Love Plays a Part (26 page)

The earl gave her a curious look. “Not many young women are as innocent as you. And London-bred girls learn early how to look out for themselves. That’s why they have no qualms about moving up in the world.”

Samantha shook her head. “My mama would turn over in her grave at such a thought. And my papa -”

Roxbury eyed her shrewdly. “You seem to have had a rather irregular upbringing. What did your father do?”

Samantha thought fast. “He - he was a steward. In the country.” Desperately she looked out over the theatre, seeking something to divert him from this dangerous subject. “Who is that strange-looking man in the pit?” she asked. “The one with the lemon trousers and the pink satin waistcoat.”

Roxbury glanced down and shrugged his broad, well-clad shoulders. “That’s James Baillie of the Sixteenth Lancers.”

Samantha eyed the man curiously. He had topped his waistcoat with a coat of sky blue and a gaudy cravat, and his hair descended to his shoulders in actual ringlets. Samantha turned a startled face to his lordship. “Do you suppose he thinks he looks - elegant?”

Roxbury smiled slightly. “I suppose he does. How does he look to you?”

“He looks just plain silly,” she replied. “I don’t see how he can possibly believe otherwise.”

The earl’s smile broadened. “I’m afraid some men did not listen carefully to the Beau. It is neatness and cleanliness that count, not the kind of eccentricity that makes one the center of all eyes.”

Samantha nodded. Certainly his lordship was a fine example of what he had said. Nothing particular about him attracted notice, yet he was eminently well turned out.

She continued to regard the boxes around her. More than once she discovered that she was being ogled by some young buck. Though her color grew higher, she refused to let these men intimidate her and stared back with all the hauteur of a dragonish dowager.

“You adapt well to the ways of the
ton,”
said his lordship. “And here I thought that you might be disconcerted by such stares.”

Samantha shook her head. “You forget, milord, I have been around society for some time now. Besides, I have had the inestimable experience of being in
your
presence.”

The earl’s slight nod acknowledged the hit. “Touché. I shall endeavor to be on my best behavior. I greatly look forward to your views on Kemble’s Brutus. They will be of great interest to me.” He leaned forward and stared at her intently.

Samantha felt her color rising, yet how could she protest? He had not uttered a single rakish word. Indeed, he had in fact been discussing the theatre. Still, she felt more than a little discomfort, and her pleasure at seeing the curtain rise was not entirely due to anticipation of the play.

As the performance proceeded, Samantha watched intently, her eyes alert for every nuance of tone or expression, especially from Kemble. She congratulated herself that his lordship’s box was quite near the stage. Still, she had not the same good view of the characters that backstage at Drury Lane provided her.

Continually she reminded herself to keep an open mind, but just as continually she found herself thinking of this or that piece of business that Kean might have used. In spite of all her good intentions, she was unable to find many beauties in Kemble’s Brutus. Of course, his stature and dignified mien were of some help, but not much. Perhaps most intensely of all she missed the rapid play of emotions that Kean’s face always revealed. Aside from certain stock expressions and gestures, Kemble seemed to give little regard to the display of emotion. Samantha sighed heavily. Perhaps this man with his exaggerated contortions had once been a great actor, but it was eminently clear to her that such a day was past. Kemble had been superseded by another, who was so close to nature and its reality that there actually seemed to Samantha to be no part that he could not play - and that better than any man living.

As the curtain fell for intermission, a voice spoke from the doorway. “Well, well. Here you are, Roxbury.” Lord Byron stepped into the box. “And out with a new highflier too. What will the little seamstress say?”

The earl sent Byron a dark look, and Samantha felt embarrassed. “I suggest you attend to your eyes,” said Roxbury with a scowl that darkened his face even more. “This is Miss Everett.”

Byron advanced further into the box and raised a quizzing glass. Carefully he surveyed Samantha from head to toe. The high color remained in her cheeks, but she refused to lower her eyes.

“Well?” said the earl irritably, clearly not caring for this procedure.

“By Jove!” exclaimed Byron. “The little seamstress has been transformed into a lovely lady. And to think that I once called her plain.”

