Gail Whitiker - Regency Disguise - No Occupation for a Lady / No Role for a Gentleman

‘That was my understanding too, but I know for a fact that he was here tonight and that he was sitting in that box.’

‘Oh well, that is disappointing,’ Miss Wright complained. ‘I was so sure it was Valentine Lawe.’

‘Never mind, cousin, at least you were able to see the play again,’ Alistair said. ‘I’m sure you will have a chance to meet the renowned playwright before you leave London.’ He turned his head and looked straight at Victoria. ‘If there is any possibility of that happening, I’m sure Miss Bretton will know how to bring it about.’

Victoria didn’t hear what anyone said in response. How could she, given the staggering implication of what Alistair had just said? He believed his cousin would achieve the introduction she so desperately craved … and that Victoria would be the one to make it happen. There was only one possible conclusion she could draw from that.

Somehow or other, Alistair had figured out that she was Valentine Lawe!

Not surprisingly, Victoria passed a thoroughly wretched night. As the midnight hours stretched slowly into dawn, she stared up at her bedroom ceiling, wondering how Alistair could possibly have guessed her secret. Had she said something to give herself away? Indicated by some wayward glance that she was the elusive playwright?

She must have, for why else would he have made the comment?

And yet, as she thought back over every conversation the two of them had ever had, Victoria could pinpoint nothing that might have exposed her. She no longer started when Lawe’s name was mentioned, nor did she blush when praise was heaped upon his work. She had learned to remain calm, as though the comments meant nothing to her. Even during her numerous conversations with Miss Wright, she was sure she had acted the part of uninterested bystander with a convincing lack of concern.

Still, she must have let something slip during their time together. Alistair’s focused gaze and casually delivered remark were too pointed to ignore.

Needing to talk to someone who had been there during last night’s conversation, Victoria waited for her brother to finish his breakfast before asking if he might like to join her for a walk. Thankfully, the morning had turned warm and, happy to get out of the house, Laurence agreed. Fifteen minutes later, they set off.

‘So, what’s really on your mind?’ he asked after they had chatted about inconsequential matters for the first few minutes.

Victoria sighed. She might have known he would see right through her. ‘I need to ask you a question. You were there last night, when Uncle Theo told Miss Wright it wasn’t Valentine Lawe sitting in the fourth row, but Sir Michael Loftus.’

‘Yes. So?’

‘So, a few minutes later, Mr Devlin said something I haven’t been able to forget.’

‘That he was madly in love with you?’

Victoria coloured. ‘Gudgeon! He would never say something like that to me.’ And sadly, she knew all too well the reasons why. ‘The point is, after Miss Wright said how disappointed she was that Valentine Lawe wasn’t in the audience, Mr Devlin told her not to worry because he had every confidence she would meet the playwright before she left London. Then he looked right at me and said I would be the one to arrange it.’

Laurence gave her a blank stare. ‘So?’

‘So you don’t think he was saying he knew I was Valentine Lawe?’

‘No. He likely said that because he knows Theodore Templeton is your uncle and that if anyone was going to be able to effect an introduction to Valentine Lawe, it would be you by virtue of your relationship to him. Unless you’ve said something to make him think otherwise.’

‘I haven’t. I’ve gone over every word I’ve ever said and cannot think of one that might have given me away.’

‘Then you have nothing to worry about.’

‘Then why do I feel so guilty?’ Victoria murmured.

‘Because you don’t like lying to the man. You feel guilty about having to deceive him and you’re afraid he will think less of you if he finds out you haven’t been telling him the truth. Of course, that only applies if you have feelings for him in return.’

‘Don’t be silly, Laurence, that has nothing to do with it.’

‘Hasn’t’ it?’ Laurence turned his attention to the road ahead. ‘See that gentleman coming towards us?’

Victoria spotted the middle-aged man and nodded. ‘Yes.’

‘Do you care if he thinks your bonnet is hideous?’

Victoria frowned. ‘Of course not.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because I don’t know him.’

‘And therefore care nothing for his opinion. However, if Alistair Devlin was approaching and I were to ask the same question, I doubt your answer would be the same.’

Victoria blushed. ‘Of course it would be the same. I don’t care what Mr Devlin thinks of my appearance.’

‘Don’t you?’

‘No.’ She turned to find Laurence’s gently amused glance resting on her. ‘Well, it’s not as though I have any reason to care.’

‘A woman doesn’t need a reason to wish to look attractive for a man she likes, Tory,’ Laurence said. ‘And I think you do like him enough to care what he thinks. Unfortunately, right now I have to say your time would be better spent in trying to decide what to do about Sir Michael’s offer. You know exactly what he wants and you’re going to have to give him an answer soon.’

Laurence was right. She did have to make up her mind quickly, both with regard to Sir Michael’s offer and about going public with Valentine Lawe. She and Laurence had already agreed that the offer was an incredible validation of her talent, but that there were definite consequences to meeting with the man. Uncle Theo had blessedly bought her some time by saying she was abroad, but she couldn’t stay in Europe for ever.

At some point, Sir Michael was going to want an answer, and she would have to have one ready. One she could live with … whatever the outcome.

The following day, Alistair left the estate agent’s office well pleased with the morning’s work. The papers were signed, the balance of the monies paid and the deed of ownership was finally in his hands.

He also had a new partner in his good friend, Lord Valbourg. Once he had described his plans for the old house, Valbourg had been only too happy to lend his assistance. Although money was not an issue for either of them, much of Alistair’s was tied up in investments and would take time to release. Valbourg’s was sitting idle, just waiting to be spent. When Alistair had shown him the list of projected expenses, Valbourg had been more than willing to make available whatever funds were necessary in order to get things going.

Yes, all in all it had been a very good morning, Alistair decided. The only hiccup had been his discussion over breakfast with his father concerning the subject of marriage to Lady Sarah Millingham. That was something Alistair had not been happy about and he had made it very clear to his father that such a marriage was not going to happen. For one thing, they had absolutely nothing in common. For another, she was too damn young. Alistair didn’t want a schoolroom miss for a bride. He wanted a woman who knew her own mind; one who could match wits with him and meet him on his own terms.

Lady Sarah’s mind was as vacuous as a butterfly’s.

As to being a steadying influence in her life, Alistair couldn’t imagine anything worse. The last thing he needed was a wife upon whom he constantly had to keep a watchful eye. One who was prone to doing silly, immature things. One who giggled.

That would drive him to distraction.