Gail Whitiker

by No Role for a Gentleman

  ‘Then I think we must see about making it happen,’ Bonnington said, a great deal happier with the outcome of the conversation than his daughter.

  ‘But what would he do, Papa?’ Joanna asked, hoping to find a solution in the practical aspect of the offer. ‘You already have a full complement of workers.’

  ‘Had a full complement,’ her father said, reaching for a letter on his desk. ‘This came from Mr Harkness yesterday. Apparently, his father is failing and, as eldest son, Mr Harkness feels obliged to take over the family business. He says he deeply regrets that he is unable to accompany me on any future expeditions and that he is tendering his resignation, effective immediately.’

  Joanna’s face fell. ‘Oh, dear. That is most unfortunate.’

  ‘Yes, it is and I am sorry to lose him. But his departure creates a vacancy and I need someone to fill it. Someone who is comfortable writing for hours on end.’ He turned to look at Laurence. ‘Is that a role you would be interested in filling, Mr Bretton?’

  ‘I don’t know, my lord. What exactly would I be required to do?’

  ‘In a word, you would become my shadow,’ Bonnington said. ‘You would make notes about anything I find and keep track of our progress as we go along. I would expect you to take down questions and make detailed reports about everything we see, all transcribed neatly, accurately and in a timely manner. But I warn you, it isn’t as easy as it sounds. Sometimes, so many things happen in a day you cannot write fast enough and on others nothing happens at all and you will likely be roped into doing something far more menial. And, of course, a lot of our dealings are done in Arabic so it would be necessary for you to work through an interpreter.’

  ‘Actually, I have a good understanding of the language and speak it well enough to be understood.’

  ‘So much the better.’ Bonnington was clearly delighted with the information. ‘I guarantee you would be an integral part of the team.’

  It was easy to see how much the position appealed to Laurence and Joanna could only imagine how excited he was at being offered the post. But his accepting it would not be at all good for her. He would always be there, close by her father’s side, writing down everything he said and asking questions, recording the exploits of the expedition as they happened. It would also be necessary that he spend time with her, making notes that corresponded to her drawings, the way she and Mr Harkness had.

  And all the while, she would have to pretend that she had no special feelings for him. Pretend that her day didn’t start until she saw him, or that when it was over, she would count the hours until she saw him again—

  ‘Think about it for a few days, if you like,’ her father said. ‘Talk it over with your family and anyone else you need to. You are, as Joanna said, a very successful playwright. I’m sure there will be others who take a very different view of your accepting a position with me and traipsing off to the desert for eight months to a year.’

  ‘I expect there will be,’ Laurence acknowledged, ‘but I really don’t see why I cannot do both.’ He looked across at Joanna and said, ‘If anything, one should provide marvellous inspiration for the other.’

  ‘You are the best judge of that, of course, but if it works to your advantage, so much the better.’ Bonnington pulled out his pocket watch and swore. ‘Damn. I’m late for lunch with Dustin and God knows I’ll never hear the end of it. The man grows crustier with every passing year.’ He got to his feet and brushed sand and other bits of debris from his jacket. ‘I’ll wait to hear from you, Mr Bretton. If you are not interested, I shall have to find someone who is.’

  ‘You will have my answer by Friday,’ Laurence promised.

  ‘Good. If you have any questions, ask Joanna. She probably knows better than I do what is required, given how closely she worked with Mr Harkness.’

  ‘Thank you, my lord.’

  Joanna walked her father to the door and then came back to where Laurence was gazing at the large map of Egypt pinned to the wall. ‘It is an incredible opportunity,’ he said quietly

  ‘Yes, it is,’ Joanna agreed, knowing how much it meant to him and deeply sorry that she had to be the one to discourage it. ‘But it is not easy work.’

  ‘I didn’t expect it would be. But it would have to be easier than drawing everything you see.’