“Byron!” Roxbury was quite plainly angry now, but the poet did not seem to care. Samantha wondered if he were far into his cups.

“Really, milord,” she interspersed smoothly. “Do not distress yourself over Lord Byron’s rudeness. After all, this is not the first time I’ve been called plain.” Both men looked at her strangely, and for a moment she thought his lordship had remembered. But she really did not care; her hackles were up.

The earl still looked at her strangely, but Byron laughed sardonically. “Ah, my boy, she’s hipped now. Wait till you get home. It’ll be a long chase tonight.”

Waves of fury swept over Samantha. What arrogant, puffed-up fools men could be. “I’m afraid you quite mistake yourself,” she said to Byron with icy politeness. “The earl and I have not the sort of alliance you seem to presuppose. Nor will we ever. We happen to enjoy the theatre together. That is all.”

Byron’s dark eyes regarded her cynically. “Of course, of course. Roxbury is well known among the ladybirds for his stimulating - conversation.”

The earl half-rose from his chair, looking as though he might at any moment lose control and toss the poet over the railing to the pit below. His brows were drawn together in a thunderous frown, his mouth was a tight line, and his eyes had gone dark and hard.

Samantha put all the sting she could into her next words. “The fact that
you
cannot recognize a relationship other than carnal,” she said with a look of disdain, “does not mean that Roxbury cannot.”

Byron considered this for a moment and then laughed harshly again. “It’s a great game you’re playing, but only that. Women are good for certain things. Intellectual conversation is
not
one of them.”

The earl rose to his feet, and Samantha could feel the tension in the air. “I believe we are no longer desirous of your company, Byron. I suggest you leave. Now.”

“Of course, of course.” Byron moved toward the door. “Imagine, Roxbury in a platonic relationship. It’s incredible.” He was still shaking his head as the door closed behind him.

The earl resumed his seat with a sigh. Samantha’s anger had faded now, but she thought Roxbury might be upset with her. There was silence between them for some moments, and Samantha grew increasingly uneasy. Finally she could stand it no longer. Better to speak and know how he was feeling than to sit and wonder. She took a deep breath. “Are all poets so - so -”

“Caustic?” suggested his lordship. His tone was relatively even, and she swallowed a sigh of relief.

“Yes, that’s an accurate word,” she replied, keeping her tone light.

The earl sighed and shrugged his shoulders. “I suppose we must consider the source. Byron is not the kindest of men under ordinary circumstances, and now -”

“Now?” asked Samantha. “What unusual circumstances would condone such gross rudeness?”

Roxbury gave her a funny look. “You might consider that your own reaction was a little excessive.”

“Excessive?” She heard her voice rising but could not prevent it.

The earl nodded. “Excessive,” he repeated. Then, seeing her expression, he hastened to add, “Softly, Samantha, softly. Remember where you are. Now, as to Byron’s situation - his relationships with women have not been successful. First, there was Caro Lamb. What that woman did to him was way beyond the line. And then his wife. Left him and with scandal.” The earl shook his head. “No, I fear we shall have to forgive the poet. This time at least.”

“You
may forgive him,” Samantha said. “I shall not. I do not know anything about this Caro Lamb - or Lord Byron’s wife. Nor do I want to,” she added hastily. “But little as I do know about Lord Byron, it is easy enough to imagine what kind of thing was going on.”

Roxbury frowned. “Your imagination is probably sufficient to the task. But Byron is a proud man, and for Caro Lamb to cut her wrists in public like that at Lady Cholmondoley’s ball -”

“She
what?”
Samantha’s eyebrows shot up.

“Slashed her wrists,” repeated Roxbury.

“How horrible!”

“And how unmannerly,” added the earl with a dry smile.

“How can you speak so coolly of such a terrible thing?” Samantha asked.

The earl shrugged. “She did not really hurt herself. Nor did she intend to. She only wanted to shame Byron after he terminated their affair.”

Samantha shuddered. “It sounds just horrible.”

“For Caro it was probably just another adventure.”

