As soon as the door closed, Joanna climbed into bed and blew out the candle, though sleep was the last thing on her mind. Instead, she stared a long time into the darkness, hoping to find answers, her mind tracing back over the time she had spent with Laurence this evening, then to every conversation they’d ever had.
Secrets. He’d admitted to having secrets. But were his true feelings for her one of them?
He had tenderly kissed her hand. Quoted lines to her from Romeo and Juliet. And he had told her there was only one lady whose eyes he wished to be the object of.
Joanna refused to believe that was nothing more than irrelevant chatter at a society function. This was not a case of her callow poet all over again. Laurence wasn’t at all like Aldwyn. He was a deeply caring man who was worthy of being admired and loved by everyone who knew him—
But not by you.
The words echoed in the darkness, leaden and bleak. Words that would not be silenced, no matter how hard she tried. Laurence could not be the man for her. As respected as he was for the plays that he wrote, he had nothing to offer her by way of a position in society or by the fortune necessary to save her and her father from financial ruin.
She had fallen in love with the wrong man. And as she closed her eyes and prayed for sleep, she couldn’t stop thinking about how unfair life was—or how she could have been so utterly foolish...again.
* * *
The memory of his departure from Joanna—and of Sterne’s parting words—stuck like thorns in Laurence’s side, refusing to be dislodged and growing more painful by the day. How many letters did he start to write, only to tear into pieces when he realised there was nothing to be gained.
A woman waiting for a proposal from another man was not going to be swayed by the words and sentiments of a man for whom she could afford to feel nothing. He wasn’t rich or titled and he had nothing to offer in comparison to a man like Sterne.
Was it any wonder that as his irritation increased, his family took to avoiding him? Nor was his mood improved by the unexpected arrival two mornings later of Sir Michael Loftus, intent on finding out the progress of Valentine Lawe’s newest play.
‘Of course, I don’t mean to rush you,’ the gentleman said. ‘But I am curious to know when you might have something ready for me to read.’
‘I will keep you apprised of my progress, Sir Michael,’ Laurence said, ‘but given that A Lady’s Choice is still playing to full houses, I don’t see any urgency to finish a new play.’
‘Ah, but we cannot rest on our laurels, Mr Bretton,’ Loftus said. ‘There is a tremendous amount of work to be done before a new play is presented to the public. The work must be read and most likely revised. A cast must be selected and rehearsals begun. A full-blown production is not mounted overnight. I’m sure you are aware of that.’
‘I am, but neither can I just command the words to appear,’ Laurence said, and certainly not now when his mind was so conflicted over Joanna. ‘These things take time.’
‘Yet your first four plays were produced over a relatively short period. Why not this one?’
‘Because every play is different. Sometimes the words come easily and sometimes they do not. And given that this new play is going in a slightly different direction—’
‘Different direction? The Theatre Royal is not the Gryphon, Mr Bretton,’ Loftus said, his brows snapping together. ‘The type of plays you wrote for your uncle were of a different stamp altogether from what I expect to see from you now. You have never been able to do a work like this before and I expect you to rise to the occasion.’
‘Your confidence in me is flattering and I will produce a new play, but in my own time rather than in one dictated to me.’
Laurence went to turn away, but Sir Michael’s arm shot out, stopping him. ‘Have a care, lad. I know how talented you are and I respect and admire you for it, but this is a business and I’ve no time for airs and graces. The last time we spoke you gave me to understand that a new play was underway and that you were eager for the opportunity to see it presented at Drury Lane. Are you telling me now that you’ve changed your mind?’
Laurence bit back a heated reply. As much as he wanted to tell Sir Michael Loftus to go to hell, he knew he couldn’t because it was not his career that stood to suffer. Victoria might still want to do both a work of serious drama and a children’s book, and belligerence towards Loftus now certainly wouldn’t help her cause. While Laurence had no desire to kowtow to the man, neither could he afford to make an enemy of him.
