No Occupation For A Lady

A Lady’s Choice was an amusing satire about the foibles of married life. It was clever without being condescending, moralistic without being straitlaced, and funny without being ribald. Alistair actually found himself chuckling at the subtle innuendos flying back and forth and was moved to think that Valentine Lawe was a man who understood the ups and downs of marital relationships.

As such, when the actors delivered their final lines and Mr Templeton walked back on to the stage, Alistair rose to his feet along with the rest of the audience to pay the cast a long and well-deserved tribute.

‘Thank you, ladies and gentlemen,’ Templeton said. ‘I am gratified by your response and delighted that A Lady’s Choice has lived up to your expectations.’

‘Where’s Valentine Lawe?’ shouted a voice from the audience.

The cry was picked up and echoed throughout the theatre, but Templeton only shook his head. ‘I regret to inform you that Mr Lawe is not with us this evening, but I thank you on his behalf and will be sure to communicate your pleasure to him. And now, I am pleased to introduce the talented members of the cast.’

‘Here we go,’ Collins whispered in Alistair’s ear. ‘Pay attention. You’re looking for Signy and Miss Lambert.’

The performers came out two by two, with the lesser members of the cast leading the way. A young actress whose performance had greatly impressed Alistair turned out to be a Miss Catherine Jones, who took her bows with the portly gentleman who had played the vicar. Miss Lambert, a buxom blonde with a voluptuous figure, came out with the older woman who had played the part of Elizabeth’s mother.

Collins nudged Alistair in the ribs. ‘There. Take note so you can find Miss Lambert later on.’

Alistair smiled, but saw no point in telling his friend he would have been far more inclined to approach the sylph-like Miss Jones than the overblown Miss Lambert.

Then Signy Chermonde and Victor Trumphani made their entrance to a thunderous round of applause. Signy was truly a beautiful woman and Alistair had no doubt she would enjoy an illustrious career both on and off the stage. Trumphani, too, possessed the kind of polished masculine appeal that would appeal to débutantes or duchesses, and after taking their final bows, the pair stepped back to let Mr Templeton reclaim centre stage.

‘Thank you, ladies and gentlemen. I know I speak for Valentine Lawe when I say how pleased I am by your response to A Lady’s Choice. I hope you will come back and enjoy it again. Now, after a brief musicale interlude, we present Mi Scuzi!’

Not surprisingly, a good portion of the audience stayed on its feet to get a better look at the people around them, but, having fulfilled his obligation, Alistair decided it was time to leave. Collins would no doubt abandon him to seek out his hoped-for new ladybird, and given that the occupants of the box opposite had already left, Alistair saw no point in staying for the operetta. His grasp of Italian was such that he could follow the lyrics if they were sung with any degree of proficiency, but he feared an English soprano with no ear for the language would mangle it beyond all hope of recognition. Better he leave now while he could still take away a favourable impression of the evening.

He was almost at the door when he saw her. Victoria Bretton was standing alone in the vestibule, her head down, her attention focused on the evening cape in her hands. She seemed to be attempting to undo a knot in one of the ribbons, but her efforts were hampered by the weight of the garment and by the constant brushing of people as they passed.

Clearly, the lady was in need of assistance.

Alistair slowly made his way through the throng and stopped a few feet away from her. She truly was a pleasure to behold. Her face was a perfect oval set upon a slender neck that rose from smooth shoulders seductively displayed by the low bodice of the gown. As he moved closer, his gaze dropped to the rubies nestled in the shadowy cleft between her breasts, aware that the stones were almost as magnificent as what they were nestled in …

‘Can I help you, sir?’

The tone, completely at odds with the colour blossoming in her cheeks, caused Alistair to smile. ‘Forgive me, Miss Bretton. I was lost in admiration of your necklace.’ His gaze rose to a pair of bright blue eyes framed by long lashes under an artful sweep of honey-gold brows. ‘It is … a striking piece.’

‘It is a replica of one given to an Egyptian princess by a devoted swain. My aunt was kind enough to lend it to me for the evening.’ Her chin rose, but her colour remained high. ‘May I ask how you know my name?’

