour and frequently downcast eyes.

  Mr Bretton, on the other hand, was seated a little further down the table, with Mrs Gavin on his right and Lady Barker-White across from him. Joanna, who was trying to listen to a number of the conversations going on around her, realised that he was perfectly at ease in the countess’s company and that he was adroitly fielding questions about having to submit his work to the Examiner of Plays.

  ‘Naturally, I don’t agree with such harsh censorship of creative works,’ he said. ‘Any content deemed to be subversive or inflammatory is removed, but in removing that content, you often risk weakening the story and perhaps losing some of the play’s strongest elements.’

  ‘But you have not been so heavily censored,’ Sir Anthony Clifford observed. ‘I recall a number of passages in A Winter’s Escapade that must have raised a few clerical eyebrows.’

  Mr Bretton laughed with the ease of one long accustomed to such questions. ‘Yes, I suspect they did. In truth, the Examiner has not been as critical of my works as he has been of some. But I expect the tide will turn and I will be forced into writing works that do not ruffle the diocesan feathers quite so much.’

  Joanna returned her attention to her soup, impressed by Mr Bretton’s clever handling of the questions put to him. He might not have been born with a title, but there was nothing in his manner that led her to believe he was not at ease in the company of those who had been.

  The same applied when the conversation came around to the subject of her father’s work in Egypt. A lively discussion ensued over what he had discovered on his latest trip and what his plans were for the next even longer one in the spring.

  ‘So, Bonnington, are you really thinking of travelling all the way down to Abu Simbel next year?’ Sir Clifford enquired.

  ‘In actual fact, we will be travelling up to Abu Simbel,’ the earl said, ‘given that the Nile runs from the mountains in the south to the Mediterranean in the north. So the site is actually in Upper Egypt.’

  ‘Yes, yes, but what matters is that you’re planning to go a damn sight further than you’ve gone before, am I right?’

  ‘Yes, you are, and, yes, I am.’

  ‘How long do you expect to be away?’

  ‘Well, taking the logistics of the trip into account, I’d say the better part of eight months. Nearly two will be spent travelling and, given the location of Abu Simbel and what we expect to find along the way, I don’t see how we can do it in less.’

  ‘Really, my lord, I cannot imagine why you would wish to spend so much time in such a barbaric country,’ Mrs Chesapeake commented in her usual forthright manner. ‘From what I understand, a person takes their life in their hands when they step outside their door, especially civil
ised people like us. I cannot stop thinking about that poor girl who was shot dead in the streets.’

  ‘I take it you’re referring to the daughter of the Swedish consul,’ Lord Amberley said.

  ‘I am. That poor child did absolutely nothing to provoke the attack. She was simply on her way to the public baths when an Arab jumped out and shot her.’ Mrs Chesapeake turned a censorious eye on Joanna’s aunt. ‘I don’t know how you can let your niece go on these expeditions, Lady Cynthia. I would fear for her safety every hour she was away. A young woman has no place on an expedition like that.’

  ‘So I have tried to tell her, but I fear she has a mind of her own,’ Lady Cynthia said. ‘And her father sees nothing wrong with it.’

  ‘No he does not,’ Joanna said, smiling so that her aunt would not take offence, but irritated none the less. ‘Papa is aware that I am as capable as any man who sets out and that I know better than most what to expect.’

  ‘Only because you have accompanied him in the past,’ Mrs Chesapeake said. ‘But you could have had no knowledge of what to expect the first time you went.’

  ‘On the contrary, I read extensively about the conditions and had Papa’s knowledge of previous expeditions to guide me,’ Joanna said. ‘When I went, I was very well prepared.’

  ‘What do you think, Bretton?’ Lord Amberley said. ‘I’m sure you’re a more liberal thinker than most, being so intimately connected with the theatrical world. What are your sentiments on women being allowed to go on such expeditions?’

  Joanna flushed, her attention immediately shifting from Lord Amberley to Mr Bretton. ‘I hardly think it fair to ask Mr Bretton a question like that, my lord.’

  ‘It’s quite all right, Lady Joanna,’ Mr Bretton replied, looking remarkably at ease, even though the eyes of the entire room were on him. ‘Like you, I believe it is up to the individual to decide whether or not he or she wishes to go on such an expedition. I have read accounts of women who travelled to Egypt, either with or without a husband, and for the most part they enjoyed the experience immensely. It gave them a chance to step outside the confines of their normal lives and to see wonders they would never have seen otherwise.’