Gail Whitiker

by No Role for a Gentleman

  ‘Perhaps, though I admit, my knowledge of men is limited to my father and brother, and now Mr Devlin.’

  ‘Whom I sure you do not find in the least tiresome.’

  Victoria’s eyes widened in surprise and then, to Joanna’s relief, she burst out laughing.

  ‘No, Lady Joanna, I most assuredly do not. Nor is my brother, whom I have always admired for the wide variety of his interests. He is what my husband terms an all-rounder. Apart from being fluent in six languages, Laurence knows more about the planets and the stars than any man I’ve ever met. He is also a neck-or-nothing rider, quite brilliant in the hunting field and you have already been treated to his brilliance on the pianoforte. But you will never hear him boast about it, nor about any of the other things he does so well. Humility and an unassuming nature will always prevent him from putting himself forwards.’

  Mrs Devlin bestowed an affectionate glance on her brother and then, obviously feeling she had said enough, turned to address a remark to Joanna’s aunt.

  Wishing she had kept on talking about her brother, Joanna sat back and waited for the play to begin. The list of Laurence’s accomplishments was growing by the day. Who would have thought that a man so supremely accomplished in so many ways could be as genuinely humble as Laurence was?

  Her ruminations were brought to an end by the appearance of the theatre manager on stage and by a noticeable quietening of the audience as he began his introduction. Then, a few minutes later, the curtain rose and A Lady’s Choice began.

  * * *

  Half an hour into the performance, Joanna knew she was watching magic. Her scepticism had long since given way to surprise, and her surprise just as quickly to pleasure. She was completely caught up in the story of Elizabeth Turcott and Elliot Black. Their seemingly tragic relationship was played out over three acts, but contrary to what Joanna had expected, the play was neither sentimental nor melodramatic. It was clever...insightful...and, above all, intelligent.

  An added delight came in the form of the cast. Everyone, from the stunning Signy Chermonde in the role of Elizabeth Turcott, to the young boy who played a lowly street urchin, was exceptional. Not a line was forgotten, not an entrance missed and the actors’ soliloquies were delivered clearly and with exactly the right amount of emotion. Even the most dramatic of scenes were played with absolute sincerity, and when at the end of a highly satisfactory conclusion the audience rose to its feet to pay tribute to the cast, Joanna stood up too, not in the least embarrassed about showing her approval.

  Then the chant began. ‘Valentine...Valentine...Valentine...’

  They were calling for him, demanding that the playwright stand up so they might pay homage to him. The name Valentine echoed throughout the theatre and everywhere Joanna looked, faces were turned in their direction, all eyes directed towards the man sitting beside her.

  ‘Stand up, Laurence,’ Mrs Devlin whispered. ‘It is time to take your bows.’

  Laurence did, but it was clear to Joanna that he did so reluctantly. He stepped to the front of the box and as the chants changed to applause he raised his arm in acknowledgement of their cheers. Then he turned towards the stage and saluted his uncle and the cast.

  Joanna laughed when Miss Chermonde blew Laurence a kiss, prompting both whistles and a few off-colour remarks from the dandies in the pit. Clearly, the gentleman’s admirers came in many forms.

  ‘Oh, that was good,’ Lady Cynthia said with an audible sniff when at last the cheering and the applause died down. ‘Mr Bretton, you are, quite simply, brilliant. I did not think it possible, but I enjoyed the play even more tonight than I did the first time I saw it. Left me feeling quite emotional, I must admit.’

  ‘Thank you, Lady Cynthia,’ Laurence said, though his gaze and his smile briefly rested on his sister. ‘I am very glad to hear it.’

  ‘What did you think, Joanna?’ her aunt asked.

  Joanna was aware of Laurence’s eyes on her and suddenly found herself blushing. ‘What can I say other than that it was one of the most enjoyable performances I have ever seen? You are to be congratulated, Mr Bretton. You are truly a gifted storyteller.’

  The gentleman inclined his head, but again refused to meet Joanna’s eyes. Instead, he shared another smile with his sister and then stepped aside to let the ladies precede him out of the box.

  Not surprisingly, a veritable sea of people awaited them in the vestibule. Some were chatting with friends; others were going in to see the operetta while others were coming out, making for a constant ebb and flow of people moving past them.

