Page 29 of Miss Dramatic
Mama hadn’t been married to the man. “You need not say anything,” Rose went on, “but I wanted the truth aired between us, lest you… be deceived.”
Gavin tucked his sprig of lavender into his lapel. “To guard one’s dignity, and the dignity of a departed spouse, is not a deception. You were and are entitled to your privacy, and you deserved much better from your husband.”
She’d expected him to offer some polite platitude made substantial by his sincere gaze and beautiful diction, not… not understanding. Not judgment of Dane.
“For the most part, I can manage well enough. I’m fine. I understand what’s expected of me, and I know my lines. But sometimes…”
Gavin’s smile was wan. “You want to curse and rail at the night sky, to fling profanities to the heavens, and tempt the wrath of fate with your honesty.”
Also to throw a few slippers at Dane’s portrait. “Very Shakespearean, Mr. DeWitt.”
Whatever Gavin might have said next was obliterated by the third dinner bell. Rose lined up at the buffet, her partner for the evening to be Miss Peasegood, while Lady Phillip appropriated Mr. DeWitt, who politely winged his elbow.
He’d meant to warn Rose about the invitation to Drysdale’s Players, but Rose had not meant to admit the truth of Dane’s passing to anybody. Why confide that to Gavin DeWitt, of all people?
A fresh start, indeed.
But upon what?
ChapterSeven
“I gather Phillip told you?” Hecate murmured as Gavin accompanied her to a small table on the river side of the supper tent. “Your old chums will be doing a few scenes fromA Midsummer Night’s Dreamfor us, among other offerings. Tavistock meant to see that you were warned, but he’s busy playing host.”
Gavin did not know Hecate well, but he’d had several days in Hampshire to observe her at close range. She had a thespian’s ability to control her features, voice, and posture such that what information she gave away, she usually meant to convey.
Not always. The softness in her gaze when Phillip was in the room was likely beyond her control, as was the genuineness of her smile. She was dignified, but honest, and Gavin liked that about her.
“Phillip mentioned that Drysdale and his troupe would be providing some entertainment,” Gavin said, assisting the lady into her chair. “I’m sure your guests will enjoy the diversion.”
He took his seat, which allowed him a view of the other diners. He and Hecate occupied an open corner of the tent, while Rose and Miss Peasegood were about halfway down on the same side. Without doing anything fancy to her hair, in the plainest frock, wearing only a simple bracelet, Rose outshone all the other women. The contrast had to do with that indefinable quality ofpresence, which actors coveted above all other traits.
“Whatever passed between you and Mrs. Roberts,” Hecate said, whisking her table napkin across her lap, “you still care for her.”
The situation was much, much worse than mere caring. “Mrs. Roberts is an estimable lady, and our views march on many matters. I take it Lord Phillip has been telling tales out of school?”
“Don’t be fanciful. Phillip would never betray a confidence. I watched you and Mrs. Roberts in Hampshire. She could have wrangled a marriage proposal from Uncle Nunn, a cordial and platonic union, but it was you she watched when nobody was looking. Let’s have some of that punch, shall we? This batch turned out exceptionally well.”
Punch, indeed. Hecate’s Uncle Nunn, known to any outside the family as the Earl of Nunn, was an upright fellow of significant self-regard and even more significant acreage.
Gavin passed over one glass and held up the second. “To successful gatherings.”That ended soon and without drama.
“I expect this gathering will be successful,” Hecate said. “The guest list all but formed itself.” She cut a slice of rolled-up ham and commenced eating.
“How does a guest list form itself?”
“Amaryllis suggested we start with Lady Iris and Miss Peasegood, who are cousins. They expressed great fondness for Mrs. Booker, who was married to another cousin, and opined that Mrs. Booker was particularly close to a neighbor in Mayfair…”
“Lady Duncannon?”
“The very one, and so it went. The guests know each other better than their hostesses know the guests. A curious situation, but off to a congenial start.”
Gavin surveyed the food on his plate, the usual artful presentations of cold meat, cheese, two slices of pale bread, some sort of peach-garnished crème brûlée tart. Simple, delectable summer fare for which he had little appetite.
Rose had not loved her husband as Gavin had believed she had. She had esteemed Dane, clearly, but she’d also… resented him. His death had left her with guilt and more resentment, and all that romance up in Derbyshire had been about more than a first attempt at merry widowing.
When she’d served up that confession, Gavin had wanted to take her in his arms and… what? Comfort her, of course. He knew what it was to resent close ties that one also valued, but he’d also wanted to—
“You should eat something,” Hecate said. “At supper, one usually partakes of the food. Mrs. Roberts will still be there if you happen to look away for a moment.”
