No Occupation For A Lady

‘Actually, I don’t do so badly. My uncle and Lord Holcombe did some business together last year and ever since, Lord and Lady Holcombe have been very welcoming towards us.’

Alistair watched Victoria raise the glass to her lips, his gaze lingering on the tempting curve of her bottom lip. ‘So your uncle owns the Gryphon Theatre?’

‘Yes. Does that surprise you?’

‘Only in that if your mother is unhappy with the amount of time you spend at the theatre, I cannot imagine how she reconciles herself to the fact that her brother owns one.’

‘With great difficultly, but as it happens, Uncle Theo is Papa’s brother.’

‘But his name is Templeton.’

‘My uncle did that out of kindness to Mama,’ Victoria explained. ‘He was performing with a small repertory company when my parents met. Naturally, being the daughter of a minister, Mama was horrified that her future brother-in-law was on the stage, so hoping to make relations between them easier, my uncle assumed the surname of the first character he ever played. It made matters better at the time, though once he started buying up large chunks of property in London, I don’t think anyone cared.’

‘So your uncle is an actor.’

‘Was an actor. He gave up performing not long after he married my aunt.’

‘Who, I believe, is also an actress?’

‘Yes, but she seldom appears on stage any more,’ Victoria said. ‘They are both more involved in the production end of things now. Pity, really, since they were both exceptional performers.’

Alistair stared at her in bemusement. A stunning young woman, eldest daughter of a gentleman, speaking not only without embarrassment about the black sheep of her family, but with admiration …?

‘Devlin, where on earth have you … oh, I beg your pardon.’ Lord Collins came to an abrupt halt. ‘I wasn’t aware that you and the lady were engaged in a conversation.’

‘Then you’re the only one in the room who isn’t,’ Alistair drawled. ‘Miss Bretton, I believe you are acquainted with Lord Collins?’

‘Indeed, I’ve seen him at the Gryphon quite often of late,’ Victoria said with a smile. ‘I believe he has a fondness for Miss Chermonde.’

To Alistair’s delight, Collins actually blushed. ‘The lady and I are … acquainted, yes.’

‘Then a word of advice, my lord,’ Victoria said. ‘As my uncle is aware of your … acquaintance with Miss Chermonde, I feel it only fair to warn you that, if you do anything to adversely affect the quality of her performance, he will take you to task. My uncle demands a great deal from the members of his troupe and if an actor or actress delivers a substandard performance, he will be looking to know the reasons why. And I should tell you that in his younger days, he had quite a reputation as a pugilist.’

Collins’s blush receded, leaving his face starkly white. ‘I appreciate the warning, Miss Bretton, but I can assure you I would never treat Miss Chermonde with anything but the utmost respect and I intend to shower her with gifts that will keep her very happy indeed.’

‘Good. Just please do not feed her oysters,’ Victoria said with a sigh. ‘She will ask for them, but they make her sneeze and that ruins her voice for a good day and a half.’

‘Then there will definitely be no oysters,’ Collins said stiffly.

‘Thank you. Well, I had best take my leave. Good evening, Lord Collins. Mr Devlin.’

Alistair bowed. ‘Miss Bretton.’

Collins gave just a brief nod and waited until she was safely out of range before saying, ‘Trumped-up little baggage! Imagine telling me what I should and shouldn’t do with my own mistress. I should have told her it was none of her business!’

‘But you did not,’ Alistair said with a broad smile. ‘In fact, your response was uncommonly meek for you, Bertie.’

The other man flushed. ‘It was not meek! I was merely being polite. But you see what I mean about her being outspoken. And about how people treat her.’

‘I saw a few old tabbies turn up their nose, but if she was that unacceptable, she wouldn’t be here. They don’t get much stuffier than the Holcombes.’

Collins sighed. ‘You know Theo Templeton’s her uncle, right? Well, he’s also reputed to be worth a bloody fortune. No one knows where the money came from. Some say it’s his wife’s, others say he won it at cards. Either way, he’s as rich as Croesus and doesn’t give a damn what society thinks about him.’

‘What has any of that to do with Miss Bretton?’

‘Last year, when Holcombe ran into financial difficulties, Templeton bailed him out, no questions asked,’ Collins said. ‘Everyone’s dying to know why, of course, but Holcombe isn’t talking and neither is Templeton. But it’s the reason Holcombe won’t hear a bad word spoken about Templeton or about any member of his family, if you know what I mean.’

