Lawe at a time when it was most important that you did and I will always think you a hero for that,’ Victoria said. ‘Goodness knows what would have happened to our family’s reputation if you had said nothing. Still, hearing you talk about my plays as though you wrote them does take some getting used to.’
‘Sometimes, I almost forget I didn’t write them,’ Laurence mused. ‘But if I don’t talk about them that way, people won’t find me convincing.’
‘Exactly, and I am perfectly content to let my plays be thought the work of my brother so that I can still appear to be the very correct wife of Mr Alistair Devlin,’ Victoria said with a twinkle in her eye. ‘But are you sure there’s nothing bothering you, dearest? You seemed in a much better frame of mind upon arrival at Mrs Blough-Upton’s house than you do upon leaving it.’
‘It’s nothing,’ Laurence said, shaking his head. ‘I’m fine.’
‘Good, then you can tell me about the young lady I saw you with not long after we arrived,’ Victoria said eagerly. ‘The very pretty one with dark hair and rather astonishing green eyes. I noticed you talking to her just before Mrs Blough-Upton swooped down and carried you off again. Who was she?’
Laurence briefly debated the wisdom of pretending he didn’t know who Victoria was talking about, but, suspecting that his all-too-observant sister was unlikely to believe it, said, ‘Her name is Lady Joanna Northrup. We met in a bookshop earlier in the day.’
‘Lady Joanna.’ Victoria’s eyes widened. ‘Good Lord, isn’t her father the new earl? The one who assumed the title after his eldest brother fell off a cliff and his nephew was shot in a duel?’
Remembering fragments of the conversation he’d had with Lady Cynthia, Laurence nodded. ‘Yes, I believe so.’ He paused, frowning. ‘I thought duels weren’t fought any more?’
‘They’re not, but gossip has it that the husband of the lady with whom Lord Foster was involved was so incensed that he punched Lord Foster in the face—’
‘A crime punishable by death,’ Laurence observed.
‘Yes, and believing himself the superior marksman, Foster offered him a challenge, only to find out he was not superior in any way. But never mind that, tell me about Lady Joanna. Wasn’t her father an archaeologist of sorts before he inherited the title?’
‘Yes. He lectured at the university and is a recognised authority on Egyptian history.’
‘How delightful! You have finally met a woman who shares your fascination with the past.’
‘She may share my fascination with the past, but she was not at all impressed with my being Valentine Lawe,’ Laurence said in a rueful tone.
‘Ah, I see. And you’re afraid,’ Victoria said slowly, ‘that having first seen you in the guise of an academic, the young lady will doubt your credibility after having seen you tonight in a far more glamorous and, therefore, less admirable role.’
‘Something like that,’ Laurence murmured. ‘My being a famous playwright didn’t impress Lady Joanna nearly as much as it did her aunt.’
‘And do you wish to impress Lady Joanna?’
Yes, he did, Laurence admitted. He had been looking forward to attending her father’s lecture tomorrow night, not only because he was interested in hearing what her father had to say, but because he wanted to see more of her. He wanted to get to know her better, to find out what she thought about matters of interest to both of them and to ask her about the time she had spent in Egypt.
But how seriously was she going to take him after having seen him tonight in the guise of Valentine Lawe? There had been no mistaking the chilliness of her greeting, nor had her manner improved as the evening wore on, Laurence acknowledged grimly. Did she already believe him a fraud? Think the only reason he had come up to her in the bookshop was to initiate a flirtation? A woman that beautiful must have numerous suitors for her hand, not to mention the fact she was the daughter of an earl and well beyond the reach of a man like him.
‘Let’s just say, I would rather not have her doubting my reasons for attending a lecture her father is giving at the Apollo Club tomorrow evening,’ Laurence said, neatly sidestepping the question. ‘She may not believe a playwright would have a genuine interest in ancient Egypt.’
‘I cannot think why. We are all entitled to more than one interest in our lives,’ Victoria said. ‘Why should someone who writes plays be any different?’
‘I don’t know, but Lady Joanna was noticeably more distant when I spoke to her this evening than she was when we met in the bookshop this afternoon,’ Laurence said. ‘Which is why I intend to do everything I can to convince her that I am an avid student of history and that my appreciation of all things Egyptian is genuine. And you can be sure I plan on doing it sooner rather than later!’
Acting on his convictions, Laurence did not wait until the lecture to settle matters between Lady Joanna and himself. He suspected he wouldn’t have much time to talk to her after the lecture, and that even if he did, it would not be with any degree of privacy, so he decided to pay a call on her at home the following afternoon and to use Volney’s book as an excuse for stopping by.
As such, he dressed carefully for the interview, choosing a well-cut jacket of dark-green kerseymere over a linen shirt and breeches. With it, he wore a pristine white cravat, a very pale-gold waistcoat and boots that, though polished to a high sheen, bore no fancy tassels or spurs. He was determined that when he saw Lady Joanna again, his appearance would in no way remind her of the man she had seen last night.
Unfortunately, when he was shown into the elegant drawing room of the house on Eaton Place, it was to find her in the company of an older woman; one whose wide-eyed expression upon hearing his name confirmed Laurence’s fears that the anonymity he had hoped for would not be forthcoming.
He advanced, somewhat hesitantly, into the room. ‘Good afternoon, Lady Joanna.’
‘Mr Bretton.’ She looked like a vision of spring in a white-muslin gown encircled by a band of pale-green silk, with a darker paisley shawl draped over her shoulders. Her hair, reflecting shades of copper and gold in a bright shaft of sunlight, was arranged in a loose cluster of curls around her face and she looked, in every way, the picture of feminine grace and refinement. But her brow was furrowed and her expression left Laurence in no doubt as to where he stood in her estimation. ‘I had not thought to see you until the lecture this evening.’
‘That was my intention,’ Laurence said, ‘but I had errands that brought me in this direction and I decided to take the opportunity to drop off Volney’s Travels on the way.’ He set the book on the table beside her chair. ‘I thought you might like to start reading it before the weekend.’
‘How thoughtful.’ Her eyes fell hungrily to the book, but Laurence knew good manners would prevent her from opening it. Instead, she looked up at him and said, ‘Are you acquainted with my aunt, Mrs Gavin?’
‘I have not had the pleasure, no.’
‘Ah, but I know you, Mr Bretton,’ said that lady with a smile. ‘Or rather, I know of you and I am very pleased to make your acquaintance. Unlike my niece, I have seen all of your plays and enjoyed them very much.’
‘Thank you, Mrs Gavin,’ Laurence said, liking the rosy-cheeked lady and grateful for
