When You're Desired (16 page)

Authors: Tamara Lejeune

BOOK: When You're Desired

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“What?” cried Celia. “How did that come about?”

He smiled, pleased with himself. “I met her last night at Almack's. At the doors of Almack's, I should say, for her vouchers have been revoked.”

“No!” said Celia, laughing. “Have they really?”

“Yes, my dear. The Duchess of Berkshire had her vouchers revoked, and she could not get in, for all her three hundred thousand pounds. Miss Tinsley was beside herself. âDo you know who I am?' she fairly shrieked at the poor attendant, who, naturally, had no idea who she was. Nor did he care. Her little chaperone was in tears. I quite felt sorry for them.”

Celia laughed. “I'm sure you did.”

“Naturally, I could not leave them there weeping. So I took them to the opera. I told Miss Tinsley you had broken my heart, Celiaâthat you had thrown me over for the Duke of Berkshire and his forty thousand a year. Heartless baggage! I made her promise that she would never see her faithless Berkshire again. She made me promise that I would never see
you
again. And now,” he finished, smiling, “we are the best of friends, Miss Tinsley and I.”

“So you are taking her for a ride,” said Celia, “in more ways than one.”

He laughed. “And don't forget you promised to make me a present of a thousand pounds on my wedding day.”

“Wedding day!” Eliza cried in dismay.

“Now, don't be jealous, Lizzie,” he told her firmly. “We discussed all this.
You
have my heart, but Miss Tinsley is to have my name. I am sorry for it, but there it is. I am obliged by my circumstances to marry an heiress. One must have money, after all. You don't have to like it, but you must accept it.”

“Yes, Clare,” Eliza said meekly, hanging her head. “I know. It's just . . . 'earing you sigh âwedding dye' like that. It 'urts me 'eart.”

Taking her in his arms, he kissed her in the doorway. “If you had a fortune, my Lizzie, I'd marry you tomorrow,” he told her warmly.

Eliza brightened immediately. “Oh, Clare! Would you, really?”

“Of course I would,” he assured her. “But, as it is, I shall marry Miss Tinsley.”

“Shall I wait up for you, Clare?” she asked. “Or go to bed?”

“Both, you silly goose,” he replied, laughing.

Then he was gone.

“Did you 'ear that, Miss St. Lys?” Eliza cried, hugging herself. “If I 'ad a fortune, 'e'd
marry
me!”

Flood snorted. “Sure he'd marry
me
if I had a fortune, the low-down dirty buccaneer.”

“That,” Eliza cried in shock, “is no way to speak of the king's grandson!”

“Come, Miss Eliza,” Celia said quickly, stretching out her hand to the girl. “Come and meet everyone.”

The cast and crew had assembled in the Green Room to partake of a cold repast before going on with rehearsals. They all sat comfortably together at one long, cloth-covered trestle table, chattering and arguing and laughing like an extended family. Celia found a place for herself and Eliza on either side of Joseph Grimaldi, the famed pantomime clown.

“Miss St. Lys!” he exclaimed in mock awe. “To what do I owe this great honor?”

“This is my friend, Miss Eliza London. I'd like her to try for the maid's part tonight. If she can do it, you needn't bother.”

“Heavens! I am betrayed,” he cried.

“I thought you might work her into one of your harlequinades,” said Celia. “You should hear her sing âHot Codlins.' It's really quite amusing.”

“âHot Codlins'!” he protested, bristling with mock fury. “That's
my
song, darlings! I own it outright! Nobody ever heard of âHot Codlins' before Joe Grimaldi.”

“And nobody ever heard of Joe Grimaldi before âHot Codlins,'” Celia replied, laughing. “Come, sir, won't you let her sing it? We just want to borrow itâisn't that right, Miss Eliza? We'll give you a kiss for it,” she added.

Joe Grimaldi pretended to be quite shocked. “Oh! For shame!” he cried, making everyone within hearing laugh at the line he had uttered so often onstage.

“It's only one scene, Mr. Grimaldi,” Celia pleaded prettily, “and it would mean so much to the girl. When I first came to the theatre, you helped me. You and Mrs. Jordan. No one else had a kind word for me. When I went onstage, they'd all line up in the wings and make faces at me, and show me their arses, too! Anything to break my concentration. But you were always kind to me.”

“And now you want to help this girl?”

“If we don't, Mr. Grimaldi, who will?”

There was no softer touch in the London theatre than Joe Grimaldi. “Oh, all right!” he said gruffly. “She can have the part, steal my song, and leave me broken and bleeding on the floorâjust like every other woman in my life.”

“Thank you, Mr. Grimaldi!” said Celia, kissing his left cheek.

“Thank you, Mr. Grimaldi!” said Eliza, kissing his right cheek.

“Yes, yes,” he said, waving them off like an impatient father. “Run along now.”

Simon arrived at the theatre that evening well before the curtain was slated to rise. Upon entering his brother's box, he was surprised to find his brother there.

“What are you doing here, Dorian?” he asked, taking the seat next to his brother. “Surely the queen is expecting you to attend her drawing room tonight. If not,” he added, “your mother certainly is. You cannot spend all your nights in the theatre.”

Dorian seemed out of humor. “I have no intention of going to St. James's Palace tonight,” he said coldly. “I may never go there again. Did our mother send you here to find me?”

“No,” said Simon, puzzled. “I have not seen our mother for two days; not since we were all here together on Tuesday, playing happy family. Why should she send me to find you? Have you run away from home, Dorian?” he asked, chuckling.

“Certainly not,” Dorian snapped. “But I have removed from Berkshire House for the time being. I shall be at my club.”

