No Role For A Gentleman. Gail Whitiker

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      Joanna thought the opinion a trifle unfair given that her aunt had never set foot in the country, but neither could she entirely find fault with the assessment. Egypt was dirty and poverty stricken and populated by some very questionable types—but there was so much to see and discover that the one negated the other. Tremendous finds had been made in the last few decades. Travellers were flocking to the banks of the Nile to see the wonders being discovered there, while explorers following in the footsteps of James Bruce and Giovanni Belzoni were setting out to uncover the tombs of long-dead kings, hoping to find in those burial chambers a cache of precious metals and jewels. And, more importantly, clues to deciphering the mysteries of the past.

      Joanna sincerely hoped her father would find such a tomb one day and that she would be at his side when he did. Together, they would see sights no English man or woman ever had and perhaps be able to write another chapter in the history of the world.

      It was hard to believe anyone wouldn’t view such a marvellous trip as the opportunity of a lifetime.

      Mr Laurence Bretton certainly had. His candid statements and earnest manner had left Joanna in no doubt as to his desire to visit Egypt and, despite the impropriety of his conduct, she was not sorry he had come up to her in the shop. Though he reminded her of one of her father’s students with his wire-rimmed spectacles, rumpled jacket and studious air, he was clearly an educated man. Intelligent, well spoken and dedicated to uncovering the mysteries of a bygone age, he was a far cry from the dandies and fops who were more concerned with the cut of their coats than with the secrets of the past. She was looking forward to seeing him again for that reason alone.

      The fact he had the most astonishing blue eyes and one of the most attractive smiles she had ever seen really had nothing at all to do with it.

      At half past nine that evening, Laurence stood in his dressing room as his valet ran a brush over the back and shoulders of his perfectly fitted black velvet coat. Though the cut of the habit à la française was at least a decade out of date, it was perfectly in keeping with the role he would be playing tonight. That of Valentine Lawe, the wildly successful playwright, whose most recent work, A Lady’s Choice, was once again playing to packed houses at the elegant Gryphon Theatre.

      ‘Laurence, are you almost ready to go?’ his sister enquired from the doorway. ‘If we do not leave soon we are going to be late and that would be shockingly bad mannered given that you are the guest of honour.’

      ‘I am not the guest of honour, Tory,’ Laurence said, surveying the froth of lace at his throat with a critical eye. It was a touch more flamboyant than usual, but, given the nature of the event, he doubted it would go amiss. Lydia and her friends did so love a touch of the dramatic. ‘I am but one of the many guests Lydia will have invited and, in such a crowd, I doubt she will even notice what time we arrive.’

      ‘Oh, she’ll notice,’ Victoria said with a feline smile. ‘The widow is over the moon at being able to tell her friends that the famous playwright, Valentine Lawe, will be at her gathering this evening. She is but another of your many conquests, my dear, and I do believe she is hoping for an opportunity to further the acquaintance, if you know what I mean.’

      Laurence frowned, all too aware of what his sister meant and none too pleased by the implication. ‘Thank you, but I have absolutely no intention of becoming the latest in a long line of Lydia’s discarded lovers, nor a potential candidate for her third husband. She may be one of the wealthiest widows in town, but having spent more time in her company than I like, I understand why people say what they do about her.’ He cast a last look at his appearance and then nodded his satisfaction. ‘Thank you, Edwards. As usual, you have done an excellent job of turning me out in a manner suitable to the occasion.’

      ‘My pleasure, Mr Bretton.’

      As the valet bowed and withdrew, Victoria picked up the boutonnière resting on the dressing table and drew out the pin. ‘Are you sure you want me to come with you tonight, dearest? You really don’t need me at your side any more. Lord knows, you’ve attended enough gatherings in the guise of Valentine Lawe to be able to carry it off without any assistance from me.’

      ‘Be that as it may, I like having you there,’ Laurence said, watching his sister pin the velvety-red rose close to his collar. ‘You are a refreshing breath of reality in the midst of all this madness.’

      ‘Madness you invited upon yourself,’ Victoria murmured, stepping back to survey her handiwork. ‘You were the one who volunteered to step into the role of Valentine Lawe. Before that, he existed only in my mind, the nom de plume behind which I wrote my plays.’

      ‘Exactly. Valentine Lawe is your creation so it is only right that you be there to hear the compliments being showered upon his … or rather, your plays,’ Laurence said. ‘Besides, what else have you to do this evening? I happen to know that your husband is otherwise engaged.’

      ‘Yes, but don’t forget that I am helping his cousin Isabelle plan her wedding, as well as picking out furnishings for the orphanage, and all while endeavouring to write a new play. I have more than enough to do and not nearly enough time in which to do it.’

      ‘Nonsense. Your mother-in-law is overseeing most of the arrangements for Isabelle’s wedding,’ Laurence said, ‘and your husband has more than enough servants to attend to the requirements of his new orphanage. As for the play, I have every confidence in you penning yet another masterpiece that will garner the same high level of praise as your last four. Besides, you know you will have a much better time if you come with me.’

      ‘I’m not so sure about that,’ Victoria said. ‘Lydia Blough-Upton has never been one of my favourite people. She is an outrageous flirt, an insatiable gossip and she continues to make her feelings for you embarrassingly obvious. Still, I suppose I do owe you a few more favours. Your stepping forwards to assume the role of Valentine Lawe has certainly allowed my life to return to normal, though given what it’s done to yours, I do wonder if it wouldn’t have been easier just to admit that I wrote the plays and see how it all turned out.’

      ‘In some ways, I suspect it would,’ Laurence said, removing his spectacles and placing them on the dressing table. He only needed them for reading and, given that they did nothing for the image he was trying to convey, he felt no grief at leaving them behind. ‘No doubt you and Winifred would have been shunned by good society for a time and our family would have been ignored by those who felt it wasn’t the thing for the daughter of a gentleman to write plays that mocked society and the church.’

      ‘I do not mock the church,’ Victoria said defensively. ‘Only those who draw their livings from it and you cannot deny there is more than enough room for ridicule in that. As to society, I suspect the furore would have eventually died down, replaced by an even more scandalous bit of gossip about someone placed far higher up the social ladder than me. But when I see how much happier Mama and Winifred are with you in the role of Valentine Lawe than me, I have to believe you did the right thing, Laurie. Even if you did fail to give it the consideration it deserved.’

      ‘I gave it no consideration whatsoever.’

      ‘Exactly, and taking that into account, I think it has all turned out very well. Besides, only think how disappointed the young ladies would be if they were to find out that you are not the dashing and very eligible playwright they have all come to know and admire.’

      ‘I doubt it would trouble them overly much,’ Laurence said, thinking not for the first time of the lovely and erudite Miss Joanna Northrup, a lady he tended to believe would be far more impressed with his intellectual abilities than his СКАЧАТЬ