Regency Desire: Mistress to the Marquis / Dicing with the Dangerous Lord. Margaret McPhee

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      ‘Have you heard anything of Alice?’ He did not meet Linwood’s eye.

      ‘She opens tonight in Covent Garden’s Theatre Royal, playing Lady Macbeth,’ said Linwood. ‘Kemble has made quite a fanfare. It has sold out. There is not a seat to be had in the house.’

      ‘So I saw in the newspapers.’ He paused. ‘Has Venetia seen her?’

      ‘I believe so.’ Linwood sipped at his coffee. ‘They are as much friends as we two.’

      The silence was loud between them Razeby swallowed, wondering how far he dare go without raising his friend’s suspicions. ‘How is she?’

      ‘I understand that she is well.’

      Razeby gave a nod and cleared his throat. There was another awkward pause. ‘If you should ever hear otherwise…’

      ‘Do not worry, Razeby,’ Linwood said quietly. ‘Should that be the case, I would let you know.’

      ‘Thank you, Linwood.’ He breathed a little easier.

      There was a rap on the dressing room door. The same dressing room she had shared with Venetia all those months ago, before Venetia had married Linwood and Alice had become Razeby’s mistress.

      ‘Five minutes to curtain up, Miss Sweetly.’

      ‘Thank you.’

      It was Alice’s opening night, her grand return to the Theatre Royal as a full-time actress.

      Her palms were clammy with nerves, her stomach turning somersaults at the prospect of walking out on that stage alone before a packed house. It had always been this way. But it had not been as bad when Venetia was here as the leading lady and Alice just sharing the spotlight. And thereafter, during her occasional appearances, there had been Razeby. Just his presence, with his easygoing manner and his smile, with his utter belief in her and the way he could rub that little spot at the back of her head that, no matter what, relaxed her tension and made all of her nerves and worries fade away.

      There was no Razeby tonight. She sat alone and looked at her painted face in the peering glass, lit bright with candles. She looked strong and capable and determined, even if she said so herself.

      She inhaled slowly and deeply. She could do this. She would do this. Pour all of everything she did not feel over Razeby into the part. It was a simple strategy.

      Another deep breath and Alice rose and walked out of the little dressing room, along the corridor and through the wings.

      ‘Miss Sweetly on stage in five, four, three, two…’ They counted her down with every step she took. ‘One.’ She walked out on that stage before a packed Theatre Royal.

      Her eyes slipped unbidden to Razeby’s box.

      It was empty. And she was glad of it.

      She shifted her eyes to Linwood’s box. And there, beside Linwood, was Venetia. Just as she had promised.

      Alice smiled, and when she opened her mouth to speak she was not Alice any more but Lady Macbeth.

      The clock ticked on the mantel. The sunlight streamed into the study, catching on the crystal drops of the wall sconces on either side of the fireplace and making them shimmer and sparkle with a rainbow of colours. From somewhere in the house there was the quiet opening and closing of a door.

      Razeby noticed nothing of it. He stood, rather than sat, at his desk, his focus trained on the newspaper spread open on his desk before him, more specifically on the article about the woman whose return to the stage had taken Covent Garden by storm. London was in awe, as it regaled the delights of the previous night’s play with Alice in the role of the leading lady. His eyes followed down the printed column, reading each and every word.

       Since her separation from a certain Lord R., Miss Sweetly’s acting talent has blossomed and taken on a new and vibrant dimension. She has a passion and realism that quite transfixed the audience and left them shouting, nay, begging, for more.

      He had always known she had such wonderful talent upon the stage and he was truly gladdened by her success. But beneath his happiness for her was also an ache.

      A subtle rap of knuckles against his study door and then his butler was there, showing his lawyer in.

      ‘Mr Ernst of Ernst, Spottiswoode and Farmer, my lord.’

      Razeby’s eyes lingered on the words for only a second longer. Then he closed the newspaper and set it aside.

      ‘You sent for me, Lord Razeby, to undertake an audit of the Razeby estate and monies.’

      Razeby did not allow himself to think of Alice, but only of what lay ahead.

      He took his seat at his desk. ‘Please sit down, Mr Ernst.’

      Alice was in the middle of removing her stage make-up after her fifth evening of performing when Sara, her fellow actress and mistress to Viscount Fallingham, popped her head round the door of Alice’s dressing room.

      ‘Hawick asked if you’ll be coming with us tomorrow. There’s a little outing arranged to Hyde Park, a promenade at the fashionable hour. I’ve already run it past Kemble and he’s all for it. There’s me and a couple of the other actresses, Hawick, Monteith, Frew, and Fallingham of course, not that he doesn’t trust me.’ She smirked.

      Alice thought of her theatre contract. Being seen with the top gentlemen of the ton was all part of the promotion she was required to undertake. And now that the performances had started there was no longer any reason to avoid this side of it.

      ‘You don’t need to worry, Alice. Razeby won’t be there. I checked for you.’

      Alice felt her blood run cold. ‘You checked?’ she said softly.

      ‘I didn’t think you would want to bump into him any time soon.’

      It was the truth, but she knew she could not let the comment go unchallenged. ‘Why not?’

      ‘Because it’s only been a couple of weeks since.’ Sara glanced away awkwardly.

      ‘He gave me my congé,’ Alice finished for her with a smile. ‘You can say the words. I’m perfectly fine with it.’ She knew whatever she said to Sara would be all round the theatre by this time tomorrow.

      ‘I thought that you and he… the way the two of you were together… that maybe you were loved up on him.’

      Alice dreaded that was what they were all thinking. She gave a scornful laugh. ‘Don’t be daft. It was an arrangement, nothing more.’ She still had her pride.

      ‘But the way you looked at one another. If Fallingham looked at me like that.’ Sara fanned a hand before her face as if just the thought brought her out in a scorching flush.

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