‘I noticed you when you walked into your box,’ Alistair said, seeing no reason to dissemble. ‘When I asked my companion who you were, he kindly vouchsafed your name. May I?’ he asked, indicating the cloak. ‘Undoing knots is a speciality of mine.’

She glanced down at the twisted ribbons and, after a moment, said ‘thank you’ and handed the cloak to him, adding, ‘Was there a reason you wanted to know who I was?’

‘Curiosity.’ Alistair tucked the garment under his arm and set to work. ‘Most people prefer to observe the antics going on around them than the ones taking place on the stage. You were clearly more interested in the play.’

‘It is the reason I come to the theatre,’ she said simply. ‘If I wished to observe society at play, I would go to one of the many soirées held for that purpose.’ There was a brief pause before she said, ‘Why did you come to the Gryphon tonight? To see the play or to watch the other entertainments taking place?’

Alistair smiled. It seemed Collins hadn’t been mistaken when he’d said that Miss Bretton was fond of plain speaking. ‘I came to see the play.’

‘And what did you think of it?’

‘That it was humorous, well plotted and skilfully enacted.’

‘Then you enjoyed it?’

‘I did.’

‘Do you come often to the theatre, Mr—?’

‘Devlin. And, no, I do not.’ The knots untied, he shook out the cloak. ‘On the few occasions I have, I’ve found the farces ridiculous, the historical adaptations weak and the melodramas pathetically overacted.’

‘But you did not feel that way about this play?’

‘No. I was caught up in the story from beginning to end,’ Alistair said, placing the velvet cloak around her shoulders. ‘Something rather rare for me and I admit to being pleasantly surprised.’

Then she did smile. Gloriously. Without reservation. The way she had smiled at her brother earlier—and the words were out of Alistair’s mouth before he even realised he was thinking them. ‘Miss Bretton, I wonder if I might call upon you tomorrow morning.’

Her eyes widened, but she did not blush. ‘It is very kind of you to ask, Mr Devlin, but I’m afraid I have a prior engagement.’

‘Of course. Tomorrow afternoon?’

‘I’m not sure what time I shall be home.’

‘The following day, then?’

This time, a hint of colour did rise to her cheeks. ‘Mr Devlin, pray do not think me rude or unkind, but there really is no point in you calling. You have told me all I wanted to hear.’

‘About the play, perhaps, but there is so much more—’

‘Actually, there is nothing more,’ she interrupted. ‘I appreciate the trouble you went to in finding me, but it would be best if you did not pursue this. It is evident we would not suit.’

‘Not suit?’ He gazed at her in confusion. ‘How can you say that when you know absolutely nothing about me?’

‘Ah, but I do know something about you, Mr Devlin, and it is that which compels me to demur. Good evening.’

With that, she walked towards the double doors where her brother was waiting for her and, slipping her hand into the crook of his arm, left the theatre with him.

Too bemused to offer a reply, Alistair watched them go, aware that for the first time in his life he was actually at a loss for words. The lady had put him off! He had gone to the trouble of tracking her down and of making his interest known—and she had put him off. Not because she hadn’t known who he was—but because she had!

‘What, still here, Dev?’ Collins said, sauntering across the floor to join him. ‘I thought you left half an hour ago.’

‘I did, but I ran into Miss Bretton and stopped to have a word.’

‘How providential,’ Collins drawled. ‘Well, what did you think? Was she as tactless and unpredictable as I led you to believe?’

The question recalled Alistair to the lady’s parting words. ‘I appreciate the trouble you went to in finding me, but it would be best if you did not pursue this. It is evident we would not suit.’

‘She was far from tactless, but I am not convinced that meeting me was the highlight of her evening,’ Alistair said drily.

‘Nonsense! Any girl would be delighted at being singled out for attention by a nonpareil like you.’

Alistair didn’t bother telling his friend that Miss Bretton hadn’t seemed at all delighted by her so-called good fortune. On the contrary, she seemed genuinely convinced they had nothing in common—and, irrationally, that irked him. While it was true they might not have anything in common, how could she know until they’d had an opportunity to spend some time together? A man deserved a chance to fall from grace before a lady cast him out. Surely it was only fair he be given that chance before being dismissed out of hand.