said generously. ‘But what man is going to want me, Papa? A woman who writes plays and even takes a hand in producing them? I am destined to become an ape-leader.’
Her father chuckled. ‘Nevertheless, you must make an effort. Marriage will give you a home and children of your own, and who knows? If you have enough, you might be able to form your own troupe!’
Victoria burst out laughing. Only her father would say something like that—and only when her mother wasn’t in the room. ‘Dearest Papa. I hate to think what Mama would say if she heard you trying to persuade me in such a manner.’
‘No more than I, Victoria,’ her father replied with a smile. ‘No more than I.’
Chapter Three
Lord and Lady Holcombe lived in a magnificent house filled with more exquisite artwork than many of London’s finest museums. The walls were covered with paintings by every famous painter, living and dead, and entire rooms had been given over to showcase the hundreds of sculptures and historical relics Holcombe had collected during his travels around the world.
Meandering through one such room filled with ancient Roman artefacts, Alistair stopped to admire a jewel-encrusted dagger and wondered if anyone would notice if he slipped out through the French doors. As much as he liked the marquess and his wife, they really did invite the most boring people to their gatherings. If he heard one more lurid tale about Lady Tavistocke taking up with a gondolier, he would go mad! Surely there were more interesting topics to discuss? The deplorable conditions in the East End. The bodies found floating in the Thames. Riots and child labour and conditions in the mills. Anything but this mindless prattle …
‘—think Shakespeare was intent on pointing out the frailty of the human mind,’ he heard a woman say. ‘Lady Macbeth was clearly mad, but was it due to the guilt she felt over the murder she convinced her husband to commit, or as a result of her own unending quest for power?’
Alistair frowned. A bluestocking at the Holcombes’?
He turned to see who was speaking—and promptly bumped into another young lady who had clearly been waiting to speak to him. ‘I beg your pardon—’
‘No, that’s all right, Mr Devlin,’ the lady said, blushing furiously. ‘It would be difficult not to bump into someone with so many people crammed together in one place.’
She smiled up at him in a manner that led Alistair to believe they had previously been introduced, but while her face was familiar, her name escaped him entirely. ‘Are you having a good time, Miss …?’
‘Bretton.’ She pouted prettily. ‘We met two weeks ago at the Roehamptons’ reception. I was hoping you might remember me.’
He didn’t remember her. He remembered her name. ‘You’re Victoria Bretton’s sister?’
Her smile faltered, as though he had said something distasteful. ‘Yes. Do you know my sister?’
‘We met last night at the Gryphon.’
‘You spoke to Victoria?’
‘Indeed. I had the pleasure of conversing with her at the conclusion of the play.’
‘A play, which, as I recall, you enjoyed very much.’
Alistair smiled. Oh yes, he knew that voice. Lower pitched and decidedly less breathless, it was not in the least anxious or in any way eager to please. ‘Good evening, Miss Bretton.’ He turned to find the elder Miss Bretton looking up at him. ‘What a pleasure to see you again.’
‘How nice of you to say so. Mr … Devlin, wasn’t it?’
Her deliberate hesitation made him smile. ‘I’m flattered you would remember.’
‘Why would I not? It was only last night.’
‘Yet how long the night seems to one kept awake by pain.’
She raised an eyebrow in surprise. ‘I doubt you were in pain, Mr Devlin. Unlike Saurin’s Guiscard.’
‘Ah, but you do not know how I suffered in being so cruelly dismissed.’
The effect of this rejoinder was to make her laugh. ‘You were not dismissed. And even if you were, it was not with any degree of cruelty.’
‘Victoria, how nice of you to join us,’ her sister interrupted in a chilly voice. ‘When last I saw you, you were enjoying the pleasure of Mr Compton’s company.’
Alistair frowned. ‘Mr George Compton?’
‘Yes. Victoria was partaking in a most lively conversation with him.’
‘It was not a lively conversation, nor did I particularly enjoy it,’ Victoria said. ‘I made the effort because Mama asked me to, but having now fulfilled my social obligation, I am ready to go home. She sent me to ask if you would like to leave as well.’
‘I would rather not.’ Winifred sent Alistair a coquettish glance. ‘I am enjoying a conversation with Mr Devlin.’
‘So I see. Unfortunately, Mama said that if you were not ready to leave, she would like you to keep her company for a while. Papa is playing cards and you know she doesn’t like to be left alone at these large gatherings.’
‘But surely you can keep her company,’ Winifred said. ‘You don’t have to go home right away.’
‘In fact, I do. I promised Laurence I would help him with a project and I know he would like to work on it this evening. I am sorry, Winnie,’ Victoria said gently, ‘but I really do have to leave.’
Alistair wisely remained silent. It was obvious the younger Miss Bretton wasn’t happy at being summoned back to her mother’s side, but equally obvious that she knew better than to make a scene in front of an eligible gentleman.
‘Oh, very well.’ Winifred glared at her sister, then turned to offer Alistair an apologetic smile. ‘I’m sorry we are unable to finish our conversation, Mr Devlin. I hope we will have an opportunity to do so the next time we meet.’
‘I look forward to it, Miss Winifred.’
It was the polite thing to say, and when Alistair saw the sparkle return to the girl’s lovely green eyes, he knew it had been the right thing. But he waited until she was safely out of range before saying to the lady who remained, ‘Is your sister always so brusque, Miss Bretton?’
‘Only with me.’ Her smile appeared, but Alistair thought it vaguely preoccupied. ‘She can be exceedingly pleasant to people whose company she enjoys.’
‘She doesn’t enjoy yours?’
‘My sister does not entirely approve of me. She believes I am too opinionated and that I speak my mind when I would do better to keep silent. She also thinks I spend too much time at the theatre associating with people who are not worthy of my regard. An opinion shared by my mother and a number of others in society, I suspect.’
‘They are not wrong,’ Alistair pointed out bluntly.
‘No,
