No Role For A Gentleman

Joanna’s eyes widened in dismay. Spend an entire evening in his company? Oh, no, that would never do. Whatever good impression he might have made in the bookshop had been completed negated by his unexpected appearance here tonight. And she was quite prepared to tell him so when her aunt, obviously viewing his offer as some kind of gift from the gods, said, ‘How very kind, Mr Bretton. I can only imagine that seeing the play in the company of the gentleman who wrote it would add immeasurably to the experience. Do you not think so, Joanna?’

‘I really don’t see that it would make any diff—’

‘Thank you, Mr Bretton, we would be most happy to attend,’ Lady Cynthia cut in smoothly. ‘But you must allow me to return the favour by inviting you to a soiréee my brother is hosting a week from Friday. As you may or may not know, the family is only recently emerged from mourning after the tragic deaths of our eldest brother and his son and we thought a small gathering of friends would be a pleasant way of reintroducing Lady Joanna to society, as well as to celebrating my youngest brother’s elevation to the peerage.’

For the second time that night, Mr Bretton looked nonplussed. ‘Mr Northrup’s elevation?’

‘Yes, he is the new Lord Bonnington. He inherited the title on the death of his nephew,’ Lady Cynthia said.

Joanna said nothing, happy not to have been the one to break the news to Mr Bretton. He would have found out at the lecture tomorrow evening anyway, and while she had been feeling somewhat guilty for not having acquainted him with the truth of her situation in the bookshop, she no longer did. If he could keep secrets, so could she.

‘Please accept my apologies,’ Mr Bretton said quietly. ‘I was not aware of your brother’s elevation, my ignorance no doubt due to having been too caught up in the writing of a new play. During such times I tend not to study the society pages. As to the passing of both your brother and nephew, Lady Cynthia, allow me to offer my most sincere condolences. Lady Joanna did inform me, in very general terms, of the family’s bereavement, but not of the specifics.’

‘Likely because the brothers were not close,’ Lady Cynthia admitted. ‘One cannot always claim a close kinship with one’s own family, can one, Mr Bretton? As to the soirée, it will be a celebration of good news rather than bad and we would be most pleased if you would attend. I know that many of the young ladies present will be thrilled to hear that such a famous and very handsome playwright will be found in their midst.’

‘You are kind to say so and, if I am not otherwise engaged, I would be happy to attend,’ Mr Bretton said, his brilliant gaze catching and holding Joanna’s. ‘It will give me an opportunity to apologise more eloquently to your niece for not having acquainted her with the truth about my other occupation the first time we met.’

‘Pray do not give it another thought, Mr Bretton,’ Joanna said, refusing to be charmed. ‘As you say, our conversation was as far removed from the world of the theatre as it is possible to imagine and I dare say if you had bothered to acquaint me with the facts, it would not have lasted as long as it did.’

The expression in Mr Bretton’s eyes left Joanna in no doubt that he knew exactly what she intended by the remark and that he was not in the least discouraged by it, neither of which served to endear him to her. Obviously he found her disapproval amusing and her attempts at putting him in his place a waste of time, especially in light of her aunt’s all-too-embarrassing display of devotion.

Before he had a chance to reply, however, Mrs Blough-Upton swept down on them like an avenging eagle anxious to reclaim its prey.

‘There you are, my dear Mr Bretton. I have been looking for you this past five minutes. Really, Lady Joanna,’ Mrs Blough-Upton said, linking her arm through Mr Bretton’s in an unmistakably proprietary gesture, ‘it is quite naughty of you to keep the most popular playwright in London to yourself all evening. There are any number of other eligible young ladies here anxious to make his acquaintance and I must do my duty as hostess.’ She flashed Joanna an insincere smile. ‘I’m sure you understand.’

‘Of course,’ Joanna said, smiling every bit as insincerely. Really, did the woman think her a fool? Lydia Blough-Upton had no more intention of introducing Laurence Bretton to single young women than she did of flying to the moon! It was simply an excuse to pry him away from his present company and to keep him to herself for as long as possible. A ruse that worked to perfection given that Mr Bretton bowed and allowed himself to be led away, much to Joanna’s relief and her aunt’s obvious disapproval.

‘Well, really! The woman is just too forward!’ Lady Cynthia stated emphatically. ‘Has she no shame?’

‘It would appear not, Aunt.’

‘And poor Mr Bretton, what a gentleman! He could have refused to go with her, but he obviously knew how humiliating it would have been.’

‘I doubt altruism had anything to do with it, Aunt,’ Joanna said, surprised that her aunt had been so thoroughly taken in by his act. ‘He clearly enjoys being the centre of attention. Look at the way he is dressed. What is that if not a blatant attempt at drawing all eyes to himself?’

‘Nonsense, Joanna, it isn’t at all like that. You were not here, of course, so you cannot be expected to know, but the first time Mr Bretton appeared in public as Valentine Lawe, that was how he was dressed.’

‘I cannot think why, unless his first appearance was made at a masquerade ball.’

‘As a matter of fact, it was. Lady Drake’s masquerade, to be exact,’ Lady Cynthia said. ‘No one had any idea who Valentine Lawe was before that. Some thought him a half-mad recluse while others believed it was the nom de plume of someone highly placed in society. For a time, it was even whispered that his sister, Victoria, now Mrs Devlin, was the famous playwright and that caused quite a stir, I can tell you. But it wasn’t long after those rumours began to surface that Mr Bretton stepped forwards and claimed the role as his own.’

‘An interesting story, Aunt, but this is not a costume ball and the gentleman’s appearance is years out of date.’

‘Of course it is, but you cannot deny how dashing he looks in the part,’ Lady Cynthia said. ‘The ladies all adore it, of course.’

