Diane Gaston - Regency Improprieties

He gave a half-smile. ‘More like he took pity on me, I should think. But I have learned much in his employ.’

She felt bold enough to ask more. ‘Have you been back to Ireland, then?’

He shook his head, and the frown reappeared on his face.

Oh, dear. She’d made him unhappy again. She cleared her throat. ‘I’ve only been in England a few months.’

‘And why did you come, Miss O’Keefe?’ His response sounded more automatic than curious and, oh, so formal.

‘The school was willing to keep me teaching. The school near Killyleagh, I mean. But I had this desire to sing, you see.’ She paused. ‘Like my mother.’

‘Your mother?’

She nodded. ‘My mother sang in London in her time. She died long ago.’

He looked at her with sympathy, pricking a pain she usually kept carefully hidden.

She swallowed. ‘In any event, my father was working in London, so I came here.’ She glanced away. ‘He could not afford to keep me at first, but then Mr Hook hired me to sing.’ She skipped over a lot of the story, perhaps the most important parts. ‘And when I’m done singing at Vauxhall, I’ll find another place to sing.’

‘Where?’ he asked.

‘Oh, somewhere. I’m thinking there are plenty of theatres in London.’

‘There are theatres in Ireland as well,’ he said.

She shrugged. ‘Not like in London. London has King’s Theatre and Drury Lane and Vauxhall nearby. Plenty of places. My mother once performed in King’s Theatre.’

‘That is impressive,’ he said.

She laughed. ‘Not very impressive, really. She was in the chorus, but she did sing on the stage at King’s Theatre.’

‘Do you wish to sing in the King’s Theatre?’ he asked.

She sighed. ‘I do. More than anything. It must be the most beautiful theatre in the world.’

He smiled. ‘It is quite beautiful.’

‘You’ve seen it?’ She turned to him eagerly.

‘I’ve accompanied Lord Tannerton there on occasion.’

‘You have?’ She would have loved to just walk inside the building, see the boxes and the curtain and the stage. She sighed again.

He continued to smile at her.

She could not help but smile back at him, thinking how boyish he looked when he let his face relax.

A carriage came in the other direction and he attended to the driving again. They lapsed into silence.

She searched for something else to ask him. ‘What work do you do for Lord Tannerton, then?’

‘I manage many of his affairs—’ He cleared his throat. ‘His business affairs. Tend to his correspondence, arrange his appointments, pay bills, run errands and such.’

‘Ah, I see.’ But she really did not understand the business of a marquess.

He went on, ‘You might say I attend to all the tedious details, so the marquess is free for more important matters, and so his life runs smoothly.’

Such work would give Rose the headache. ‘Are you liking what you do?’

He nodded. ‘I have learned much about the world through it. About politics. Money. Power—’

Such things were mysteries to her.

‘I have even been to Vienna and Brussels and Paris with Lord Tannerton.’

Her eyes widened with interest. ‘Have you now?’

‘The marquess assisted in the diplomacies, you see. And I assisted him.’ He spoke proudly.

She liked seeing his pride. ‘Were you there for the great battle?’

‘In Brussels, yes, but we were not at Waterloo.’ His face became serious. ‘The marquess helped with the aftermath, assisting in the logistics of the wounded and in any other way of being at service.’

Rose did not know what ‘logistics’ were, but she knew there were many wounded in the battle. Many Irish soldiers had fought and died at Waterloo. She was glad Flynn had been there to help those who survived.

He gave a dry laugh. ‘But it must be tedious to hear of such things.’

‘Oh, no,’ she assured him. ‘I confess I do not understand all of it, but you were meaning, I think, that you were in important places, doing important things.’

‘That is it,’ he agreed. ‘In the centre of things. A part of it all.’

‘I’m supposing it is a little like being a performer, isn’t it? Performing is not so important, perhaps, but it is being a part of something. I mean, the singing is only one piece of it. There are the musicians, too, and the conductor and all. Everyone together makes the performance.’

He looked at her so intently her insides fluttered. ‘Yes, it is precisely like that. One feels good about one’s part in it.’

‘Yes.’ She quickly glanced away and spied a man crossing the park with a bundle on his shoulder. ‘And that man there is doing his part, too, isn’t he? We don’t know what it is, but without him it would not happen, would it?’

A smile flitted across his face, disappearing when he gazed into her eyes again. ‘Yes, I expect you are very right.’

Her breath quickened, like it had when he’d almost kissed her under the illuminations the night before.

‘So what, Flynn, is your King’s Theatre?’ she asked, needing to break the intensity, just as he had broken away when he almost kissed her. ‘Or have you reached it already?’

‘My King’s Theatre?’

‘What you want more than anything.’

His eyes darkened, making her insides feel like melting wax again.

The horses stopped, and his attention turned to them, signalling them to move.

‘What I want more than anything …’ he repeated as if pondering the question. ‘To be a part of something important,’ he finally replied. ‘Yes, that is it.’

She waited for more.

His brow furrowed. ‘Lord Tannerton is an excellent employer, an excellent man, Rose, but.’ His voice faded, although his face seemed lit with fire.

‘Something more important is what you are wanting?’ she guessed.

He nodded. ‘To work for government. For a diplomat, perhaps. Or the Prime Minister. Or for royalty.’

‘Royalty?’ she exclaimed.

He flicked the ribbons and shook his head. ‘It is daft.’

She put her hand on his arm. ‘It is not daft! No more daft than me wanting to sing in King’s Theatre.’ But it did seem so impossible, and somehow it made her sad. ‘It would be important, wouldn’t it? So important you’d not be seeing the likes of me.’

He covered her hand with his and leaned towards her. The horses drifted to a stop again.

‘Move on!’ an angry voice shouted.

A young man driving a phaeton approached them from behind. Flynn put the chestnuts into a trot, but the phaeton passed them as soon as the path was wide enough.

They finished their circuit of the park, not speaking much. Their silence seemed tense, holding too many unspoken words, but Rose still wished the time to go on endlessly. Soon, however, other carriages entered the park, driven by gentlemen with their ladies. The fashionable hour had arrived, and they must leave.

As Flynn turned the curricle on to her street, he was frowning again. ‘What is it, Flynn?’ she asked.

‘I have not talked to you of Tannerton,’ he said. ‘My reason for seeing you. And there is something else, Rose.’

She felt a pang at the reminder of his true purpose. ‘What is it?’ she asked in a resigned tone.

He gave her a direct look. ‘Another man will be vying for your favours. He is Lord Greythorne. He is wealthy, but some unpleasant rumour hangs about him.’

‘What rumour?’ She had no intention of bestowing her favours on whoever it was, no matter what.

‘I do not know precisely,’ he said.

She shrugged. ‘I thank you for the warning, Flynn.’

‘It is important that you not choose Greythorne.’

She did not wish to choose any man, not for money or the gifts he could give her. She wanted to tell Flynn he could tell them all to leave her alone. Let her sing. That was all she wished to do, even if he were making her imagine other possibilities.