  Laurence’s sister and husband were soon hailed by another couple and drifted away to speak to them, while Joanna’s aunt crossed the floor to chat to Lady Standish, leaving Joanna alone with Laurence—and the hoard of well-wishers eager to congratulate him on the excellence of his play.

  Finally, in a quiet moment, he turned to her and said, ‘I am sorry about this, Lady Joanna. I doubt you expected to find yourself in the midst of a crush tonight.’

  ‘I did not, but neither do I mind. No, really,’ Joanna said, laughing when she saw the doubt on his face. ‘It’s all rather exciting actually, though I have no idea how you manage to stay so calm.’

  ‘Practice,’ he said, leaning in closer so that he could be heard. ‘The attention was overwhelming at first, but I have done it so many times now, it seems quite natural. I suspect it is like being an actor. You get over your nerves and rise to the occasion.’

  ‘I suppose, though I cannot imagine what it must be like to stand in front of all those people and recite something from memory. I would be terrified.’

  ‘I don’t think so. You would likely become caught up in your performance and forget all about the audience,’ Laurence said. ‘Have you ever stood on a stage?’

  ‘Certainly not!’ Joanna said, only to blush when she realised how conceited her answer must have sounded.

  ‘It’s quite all right,’ Laurence said, laughing. ‘Well brought-up young ladies do not appear on stage or even express a desire to do so. But it can be liberating to pretend to be someone else for a while.’

  His voice had assumed a pensive quality and Joanna said in surprise, ‘Do you wish to be someone else, Mr Bretton?’

  She was astonished to see his cheeks darken. ‘No. The role of Valentine Lawe is quite enough for me.’

  ‘But that isn’t really pretending to be someone else, is it. You are Valentine Lawe,’ Joanna said. ‘Pretending to be a thief or a king—now that would be playing a role, and, yes, I suppose it would be liberating in a sense. We all play at such things when we are children, but when we are grown, we put away those pastimes and become serious and proper adults.’

  ‘I wonder.’ He turned to her and Joanna saw the light of mischief dancing in his eyes. ‘What character would you play, Lady Joanna, if you were to be given the chance? Cleopatra, the great queen, or Juliet, that most tragic of heroines. Or perhaps Rosalind, a far more gentle and compassionate woman, considered by many to be one of Shakespeare’s most-endearing heroines.’

  Joanna pressed a hand to her stomach, as though to still the nerves fluttering there. Was he really asking her to think of herself in one of those roles? What an outrageous notion! A well brought-up lady would never consider such a thing!

  And yet, the idea was intriguing. Deliciously so. To think that she could step outside herself, just for a short time, and assume the characteristics of another person, to speak in their language and to express their thoughts. To imagine herself as an actress. It really was quite wicked.

  ‘I honestly do not know,’ she said at length. ‘I haven’t your knowledge of the plays and so am not as familiar with the characters, but to even think about entering into such an occupation is beyond anything I have ever contemplated.’

  ‘I sometimes think we should all play another part, even if just for a little while,’ Laurence mused. ‘Most of us live within such narrow confines. Imagine shedding your skin and pulling on someone else’s for a few
hours. You must own it has a certain appeal.’

  ‘Yes, but as much as I might be tempted to try it, the thought of the look on my aunt’s face would always prevent me. She would be horrified!’

  ‘Never mind that. Is it something you think you might like to do?’ Laurence asked.

  Joanna thought about that for a moment, allowing her mind to dwell on the possibility. The answer surprised her. ‘Yes, I think I would. Just as I would love to venture into the deepest recesses of a pharaoh’s tomb. But neither of those things is going to happen. I daren’t consider the former and my father won’t allow the latter,’ Joanna said. ‘He draws the line at my undertaking anything of a dangerous nature.’

  ‘He is right to do so,’ Laurence said staunchly. ‘It would cause me great pain to hear that you had been injured during one of your expeditions.’

  The teasing tone was gone; the expression in his eyes very serious indeed. Joanna glanced away and fiddled with her fan. For a moment, they stood in silence as she tried to think of something inconsequential to say. People were looking at them and whispering, smiling and nodding as though they knew something she did not. The ladies were frankly envious and Joanna was astonished to see that a number of gentlemen were dressed similarly to Laurence in black and white. Several even sported flowers, though no one was brave enough to wear a red rose. Clearly, only Valentine Lawe was entitled to do that.

