Regency Disguise. Gail Whitiker

what?’

      Victoria stared down at the stage, listening to Miss Jones recite the lines she had written. Lines that had come so easily to her in the past, but that didn’t any more. Not since Alistair Devlin had walked into her life. ‘You said something the morning after the play, about there being … very little chance of Mr Devlin pursuing a relationship with me,’ Victoria said slowly. ‘Why did you say that?’

      ‘Are you asking because you like Mr Devlin and have some hopes in that direction?’

      ‘No,’ Victoria said, feeling her face burn. How ironic that where talk of mistresses didn’t make her uncomfortable, the mention of a romantic association with Alistair did. ‘I am well aware that he is far above my touch. But he is … an interesting man. Witty, clever. Exceedingly charming.’

      ‘Charm runs in the family. His grandfather was one of the most charming men I ever met,’ Uncle Theo said, ‘though he was also one of the most boring. His son follows in his footsteps.’ He leaned back in his seat and rested his arm along the back of the chair next to him. ‘Have you seen much of Devlin since the night the two of you met?’

      ‘Not really. I spoke to him at the Holcombes’ soirée, then again whilst riding in the Park. The last time I saw him was at the King’s Theatre. Laurence and I had gone to see a performance of Tancredi. Mr Devlin was there with his sister and brother-in-law, who, I must say, were not in the least charming.’

      ‘Ah, yes, the Archdeacon and his wife,’ her uncle said with a sigh. ‘I’ve run into them more than once and it’s never been a pleasure. You would think the Archdeacon’s position in life would make him more tolerant, yet I find he condemns rather than commends, and as far as he is concerned, the theatre is a virtual pit of human frailty.’

      ‘Yes, he made that quite clear the night I spoke to him,’ Victoria said. ‘I made the mistake of expressing an opinion as to the calibre of the performers, whereupon Miss Wright told him I knew everything there was to know about opera and the theatre because I was related to you. Once the Archdeacon heard that, neither he nor his wife had any particular interest in furthering the acquaintance.’

      ‘I’m not surprised. The theatrical world isn’t well thought of by anyone in that family.’ Her uncle hesitated before saying, ‘Has anyone told you the story about Devlin’s older brother, Hugh?’

      Victoria didn’t have to pretend surprise. ‘I wasn’t even aware he had an older brother.’

      ‘He doesn’t any more. Hugh died some years ago. Tragic set of circumstances,’ her uncle said. ‘Hugh Devlin was a fine man. Handsome, charismatic, even more charming than his father and brother. But he fell passionately in love with an actress and when his father refused to let them marry, they eloped to Scotland and married there.’

      ‘Gracious! Who was she?’

      ‘Her name was Sally Tamblin. I doubt you would have heard of her. She wasn’t in the theatre long. But she was an extremely beautiful young woman who more than one young buck fancied himself in love with. But there was only ever one man for Sally.’

      ‘Hugh Devlin,’ Victoria whispered.

      Her uncle nodded. ‘The pair were madly in love. And they did run away and get married, but it didn’t turn out well. Within a few years, Hugh contracted a fever and died, leaving Sally to raise their daughter alone. And though he wrote a letter to his father asking him to take care of his wife and daughter, Kempton refused, saying he wanted nothing to do with either of them.’

      ‘How cruel!’

      ‘Kempton’s a proud man,’ her uncle said. ‘He disowned Hugh the day he ran off, and when Sally and her daughter turned up at his door asking for his help, Kempton turned them away, saying they were no relations of his. He blamed Sally for the disgrace his son had brought upon the family, and, not surprisingly, his anger grew to encompass the entire acting profession. It’s the reason he won’t set foot in a theatre to this day.’ Her uncle sighed. ‘It is also the reason he would never condone a relationship between his son and a woman known to have close ties to the theatre.’

      ‘Close ties,’ Victoria said softly. ‘Like mine to you and Aunt Tandy.’

      ‘I’m afraid so.’

      Victoria stared at the edge of the box where a loop of golden braid had come undone. Absently, she reached out and tied the pieces together. ‘I had no idea.’

      ‘There’s no reason why you would. No one talks about it any more. But because you asked, I thought it best to tell you the truth. I would hate to see you get hurt.’

      ‘I doubt it would have come to that,’ Victoria said, trying for a convincing smile. ‘Even without his father’s sentiments, I knew there was very little chance of anything developing between Mr Devlin and myself. He is a man who demands honesty above all, and I have told him nothing but lies since the night we met.’

      Her uncle’s dark brows drew together. ‘Why would you say that?’

      ‘Because he doesn’t know I’m Valentine Lawe. And I can’t tell him because I gave Mama my promise I would not.’ Victoria stared down at the stage, though it was Alistair’s face she saw. ‘I don’t need anyone to tell me there is no future for a woman like me, with a man like that.’

      There were few enough reasons for a gentleman to be in the vicinity of the Gryphon Theatre at half past ten on a Tuesday morning. There were even less for a lady, and Alistair had to admit to a moment of surprise when he saw Victoria Bretton emerge from the building unaccompanied by either her brother or a maid. ‘Miss Bretton,’ he said, drawing his phaeton to a halt. ‘Good morning.’

      She had been looking to the left, but turned upon hearing his voice. ‘Mr Devlin!’ Her dismay, momentarily obvious, was quickly concealed. ‘This is a surprise.’

      ‘It is indeed,’ Alistair said, aware that while her appearance was as correct as that of any lady strolling on Bond Street, the fact that they were nowhere near Bond Street was bound to raise questions. ‘Might I ask where you are bound?’

      ‘Home. I was about to hail a hackney.’

      ‘Then perhaps you would allow me to convey you in that direction.’

      ‘I would not wish to inconvenience you.’

      ‘It is no inconvenience,’ Alistair said truthfully. ‘I have a stop to make on the way, but if you do not mind waiting, I would be happy to see you home immediately thereafter.’

      She hesitated for a moment, but obviously seeing no reason to hire a public carriage when a private one was offered, walked down the steps towards him. ‘Thank you. That would be most kind.’

      He climbed down to assist her and within moments they set off again. Alistair kept his attention on the road, though he was conscious of the warmth of her thigh brushing against his, and the scent of her perfume sweetening the air around him. Something innocent, yet unknowingly provocative. ‘I was surprised to see you coming out of the Gryphon at this time of the day,’ he said, forcing his mind to more practical matters. ‘Have you been to see your uncle?’

      ‘Yes. I needed to speak to him.’ She glanced down at her hands. ‘About … a costume.’

      ‘A costume?’

      ‘Yes. For Lord and Lady Drake’s masquerade.’ Her eyes finally lifted to his. ‘You must have been invited.’

      ‘Of course. As was the rest of my family.’

      ‘You sound as though you would rather not go.’

      ‘In all honesty, I don’t enjoy dressing up and pretending to be someone else,’ Alistair admitted. ‘I have none of the actor’s spirit in me. However, as it is Isabelle’s first masked ball, I have agreed to take her along. More to the point, I have been asked to effect an introduction to Lord Drake’s youngest son, Lord Robert.’

      ‘I’ve