Regency Disguise. Gail Whitiker

hear the remark. ‘Good evening, Mr Devlin.’

      ‘Miss Bretton. Will your brother not be joining us?’

      ‘He will, but he chanced to see one of his old professors in the vestibule and stopped to have a word.’

      Settling into her seat, Victoria cast a surreptitious glance in Alistair’s direction. He was as handsome as ever in a black cutaway coat over an exquisitely embroidered silver waistcoat. Black trousers made him look even taller than he was and his cravat was tied elegantly, but with a minimum of fuss. His hair looked to have been freshly trimmed and his voice … oh, yes, that was definitely a voice that could have stirred the multitudes …

      ‘—nice of you to offer us the use of your box,’ Miss Wright was saying. ‘If I lived in London I would always take a box for the Season. It’s such fun to watch everyone else. Oh, look, isn’t that Lady Sarah?’

      Victoria glanced across the theatre at the row of boxes below hers and saw the young lady in question gazing avidly back at them. Or, more to the point, at Alistair.

      ‘I’ll wager she’s wondering who you’re with, Cousin,’ Miss Wright said with an impish grin. ‘Are you acquainted with Lady Sarah, Miss Bretton?’

      ‘I am not,’ Victoria said, returning her attention to the stage where movements behind the curtain indicated that the last of the props were being set out. ‘Except by name.’

      ‘She’s quite nice, though I can’t imagine why anyone would think she would make a good wife for Cousin Alistair.’

      ‘Isabelle, you speak of things you should not!’ he said darkly.

      ‘Do I?’ His cousin blinked. ‘I’m sorry. I thought it was common knowledge that your mother and father were hopeful of a marriage between the two of you.’

      ‘Whether it is common knowledge or not, it is not the thing to speak of in situations like these.’

      ‘Situations like what? We are here with Miss Bretton to watch a play. She must be aware of what people in society are saying about you. Everyone else is.’

      ‘Evening, all,’ Laurence said, stepping into the box.

      ‘Laurence!’ More grateful than she could say for her brother’s arrival, Victoria grabbed his arm and drew him forwards. ‘You remember Mr Devlin’s cousin?’

      ‘Of course. Good evening, Miss Wright.’

      ‘Mr Bretton.’ The girl’s cheeks were two bright spots of colour. ‘How nice to see you again.’

      ‘And, of course, Mr Devlin.’

      ‘Your servant, sir.’ Laurence sat down in the chair next to his sister, the one on the other side already occupied by Devlin. ‘My, my, another sold-out performance. This Valentine Lawe certainly knows how to pack them in.’

      ‘Do you think he’s here?’ Miss Wright asked breathlessly.

      ‘If he is, none of us will be any the wiser,’ Alistair said. ‘Unless he stands up and proclaims himself.’

      ‘Which he is hardly likely to do,’ Laurence said. ‘Lawe has taken the art of concealment to a whole new level.’

      ‘But what has he to conceal?’ Miss Wright asked. ‘Why would anyone so brilliant wish to hide his talent away? If I was that clever, I would stand up and invite the audience’s applause.’

      ‘Perhaps he is disfigured,’ Alistair suggested. ‘His face too ugly or scarred to be seen.’

      ‘Or he could just be shy,’ Miss Wright said. ‘A man uncomfortable with all the accolades.’ She turned her head to look at Laurence. ‘What do you think, Mr Bretton?’

      Laurence looked decidedly taken aback by the question. ‘Me?’

      ‘Well, surely you have an opinion as to why the man continues to shun society. Do you believe him ugly or disfigured as my cousin suggests, or do you think he is shy and has no wish for the company of others?’

      ‘To be honest, I’ve never given it a moment’s thought. I accept the man’s brilliance, but as to his personal likes and dislikes, I have no opinion whatsoever.’

      ‘And you, Miss Bretton?’ Alistair said. ‘You are keeping rather quiet on the subject.’

      ‘Only because to speculate on Valentine Lawe’s reasons for remaining anonymous would be a complete waste of time.’ Victoria opened her fan and took care not to look at him. ‘The man himself is the only one who can say why he does not seek recognition.’

      ‘Oh, look, there is your uncle!’ Miss Wright said, her gaze moving to the stage below. ‘We are about to get underway.’

      Fixing her attention on the stage, Victoria quietly exhaled a sigh of relief. She was beginning to hate all this talk about Valentine Lawe. She kept telling herself she had no reason to do so, that Alistair had no way of knowing who she was, and while she was sure his question had been motivated purely out of interest, she was growing more and more uncomfortable with the deception. If ever there was a time to reveal herself, it was now, yet fear of reprisal held her back. She would be risking a great deal more than her reputation if she was to offer up the truth now. There was Winifred’s future to consider and her mother had made it very clear that no one was to do anything that might put that future at risk.

      Confessing that she was Valentine Lawe would certainly do that.

      More to the point, while it was highly unlikely that Victoria would ever see Alistair Devlin again once they returned to Kent, she would be forced to see her sister every day and to have to listen to her recriminations. She would be made to understand that if Winifred’s marriage plans fell through, it would all be because of her. Somehow, keeping silent about the true identity of Valentine Lawe in the short term seemed a small price to pay for harmony in the years ahead.

      That evening’s production of A Lady’s Choice was even more enjoyable than the one Victoria had watched on opening night. Signy’s acting was inspired, her love for Elliot more convincing than in any of her showings thus far. And responding in kind, Victor gave one of the best performances of his life. The rest of the cast were equally impressive and, not surprisingly, the audience’s approval rang long and loud at the end of the performance.

      Victoria felt her heart thumping in her chest. To think that her words were having this kind of effect. That her characters and her story had brought the audience to its feet. It was a heady moment and if ever she needed proof that she was pursuing the right path, this must surely be it.

      She shared a single glance with Laurie, but knew she dare not risk another. His pride was all too evident.

      ‘Oh my, that was splendid,’ Miss Wright said as they exited the box. ‘Better even than the first time. Did you not think so, Cousin Alistair?’

      ‘It was very impressive,’ he agreed. ‘Your uncle is to be commended, Miss Bretton. I thought Miss Chermonde’s performance tonight outstanding.’

      ‘I’m sure she would be delighted to hear you say so,’ Victoria said. Then, caught up in her enthusiasm and joy, said, ‘Perhaps you and Miss Wright would like to meet her?’

      No sooner were the words out of her mouth than Victoria realised she had made a dreadful mistake. She felt both Alistair’s and Laurence’s gazes on her and knew she should not have spoken, but the look of excitement on Miss Wright’s face was not to be denied. ‘You mean … we could actually go backstage and meet Miss Chermonde and Mr Trumphani?’

      ‘That’s what I was thinking, but it is up to Mr Devlin, of course,’ Victoria said hesitantly.

      He was watching her with narrowed eyes, his expression thoughtful. Victoria, who anticipated a quelling set down, was considerably relieved when all he said was, ‘The offer is a generous one, Miss Bretton, but I do not think it would be a good idea. My sister and brother-in-law would not be