Page 41 of Three Weeks with a Princess
Mama hesitated, as if weighing the question. But then one side of her mouth lifted in a grimace. “I’m sorry, dearest, but it can be fatal for an actress to become the object of mockery, even a comic actress. Serena is too sensitive, but I understand her concern.”
Clearly, Marianne Lester sympathized more with her fellow actress than she did with her own daughter. That ugly little morsel of truth was a hard swallow.
“But what am I to do?” Lia felt so miserable and desperate that her chest hurt. “You know better than anyone how limited my choices are. I can’t become a governess or a companion to a wealthy invalid—no one would have me.” In any case, those professions were akin to indentured servitude as far as she was concerned.
Her mother folded her hands in her lap and adopted a perfectly calibrated expression of maternal regret. If only she truly were that maternal instead of playacting at motherhood.
“My dearest daughter, it grieves me to the soul to be the one to bring about the ruination of your fondest dream.”
When she heaved a dramatic sigh, fluttering a hand up to her heart, Lia had to work hard not to roll her eyes.
“But I fear I must,” her mother continued. “To be blunt, you are not meant for a career on the stage. You are most welcome to remain with us in London for a spell. Your stepfather and I quite value your help backstage. But that is only a temporary solution. Sooner or later, I think you must return to Stonefell. I’m sure Lord Lendale will come up with some solution to your problem if you give him half a chance.”
She shook her head. “That’s not a helpful suggestion, Mama. You know Jack can’t afford to support us. If you won’t let me continue with you, I will have to try another acting company. Perhaps you could put in a good word for me with some of the other company managers?”
Her mother practically toppled off her stool. “I will do nothing of the sort. Can you imagine the gossip if we were to compete against each other in different theaters? I would be utterly humiliated—not to mention roundly criticized for not supporting my daughter in my own company.”
It dawned on Lia that her mother’s refusal to help must be based at least partly on jealousy. Though Marianne Lester was incredibly popular and still very beautiful, the slightest hint of competition seemed too horrifying to contemplate, even if it meant depriving her daughter of the opportunity to make her way in the world.
As Lia struggled to absorb the pain of that betrayal, a knock on the door interrupted them. Her stepfather cautiously opened the door. “I hate to interrupt, my love, but you and Lia have some visitors most eager to see you.”
His wife fluttered her handkerchief in a distracted manner. “Stephen, I simply cannot bear the green room tonight. And Lia will certainly not be going out in public. You must make our excuses.”
“They’re not in the green room, they’re—”
Stephen bit off his words as the door jerked fully open and Jack elbowed him aside. Lia let out a quiet moan; it wanted only this to complete her humiliation. She’d seen Jack up in the boxes, of course, but she’d been certain he’d be too appalled by her performance to want anything to do with her.
“Sweetheart, are you all right?” he asked, crouching down and taking her hands. “You didn’t get hurt in all that commotion, did you?”
Actually, one of the other actors had trod very hard on her foot and her toes would be bruised for days. But that hardly seemed worth mentioning at the moment.
She tried to tug her hands away, fighting an absurd desire to collapse into his arms and burst into tears. “I’m fine. There’s really no need to make such a fuss.”
His fingers tightened in a gentle but determined grip. “You’re not fine. You look whey-faced and sickly.”
“Thank you for that gracious assessment. Perhaps you’d better leave before you catch my cold.”
“You know I never get sick,” he said, ignoring her sarcastic tone.
He finally let go of one of her hands, rising to loom over her. He pressed his palm to her forehead, then her cheek. Lia suffered it with a sigh, hating that he was treating her like a child.
“Right,” he said. “You have a fever. I’m taking you to your mother’s house and putting you to bed straightaway.”
Lia blinked at the image that evoked—she and Jack in a heated tangle under crisp sheets. The notion was surprisingly enticing, especially considering how wretched she felt.
He frowned. “Now you’ve gone flushed. Clearly, the London air and this theatrical environment have damaged your health. The sooner we get you well and back to Stonefell, the better.”
He punctuated that comment by scowling at Lia’s mother, who bristled like a hedgehog, albeit one dressed as a Greek goddess.
“You needn’t lecture me, my lord,” Mama said. “I’ve been telling her to go back to Yorkshire for days.”
“Good, then we’re all in agreement,” Jack said.
Lia finally yanked her hand away and stood up. When she tried to edge away from him, she found herself half-immersed in the pile of frothy, elaborate costumes hanging from the rack behind her. Impatiently, she batted away feathers from a large purple ruff that insisted on poking her in the face.
“I amnotgoing back to Stonefell,” she said. “Jack, it’s none of your business where I go or what I do. My stepfather said I could stay in London as long as I wanted. Isn’t that right, sir?”
Stephen’s bushy eyebrows tilted up in a comically distressed slant as he cast his wife an alarmed glance. “Er, of course, my dear. For as long as you . . .” He stuttered to a stop when he took in Jack’s basilisk gaze.
