Diane Gaston - Gallant Officer, Forbidden Lady

Tranville wished to make a conquest of this actress, if he was not bedding her already. Who was it? An actress as sought after by men as Daphne Blane? Jack would not put it past Tranville to try to buy his way into her bed by financing a play. He’d bought his way into his mother’s bed, after all, and now his mother wanted her son to paint this woman? It was absurd.

Jack narrowed his eyes. ‘Did he threaten you? Threaten to withhold your funds or some such thing?’

She looked surprised. ‘Threaten? Of course he did not. Lionel has always paid my quarterly allowance. I ask merely out of my gratitude for all he has done for us.’

Jack averted his gaze and stared into the carpet whose pile had worn thin in places.

‘Say you will do this for me, my son,’ his mother murmured.

He wanted to refuse, but his mother so rarely asked for anything, certainly nothing from him. Jack slowly nodded. ‘For you, Mother, I will do as you ask.’ He raised his chin. ‘But only for you.’

Only for his mother would he would paint her lover’s new conquest.

Ariana descended the stairs at the boarding house on Henrietta Street where she and other actresses and actors lived. The rooms were comfortably furnished and the company, excellent. The landlady of the establishment was an accommodating woman, a stickler for propriety, if one desired, or equally willing to ignore propriety completely.

Today Ariana chose propriety. Betsy, the maid, had announced that Lord Tranville had called. Had he not been funding Drury Lane’s production of Antony and Cleopatra, selecting her to play Cleopatra, she would have refused to see him. She kept him waiting in the drawing room a full ten minutes to discourage any notion he might have about how far her gratitude might reach.

She had no doubt her mother had told him where she resided. Her mother believed in patronage above all things.

Ariana wrinkled her nose.

What was her mother thinking? The gentleman was old enough to be her father, at least fifty years old, ten years older than her mother, even.

She swept into the drawing room. ‘Lord Tranville. What a surprise.’ She extended her hand, thinking he would shake it.

Instead he grasped it and brought it to his lips, actually placing a wet kiss upon it. ‘My dear Miss Blane.’

She grimaced and pulled her hand away as soon as she could. Gone was any hope his interest was confined to her acting ability. She sighed. It would require skill to remain in his good graces while discouraging his advances. She’d managed it with other gentlemen; she could do it with him.

She made no effort to look at him directly. ‘I am astonished you are here. Have you come on theatre business?’

He smiled wide enough to show all his white teeth. At least he had teeth, one point in his favour. ‘I hoped my desire to gaze upon your loveliness would be reason enough to call upon you.’

With effort she kept her expression bland, staring blankly at him, as if waiting for him to stop spouting nonsense.

He fiddled with his watch fob. ‘My—my visit does involve the theatre. In a manner of speaking.’

‘Oh?’ Only then did she gesture for him to sit. He chose one of the sofas. She lowered herself on to a chair, making a show of brushing off an invisible piece of lint from her sleeve.

Finally she looked at him again. ‘Do tell me why you have called.’

He leaned towards her. ‘I have a notion to advertise your role in Antony and Cleopatra. ’

She lifted a brow.

He went on. ‘If you are agreeable, an artist will paint you as Cleopatra. We shall have engravings made that can be printed for advertising. In magazines. On handbills. It will increase your success, I am certain.’

She looked at him with a wary eye. ‘Who will pay for all this?’ Surely not the theatre.

Mr Sheridan had run Drury Lane Theatre into terrible debt. Kean’s performances, so very popular, helped to ease the burden, but that did not mean the theatre would expend money on behalf of a new actress whose popularity had not yet been established. Her performance had been barely mentioned when the critics gave Romeo and Juliet a very unfavourable review, greatly criticising Kean’s performance.

‘I will pay for everything,’ Tranville said. ‘And, if it pleases you, I will make the portrait my gift to you.’

She wanted no gifts from him, but she did need this play to be a success.

He tilted his head in a manner he probably thought charming. ‘If it is convenient, the artist can see you this afternoon to discuss the painting. I will be honoured to escort you.’

She had no plans for the afternoon. ‘Where is this artist?’

‘On the corner of Adam Street and Adelphi.’

‘Near the Adelphi Terraces?’ It was only a few streets away.

‘Yes.’

A good enough address and nearby. ‘Who is the artist?’

He leaned even closer to her. ‘His name is Jack Vernon.

Ariana gaped at him, ‘Jack Vernon!’

Tranville looked apologetic. ‘I realise he is not as fashionable as Lawrence or Westall, but he did have some paintings in the Royal Exhibition, I’ve heard tell.’

How well she remembered. She’d used her admiration of Vernon’s paintings to brazenly approach the tall, handsome, solitary young gentleman whose inner struggle of some sort had fascinated her. Sadly, she had never learned who he was.

She resisted another sigh. What good was it to dwell on what was gone? Here was an opportunity to meet the artist and be painted by him.

‘I will do it, my lord,’ she told Tranville. ‘But there is no need for you to escort me such a short distance. Merely give me the exact direction and tell me the time I am expected.’

His lower lip jutted out. ‘I would be delighted to escort you.’

Her hand fluttered. ‘Do not trouble yourself.’

‘But—’

She gave him a level look. ‘I prefer going alone. It is daylight. The streets are full of people. No harm will come to me.’

‘I insist.’ He persisted.

Her brows rose. ‘Is your escort a condition of this agreement? I will not do it if there are conditions to which I must comply.’ Ariana knew better than to make herself beholden to any man.

‘No, no conditions—’ he blustered.

‘Good.’ She rearranged her skirt. ‘Tell me when I am expected.’

An hour later Ariana stood at Mr Vernon’s door, her heart thumping with anticipation. She looked down at herself, brushing off her cloak, pulling up her gloves, straightening her hat. She took a quick breath and knocked.

Almost immediately the door opened.

Framed in the doorway was the handsome gentleman she’d met in Somerset House, the one she’d thought she would never see again.

‘You!’ She gasped. T—I have an appointment with Mr Vernon.’

He looked equally surprised. It took him several seconds before he stepped aside.

As she brushed by him she felt a flurry of excitement. She’d found him, the man who’d so intrigued her at the Summer Exhibition. He was taller than she remembered, and his sheer physical presence seemed more powerful than it had been in the crowded exhibition hall. In the light pouring through the windows, his brown eyes were even more enthralling and every bit as beset with private demons.

‘Is Mr Vernon here?’ she asked.

He slowly closed the door behind her. ‘I am Vernon.’

‘You are Vernon?’ The breath left her lungs.

His frown deepened. ‘I—I did not know you would be coming.’

He did not seem happy to see her. In fact, his displeasure wounded her. ‘Forgive me. Tranville said I was expected at this hour.’

He stiffened. ‘Tranville.’