  ‘Mr Bretton, it is obvious to me that I owe you yet another apology,’ Joanna said at length. ‘I had no idea you were such a talented writer. A Lady’s Choice was wonderful!’

  Laurence looked at her for what seemed like a very long time, though Joanna was sure it could only have been moments. Then, he slowly began to smile. ‘You owe me no apologies, Lady Joanna. Most men do one thing well and others moderately so. I, on the other hand, do several things moderately well, yet cannot claim excellence at any one.’

  ‘But that’s not true! The play was outstanding,’ Joanna said in all sincerity. ‘I would never have believed that a man would be capable of writing such a deeply compelling story. You captured the nuances of emotion perfectly. You clearly understood what Miss Turcott was feeling, from the time she was a young woman newly in love until she stood as an old woman looking back on what had gone right and wrong in her life.’

  Again, Laurence failed to meet her eyes, focusing instead on the steady stream of people pouring down from the boxes. ‘You flatter me.’

  ‘No, I do not. I am simply offering praise where it is so clearly deserved.’

  ‘And yet, what would I not give to be as talented as both you and your father.’

  ‘Nonsense! I am not a trained archaeologist.’

  ‘But you are a gifted artist and you have combined that skill with your love of Egypt. That, truly, is a blending of two passions.’

  ‘Then you must do the same,’ Joanna said. ‘You must become like Shakespeare, setting your plays against the backdrop of ancient Luxor. Your heroes must be gladiators and emperors, and your heroines, queens and goddesses. Then you would truly be combining your talent and your passion.’

  He looked thunderstruck. His eyes focused on her face with such intensity that Joanna had to look away.

  Had any man ever looked at her with such focused passion before?

  Her infatuated poet certainly had not. Aldwyn had been too busy indulging his muse. Nor had Mr Penscott or Mr Rowe or Captain Sterne. No one had ever looked at her the way Laurence was looking at her now.

  What was he thinking? What thoughts were running through his head? For a man to write so convincingly, so passionately of love, he must surely have felt it—

  ‘Good evening, Lady Joanna,’ said a brusque voice behind her. ‘Surprised to see you out here amongst the hoi polloi.’

  Joanna turned around and was surprised to see one of her father’s friends standing there. ‘Lord Kingston, forgive me, I didn’t notice you there. Did you enjoy the play?’

  ‘Didn’t get here in time to see it,’ Kingston replied, looking decidedly put out. ‘Horse threw a shoe on the way over and I had to send for a replacement. But I expect I would have enjoyed it. I like what I’ve seen of Lawe’s plays. Came for my daughter’s sake, more than mine.’

  ‘Good evening, Lord Kingston,’ Laurence said.

  The marquess’s brows rose. ‘Sir!’

  ‘You remember Mr Bretton, Lord Kingston,’ Joanna said, surprised that the older man hadn’t recognised Laurence. ‘You were both at Papa’s lecture at the Apollo Club.’

  ‘We were?’ The marquess peered more closely at Laurence’s face, then let out a snort. ‘Well, I’ll be damned, so we were. Sorry, Bretton. Didn’t recognise you without your spectacles.’

  ‘Quite all right, my lord. They do tend to change one’s appearance.’

  ‘Taking in the play, are you?’

  ‘Actually, Mr Bretton wrote the play, Lord Kingston,’ Joanna said. ‘He is Valentine Lawe.’

  ‘Is he, by Jove? And here I thought he was just another of Bonnington’s disciples. Why didn’t you say you were Valentine Lawe at the time, man?’

  ‘Because I wasn’t there in that role,’ Laurence said. ‘I went to hear Lord Bonnington talk about Dendera.’

  ‘Of course you did, but that’s no reason to hide your light under a bushel.’

  ‘Actually, Captain Sterne did draw attention to the fact that Mr Bretton was Valentine Lawe,’ Joanna said, remembering how uncomfortable the moment had been. ‘But I believe you were talking to Sir Mortimer at the time and may not have heard.’

