No Role For A Gentleman. Gail WhitikerЧитать онлайн книгу.
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?’
Remembering fragments of the conversation he’d had with Lady Cynthia, Laurence nodded. ‘Yes, I believe so.’ He paused, frowning. ‘I thought duels weren’t fought any more?’
‘They’re not, but gossip has it that the husband of the lady with whom Lord Foster was involved was so incensed that he punched Lord Foster in the face—’
‘A crime punishable by death,’ Laurence observed.
‘Yes, and believing himself the superior marksman, Foster offered him a challenge, only to find out he was not superior in any way. But never mind that, tell me about Lady Joanna. Wasn’t her father an archaeologist of sorts before he inherited the title?’
‘Yes. He lectured at the university and is a recognised authority on Egyptian history.’
‘How delightful! You have finally met a woman who shares your fascination with the past.’
‘She may share my fascination with the past, but she was not at all impressed with my being Valentine Lawe,’ Laurence said in a rueful tone.
‘Ah, I see. And you’re afraid,’ Victoria said slowly, ‘that having first seen you in the guise of an academic, the young lady will doubt your credibility after having seen you tonight in a far more glamorous and, therefore, less admirable role.’
‘Something like that,’ Laurence murmured. ‘My being a famous playwright didn’t impress Lady Joanna nearly as much as it did her aunt.’
‘And do you wish to impress Lady Joanna?’
Yes, he did, Laurence admitted. He had been looking forward to attending her father’s lecture tomorrow night, not only because he was interested in hearing what her father had to say, but because he wanted to see more of her. He wanted to get to know her better, to find out what she thought about matters of interest to both of them and to ask her about the time she had spent in Egypt.
But how seriously was she going to take him after having