‘I have not, Sir Michael. It is an opportunity for which I am very grateful. Forgive me if I gave you the wrong impression.’
He watched the other man’s eyes narrow into slits, then, thankfully, saw his expression ease into more relaxed lines. ‘Not at all, Mr Bretton. It was a misunderstanding, nothing more. Of course, you may take more time. Take all the time you need...though it would be advantageous if you could have something finished before the end of the Season. That would give us time to have the production ready for the New Year, and what a glorious way to start out! With a brilliant new play on the stage of the Theatre Royal, Drury Lane. Quite a feather in your cap, m’boy. Quite a feather indeed.’
Sir Michael clapped Laurence on the back and then took his leave, obviously feeling their business satisfactorily concluded. As soon as he was gone, however, Laurence’s forced geniality gave way to a frown.
So, he was expected to finish a new play before the end of the Season. Under normal circumstances, that wouldn’t have been a problem, but taking into account Victoria’s uncertainty about what she wanted to write and his own inability to produce something worthy of being published, it was far from a sure thing now.
Victoria was the creative genius behind Valentine Lawe and she must be the one to decide whether or not the plays kept on coming. If she decided not to write, Loftus would have to go elsewhere and Laurence would no longer be society’s darling...which was fine by him.
‘At least Lady Joanna would think better of me,’ he muttered under his breath.
It did not make him feel better to know that any improvement in her opinion was no small point in the argument’s favour.
* * *
Joanna’s moment of decision arrived sooner than expected. Two days later, Captain Sterne appeared in the doorway of the drawing room. ‘Good afternoon, Lady Joanna.’
‘Captain Sterne.’ Joanna was hard pressed to conceal her dismay, given that her aunt had just gone upstairs to lie down. ‘To what do I owe the pleasure?’
‘I actually came to speak to your father about the expedition to Abu Simbel, but I was informed that he has stepped out.’
‘Yes, though I expect him back soon.’
‘Then...do you mind if I have a moment of your time?’
Joanna inclined her head. ‘Not at all. Won’t you sit down?’
‘Thank you.’ He settled his long frame into the chair opposite, looking relaxed and entirely at ease. ‘I expect you know what it is I wish to say to you.’
‘Actually, no,’ Joanna said, stalling for time. ‘We are not so well acquainted that I am able to predict the nature of our conversations, Captain Sterne.’
He looked vaguely amused. ‘I would have thought you might, given the unfortunate situation in which you and your father find yourselves. And your rather pressing need to find a solution.’
Joanna reached for her tambour—and impaled her finger on the needle.
‘Shall I call for a servant?’ Sterne enquired solicitously as they both watched a drop of blood appear on the end of her finger.
‘Thank you, no.’ Joanna reached into her pocket of her apron and pulled out a handkerchief, which she proceeded to wrap around the injury.
Unfortunately, Sterne’s sharp gaze narrowed in on it. ‘Are those your initials, Lady Joanna?’
Joanna’s eyes dropped to the embroidered letters in the corner of Laurence’s handkerchief and she blanched. ‘No. A friend lent it to me when I was in need of
it.’ She put her free hand over top the makeshift bandage. ‘What is this unfortunate situation you wished to speak to me about, Captain Sterne?’
Sterne’s gaze lingered a moment longer on the handkerchief before slowly rising to meet hers. ‘The situation in which you and your father find yourselves as a result of your late uncle’s reckless spending habits. In particular, the part you play in providing a solution to the problem.’
‘I’m not sure I understand—’
‘Let us not beat around the bush, Lady Joanna,’ he interrupted. ‘I am well aware that vast amounts of money are required to pay off the estate’s debts and to restore both Bonnington Manor and this house to their former glory. As your father knows, I have that kind of money. And I am prepared to make it available to him if I am promised something in return.’
Joanna kept her gaze on her needlework. ‘And that something you wish to be promised?’
‘Simple. Your hand in marriage.’
‘I see.’ Joanna nodded, the roaring in her ears all but drowning out the thundering of her heart. ‘But you do not love me.’