  ‘They are equally labour intensive, but require very different skills. But I do wonder how it will affect the writing of your plays,’ Joanna said. ‘You say the trip will serve as an inspiration, but I doubt you will have any time to turn your mind to fiction. You will be expected to focus on what is factual the biggest part of the time. And, of course, there are the inclement conditions.’ She turned to look at him. ‘Have you any experience with extreme heat?’

  ‘None.’

  ‘It can be debilitating. Quite apart from the intensity of the sun beating down on your head, the heat of the air can become oppressive and make it difficult to breathe. And, of course, disease spreads rapidly in the squalid conditions. A man in poor physical condition will suffer the effects very quickly.’

  ‘Fortunately, I am in excellent health,’ Laurence said. ‘But I suspect there will be a period of acclimatisation.’

  His casual use of the word made her smile. ‘There is no question of that, but you must do so quickly if you are to be of any use to my father and the rest of the expedition. You must also be on the look out for poisonous snakes and scorpions. They seldom make any sound as they approach, but their bite is lethal.’

  ‘I shall consider myself warned. Anything else?’

  ‘Insects often carry disease. One must never go to sleep without ensuring that the netting around one’s bed is secure. And, of course, stomach complaints and...other problems are quite common when one first arrives in Egypt,’ Joanna said. ‘One must take great care with the food and water.’

  ‘Duly noted. What else?’

  ‘A big issue is the people themselves. The incidents of violence against visitors can be quite high. The Turkish soldiers are without discipline and violent, the Arab tribes are often at war with each other, and one runs into Armenian mercenaries with alarming regularity. Somewhat less easy to learn is the ability to tell an honest Arab from a dishonest one.’

  ‘That, I should imagine, is a skill acquired as a result of frequent dealings with both kinds,’ Laurence surmised. ‘And one not to be learned overnight.’

  ‘True, but it is imperative that you be able to recognise the signs quickly. One will be your greatest ally in the desert, the other, your greatest enemy.’

  ‘Lady Joanna, is it my imagination or are you determined to discourage me from accompanying you and your father to Egypt?’

  ‘That was not my intention at all,’ Joanna said, blushing at the lie. ‘But neither would I wish you to set off without being fully aware of the circumstances under which you will be required to work. The work is hard, the hours long and the conditions are not at all conducive to comfort. Then there is the question of your many followers.’

  ‘My followers?’

  ‘Yes. I am not at all sure the theatre-going public will be pleased when they learn of your intention to travel to Egypt,’ Joanna said. ‘Judging from what I saw at the theatre the other evening, you will be sorely missed.’

  He waved his hand, as though to dismiss the seriousness of the statement. ‘I am not the only one writing plays for the London stage.’

  ‘No, but neither are you a run-of-the-mill playwright. You are Valentine Lawe.’

  A muscle clenched in his jaw. ‘I am Laurence Bretton...who writes plays as Valentine Lawe.’

  ‘It is the same thing. It really doesn’t matter who or what you call yourself. Only that you are the source of the stories.’

  ‘But to be offered a place on your father’s expedition means more to me than I can say,’ Laurence said. ‘You know that. I told you as much the first time we met!’

  ‘I really don’t understand you, Mr Bretton,’ Joanna said in frustration. ‘You have a God-g
iven talent for creating stories, yet are determined to turn your back on it. What my father does is inspired by a love of history, but his knowledge comes from books. He has spent years studying and reading and researching. You just sit down and write. Surely to ignore that is a terrible waste.’

  ‘A man must follow his heart,’ Laurence said quietly. ‘I never dreamt I would be offered an opportunity like this and now that I have, I cannot throw it away.’

  ‘Yet you would risk your career as a playwright? Does it really mean so little to you?’

  ‘No,’ he said quietly. ‘It means a great deal. But we have already agreed that a man can have more than one passion in his life.’

  ‘A man may have many interests, but he can have only one true passion,’ Joanna told him. ‘Because a passion is all encompassing. An interest merely passes the time. Your passion must be writing or you would not have achieved the level of success you have. Please think very carefully about that before you give my father your answer, Mr Bretton. I would hate to see you make a commitment you will come to regret when it turns out the other opportunity wasn’t all you thought it might be.’