‘I still think it speaks to an outrageous sense of vanity,’ Joanna muttered, refusing to admit, even to herself, that the elegant clothes and raffish manner did suit him uncommonly well.

‘Nonsense, Mr Bretton is the most humble of men! You heard him just now. There was no arrogance to his speech. No condescension to his manner. He is exactly what he seems. A charming man gifted with the ability to write excellent plays. And to think you already knew him,’ her aunt said in a tone of exasperation. ‘I cannot imagine why you did not bother to tell me.’

‘I did not bother to tell you because I did not know he was anyone of consequence,’ Joanna said. ‘He introduced himself as Mr Laurence Bretton, plain and simple.’

‘Well, he is neither plain nor simple and I suspect if he was better placed in society, Lydia would have already snapped him up.’

‘His lack of a title doesn’t seem to be an impediment as far as she is concerned,’ Joanna drawled. ‘But I am astonished you invited him to Papa’s gathering. Will that not throw off your seating arrangements at dinner?’

‘Yes, but I shall send a note to Mrs Gavin and insist that she bring Jane,’ Lady Cynthia said, referring to Joanna’s other aunt and her eldest daughter. ‘It will be a pleasant change for the two of them to mingle in such elevated society and it will be a feather in my cap to have Valentine Lawe at my table.’

‘I think you overestimate his worth. A number of Papa’s colleagues will be there, not all of whom attend the theatre,’ Joanna reminded her. ‘Mr Bretton may find himself without an audience to impress.’

‘I am sure he will manage just fine.’

‘What if he is already engaged for the evening?’

‘If he is, I suspect he will do whatever is necessary to disengage himself,’ her aunt said with a complacent smile. ‘I saw the way he looked at you. If I don’t miss my guess, he is already quite taken with you.’

‘Taken with me?’ Joanna said, blushing furiously. ‘What a ridiculous thing to say! I barely know the man and, I can assure you, I have no interest in furthering the acquaintance.’

‘Not in any serious way, no,’ Lady Cynthia agreed. ‘Mr Bretton would have to be as rich as Croesus to even hope to justify such a mésalliance. Nevertheless, it will not hurt your reputation to be seen as someone he admires and it may draw the attention of other more suitable gentlemen, like Mr Rowe, your way.’

Joanna, having caught sight of Mr Rowe through a break in the crowd, said, ‘I am not at all sure I wish to draw his attention my way, Aunt. He is corpulent, balding and well into his fifties.’

‘Nevertheless, he is the sole heir to his father’s fortune and, given the state of your father’s finances, we cannot afford to dismiss him out of hand,’ Lady Cynthia said, smiling in the portly gentleman’s direction. ‘When the roof over one’s head is in danger of collapsing, one cannot be too picky about the manner of the man who brings hammer and nails to repair it!’

Laurence was not in the best of moods as the carriage made its way from Cavendish Square to Green Street in the early hours of the morning. He knew he had no reason to feel that way. Compliments about the play had rained down upon his head and he had been sought after and celebrated from the moment he had walked into the house. But it was a house in which he had not expected to see Joanna Northrup—or rather, Lady Joanna Northrup—and that, Laurence admitted, was most certainly the source of his consternation. Had he known beforehand that she was going to be there, he would have left off the velvet and lace and worn more conservative attire. But because he’d known that Valentine Lawe was expected, he had dressed for the part and the exquisite Lady Joanna Northrup had seen him in the role.

What must she think of him now?

‘You’re very quiet tonight, dearest,’ Victoria observed from the seat opposite. ‘Did something happen at the reception to upset you?’

‘Hmm? Oh, no, not at all.’ Laurence drew his gaze from the window and rallied a smile. ‘The evening was a great success. You must have heard all the praise being lavished upon your plays.’

‘I did and it was flattering in the extreme, though even after all these months, it still seems strange to hear people talk about my plays as though they were yours,’ Victoria said. ‘Do you know, one elderly lady called me Miss Lawe the entire evening? I was happy to play along, of course, but it did make me smile, given that she was far more correct than she knew.’

‘Of course, because you are the famous playwright and the one deserving of all the praise,’ Laurence said. ‘God knows I’ve done nothing to warrant the attention.’

‘Don’t be silly. You stepped forwards and said you were Valentine Lawe at a time when it was most important that you did and I will always think you a hero for that,’ Victoria said. ‘Goodness knows what would have happened to our family’s reputation if you had said nothing. Still, hearing you talk about my plays as though you wrote them does take some getting used to.’

‘Sometimes, I almost forget I didn’t write them,’ Laurence mused. ‘But if I don’t talk about them that way, people won’t find me convincing.’

‘Exactly, and I am perfectly content to let my plays be thought the work of my brother so that I can still appear to be the very correct wife of Mr Alistair Devlin,’ Victoria said with a twinkle in her eye. ‘But are you sure there’s nothing bothering you, dearest? You seemed in a much better frame of mind upon arrival at Mrs Blough-Upton’s house than you do upon leaving it.’

‘It’s nothing,’ Laurence said, shaking his head. ‘I’m fine.’

‘Good, then you can tell me about the young lady I saw you with not long after we arrived,’ Victoria said eagerly. ‘The very pretty one with dark hair and rather astonishing green eyes. I noticed you talking to her just before Mrs Blough-Upton swooped down and carried you off again. Who was she?’

Laurence briefly debated the wisdom of pretending he didn’t know who Victoria was talking about, but, suspecting that his all-too-observant sister was unlikely to believe it, said, ‘Her name is Lady Joanna Northrup. We met in a bookshop earlier in the day.’

‘Lady Joanna.’ Victoria’s eyes widened. ‘Good Lord, isn’t her father the new earl? The one who assumed the title after his eldest brother fell off a cliff and his nephew was shot in a duel?’