He smiled. ‘Nor do you love me, but I am confident you will learn to. There would, after all, be much to recommend the marriage. You would never want for anything again. You would have more gowns than you could possibly wear, own finer jewels than anyone in London and have a string of carriages and servants at your disposal at all times. At the same time, your father would find himself free of debt and able to indulge in the kinds of activities a gentleman of his position and stature should. I suspect that should adequately compensate for the absence of feeling between us.’
‘So you do not care that I do not love you.’
‘In all honesty, no,’ Sterne said. ‘I am in need of a wife and you are in need of a wealthy husband. Any way you look at it, we both stand to gain by marrying. So, what is your answer to be?’
‘I cannot give you an answer to a question that has not been asked,’ Joanna said, twisting Laurence’s handkerchief more tightly around her finger. She needed time. Time to find out if there was any point in holding out hopes that Laurence might say something to her. What that might be, she had no idea, but she desperately wanted to hear—
‘He can’t help you, you know,’ Sterne said in a silken voice.
Joanna glanced up. ‘Who?’
‘Bretton. That is his handkerchief you’re clutching. But he can’t help you. Not the way I can.’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Joanna said, getting to her feet in agitation. ‘Mr Bretton is an acquaintance, nothing more.’
‘Yet I’ve seen the way you look at him,’ Sterne said. ‘And the way he looks at you. And I heard what he said to you outside the house the other night. But believe me, as sweetly compelling as his words no doubt are, he is not the man for you. A man like that could never be an acceptable husband for you. And since you wish me to ask the question, I will. Lady Joanna, will you—?’
‘Stop!’ she cried, whirling. ‘Do not ask! Not today.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because if you force me to give you an answer today, it will not be the one you are hoping for.’
His eyebrows rose. ‘Indeed. And if I were to ask again in a week’s time? Would you give me a different answer?’
‘I don’t know. I only know what I would answer if you were to ask me today.’
Sterne watched her for a long time, his eyes narrowed thoughtfully as he stared at her face. ‘Very well. I shall respect your wishes and not ask today. But I will come again,’ he said, abruptly standing up. ‘And when I do, I will ask the question and I suggest for your father’s sake that you give me the answer I want. I will make you a good husband and him a very wealthy son-in-law.’ Sterne glanced at the monogrammed handkerchief and sneered. ‘A claim others will never be able to make.’
* * *
The night for the outing to the theatre with Joanna and her aunt arrived, but as Laurence stood in the vestibule waiting for them to appear, he knew it would have been better to call it off. Spending an entire evening in Joanna’s company was going to be destructive to his physical and his mental well-being because no matter how much he wished otherwise, he was never going to have her.
It didn’t matter that he wanted to be with Joanna, or that she was the kind of woman with whom he could easily imagine spending the rest of his life. One with whom he could open up and share his deepest secrets. She was destined to be with another man. A man who could give her all the things he could not. And every time Laurence saw her, he would be reminded of that.
It would not do to lose his heart to a woman who could not give it a home. The smartest thing he could do was accept that and move on.
Then she walked in—and all sense of reason and logic flew out the door.
She looked like a goddess in a gown of pure white silk, her dark, shimmering hair swept up in a glorious crown on top of her head. The skilful cut of the gown caressed every curve upon which it touched and exposed the voluptuous swell of breasts while leaving her arms and shoulders bare.
Was she aware of the magnificent picture she made? Did she see how men turned to admire her, or notice how the ladies stared at her with envy? Did she know what she was doing to his heart as she walked up to him and said, ‘Good evening, Mr Bretton. I hope we are not late.’
Laurence shook his head and extended his hand for hers. ‘You are not. And even if you were, I could not chastise you for it. You take my breath away.’
He spoke the words quietly but he knew Joanna heard them. He saw the look of longing in her eyes and wondered what she might have said had her aunt not chosen that very moment to appear.
‘Ah, Mr Bretton, how delightful to see you again. Forgive my having kept you waiting. I wanted to stop and have a word with my dear friend, Lady Burroughs.’