  * * *

  At half past one in the morning, Laurence walked into the drawing room and pulled the stopper from one of the glass decanters. Splashing a generous measure of brandy into a glass, he tipped it back and drank deeply, his thoughts distracted for reasons he understood all too well.

  He didn’t like lying to Joanna and he was having to do it more and more every day.

  He hadn’t thought about any of this when he had taken up the role of Valentine Lawe. When Sir Michael Loftus had unexpectedly arrived at their home one day, demanding to know if the rumour about Victoria being Valentine Lawe was true, there hadn’t been time to weigh the pluses or the minuses of telling the lie. Laurence had simply stepped forwards and claimed the role as his own.

  He hadn’t expected it to change his life. He had done it with a view to saving Victoria’s reputation, indeed to saving the good name of his entire family. And in the beginning, things had gone very well indeed. Both of his sisters had been welcomed back into society and somehow or other, he had become its favourite. Much to his surprise, he was suddenly a sought-after guest, for where it was not the thing for a lady to write plays, it was perfectly all right for a gentleman to do so and he was celebrated for his achievements.

  Nevertheless, there had been downsides. The sudden notoriety, the lack of privacy, the guilt he felt at having to lie to the people he cared about. None of those rested easily on his conscience, nor did he enjoy being praised for work that was not his. When glowing reviews of the play appeared in the papers, or when people came up to him and congratulated him on his success, Laurence was always quick to pass those kudos on to his sister.

  Fortunately, Victoria didn’t seem to mind. In her own words, she was far happier being out of the public eye than she was being in the centre of it. Nor was there any question that Winifred had benefited from his decision. Her association with Mr Fulton had blossomed and looked to be heading towards the long-awaited proposal.

  Who could have foreseen that he would be the one to suffer for his actions? All because of a lady for whom he had developed the most intense and unfortunate attraction.

  Now, for the first time, Laurence understood his sister’s anguish at having to lie to the man she loved, because he knew how it felt to be deeply immersed in a deceit. Every time he opened his mouth he compounded his guilt.

  How could he look Joanna in the face and know that what she saw was a lie?

  He was not Valentine Lawe. He wasn’t a playwright of any kind. But he was acting as though he was and Joanna believed him wholeheartedly.

  Well, the time had come for it to end. He had to tell her the truth. It didn’t matter that she was going to marry someone else; he didn’t want her living with a belief about him that was false. He just couldn’t do that any more—

  ‘Laurence? What are you still doing up?’

  ‘Winifred.’ He glanced in the direction of her voice and was surprised to see his younger sister standing in the doorway, still dressed in her finery. ‘Just enjoying a last glass of brandy before I turn in. Are you only now getting home?’

  ‘Yes. I was at Lady Wayne’s musicale. Mr Fulton gave me a ride home in his carriage.’

  Laurence frowned. ‘Not alone, I hope?’

  Even in the dim light, he saw her blush. ‘Yes, but there was a reason for it.’ She started towards him and her face was glowing. ‘He asked me to marry him, Laurie. And I said yes!’

  ‘Well, thank God for that!’ Laurence said, putting his glass down and walking across to embrace her. ‘I am delighted for you. I suppose you’re deliriously happy?’

  ‘Over the moon!’ she said, hugging him back. ‘I wanted to tell you first because you are the one who made it happen.’

  ‘Don’t be silly, I had nothing to do with it.’

  ‘You had everything to do with it! By pretending to be Valentine Lawe, you made all of us respectable again. Mr Fulton told me as much tonight,’ Winifred said, dancing out of his arms and doing a little twirl in the middle of the floor. ‘He said he wanted to ask me to marry him shortly after we met, but when the rumour about Victoria being Valentine Lawe came out, his family advised him against it. But once it was clearly established that you were actually the one writing the plays, his family withdrew their objections and everything was fine. If you hadn’t done that, he would not have asked me to marry him and I would not now be the happiest girl in all England.’

