Ruth Axtell Morren - Dawn In My Heart

Once seated in Lord Delaney’s box at the theater, Sky observed that the earlier show had been a performance of Richard the Third with Kean. He would have preferred seeing the debut of the actor who was causing such a stir on the London stage to the farce being enacted now.

“See, what do you think?” his friend asked him, leaning forward in his seat.

Taking up his opera glasses, Tertius regarded the players on the stage. He lingered on a pretty actress before replying to Delaney. “The one playing the maidservant?”

“Isn’t she divine? Look at that leg, that shapely calf!”

“Yes, she is the handsomest of the lot,” he said, continuing to eye the young woman who was retorting to a male actor. As she swiveled around, he gave her a slap on the backside. The crowd roared with laughter.

“Handsome? She’s beautiful. A goddess.”

Tertius nodded. She was beautiful, even beneath her painted face and atrocious wig. He recognized the classical features. Suddenly she looked straight at him and acknowledged his scrutiny with a saucy wink before performing a pirouette away from his end of the stage. He could say the wink wasn’t meant for him for all the attention she paid him after that. But he knew it was real. He had enough experience to know.

“I tell you,” Lane waxed on, “I shall have her before another fortnight is out. She has been holding off, but she won’t be able to resist me much longer. Everyone in town is vying for her affections. I have sent her flowers, candies, baubles. Yesterday, I sent her a pair of silver bracelets. I promised their duplicate in gold the day she allowed me to visit her after a show.”

“Has she replied?”

“Not yet. But I expect to receive word any night.”

“Well, let’s hope your gifts are not in vain.”

Lord Delaney’s hopes were not dashed. Before the end of the last act, a young errand boy delivered a note to his box. He smiled slyly at Sky after reading it.

“We are requested the pleasure of Miss Spencer’s company backstage after the performance.”

When the actors had given their last curtain call, Tertius followed Delaney along the dim corridor, as they wended their way past actors, stagehands and props. At the dressing-room door, the stagehand knocked and called out, “Your visitors, Miss Spencer.”

“Send them in.”

“Those dulcet tones, music to my ears,” Delaney murmured.

The small room was crammed with costumes and various other paraphernalia ranged along the walls. Sky shoved aside a silken garment to station himself by the door.

Miss Spencer swiveled about on the stool in front of her dressing table. Her amber locks tumbled behind her shoulders. She was draped loosely in an embroidered silk dressing gown.

“Good evening, Lord Delaney. Who is your friend?” she asked, her gaze lingering on Sky. He stared back at her until she gave him a coy smile with her carmine-red lips.

“This is the Earl of Skylar, lately arrived from the Indies. He was bowled over with your performance and threatened me with untold dire consequences if I didn’t escort him to meet you.”

“Indeed? We couldn’t permit that.” She held up a slim, white arm, allowing a pair of silver bracelets to fall from her wrist to her forearm.

“You flatter me with sporting so trifling a gift,” Delaney responded with a bow. “May I say your performance was magnificent tonight?”

“You may,” she answered, her focus on the worked bracelets. Suddenly she yawned, a large gaping yawn. “I’m famished. Would you care to escort me to dinner?”

Sky watched his friend’s unfeigned delight and anticipation. As she motioned the two of them to have a seat on a damask settee, she rose slowly and made her way behind a dressing screen. Lane lounged on the settee while Sky remained where he stood. He listened to their conversation as he watched the silk robe being tossed onto the top of the screen.

When Miss Spencer reappeared, she looked like a proper English lady in a long-sleeved muslin dress. Delaney helped her on with her cloak and together they went out to Sky’s carriage. At Miss Spencer’s request, he gave his coachman directions to the Shakespeare.

Despite the late hour the chophouse was full when they arrived.

“All the theater crowd comes here,” she told them, “but the owner always has a place for me.” They followed a waiter to a snug table by the mullioned windows. Golden candlelight glowed in the reflection from its uneven surfaces. The room was redolent with the smell of grilling meats and tobacco smoke.

They were soon served thick steaks smothered in oyster sauce and pots of porter. Sky relished each savory bite. For weeks he hadn’t been able to tolerate any but the blandest soups and broths during the last bout of fever. He shoved aside the memory, not wishing to dwell on the long, terrible ordeal, only relieved it was over.

Miss Spencer frequently waved to or called out greetings to fellow theatrical acquaintances.

When their main course had been cleared away, they enjoyed an apple tart. The actress listened tolerantly to Lane’s flattering remarks but mainly treated him with careless disdain.

“What brings your friend back from the Indies?” she asked Delaney with a sidelong glance at Sky.

“A death in the family,” Sky replied before Lane could speak.

“Oh, dear, not close, I trust?”

Sky cracked a filbert and offered it to her. “A brother.”

“The eldest,” added Lane. “You see before you the new Earl of Skylar.”

She took the nutmeat from Sky’s palm. “I see a gentleman of few words but deep thought.”

“And very deep pockets,” Lane added with a laugh.

She joined in his laughter. “Tell me, how is the theater in the Indies?” she asked Sky directly this time.

He shrugged. “Not to be compared to London, by any means.”

“Is there a chance for a working girl like me?” she asked.

“I think a girl of your talents would have a measure of success anywhere she chose to reside.”

“A measure only?”

“That probably depends on the efforts she puts forth.”

“I’m a very hardworking girl.”

“I’m sure you are.”

“My dear Miss Spencer,” Lane said, bringing her attention back to himself. Sky watched his friend strive to engage her, wondering if this young woman was anything like the series of dancers his father had enjoyed over the years of Sky’s youth. He hadn’t been back long enough to know whom his father was currently involved with. Sky had discovered long ago his sire was a very private man. He wondered if there was anyone privy to all his secrets.

Sky had hardly seen his father. When the marquess wasn’t at the races, he was at the gaming table or at someone’s house in the country round about London.

The three of them lingered over their table until two in the morning. When at last they rose, Sky gave instructions to his coachman to drop off Miss Spencer first at her residence. She gave him a very pointed look of open invitation, but he ignored it.

When she had left them, Lane closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the seat. “Have you ever seen such an exquisite complexion? And those eyes, they make you feel either you can conquer all or that you’re the biggest imbecile she’s ever come across.”

Sky had to chuckle at that. “She is, after all, an actress.”

“Ah, her talent!”

Sky hadn’t actually seen her act, merely prance across the stage, but he didn’t point this out to his enamored friend. He shifted against the squabs, feeling a vague discomfort. He had already begun to feel it in the restaurant, but now it grew stronger. The meal had obviously not agreed with him.

Just a bout of indigestion, nothing more. Probably bad oysters. He refused to think it could be anything else.