‘Not at all, Lady Cynthia,’ Laurence said, dragging his gaze from Joanna’s face. ‘We still have a few minutes before the curtain rises. My sister and Mr Devlin have already gone up. Shall we join them?’
At the lady’s nod, Laurence turned and led the way up to his uncle’s box. He was aware of Joanna walking a few steps behind him and several times was tempted to turn around and talk to her, but at the last moment caught himself. It was best for all concerned that he treat this as a convivial evening with friends. It was the only chance he had of getting through it with his heart intact.
‘It seems you have drawn another full house, Mr Bretton,’ Lady Cynthia said, after the box had been reached and greetings between families exchanged. ‘I do not see an empty seat in the place. Oh, look, Joanna, there is Lady Standish. If I’m not mistaken, she is staring this way. How nice.’ Lady Cynthia waved in the countess’s direction and then sat down in her chair. ‘It will be all over London tomorrow that we were here with you tonight, Mr Bretton,’ she said, obviously pleased by the knowledge.
‘If there is anything going around London tomorrow, I hope it will be Lady Joanna’s satisfaction with the play,’ Laurence replied. ‘I am well aware she is not fond of romantic satire.’
Joanna blushed. ‘You are mistaken, Mr Bretton. I said no such thing.’
‘On the contrary, I remember very clearly what you said,’ Laurence said, not about to tell her that he remembered every conversation they had ever had.
He had to believe that, for the sake of a man’s pride, it was best that some things remain unsaid.
* * *
I should never have come! The thought reverberated through Joanna’s head like a crack of thunder. Every time she saw Laurence now, the awareness of her feelings for him made it more and more difficult to remain uninvolved or to pretend uninterest.
She longed for a repeat of their closeness in the library, to feel once again the special affection in which she knew he held her. But Captain Sterne’s words had changed all that. His thinly veiled references to her father’s approval of his courtship had left Laurence in little doubt as to what his ultimate intentions were. When she had
walked into the theatre this evening, she had felt his detachment.
For the first time since she’d met Laurence, Joanna wished her playwright had the heart of a pirate.
‘I understand this is your first time seeing A Lady’s Choice, Lady Joanna,’ Mrs Devlin leaned over to say.
‘Hmm? Oh, yes, it is.’ Joanna made a concerted effort to meet the woman’s smile. Dear Lord, a pirate? ‘My aunt came to see it when my father and I were travelling.’
‘In Egypt.’
‘Yes.’
‘How terribly exciting for you,’ Mrs Devlin said, her tone not in the least disapproving or condescending. ‘You have made my brother quite jealous with all your escapades. He would dearly love to experience what you have.’
Joanna risked a quick glance in Laurence’s direction and saw that he was enjoying a lively conversation with his brother-in-law. Tonight, he wore a beautifully tailored black jacket over another snowy-white waistcoat, the simple elegance of the outfit leaving one’s eye free to admire the handsomeness of the face above.
Had she ever noticed that charming cleft in his chin before, or how affecting was the sound of his laughter? Both seemed so obvious to her tonight, yet she could not remember having been so aware of them before...
‘Do you consider yourself an archaeologist, Lady Joanna?’
Joanna forced herself to pay attention. ‘No, my skills are strictly those of an artist, though I am fascinated by the history of the country.’ She paused for a moment, stopping to glance down at her fan. ‘I find it strange that your brother professes such a fondness for the subject while still being able to write such popular plays. It seems an unusual combination.’
‘Yes, I suppose it does,’ Mrs Devlin allowed. ‘But then Laurence is an unusual man. He possesses an astonishing intellect while at the same time being able to produce such excellent fiction. I think that is to his advantage, don’t you? Single-minded men can become so very tiresome.’
Unwittingly reminded of Mr Rowe, Joanna said, ‘Yes, though I suppose that depends on whether or not the interest is shared by the lady he is with.’
Gail Whitiker Page 14