Alistair did. ‘You’re saying Templeton’s kindness to Holcombe is the reason Victoria Bretton is accepted in society.’

‘In part. Her immediate family are mindful of the proprieties, but her aunt and uncle are not and neither is she. She has gained a reputation for being blunt and there are those who predict she will suffer for it. In which case, having Holcombe on her side is a definite advantage. There’s not many who’ll gainsay a marquess.’

Alistair stared into his empty glass. No, there weren’t. He’d dealt with his fair share of toad-eaters in his life and his father was only a viscount. There was even more grovelling the higher one climbed on the social ladder.

But Victoria’s uncle wasn’t even on the social ladder. He and his wife had both acted upon the stage, and the fact he was rich or that he had bailed out a peer of the realm would make no difference. He would still be viewed as a mushroom at best and an actor at worst; both of which would serve as strikes against him and against members of his family. ‘Does Templeton move much in society?’ Alistair asked now.

‘To the extent he wishes. Beyond that, he doesn’t seem to care.’

‘What does he care about?’

‘His wife, his theatre, his brother and his niece. Everything else can go to hell as far as he’s concerned. At least, that’s what I’ve been told.’

And Collins would know, Alistair reflected, given his current association with Signy Chermonde. ‘An interesting man.’

‘Eccentric, if you ask me,’ Collins said with a sniff. ‘But, when you’re that rich, you can afford to do as you please. Victoria Bretton, however, is another matter. The lady falls somewhere between the devil and the deep blue sea. Even her own sister keeps her at a distance.’

Yes, Alistair had seen first-hand evidence of that. The lovely Winifred had all but curled her pretty little lip during her conversation with her sister, and if her mother was pushing her in George Compton’s direction, it was evident the family was determined to marry Victoria off to any man who expressed an interest.

And yet the lady didn’t seem to care. She had walked around that room with her head held high, blissfully serene in the face of all those hostile stares. She was the one who had drawn his attention to the way people were looking at her and to the effect it could have on his reputation.

What did that mean? That the lady truly was impervious to the snubs and the remarks people were making about her? Or that she was simply a better actress than the celebrated Signy Chermonde could ever hope to be?

It was Victoria’s habit to write early in the morning, usually long before the rest of the family were out of bed. Her mind was clearest at that time of day, and it was during those pre-dawn hours that she did her best work. But when on the morning following the Holcombe’s soirée, the words did not flow freely, Victoria did not immediately put it down to anything that had taken place at the soirée.

While it was true the memory of her conversation with Alistair Devlin had kept her awake long into the night, she couldn’t believe it was the reason she was feeling creatively stifled this morning. That kind of reaction usually came about as a result of her emotions being tied up in knots, and given that she and Alistair had spoken on only two prior occasions, the chance of having developed any kind of feelings for him was highly unlikely.

Yes, he was charming, and there was no question he was intelligent, but while those were qualities she would always admire in a man, Victoria wasn’t looking for them in Alistair Devlin.

She shouldn’t even be thinking about the man. Her uncle had made it very plain that she would end up nursing a broken heart for her trouble because Alistair’s position in society, and his father’s antipathy towards the theatre, would always preclude them from having a relationship.

Then why did she keep thinking about him? And why, if he wasn’t interested in her, had he sought her out and spoken to her at the theatre?

That was the question plaguing Victoria as she trotted her mare along Rotten Row an hour later. She had given up on the idea of writing and had asked for her mare to be saddled and brought round, hoping that a change of scenery would be good for her. But even though her groom rode far enough behind so as not to disturb her concentration, her mind remained stubbornly and most disappointingly blank. No clever ideas leapt to mind, and while she was reluctant to put a name to the cause, Victoria had a sinking feeling it was all because of—

‘Miss Bretton,’ came an all-too-familiar voice. ‘What a surprise. I’d not thought to see you out so early in the day.’

Victoria looked up—and instinctively her hands tightened on the reins. ‘Mr Devlin.’ The last person she’d needed—or wanted—to see. ‘I cannot think why. I did not stay late at the Holcombes’ soirée.’

‘No, but most ladies do not care to ride in the Park at a time of day when society is not around to admire them.’