Page 48 of Miss Dramatic
The rain was slowing, more dripping than precipitation, and the evening had grown cool. Gavin rose, shrugged out of his jacket, and draped it around Rose’s shoulders.
That gesture—intuitive, considerate, a small gallantry—made up her mind. “I want more than a tumble, Gavin. I don’t know how much more, but a passing encounter won’t do for me either. We are starting afresh, and whatever we are embarking on, it’s not another mad gallop.”
He resumed his place beside her. “We’ll be honest and careful?”
“Honest, yes, but when you get to kissing me… Careful is beyond me, Gavin. I used to be so decorous, so ladylike. You kiss me, and my dignity deserts me.”
“Good. I wouldn’t want to be the only one feeling winded and witless over a mere glance. Did you know, these benches fold out like the seats of a traveling coach and make a very comfortable cot.”
Rose’s heart took a happy, only slightly nervous leap. “I did not know that. Perhaps you could show me?”
“I’d be delighted.”
“You saw them?” Phillip asked, joining Tavistock beneath an overhang on the terrace.
How did Phillip always manage to move so quietly? “Why do you think I asked the footmen to extinguish torches that would eventually sputter out on their own? Diana reported that Gavin was looting the Twidboro Hall pantries following his afternoon hack. Caroline saw him disappearing onto the towpath with a hamper while the ladies dressed for their evening out.”
“Shame on you, corrupting the morals of Crosspatch’s young ladies. Shame on our Gavin, for not being more discreet. What else did the girls say?”
Tavistock sorted through sororal effusions from Diana and quiet asides from Caroline. His sisters-by-marriage were every bit as astute as his marchioness, though he was only now realizing it.
“They like Mrs. Roberts.”
“As do I,” Phillip replied. “She was a friend to both me and Hecate in Hampshire, and the Earl of Nunn would have dusted off his rusty Mantons to defend her honor. Hecate has asked a few discreet questions. Mrs. Roberts did not have an easy time of it with her dashing husband.”
“‘Dashing’ seems to be all the crack with the bachelors. Amaryllis prefers that I be steady, affectionate, hardworking, and occasionally inventive.”
“Spare me.” Phillip took a sip of his drink. Brandy, from the scent. “Will Mrs. Roberts break Gavin’s heart is the question. She used him and cast him aside up north.”
“Shied at a fence, you mean?”
“I don’t know. Gavin was blessedly sparing with particulars. Said she tried to turn it into some sort of transaction. More professional entertainment. What do you make of Drysdale?”
Professional entertainmentsounded… bad to Tavistock. An actor was a professional entertainer, butnot like that. Somebody had bungled. Maybe two somebodies.
Tavistock hooked a wrought-iron chair with his boot, took a seat, and propped his feet on the table. He’d never have disrespected Amaryllis’s furniture to that extent had the terrace not been dark and deserted.
“Drysdale’s an actor,” he said. “One expects him to be engaged in playing a role, but somewhere beneath all the smiles and politesse, a real human being should dwell. I doubt I’d like the fellow inside the costumes.”
“Then why invite him and his players to join this gathering, at great expense to you and no little displeasure from your wife?”
Phillip was the sort to ponder and cogitate and pick at a problem until he’d solved it to his own satisfaction. The riddle might be how to win the hand of his darling Hecate, or it might be where to run a fence line to take best advantage of natural terrain. He was nothing if not patient and persistent.
“Why do you think I invited them here?” Tavistock asked.
“Because Gavin DeWitt is miserable and bearing up as well as he can, and we both know how that feels. We knowall too wellhow that feels. Do you truly believe that confronting his old chums and hearing a few lines from the Scottish play will tempt him from the bucolic course his womenfolk have set him on?”
Phillip took the second chair, and while he didn’t prop his feet on the table, he sprawled in an ungenteel manner Tavistock could only aspire to.
“Gavin could have got away with more time on the stage, even a career on the stage, had his sister not married me. She’sour marchionessnow. Half of Mayfair is already speculating about whether Diana can bag a title, and if so, will she look as high as her sister? Di isn’t as hugely dowered as Amaryllis was, but she’s young and lovely, and Gavin has not stinted with her settlements.”
Phillip was quiet for a moment. “I want to tell you that this is more of your typical dunderheaded overreaching. That your lordly imagination has attained new heights of invention, but you are absolutely right. Had Amaryllis married Lawrence Miller, or some other prosperous local lad, Gavin could have spent the rest of his life on stage, and Diana and Caroline could have married decent chaps who weren’t too high in the instep, provided Gavin came home occasionally to rusticate.”
Phillip took another sip of his drink. “Gavin has been moping about Crosspatch like a man pining for a long-lost love, and missing the stage might well be part of it. How does Drysdale fit into your plans?”
Phillipwouldcircle back to that. “I wanted to show dear Gavin what he’s giving up. I wanted him to rethink his decision with some relevant comparisons nearer to hand. I was all full of plans and resolve in France. Go home to London, take a proper English wife, settle down, be fruitful and dunderheaded. When I finally returned to Town and faced the reality of executing those plans… My thinking shifted.”
“And God be thanked for that. But why Drysdale? Gavin abandoned the Players, and I doubt the parting was as amicable as he claims.”
