Regency Disguise: No Occupation for a Lady / No Role for a Gentleman. Gail Whitiker

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Chapter Four

      That evening found Victoria alone in the drawing room with a pencil and piece of parchment in her hand. The rest of the family had gone out, and though her parents had asked if she might like to join them, Victoria had excused herself by pleading a megrim. In truth, she was desperate to start writing again and while the evening wasn’t usually a creative time for her, she needed to get past this wretched block and come up with some new ideas.

      Unfortunately, the longer she stared at the blank page, the emptier her mind grew. Surely her burgeoning career as a playwright wasn’t already over?

      Needing reassurance, Victoria set the paper aside and reached into the pocket of her gown. She had managed to find a copy of Sir Michael Loftus’s review in the newspaper that morning and had torn it out, basking in a warm glow of satisfaction every time she read it … which she’d done so many times she had actually committed the piece to memory …

      … yet another piece of brilliance from the inimitable Valentine Lawe, A Lady’s Choice is easily his best work yet. Lawe’s deft handling of an intricate plot is exceeded only by his skilful use of characterisation, and, in typical Lawe style, he has lampooned members of society and the church in a way that one can only admire.

      Performed at the Gryphon Theatre by that establishment’s exceptional company, A Lady’s Choice is a lively and thoroughly entertaining romp. I take my hat off to Signy Chermonde as Elizabeth Turcott and Victor Trumphani as Elliot Black, and once again, profess myself in awe of Lawe’s talent. I look forward to seeing many more of his plays …

      ‘“In awe of Lawe’s talent,” ‘ Victoria murmured, breathing a sigh of pure pleasure. It wasn’t every day Sir Michael Loftus delivered such a flattering review. She knew that as a result of having read several of his less complimentary critiques. The man could destroy a playwright’s career in a single column. Or, as in the case of Valentine Lawe’s, he could make it.

      ‘What, not locked up in your room writing?’ Laurence asked, strolling into the room with a book in his hand.

      ‘I can’t think of anything to say.’ Victoria slipped the review back into her pocket. ‘I’m having a devil of a time coming up with any ideas for my next play.’

      ‘I shouldn’t worry about it. You expended a great deal of time and effort on A Lady’s Choice. It’s really not surprising that the creative well has temporarily run dry.’

      ‘But I’ve written three other plays and never had this problem before.’

      ‘No, because as good as your other plays were, they didn’t draw on the same level of emotional intensity,’ Laurence said. ‘You explored both the light and the dark side of love in your last play, Tory, and writing like that takes a toll. As Uncle Theo says, art demands passion and passion demands intensity … and intensity can be very tiring.’

      ‘I hope that’s all it is,’ Victoria said, refusing to let her mind drift off in other directions … or to one other person in particular …

      ‘So where is everyone tonight?’ Laurence asked, settling into the chair across from her.

      ‘The Hungerfords are hosting a card party.’

      ‘Oh, Lord, that should be interesting.’ Laurence opened his book. ‘Mother and Father usually play together. I hope they’re on better terms now than they were earlier.’

      ‘You mean, has she forgiven him for standing up for his brother and sister-in-law when she thought he should have sided with her?’ Victoria shook her head. ‘I doubt it. You know how she likes to hold a grudge. But I suppose it’s not her fault. She just wants me to find a nice man and get married.’

      ‘Then why don’t you?’

      ‘Because I want to write plays and a husband won’t let me do that. He will expect me to pay calls and arrange dinner parties, and to sit at home with no opinions of my own. He certainly wouldn’t approve of my going to the theatre as often as I do now.’

      ‘You don’t know that,’ Laurence said.

      ‘Yes, I do. He can say what he likes before we’re married, but once he puts a ring on my finger, he will expect me to be mindful of my responsibilities.’

      ‘I think you’re using the writing as a smokescreen,’ Laurence said bluntly. ‘I think you don’t want to get too close to a man because you’re afraid of falling too deeply in love. I remember how devastated you were when Phillip Chesham left England without asking you to marry him.’

      Victoria blushed, painfully reminded of a childish crush she was just as happy to forget. ‘I wasn’t devastated. I was just … surprised. I thought Phillip cared for me.’

      ‘He did, but he was young, Tory, and he wanted to see the world. You just wanted to get married and settle down. It wasn’t the right time for either of you.’

      No, it wasn’t, Victoria admitted, but while her heart and her pride had been wounded, it was her writing that had suffered the most. Emotionally crippled, she had gone for months without even feeling the desire to write. She wasn’t willing to let that happen again. ‘I agree that falling in love can be destructive to a creative mind,’ she said. ‘But I’m older and wiser now, and I’ve established myself in a career. I want to see how far I can take this and I know a husband would try to restrict my activities.’

      ‘I wouldn’t care if my wife wrote plays,’ Laurie said conversationally. ‘As long as she was happy, I wouldn’t care what she did.’

      ‘Even if she was an actress?’

      Laurence blushed to the roots of his hair. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

      ‘Oh, Laurie, I’ve seen the way you look at Signy Chermonde and how you blush when she speaks to you.’

      ‘I do not blush!’

      ‘I’m afraid you do, dearest. You’ve gone quite pink even now.’

      ‘Oh, God!’ Laurence said on a groan. ‘And here I thought I was being so good at concealing my feelings.’

      ‘You forget, I’m your sister. I know you better than most. But you must know that nothing can come of it.’

      ‘I’m well aware of that,’ Laurence said, more than a little put out. ‘She’s taken up with that lecher Lord Collins.’

      ‘That is entirely beside the point. Mama would never allow you to marry an actress,’ Victoria said. ‘You know how she feels about poor Aunt Tandy.’

      ‘All too well,’ Laurence murmured. ‘Speaking of ineligible suitors, Winnie tells me you were monopolising Mr Devlin at the Holcombes’ musicale last night.’

      Victoria could feel the heat rising in her cheeks. ‘I was not monopolising him,’ she retorted. ‘Winnie’s nose is out of joint because I interrupted her conversation with the gentleman and then sent her back to Mama’s side. I dare say she would be even more annoyed if she found out I’d met up with him in the Park this morning.’

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