“Removed from Berkshire House?” Simon repeated, startled. “Why should you do that?”

“I have my reasons,” Dorian muttered. “I would not stay another night under the same roof with that woman.”

“Well, I certainly can't blame you for
that
,” said Simon dryly. “But what did Her Majesty ever do to you? She will be expecting to see you at court. Do you really mean to disappoint her because you have had a disagreement with your mother?”

“I have not had a disagreement with my mother,” Dorian replied. “I have not spoken to her since breakfast yesterday morning.”

“She still wants you to marry Miss Tinsley and her three hundred thousands, I take it?”

Dorian glanced at him, startled. “No. Oh no! On that, at least, we are agreed.”

“Then what?” Simon asked. “What has she done that would make you leave your home in the middle of the season and hole up in your club like a fox run to ground?”

Dorian shrugged uncomfortably. “I need not explain myself to you, surely,” he said. “I promised Miss St. Lys I would attend the play tonight. We are to dine together afterward.”

“What?” Simon said sharply. “You are to dine with St. Lys?”

“With Miss St. Lys, yes.”

“And when did you make her this promise?” Simon demanded.

“I don't see what business it is of yours,” said Dorian. “And I certainly hope you have not come here tonight to browbeat her again about Sir Lucas Tinsley,” he added.

“Browbeat! Is that what she told you?”

“Yes. She told me all about it last night.”

“Last night! When did you see her last night?”

Dorian looked at him, shaking his head. “You should be ashamed of yourself, Simon. When I left the theatre, there she was. I found her hiding in my carriage, frightened to death.”

“Frightened to death,” Simon scoffed. “Frightened of what?”

“Of you, of course. She only agreed to do whatâwhat you asked of herâout of fear. But of course she couldn't go through with it. You owe her an apology.”

“So she was with you last night,” Simon murmured coldly. “I might have known! You took her to the Grillon, I suppose?”

“I had the honor of escorting Miss St. Lys to Monsieur Grillon's establishment, yes. They know her there.”

“They certainly do!”

Dorian flushed with anger. “What is that supposed to mean?” he demanded.

“I think you know what I mean, sir,” said his brother, also red with anger.

“Miss St. Lys and I dined together, nothing more. I respect her.”

Simon snorted. “Ah . . . but does
she
respect
you
?”

“Simon, I am warning you,” Dorian said stiffly. “That lady is under my protection. If you go on like this, we shall quarrel. I do not want to quarrel with you,” he added. “Apologize, if you please, and we'll say no more about it.”

“Perhaps I should apologize to
her
as well!” said Simon.

“Indeed you should,” said Dorian. “I hoped, in fact, that that was why you were here.”

“No,” Simon replied. “I have a much more agreeable reason for being here. Like you, I am come to the theatre seeking a mistress.”

“Miss St. Lys is not my mistress,” Dorian said firmly.

“No, of course not,” said Simon. “You respect her.”

Dorian hastily changed the subject. “Tell me, Simon, which lady has caught your eye? Old Mrs. Archer? I did not think you liked older women.”

“I have my eye on Mrs. Archer's daughter, as a matter of fact.”

Dorian consulted his playbill. “Ah yes! Miss Archer plays in the role of Miss Neville tonight. I suppose she's pretty?”

“You suppose correctly,” said Simon. “More than that, she is sweet and unspoiled. Quite unlike
your
treasure.
And
,” he went on, as Dorian scowled, “there is a distinct possibility that she is the natural daughter of the Prince of Wales.”

“Distinct possibility?” Dorian repeated. “What, pray, does
that
mean?”

Simon shrugged. “As you know, His Royal Highness has a strict policy against acknowledging any of his by-blows. When confronted by a rumor, he neither confirms nor denies the child. But when I mentioned Mrs. Archer to him, there was a definite gleam in his eye, and he did say that he would like to see Miss Archer, if she ever took the stage like her mother.”

Dorian frowned. “And that is why you take an interest in the girl? Because she may be the regent's natural daughter.”

“No,” said Simon. “I like her for herself alone, naturally. I hear that she is quite an accomplished actress. She was to have played Juliet last night, in fact, but St. Lys became jealous and took the part herself.”

“And she was exquisite in the role.”

“I am glad you liked her performance,” said Simon. “It will probably be the last time she is ever seen in the role.”

“Why do you say that?”

“St. Lys is almost thirty, I should think. Juliet is but fifteen.”

“Sally is but twenty-four,” Dorian said coldly. “And Juliet is not yet fourteen in Shakespeare's playâthough her age is given as sixteen in some earlier sources.”

“Sally?” Simon repeated in astonishment.

“Miss St. Lys, I should have said,” Dorian murmured. “I suppose you will be taking Miss Archer to supper after the play?” he went on quickly.

“Yes. Why not?” said Simon. “And you will be dining with St. Lys. Perhaps we might all go together. What could be more wholesome? Two actresses out on the town with their . . . protectors.”

“I shouldn't think so,” said Dorian.

“Of course. I understand. You'll want to be alone with Sally . . . the better to respect her.”

“Miss St. Lys and I have a great deal to discuss, as it happens,” said Dorian. “Anyway, you will be making love to Miss Archer. We would only get in the way.”

“Then I shall take my girl to the Pulteney,” said Simon.

“And I shall take Miss St. Lys to the Grillon.”

“Again?”

“I shall take her wherever she wishes to go,” Dorian snapped.

“Naturally,” said Simon. “But . . . what have you done with Fitzclarence?”

Dorian looked startled.