Leading Lady (56 page)

“But she’ll be at work tomorrow.”

“Sunday, then.”

“That’s four days away.”

Patience was another virtue Muriel was still in the process of learning. And she was not quite
there
yet.

She came up with a solution that was against her natural inclination to sleep late. At six o’clock the following morning while Mr. Fowler waited in the coach, she and Ham watched workers file through the entrance of a smoke-darkened brick building in Spitafields, Troughton Fine Glovers. Out of the fog still shrouding the cold street walked Leah Prescott carrying a lunch pail.

Muriel ran toward her and held her by the shoulders, ignoring the curious stares and murmurs about her. “Prescott! I’m so glad we found you!”

“Good morning, Lady Holt,” said Georgiana’s former nursemaid, but gently trying to step back out of her grasp. “I’ll be late for work.”

“But I need you! Please!”

The small brown eyes revealed no sign of emotion. Indeed, Prescott’s voice was almost lifeless as she said, “You can hire another nursemaid.”

“Yes, I can.” Muriel nodded. “But I need more than just another nursemaid. I need you to teach me how to rear my daughter.”

A wistful look washed over Prescott’s plain features. “Do you really mean that?”

“With all my heart.” Smiling, Muriel leaned down to take the pail from her hand. She set it on the pavement, where surely someone else would take advantage of it. “You don’t need that. Let’s go collect your things. I’ve a lot to do today. And the sooner they get done, the sooner we return to Georgiana.”

Forty-Two

On the fifth of June of the following year, Noah Carey let out a low groan as he stepped up under the marquee of the Royal Court Theatre. After not having picked up a sword since University, he was taking lessons for Thomas and Scott’s
The Swordsman’s Daughter,
in which he would play a Parisian fencing master.

The soreness would ease away before the production opened in six weeks, he was assured by the tutor hired by the theatre. Sir Julius Stacey was an obvious sadist who enjoyed pushing to the limit the four cast members under his instruction. But the dashing swordplay onstage would be worth a little muscle pain.

Mr. Birch met him in the lobby with expression somber. “The McGuires ask that you stop by the office, Mr. Carey.”

Déjà vu struck Noah. The last time Mr. Birch had delivered such a message, the McGuires informed him that he would probably replace Mr. Whitmore. But now that he was the Royal Court’s lead actor, there was no place to go but down.

Don’t be a pessimist,
he thought on his way down the corridor. God had blessed him more than he could have imagined. And as of four months ago, he was perfectly teamed with a lead actress, twenty-two-year-old Jessie Bateman, a veteran of theatre since playing Cobweb in
A Midsummer Night’s Dream
at the age of twelve.

But the McGuires’ expressions were as somber as Mr. Birch’s had been. Noah sat down in the extra chair and asked, “What’s wrong?”

Mr. McGuire traded glances with Mrs. McGuire. “Mr. Rigby says the managers of Prince of Wales Theatre were looking for you at the lodging house.”

Noah nodded, weaving fingers over one propped knee. “I
heard the same. But I wonder why they went out there? I’ve not lived there for months.”

He and Jude shared a tidy flat on Seville Street, just two blocks south of Hyde Park.

“In fact,” Noah mused aloud, “I wonder why they took it upon themselves to look me up at all.”

Again the husband and wife sent looks to each other. Mrs. McGuire said, “The word has been out that they’re looking for a new lead actor. And they informed Mr. Rigby you had contacted them.”

“To ask when tickets will be available,” Noah explained. “My mother is coming when
The Swordsman’s Daughter
opens, and she also wishes to see
An Ideal Husband
at the Prince of Wales.”

“Ah . . . I see.” Mr. McGuire’s frame eased in his chair.

Mrs. McGuire smiled. “So you’re still content here?”

“Content to stay here as long as you’ll have me.”

“That will be a long time!” Mr. McGuire assured him and got up from his chair to pound him upon the back.

Noah winced, and smiled. “Careful now. Fencing lessons.”

****

Bethia was relieved to hear the door open. Mr. Birch was aware that costume measurements for male cast members were to commence, and she was beginning to worry that he would be late. “The tea is still hot,” she said, turning from her sketches at the drafting table.

But it was Mr. Carey who stood inside the doorway.

“Thank you, but I’ve had tea,” he said. “Where is everybody?”

“Mr. Birch is on his way up,” she replied but realized that if that were so, Mr. Carey would have seen him. “Miss Lidstone and Mrs. Hamby are at a wedding.”

Mrs. Hamby’s younger sister Flora was the bride. Miss Lidstone would return some time after lunch, but Mrs. Hamby was taking the day off.

Not that it was any of Mr. Carey’s business, she reminded herself.

“Well, I can’t take your measurements without Mr. Birch,” she said coolly. “Will you come back in a little while?”

“Certainly.”

“Thank you.” She turned to her sketches again, picked up her pencil.

But she did not hear the door open again. She waited three seconds, four, then looked over at the actor. “Is there something else?”

He gave her a rueful look. “I guess you’ve heard?”

“Yes,” she replied. Why deny it?

“You don’t think it’s a good idea?”

She slammed down her pencil, harder than intended. “What I think isn’t the issue, Mr. Carey. But Jewel and Grady took a huge chance with you. I suppose I’m just sadly disappointed in your lack of gratitude.”

“I see.” His broad shoulders rose and fell. “It’s just that Mother is so fond of Oscar Wilde’s work.”

Bethia stared, bemused. The course of this discussion had suddenly taken a turn, leaving her standing on a corner. “What does that have to do with . . .”

“Well, I can’t rightly take her to see
An Ideal Husband
without tickets. So I rang the Prince of Wales office, and for some reason they’re out looking for me.” A corner of his mouth quirked. “They must be frightfully expensive, if their own managers are out delivering them.”