“That is unkind!” cried Samantha. “Perhaps she loved him.” Her own heart was beating rapidly, and she could not forbear from speculating as to what
she
would do in similar circumstances. Surely she would not do such a dramatic thing. But then, how could she judge another woman harshly for seeking some way out of her suffering.

“Caro Lamb is incapable of love,” replied his lordship. “She did not love her husband, William, or she would not have made a public fool of him. Nor could she have loved Byron in the way I believe you use the word, or she would not have treated him as she did.”

Samantha did not reply to this. First, she was much aware that she did not know anything about Caro Lamb. And second, she was afraid of giving herself away. The depth of her reaction to Byron’s desertion of a woman who had once meant much to him told her clearly that she was contemplating the time when the earl would tire of her company. She had only known his lordship’s companionship, disregarding those several kisses; how much harder it must be to have known the fullness of a man’s love and then be abandoned. She could never stand that; she felt it instinctively.

“I suggest that we leave the subject of Byron and his
amours,”
said his lordship with a strange look. “It is certainly not conducive to pleasure for either of us. Besides, the curtain should be rising soon. Unless you do not wish to see the rest of the play.”

“Oh, no!” cried Samantha quickly. Then, aware that her eagerness might be misinterpreted, she hurried to add, “That is, I want to give Kemble a fair chance.” She managed a small smile. “I should not want to be accused of being unfair.”

“Heaven forbid,” declared his lordship dryly.  

* * * *

And so they watched the rest of the play - and even the afterpiece. As the curtains fell and the earl moved to help her with her cloak, Samantha felt a distinct sense of disappointment. Their evening together was over, and there would never be another like it - not now that she knew what the
ton
would make of it. She turned to his lordship. “In spite of the fact that you tricked me into coming,” she said with a small smile, “I enjoyed this evening. Or, at least, the play,” she amended quickly.

A strange glint appeared in his lordship’s eye. “How fortunate for me that you did not en joy Byron.”

Samantha shook her head. “Now, milord, you have behaved so admirably this evening. Do not spoil it.”

The earl sighed in affectation. “You are extremely unfair, Samantha, my pet. I spend the whole evening with this vision of loveliness, and I am forbidden to press my suit. Certainly this is grossly unfair. How am I to encompass my object if I am forbidden to mention the subject?”

As he spoke, he was placing the cloak around her shoulders. He lifted a stray curl, and his fingers lingered overlong on the nape of her neck. Samantha felt a warm melting that wanted to creep over her.

“A man of your parts and experience,” she said, moving slightly to escape his touch, “doubtless has many ways of achieving the same effect.”

The earl gave her a quick, reproachful glance, to which she returned a bright smile. “I fear your idea of my reputation may be inflated,” he commented dryly.

“
Did you not admit to being a rake?” asked Samantha.

He nodded. “Yes, but so might any lord in London. One can hardly be fashionable otherwise.” He tucked her arm through his and led her toward the door of the box. “Would you have me be unfashionable?” he asked with a wicked grin.

“I would -” began Samantha and stopped suddenly. She did not intend to fall into his trap. “What I would have you be is quite immaterial,” she said as they stepped out into the corridor.

“You know that is not the case,” replied the earl, looking down at her warmly, so warmly that she felt her heart begin to flutter. “What you would have me be is of great import to me.” He said this in such an intimate tone that her knees trembled. For a moment she thought her legs might refuse to hold her, but as he took a step, she was able to follow.

They did not speak much as they made their way through the crowd. The stairs were so thronged that conversation was almost impossible. The crush of people was a little frightening to Samantha, accustomed as she was to being  backstage till the crowd had left.  It seemed as though she had never seen so many people in so little space.

The carriage was waiting for them, the earl’s coachman having arrived early, and he resolutely held his ground till their approach. As his lordship helped Samantha in, the babel of noise around her grew even louder. Coachmen vying to get in close shouted and cursed at each other. The earl shook his head. “What a vocabulary sweet young ladies hear in this place. No doubt their education is given a great setback.”

“A lady simply doesn’t
hear
such things,” Samantha replied. “They don’t register in her mind.”

The earl looked at her strangely. “For a young woman who has no desire to move up in the world, you know a great deal about ladies.”