Gail Whitiker - No Role For A Gentleman

Unreasonably miffed, Joanna had carried on with her preparations. So, the great Valentine Lawe had deigned to make an appearance. How gracious of him. He had even dressed for the part, looking every inch the academic in a dark jacket over breeches and boots, his appearance smart but decidedly understated. He had abandoned his fancy lace jabot for a conservatively striped neckcloth and the signature rose was nowhere in sight. He was even wearing his wire-rimmed spectacles again.

Did he really need them, Joanna wondered, or were they little more than a contrivance?

Not that it mattered, she reminded herself. Laurence Bretton was only one of the many gentlemen who had come to hear her father speak and though she had given him an invitation, it did not entitle him to any special consideration. She had extended the invitation for the same reason he had offered to lend her the book—because they shared a common interest in Egypt.

That was all. Joanna had no intention of getting to know the gentleman better because despite Lady Cynthia’s beliefs that Mr Bretton was interested in her, Joanna knew all too well the fickleness of the writer’s heart. She had experienced it firsthand. Her infatuation with Aldwyn Patterson had scarred her to a far greater degree than anyone knew because only Joanna knew what he had whispered to her in the folly when they were alone. Only she knew the sweet promises he had made and the lyrical poetry he had written extolling her glorious emerald eyes and the sweetness of her face.

Only she knew how madly and stupidly she had fallen in love—only to discover his true nature when she had found out she was not the only young lady to be on the receiving end of his flattery.

Such was her disappointment in having discovered Laurence Bretton’s true calling. Though he was a different kind of writer, Joanna had no reason to suspect he was any different at heart. He lived in a world of fictional characters and implausible scenarios.

Witness his appearance as Valentine Lawe. What was that if not just another role in his world of make believe?

But her world wasn’t like that any more. Joanna was no longer in control of her own destiny. She was the daughter of an impoverished earl, fated to marry a man of means; one who possessed either wealth or a title, or better yet, wealth and a title, and who was willing to spend a large part of that wealth on the restoration of Joanna’s home.

That was the only hope her family had. Personal feelings didn’t enter into it. She was to be married off to the highest bidder—and she was deceiving herself if she thought to call it anything else.

For Laurence, the next two hours flew by. Lord Bonnington offered a highly informative talk concerning his explorations of the ruins at Dendera and of the many unexpected finds he and his team had made along the way. Numerous samples were documented and described, some that were passed around during the course of the discussion, while the more delicate articles were kept at the front of the room for viewing. Mr Penscott, who turned out to be a former student of Bonnington’s as well as his assistant, was often called upon to elaborate a point, though his explanations, being more straightforward than the earl’s, were better suited to the laymen in the audience.

Then there were the engravings, incredibly lifelike drawings of hieroglyphs and friezes, drawn in greatly reduced scale, but in such exquisite detail that Laurence could almost picture himself sitting on the artist’s stool, gazing at the magnificent scenes before him. And she had drawn them. Lady Joanna Northrup. To his surprise, the lovely and refined young woman who was destined to become mistress of a grand house in London was also one of the finest illustrators he had ever seen.

His admiration and respect for her only grew.

Unfortunately, as the evening went on so did his awareness of the differences between them. She was the daughter of an earl; a woman who lived in a world vastly removed from his and whose privileged life included servants, magnificent houses and all the conveniences money could buy.

He was the son of a gentleman and a minister’s daughter. Though better educated than most and with opportunities greater than some, Laurence knew he would never achieve the lofty heights necessary to be considered someone with whom Lady Joanna might associate.

She was a goddess and he a mere mortal bound to earth. Not surprisingly, the discovery left him with a decidedly hollow feeling.

‘Smashing good lecture, eh what?’ said the gentleman seated next to him. ‘I’d have given my eye-teeth to be on that expedition. But, I’m the first to admit my travelling days are over.’

Laurence regarded the gentleman, who didn’t appear to be much over fifty, with amusement. ‘You look as though you still have a good few trips left in you.’

‘Appreciate you saying so, m’boy, but traipsing through the desert is work for younger men than me.’ He turned his head and levelled a surprisingly keen look at Laurence. ‘Ever been to Egypt, Mr …?’

‘Bretton. And, no, I haven’t. Everything I know about the subject has been learned from books and from following the exploits of men like Lord Bonnington.’

‘Pity. Reading about the pyramids is nothing like standing at the top of one of those magnificent structures, knowing as you gaze out over the desert that it holds a thousand secrets you’re never going to be able to uncover. You can’t get any of that from a book.’

Laurence smiled, recognising in the man beside him the spirit of a true adventurer. ‘You’ve been there.’

‘Oh, yes,’ his companion said, ‘and I was younger than you when I made my first trip. Not many young bucks were making the journey back then. Most of them went to Florence and Rome on their grand tours. But Egypt is becoming popular now and I hear there are even ladies making the trip, though I don’t hold with all that nonsense. The desert’s no place for a woman.’

‘I heard that, Mr Dustin,’ Lady Joanna said in a tone of mild amusement as she came up behind them. ‘And I take leave to disagree with you.’

‘Of course you do, my dear, because you are your father’s daughter and every bit as stubborn, though I won’t hold that against you,’ he said, winking. ‘However, if you’ll excuse me, I want a word with Bonnington before he leaves. I’ve a slight difference of opinion when it comes to his theory about Seti the First, though he’ll likely tell me I’m talking through my hat.’ Abruptly, Mr Dustin turned and extended his hand to Laurence. ‘Don’t forget what I said, young man. If you ever get the chance to go, take it! You won’t regret it.’

‘I’ll be sure to remember your advice,’ Laurence said, shaking Mr Dustin’s hand. It was only as he did that he noticed the ebony-topped cane gripped in the gentleman’s other hand and realised why Mr Dustin’s travelling days were over.

‘Well, Mr Bretton, did you enjoy the lecture?’ Lady Joanna enquired when they were alone.

Her tone was no warmer than it had been earlier, but aware that she had, at least, come to speak to him, Laurence decided to make the most of it. ‘Very much. I am more envious than ever of what you saw and experienced while you were there.’

Her brow furrowed, but in confusion rather than disagreement. ‘Why would you say that? You are a famous playwright. A man much admired in society. What reason can you have for being envious of anyone?’