It took Bethia a moment to grasp what he was saying. “Then . . . you’re not planning to leave here?”

“Goodness, no. But it’s very admirable . . . the loyalty you have toward the McGuires.”

“Jewel’s my cousin,” she reminded him.

Mr. Carey nodded, studied her. “Is that the only reason you were disappointed?”

Bethia realized she had two choices. Coyness, which would put him under the burden of trying to coax an answer from
her somehow. Or straightforwardness. As she could expect Mr. Birch to stroll in any second, she opted for the latter.

“It wasn’t the only reason,” she said quietly. “I didn’t want you to leave.”

The actor smiled. “Does that mean ‘for the time being’ is over?”

“It is, Mr. Carey. It has been for a couple of weeks.”

“A couple of weeks? But why didn’t you say something?”

“I really tried.” Bethia returned his smile. “But you know how it is. Gender roles and such.”

****

“Please connect me with Lady Danby in Danby-dale, Yorkshire,” Noah said into the telephone mouthpiece the following morning in the flat he shared with Jude. Only, Jude would be moving out in two months, having purchased a little terrace house in Kensington.

It was one of the best things he ever did, Noah thought, encouraging Jude to write his father of his engagement to Corrie Walters. Not only did Sir Thaddeus send a cheque for a thousand pounds with the advice that Jude should get a bit of real estate and not throw money into the ash can by paying rent, but he expressed his intention to come down for the August wedding. It was as close as Sir Thaddeus could come to apologizing. Jude was happy, hence, so was Noah.

“Good morning . . . Noah?”

The hopefulness in her voice made him smile. “Yes, it’s me, Mother. And I need your advice.”

“Yes? About what?”

“What should I pack for a picnic lunch Sunday afternoon?”

“You’re going to
cook?
”

“I’m going to try,” he said.

“For how many people?”

“Two.”

“Well, now, that depends. If it’s just to be you and Jude, roast beef sandwiches will suffice; a couple of Scotch eggs and a tin—”

“Why would I want to go on a picnic with Jude?”

His mother’s sigh carried over the line, all the way from Yorkshire. “I understand now,” she said. “That was my cue to ask with whom you’re going on this picnic. Correct?”

“Not exactly.” He smiled again. “That was your cue to
guess.
”

“Miss Rayborn,” she said without hesitation.

“Why, yes. But how is it that you were so certain?”

“I wasn’t,” she confessed. “That was wishful thinking. I know how fond you are of her. Is it really so?”

“We’re going to Regent’s Park.”

“I’m happy for you, son,” she said warmly. “And I’m happy for Miss Rayborn. You deserve each other.”

He felt like a small boy being praised for reciting the alphabet. A pleasant feeling, no matter that he was two years shy of thirty. Jesting lightly, he said, “It’s just our first date, mind you.”

“Then you should have a good restaurant pack your hamper,” she said. “You’ll be wanting a second date, won’t you?”

****

With the last day of December falling on a Sunday, there were no grand-scale celebrations to mark the close of a century. The title of Vicar Streatfield’s sermon in Christ Church was
The Year of God’s Favour,
based upon readings from Ecclesiastes and Saint Luke. After services at their own churches, Noah, Jewel and Grady, Catherine and Hugh and their sons, and Jude and Corrie Nicholls came to Hampstead for lunch.

Afterward everyone gathered in the parlour, children on pillows or ottomans upon the carpet. Somewhere during the course of conversation and singing, Noah sent Bethia a covert glance. He casually left the room while Danny was playing the opening notes to “Long, Long Ago.”

Bethia waited until the beginning of the second stanza to hand Scotty down to Nicholas Sedgwick’s eager arms and get to her feet.

She met her father’s eye on her way to the door. He simply smiled and continued singing. She smiled back.

“There’s a fire lit in the sitting room,” Noah whispered in the chill corridor.

Bethia shook her head. “Not there.”

She had a strong feeling about what was coming. What other explanation could there be for her turquoise birthday ring disappearing from her jewelry box one night three weeks ago, only to reappear the following night after she had frantically searched every inch of her room and even retraced her steps? If her premonition were to prove correct, she did not want it to happen in the same room where she had spoken of the future with Guy.

“The library,” she whispered.

The room was cold, but she did not mind. The warmth in Noah’s dark eyes as he took her in his arms was enough. “I love you, Bethia.”

“I know that,” she said. “I love you too, Noah.”

He kissed her and then got down on one knee. “I can’t imagine any way I would rather begin a new century than with your promise to be my wife. Say you’ll marry me?”

“I’ll marry you,” she said, smiling down at him.

From his pocket he took a black velvet box, opened it. She moved her turquoise ring to her right hand and allowed him to slip the engagement ring onto her finger. It slid easily, of course. She lifted her hand. A cluster of seven octagonal diamonds was encompassed by twenty-four smaller diamonds and set in gold.

“Do you like it?” he asked.

As before, she would have been content with a far more modest ring. His
actions
were what proved how much he cherished her. But he was watching her face anxiously, and she would not scold him for such extravagance for anything.

“It’s beautiful,” Bethia said, watching the facets reflect light.

LAWANA BLACKWELL has eleven published novels to her credit including the bestselling
Gresham Chronicles
series. She and her husband have three grown sons and live in Baton Rouge, Louisiana.

www.lawanablackwell.com

Books by 
Lawana Blackwell

T
HE
G
RESHAM
C
HRONICLES

The Widow of Larkspur Inn

The Courtship of the Vicar’s Daughter

The Dowry of Miss Lydia Clark

T
ALES OF
L
ONDON

The Maiden of Mayfair

Catherine’s Heart

Leading Lady

The Jewel of Gresham Green

A Table by the Window

www.lawanablackwell.com