Regency Disguise. Gail Whitiker

much for their lungs. And Jenny’s recovery is going to take time. But at least it will be better than being here. For all this being a safe haven, we’re bursting at the seams. Do you have any idea when we’ll be moving, sir?’

      ‘The arrangements to purchase are finalised and I expect renovations to get underway soon, but there is still much that needs to be done,’ Alistair said. ‘I’ll let you know more as we proceed.’

      ‘Am I to tell the children anything?’

      Alistair thought about that for a moment, then shook his head. ‘Best not to just yet. While I’d like them to have something to look forward to, every day stretches long when you’re waiting for something good to happen, and you’re the one they’ll keep coming to with questions.’

      ‘Aye, but I’ll never tire of telling them their lives are going to get better.’ She managed a smile. ‘You’re a good man, Mr Devlin. I’ve met none better!’

      Alistair smiled as he walked up the narrow staircase to visit the children. Now that the house in the country had been purchased, he couldn’t wait to get the ten remaining orphans out of this building and into their new home. Children needed room to run and fields in which to play. As a boy, he’d craved such things. And though he had grown up in a mansion and Teddy Erskine a hovel, their basic needs were no different. The circumstances of Teddy’s birth had simply denied him that right.

      Fortunately, the circumstances of Alistair’s would make sure Teddy and the others benefited from it.

      As for Victoria Bretton, she could believe what she liked. He knew he was nothing like Collins or Shufton or Bentley-Hyde. He wasn’t concerned solely with his own pleasures and he didn’t spend his time getting drunk in the hells or whoring his nights away in high-priced brothels. He had the wherewithal to do something about the lives of those less fortunate than himself and he wasn’t afraid to get involved.

      He had his brother, Hugh, to thank for that.

      The hardest part was choosing which children he helped and which he did not. The need was so great; the number of children orphaned or abandoned so high he could have spent his entire fortune and still not saved them all. But with Mrs Hutchins’s help, and that of the two men who worked for him, he did the best he could. He intervened in the lives of those he could make better, or, in the case of Molly and Margaret, in those whose remaining years could be lived out with some degree of comfort.

      As much as it irked him, Victoria Bretton could think what she liked, Alistair decided as he walked into the children’s playroom. He knew how he spent his days and that was good enough for him.

Chapter Six

      It was Mrs Bretton’s habit to pay calls between the hours of eleven and one, so it came as no surprise to Victoria that it would be the time of day Uncle Theo stopped by to pay a call.

      ‘I thought the house might be quieter,’ he said as Victoria welcomed him into her writing room. ‘I don’t like to disturb the routine.’

      Aware that it was her mother and not the routine he had no wish to disturb, Victoria just smiled. She wasn’t about to tell him that his timing couldn’t have been better, that she needed an escape from the gloominess of her thoughts because the memory of the harsh words she had exchanged with Alistair was making her miserable. ‘I’ve just rung for tea. Will you join me?’

      ‘Delighted, my dear.’ He sat down in the chair across from the desk and crossed one elegantly clad leg over the other. ‘So, how goes the battle of words?’

      ‘Not well. I have been tossing around a few ideas, but when I sit down to write, my mind goes blank, which leads me to believe the ideas were not all that compelling to begin with.’

      ‘Well, perhaps this will help stir your creative juices,’ Uncle Theo said. ‘I’ve had a letter from Sir Michael Loftus.’

      Victoria’s breath caught. ‘A letter?’

      ‘It was delivered this morning.’ He reached into his jacket and withdrew the letter. ‘I thought you might like to read it for yourself.’

      Victoria’s hands were shaking as she unfolded the heavy sheet of parchment.

       Templeton,

       It will likely not have escaped your notice that I am a great fan of Valentine Lawe’s work. However, given the gentleman’s penchant for privacy and his strange preference for your company, the opportunity to speak with him in person is difficult at best, so I write to you with my offer.

      I have been approached by a certain Esteemed Gentleman who has much to do with the running of Drury Lane, and he has expressed an interest in talking to Mr Lawe about his next work. I realise you have served in the capacity of producer for each of his four plays and perhaps you are both happy to continue with that arrangement. But the brilliance of the man cannot be denied and it would give me great pleasure to see one of his works staged at a theatre licensed for the production of more serious works. I do not know if Mr Lawe has any interest in writing plays of that nature, but I thought it worth the time and trouble to ask.

       It will, of course, be necessary that you, Mr Lawe, and myself meet in person to discuss how best to proceed, but I believe Mr Lawe will find much in this offer to interest him. I trust you will communicate my desires to him. In anticipation of a response, I remain,

       Yours most sincerely …

      ‘“Sir Michael Loftus,”’ Victoria finished aloud, her voice barely above a whisper. ‘He wishes to see one of my plays staged at Drury Lane?’

      ‘That seems to be the gist of the message,’ Uncle Theo said with a smile. ‘The question is, how do you feel about it?’

      ‘I’m not sure.’ Victoria sank down into the nearest chair. ‘To be accorded such an honour … to have caught the eye of a man like that, and possibly of Mr Elliston … how can one feel but overwhelmed?’

      ‘But with joy or trepidation? You know what this means, of course.’

      Victoria did. It meant she was to be granted a face-to-face interview with one of the most influential men in the theatre. A man who believed Valentine Lawe was a man.

      It could be the beginning of a whole new stage in her career … or the end of everything.

      A light knock signalled the arrival of the maid with tea and, being closest to the door, her uncle opened it and took the tray from the girl’s hands. Only after he set it down and closed the door again did Victoria say, ‘I am cognisant of the difficulties, Uncle, but I cannot help but be gratified by the intent.’

      ‘As you should be. If you were to write a play for Drury Lane, you would be able to do the kind of work you have been longing to do: a work of serious drama. I’m sure the ideas would begin to flow again. And Sir Michael’s enthusiasm is nothing to be made light of. Any playwright would give his right arm to be so honoured.’

      Victoria nodded as she picked up the teapot. What her uncle said was true, but while the opportunity was enormous, the consequences were equally staggering. ‘What do you think he will say when he finds out that Valentine Lawe is really a woman?’

      ‘I honestly don’t know. Loftus and I have never been close so I’ve no idea how his mind works. But if he believes, as I do, that the play is the most important thing, it likely won’t matter. Here, let me pour,’ Uncle Theo said when he saw how badly her hand was shaking. ‘You’re going to end up with more tea in the saucer and that is a tragic waste of a good bohea.’

      Aware that her uncle was right, Victoria switched chairs and let him pour. But it did not slow down the workings of her mind. ‘What if he doesn’t care about giving me away, Uncle? If he is willing to acknowledge me as the playwright and to work with me in the production of my next