Gallant Officer, Forbidden Lady. Diane Gaston

I am grateful, as well.’ Michael stood gazing out at the house. ‘This is a fine building.’

      Nancy left her chair to stand beside him. ‘You will probably gaze all evening at the arches and ceiling and miss the play entirely.’

      He grinned. ‘I confess they will distract me.’

      She gave an exaggerated sigh. ‘But the play is Romeo and Juliet. How can you think of a building when you shall see quite possibly the most romantic play ever written?’

      He laughed. ‘Miss Vernon, I could try to convince you that beautiful arches and elegant columns are romantic, but I suspect you will never agree with me.’

      ‘I am certain I will not.’ She nodded.

      ‘I remember coming here in my first Season.’ Jack’s mother spoke in a wistful tone. ‘Of course, that was the old theatre. There were not so many boxes in that auditorium.’

      That Drury Lane Theatre burned down in 1809.

      Nancy surveyed the crowd. ‘There are many grand people here.’

      The play was quite well attended, even though most of the beau monde would not come to London for another month or so. Perhaps Jack’s commissions would increase then. Of course, with the peace, many people had chosen to travel to Paris or Vienna and would not be in London at all. Still, the theatre had an impressive crowd. Edmund Kean had been drawing audiences all year in a series of Shakespearean plays.

      Nancy leaned even further over the parapet. ‘Mama, I see Lord Tranville.’

      ‘Do you?’ Jack’s mother’s voice rose an octave.

      ‘There.’ Nancy stepped aside so her mother could see. ‘The third balcony. Near the stage.’

      ‘I believe you are correct.’ Her voice was breathless.

      Tranville stood with another gentleman in a box close to the stage, the two men in conversation while surveying the theatre. If Tranville spied his former mistress in the crowd, he made no show of it.

      The curtain rose and Nancy and Michael sat in their chairs. Nancy’s gaze was riveted to the stage, but their mother’s drifted to the nearby box where Tranville sat.

      Jack’s jaw flexed.

      Edmund Kean walked on.

      ‘He is old!’ Nancy whispered.

      Shakespeare had written Romeo as a young man who falls in love as only a young man could. Kean’s youth was definitely behind him. Still, Kean made an impressive figure in the costume of old Verona, moving about the stage in a dramatic manner. It would be a challenge to capture that movement in oils, Jack thought.

      Artists such as Hogarth and Reynolds painted the famous actors and actresses, Kemble and Garrick, Sarah Siddons and Daphne Blane. The portraits were engraved and printed in magazines and on posters in order to entice people to the theatre. Jack straightened. Perhaps the theatre could provide him with a clientele. He might not get commissions for the principal actors, but maybe the lesser known ones, or maybe he could depict whole scenes as they occurred on the stage. If he could paint the action of battle, he could easily paint the action of a London stage.

      The idea took firm root in Jack’s mind. His studio was quite near to Covent Garden, so it would be convenient for the actors. Or he could easily come to the theatre. He began to imagine the scene onstage as he might paint it. He was ready to assess every scene for its artistic potential.

      Romeo spoke the lines about planning to attend the Capulets’ supper. He left the stage, and Lady Capulet and the nurse entered, looking for Juliet.

      Jack’s fingers itched for a pencil, wishing to sketch Lady Capulet and the nurse with their heads together.

      ‘See,’ Nancy whispered to her mother. ‘Lady Capulet is Daphne Blane. Her natural daughter is playing Juliet.’

      Jack had the notion he’d seen Daphne Blane before. Of course, she was a notorious beauty whose conquests were as legendary as her performances on stage so he might have seen her image somewhere. The birth of her natural daughter had been the scandal of its day with much speculation on who the father might be. Many artists had painted Daphne Blane’s portrait. Why not Jack?

      Juliet made her entrance. ‘How now? Who calls?’

      ‘Your mother,’ the nurse replied.

      Juliet faced the audience. ‘Madam, I am here…’

      Jack nearly rose from his chair.

       Ariana.

      Juliet was Ariana. From this distance, her features were not clear, but she moved like Ariana, sounded like her. He’d found her. He’d despaired of ever doing so.

      His eyes never left her while she was on stage. His fingers moved on the arm of the chair as if he were drawing the graceful arch of her neck, the sinuous curves of her body.

      The intermission was almost torture, because he could not record her on paper and he had to act as if his world had not suddenly tumbled on its ear. As the curtain closed on the actors’ final bows, Jack remained in his seat, staring at the curtain.

      Michael gave his hand to Jack’s mother to help her rise, and Jack noticed his mother glancing in the direction of Tranville’s box.

      Nancy sprang to her feet, her hands pressed together. ‘Was it not splendid? I mean, it was so sad, but so lovely, did you not think?’

      Jack smiled at her, still partially abstracted. ‘You enjoyed it, then?’

      Her blue eyes shone with pleasure. ‘I adored it.’ Michael helped her on with her cloak. ‘Well, perhaps not Romeo. Mr Kean was not my idea of Romeo, I assure you.’

      Michael grinned. ‘Was he not romantic enough?’

      ‘He was old.’ Nancy made a face.

      Jack’s mother glanced over her shoulder once more as they all made their way to the door. Once they were out in the noisy, crowded hallway, Jack would lose his chance to talk to them.

      He placed a hand on his mother’s arm. ‘I should like your permission to part from you here.’

      His mother shook her head. ‘Forgive me, Jack. What did you say?’

      ‘I would bid you goodnight here.’ He turned to Michael. ‘Would you escort the ladies home?’

      ‘I would be honoured and delighted,’ Michael replied. ‘But this is a surprise. Why do you leave us?’

      Jack’s primary reason was to go in search of Ariana, but he had no wish to tell them that. He’d give them a partial truth. ‘I had the notion that I might paint the actors performing their roles. I want to seek out the manager and give him my card.’

      ‘You would paint the actors?’ Nancy exclaimed. ‘Why, that would be splendid! The print shops are always full of prints of actors. How perfect since you are so close to the theatre.’

      ‘My thoughts precisely,’ he responded, knowing this was not true. It was far less complicated than explaining about Ariana, however. ‘I should be able to offer a reasonable price.’

      Nancy nodded. ‘Very sensible, Jack.’

      ‘Proceed, my son,’ his mother said. ‘We will manage without you.’

      His mother rarely complained, not even when Tranville failed to call upon her. It had been a year since he had bothered.

      ‘Then I bid you all goodnight.’ He leaned over and kissed his mother’s cheek.

      Nancy smiled. ‘Thank you for bringing us, Jack.’

      Michael made as if fighting with a sword. ‘Do not fret. I shall scare off any foes who dare to cross our path.’

      Nancy giggled. ‘What nonsense. We