  ‘Can’t say that I did,’ Lord Kingston said. ‘I’m sure I would have remembered something like that. Well, I must say this is an unexpected pleasure. My wife adores your plays, Bretton. She will be heartily disappointed when she learns that you were here tonight and I had a chance to speak to you and she did not.’

  ‘Lady Kingston is not with you?’ Joanna said, knowing the marchioness’s fondness for the theatre.

  The marquess shook his head. ‘Left her at home with a raging toothache and a bottle of laudanum. But...I say, Bretton, we’re hosting a small gathering at Briarwood Monday next. Why don’t you join us?’

  Joanna’s eyes widened. Lord and Lady Kingston’s small gatherings were, in fact, select receptions for some of society’s most illustrious members. Invitations were highly coveted and not frequently made available to those outside their gilded circle. The fact Lord Kingston had extended an invitation to a playwright was an honour of the highest degree—and it seemed Laurence was not oblivious to the fact. ‘Thank you, Lord Kingston. I would be honoured to attend.’

  ‘Splendid. Never hear the end of it if I were to tell my wife I’d met you this evening and not extended an invitation,’ Lord Kingston announced. ‘And you must come too, Lady Joanna, and bring your father and Lady Cynthia. I know Bonnington doesn’t care much for these stodgy affairs, but you can tell him there will be one or two other crusty old gentlemen whose company I dare say he won’t mind sharing.’

  ‘I will be sure to tell him,’ Joanna said, not at all surprised that her father’s reputation for avoiding society events was so well known.

  The marquess moved away, but before Joanna had an opportunity to talk to Laurence about his unexpected good fortune, her aunt came back to join them, all but rubbing her hands together in glee.

  ‘Well, that was most satisfactory,’ Lady Cynthia said. ‘Lady Standish was very surprised to see us sitting with you, Mr Bretton, but I made sure to tell her that you had invited us to join you. It does so elevate one’s consequence to be seen in the company of those with whom others wish to be seen. Well, come along, Joanna, it is time we were leaving.’

  ‘Aunt, we have just been invited to Lord and Lady Kingston’s gathering on Monday next.’

  Lady Cynthia stared. ‘We have?’

  ‘Yes. When I told Lord Kingston that Mr Bretton was Valentine Lawe, he said his wife would never forgive him if he did not invite him to the gathering, and then he kindly invited us a
s well.’

  ‘Gracious! An invitation to Briarwood?’ Lady Cynthia said. ‘What an honour.’

  ‘He seemed to think Lord Bonnington might not wish to attend,’ Laurence said.

  ‘Not attend one of the most select gatherings in London? He won’t have any choice!’ Lady Cynthia stated flatly. ‘Thank you, Mr Bretton, for a thoroughly delightful evening. I cannot remember when I have enjoyed one more.’

  ‘You’re welcome, Lady Cynthia,’ Laurence said, his eyes catching and holding Joanna’s. ‘In all honesty neither can I.’

  Chapter Nine

  It was hardly surprising that sleep was the furthest thing from Laurence’s mind when he got home that night. Not only because Joanna had looked at him with far more warmth than she had on any of their previous engagements, or because she had blushed so prettily when he’d told her how much he had enjoyed the evening.

  He couldn’t sleep because the germ of an idea had taken root in his brain. An idea sparked by Joanna herself when she’d said, ‘...you must become like Shakespeare. Setting plays against the backdrop of ancient Luxor. Your heroes must be gladiators and emperors, and your heroines, queens and goddesses. Then you would truly be combining your talent and your passion...’

  Why hadn’t he thought of it before? The material was all there. And, as Joanna had said, it would be combining the two things about which he felt the most passionate—writing and the distant past. His setting would be ancient Egypt, and his characters, the pharaohs and gods who populated that world. He knew enough about both to make the story compelling, but where Shakespeare had used ancient Greece and Rome as his backdrops, Laurence would make them integral to the story. He would introduce the gods and goddesses and make them forces for change in his characters’ lives.

  It was as though a floodgate had suddenly been opened. Upon reaching his room, Laurence lit the candles on his desk and pulled out a fresh page of parchment. He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt so inspired...and it was all because of Joanna. His muse...and his inspiration.