Regency Disguise. Gail Whitiker
said thoughtfully, ‘but he may have no wish to do so. He may see nothing wrong with revealing the true identity of Valentine Lawe. Women have been writing for the stage for years, many without the need of a false identity.’
‘But I have invited a certain amount of criticism of my plays by mocking those in society I feel deserving of it, and while I sometimes chafe at Mama’s insistence upon keeping my real name concealed, there have been times when I have been glad of it,’ Victoria admitted. ‘If it was discovered that I am the author of those plays, I would be looked upon differently.’
‘By some people, yes,’ her uncle agreed. ‘But it will be your decision whether or not you wish to face them. As I said, you would not be the first woman to be revealed as a writer of material for the stage.’
‘No, but I would be the first of my mother’s children to be so revealed,’ Victoria said wryly. ‘And we both know how she would react if that were to happen. She lives in fear now of the truth being made known, especially given Mr Fulton’s ongoing interest in Winifred.’
‘Well, these are all things that must be considered prior to your accepting Sir Michael’s offer,’ Uncle Theo said. ‘While there is much to be gained, there is also a downside, and if you feel the negatives outweigh the positives, you must refuse.’
‘But if I do, what might he have to say about any future plays I write?’ Victoria asked. ‘He may feel like a lover spurned, his praise turning to condemnation because I refused to work with him. He may feel I have slighted him professionally when there was never any intention of doing so, or that I have offended him personally when that was the furthest thing from my mind.’
‘Or, he may accept that you are content to let me continue producing your plays at the Gryphon and that will be an end of it. Beyond that, I cannot speak to the direction of his response.’
Victoria sat back in her chair. Why did life have to keep taking these troubling turns? First her friendship with Alistair had gone awry, and now what seemed wonderful a moment ago had suddenly become an unwelcome weight hanging over her head. If she agreed to Sir Michael’s offer, she risked exposing herself and her family for the deception they had played. If she refused, she might hopelessly damage her career.
And then there was Alistair. What would he say if the truth about her was revealed in such a manner? What would he think if he found out she had been lying to him all along? She knew that if her lies were exposed it would be the end of any semblance of a friendship with him. ‘I don’t know what to say.’
‘Then for the moment, say nothing,’ her uncle advised. ‘I shall write back to Sir Michael and tell him I have no answer to give because Valentine Lawe is travelling on the Continent.’
‘Will he not find that strange given that my newest play has just opened?’
‘I think not. You are a creative soul. Why should he not believe that, having seen at least one performance of your play and knowing it to be a success, you would wish to escape for some much-needed rest? That is what I shall put to him and that your return is, at present, uncertain.’
‘Will he expect you to forward the letter on to me?’
‘He may, but I shall inform him that in my studied opinion, being away from everything to do with the theatre will be far more beneficial to your creative well-being than having to worry about coming up with a new play to satisfy him.’ Her uncle finished his tea and stood up. ‘I shall tell him that a mind as imaginative as yours needs time to restore itself. And I think I shall tell him in person. You know how persuasive I can be when I set my mind to it.’
‘You were not acknowledged as one of the finest actors of your time for nothing.’ Victoria likewise rose and put her arms around him. ‘Thank you. Uncle Theo. I don’t know what I would do if you were not looking out for my best interests.’
‘My dear girl, do not forget that your best interests are also my best interests. If Valentine Lawe stops writing, I shall be forced to look for a new source of material, and if you think good writers are easy to come by, think again!’
Victoria laughed, as her uncle intended she should, and when she sat down at her desk after he’d left, she found her gaze not going to her work but to the bust of Shakespeare that stood on a pedestal by the window—a Christmas present from her aunt and uncle. ‘How much simpler it would have been had I been born a man,’ she whispered to the chiselled face. ‘Then I would not have to pretend to be Valentine Lawe. I could proclaim to all the world that I am him!’
But in doing so, she would also never be anything more than a friend to Alistair Devlin and that troubled Victoria a great deal more than not being able to tell the world who she was. She hated the thought of losing whatever good opinion he might still have of her. He had already indicated that she risked damaging her reputation by spending too much time at the theatre, but her involvement did not stop at the printed page.
Sitting unnoticed in the back of her uncle’s box during rehearsals for A Lady’s Choice, Victoria had watched each of the actors perform, after which she had given her uncle her opinion of their portrayal of the part. Her uncle had then approached the actor in question and suggested any changes that were necessary. Not once had he led anyone to believe that the opinions expressed were any but his own, and, apart from the few occasions where Victoria had appeared at rehearsals, no one knew she was there. If, by chance, someone did happen to see her, her presence was accepted by the cast because she was Theo Templeton’s niece.
But Alistair Devlin was not related to her, nor was he a member of the cast. Would he be as willing to accept the role she had played as she was to rationalise her need for playing it?
It was a few days before Victoria saw Alistair again, though he was never far from her thoughts. The memory of their last encounter, combined with the knowledge that she might have to tell him the truth, served to keep him uppermost in her mind. As such, it was hardly surprising that she would have little inclination to attend a garden party to which she was quite sure he would have been invited.
‘Is this not the most beautiful place, Victoria?’ her sister asked as they strolled through the picturesque grounds of Lord and Lady Hincham’s magnificent estate. Winifred, radiant in a pale-blue gown with a lacy white shawl arranged attractively over her shoulders, all but purred with pleasure. ‘I would have loved to call this my home.’
‘I’m sure you would,’ Victoria said, ‘but, given that Lord and Lady Hincham no longer have an eligible son, the possibility is remote.’
‘Impossible, more like.’ Winifred’s pretty mouth turned down at the corners. ‘Had I come out a year earlier, I might have been able to catch Lord Clarkson’s eye, but by the time I did, he had already announced his engagement to Miss Shutters.’
‘Never mind, there are plenty of other eligible gentlemen out there,’ Victoria said, of a mood to be conciliatory. ‘Mama said Mr Fulton is quite taken with you, and there are bound to be other gentlemen anxious to secure your favour.’
‘I wish Mr Devlin was one of them.’ Winifred gazed longingly in the direction of that gentleman, who was strolling with his cousin on the lawn close to the house. ‘Unfortunately, he seems more interested in you than he ever was in me.’
Victoria felt her cheeks burn. ‘That might have been the case at one time, but I doubt it is now.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because I told him he would do better to look elsewhere.’
‘Look elsewhere?’ Winifred gasped in disbelief. ‘Why on earth would you say something so foolish?’
‘Because it is the truth. Neither he nor his family would ever approve of my outspoken nature,’ Victoria said. ‘Or of what I do.’
‘Then stop doing it,’ Winifred said, as though the solution was just that simple. ‘What woman in her right mind would not wish to marry a man like that? He is handsome and charming and—’
‘Heir