  Laurence wanted to be happy for her, and in some ways he was. But with every word she uttered, the possibility of his admitting the truth to Joanna slipped further and further away.

  ‘I am happy for you, Win,’ he said quietly. ‘I know this is what you’ve been longing for and I wish both of you every happiness.’

  ‘Thank you, Laurie. Mr Fulton is coming to see Papa in the morning and then we will tell the rest of the family. You won’t let on, will you?’ Winifred said, concern drawing a line across her brow. ‘I know Mama would be terribly hurt if she thought she wasn’t the first one to hear the news after Papa.’

  ‘I shall be the very soul of discretion,’ Laurence promised.

  ‘Of course you will, because you really are the best of brothers. I know I haven’t always told you that, but I am very grateful for what you’ve done for me...and for this family. We are all so terribly proud of you.’

  In the silence that followed, Laurence stared into the dying embers of the fire and tossed back the rest of his brandy. Well, it was too late now. He couldn’t tell Joanna the truth. To do so would be to put Winifred’s forthcoming marriage at risk and there was no way he was going to do that. Not after everything she’d been through. He didn’t know Joanna well enough to know if she would keep the information to herself or if she would spread it all over London. She certainly had no reason to keep his secrets and, given her situation, she couldn’t be expected to hold anything he told her in confidence.

  And that, he realised, raised another issue that required serious consideration. Could he realistically be a part of Bonnington’s team if Joanna was married to Sterne and the two of them were there together?

  To play a key role on an expedition to Abu Simbel was, undeniably, the opportunity of a lifetime—a chance he might never be offered again. But could he work with Joanna, day after day, knowing that she belonged to another man? Could he pretend not to see the glances they exchanged or act as though he didn’t care when they retired to their tent or their hotel room together?

  He wasn’t made of stone, damn it! He couldn’t pretend not to care that the woman was married to someone else—because he cared very much. Being in Egypt with Joanna would be both the culmination of a dream—and the beginning of a nightmare.

  And that, Laurence realised with regret, was his answer. There was no way he could go to Egypt with Bonnington and his team if Joanna was there as Sterne’s wife.

  He might b
e willing to forfeit his fame for the chance to do something that really mattered. He was not prepared to sacrifice his sanity on the same altar.

  Chapter Ten

  ‘Mr Laurence Bretton,’ the butler announced.

  ‘Ah, good morning, Mr Bretton,’ Lord Bonnington said, getting up from his desk. ‘I was hoping to see you today. So, have you made up your mind to join us?’

  Laurence walked slowly into the room, glancing at the pieces of pottery and bits of stone sculptures lying on the earl’s desk with the fondness of a child gazing at a much-beloved pet. He had lain awake half the night thinking about what he was going to say to Joanna’s father this morning, but now that the time had come, he found the words stuck in his throat like unspoken regrets. ‘I have given your offer a great deal of thought, my lord, and believe me, I am grateful for the opportunity,’ he said finally. ‘But I’m afraid I cannot accept.’

  ‘Not accept?’ Bonnington said, astonished. ‘I thought you were excited about the opportunity.’

  ‘I was.’

  ‘Then what made you change your mind? Did you not speak to my daughter about any concerns you might have had?’

  ‘I did, and she answered all of my questions and raised a few issues I hadn’t thought of. But for a number of reasons, I think it would be best if I do not accompany you,’ Laurence said. ‘I don’t know that I am cut out to be both a playwright and an explorer.’

  ‘But you said yourself there was no reason why you could not do both. It isn’t as though you would be permanently removing to Egypt. If you wish to continue writing plays upon your return, there would be nothing to stop you.’

  ‘Your daughter seems to think otherwise,’ Laurence murmured.

  ‘My daughter, bless her heart, is a woman and naturally views the situation through a woman’s eyes. But you really shouldn’t study what she says, Mr Bretton. I doubt she will even be on the next expedition.’

  Laurence stared at the other man in bewilderment. ‘Not be on it? Why?’

  ‘Because I suspect she will not be allowed to go.’