No Occupation For A Lady. Gail Whitiker
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was a fleeting glance, no more than a few seconds in length, but for the brief space of that time, the noises around him seemed to subside and it was as though only the two of them sat in that crowded theatre. He watched her laughter fade until only the shadow of a smile remained, and though she didn’t acknowledge his gaze, the soft colour blooming in her cheeks told him she was just as aware of him as he was of her.
As her glance slid away, Alistair leaned over to his friend and said, ‘Collins, that woman in the box opposite …’
‘Lady Lucy Prendergast?’
‘No, the box above. Wearing the cream-coloured gown.’
Collins raised his opera glasses and trained them on the lady in question. ‘Ah, yes, Miss Victoria Bretton. Eldest daughter of Mr and Mrs John Bretton.’
‘How is it I haven’t seen her before?’
‘Because you don’t move in the same circles, old boy,’ Collins said, lowering the glasses. ‘The family reside in Kent, but for the last two Seasons, have taken a house in Green Street for the purpose of introducing their daughters to society. Miss Victoria Bretton made her bows last year, and her younger sister, Miss Winifred Bretton, is doing so this Season.’
‘Who’s the man with her?’ Alistair asked ‘Dedicated husband? Devoted fiancé?’
‘Good God, no, that’s Laurence, her brother. Dry as a stick and completely lacking in fashion sense, but frightfully intelligent from what little I’ve heard. Apparently he speaks four languages and knows more about the classics than did most of his professors at Oxford. He and Victoria are said to be very close.’
‘I’m surprised she isn’t married,’ Alistair commented. ‘She is an exceptionally lovely young woman.’
‘True, but she also has a penchant for speaking her mind and you can imagine how well that sits with the society matrons who believe young ladies should be seen and not heard. Also, do you see the rather flamboyant-looking woman seated in the box with her?’
Observing the lady’s flame-coloured gown, her striking blue-black hair and the circle of diamonds flashing at her throat, Alistair said, ‘It would be difficult not to.’
‘Exactly. That is Mrs Anthea Templeton,’ Collins said. ‘Once a celebrated actress, now the second wife of Mr Theodore Templeton, owner of the theatre, and a man who just happens to be Miss Bretton’s uncle.’
‘Ah. So her family connections are not the best.’
‘That’s putting it mildly. Templeton left his first wife for the lovely Anthea—who was rumoured to be playing Juliet to his Romeo at the time—and the two set up housekeeping without the benefit of marriage. They continued to live and act in that blissfully unwed state for several more years before coming to London and setting up shop here. Needless to say, Mrs Templeton has not been embraced by society.’
‘Hardly surprising,’ Alistair said. ‘She is no doubt accused of stealing Templeton from his wife and blamed for the demise of his marriage.’
‘Of course, and the fact that Miss Bretton seems to enjoy her aunt’s company naturally reflects badly on her. As does the fact that she has an unfortunate fondness for mingling with the cast.’
Alistair raised an eyebrow. ‘She fraternises with the actors?’
‘Oh, yes. Usually in the company of her brother, but she has been known to venture backstage alone,’ Collins said. ‘And while that is perfectly all right for him, it is not the thing for her.’
No, it wasn’t, Alistair reflected as he watched the actors return to the stage for the start of the second act. It was all right for a young lady to go to the theatre and even to express enthusiasm for the performance she had seen, but it was not the thing to be spotted in the company of actors. While Alistair didn’t agree with his brother-in-law’s sweeping condemnation of all stage performers, he knew that many were possessed of questionable morals and that spending time with such people was frowned upon by those in good society. He was surprised Miss Bretton’s parents would allow her to jeopardise her reputation by frequenting such a place, even if she did so in the company of her brother.
‘By the by,’ Collins said, ‘is it true you’ve stopped seeing Lady Frances Shaftsbury? I thought the two of you were as good as engaged.’
‘We were, until I found out Lady Frances was equally enamoured of the Marquess of Kope-ham,’ Alistair said distantly. ‘If I cannot trust a woman to tell me the truth before we’re married, what hope is there for honesty after the vows are taken?’
‘All women lie, Dev. Harkens back to the Garden of Eden,’ Collins said. ‘Eve probably told Adam nothing would happen if he bit into the apple, and we all know how wrong that went.’
‘Fortunately, there are more women in the garden now and a man isn’t compelled to marry the first one that comes along.’
‘Perhaps, but attractive daughters of wealthy earls don’t come along every day either.’
‘No, but I will not suffer the company of a woman who lies. Secrets may abound in society, but they have no place in the relationship between a husband and his wife,’ Alistair said. ‘If I cannot trust the woman to whom I would give my name, I would rather not give it at all.’ For a moment, his gaze returned and lingered, somewhat regretfully, on Victoria Bretton. ‘Life is unpredictable enough. No point making it worse by starting everything off on the wrong foot.’
Chapter Two
A Lady’s Choice was an amusing satire about the foibles of married life. It was clever without being condescending, moralistic without being straitlaced, and funny without being ribald. Alistair actually found himself chuckling at the subtle innuendos flying back and forth and was moved to think that Valentine Lawe was a man who understood the ups and downs of marital relationships.
As such, when the actors delivered their final lines and Mr Templeton walked back on to the stage, Alistair rose to his feet along with the rest of the audience to pay the cast a long and well-deserved tribute.
‘Thank you, ladies and gentlemen,’ Templeton said. ‘I am gratified by your response and delighted that A Lady’s Choice has lived up to your expectations.’
‘Where’s Valentine Lawe?’ shouted a voice from the audience.
The cry was picked up and echoed throughout the theatre, but Templeton only shook his head. ‘I regret to inform you that Mr Lawe is not with us this evening, but I thank you on his behalf and will be sure to communicate your pleasure to him. And now, I am pleased to introduce the talented members of the cast.’
‘Here we go,’ Collins whispered in Alistair’s ear. ‘Pay attention. You’re looking for Signy and Miss Lambert.’
The performers came out two by two, with the lesser members of the cast leading the way. A young actress whose performance had greatly impressed Alistair turned out to be a Miss Catherine Jones, who took her bows with the portly gentleman who had played the vicar. Miss Lambert, a buxom blonde with a voluptuous figure, came out with the older woman who had played the part of Elizabeth’s mother.
Collins nudged Alistair in the ribs. ‘There. Take note so you can find Miss Lambert later on.’
Alistair smiled, but saw no point in telling his friend he would have been far more inclined to approach the sylph-like Miss Jones than the overblown Miss Lambert.
Then Signy Chermonde and Victor Trumphani made their entrance to a thunderous round of applause. Signy was truly a beautiful woman and Alistair had no doubt she would enjoy an illustrious career both on and off the stage. Trumphani, too, possessed the kind of polished masculine appeal that would appeal to débutantes or duchesses, and after taking their final bows, the pair stepped back to let Mr Templeton reclaim centre stage.
‘Thank you, ladies and gentlemen. I know I speak for Valentine Lawe when