Lady Incognita (21 page)

“I have read about him in the
Morning Chronicler
said Louisa. “Is he really a small man?”

The Viscount nodded. “Yes, he is small and dark. Not very prepossessing. But when he acts you forget all that. You see him only as the character he creates. The man is a genius. He does best in tragedy, I believe. His great dark eyes seem to reach out and hold you then. The part of Kitely does not give him as much room, but still you will see him become the man - full of suspicion and fear.”

Louisa smiled. “I should like to see Kean as Othello,” she said.

Something unfathomable flashed through his eyes. Then the lazy smile returned and he drawled, “I don’t think Kean is doing Othello again this season. Perhaps next year...”

Louisa nodded, suddenly unable to speak. Did he mean that next year
he
might take her to see Othello? For a moment she felt her heart thudding in her throat. Then her practical side asserted itself. She
would
not go off on flights of fancy like that, of what might be. “Kiss the joy as it flies,” she repeated to herself. That engraver Blake had said it so well.

“The curtain is going up,” said Atherton. “I hope you enjoy the play.”

Louisa smiled, aware that she would enjoy anything if Atherton were in the seat beside her. Then, conscious of his advice, she made a concerted effort to blank out the noises around her and concentrate on the story.

As the play progressed, Louisa realized why this play was not one that had been part of her education. Winky, though personally addicted to romances, obviously did not regard such a play as this fit subject matter for the mind of a young lady.

  When Kitely agonized over the virtue of a wife and sister, who appeared to be eminently virtuous, she found herself chuckling at the little man.

How well Jonson wrote that, Louisa thought.

“My brain, methinks, is like an  hour-  glass, Wherein my imaginations run like sands, Filling up time, but then are turned and turned, So that I know not what to stay upon, And less, to put in act.”

The writer in Louisa took great pleasure in the apt simile, so very appropriate, in a different way, to her own situation.

She sat enraptured, enchanted by the amusing characters revealing themselves in their words. Long before she expected it, the curtain fell for intermission.

The Viscount smiled. “It appears that you are enjoying the play.”

“Indeed, very much,” replied Louisa.

“It
is
an amusing play,” commented Lady Constance brightly. “And Kean does very well as Kitely.”

Louisa nodded. “Yes, he does.”

Atherton’s attentions seemed suddenly diverted by a man across the way, a man whose cheerful round face Louisa recognized as that of Alvanley. “I collect that Alvanley wants to speak to me.” The Viscount looked at Louisa from under lazy lids. “I imagine he wants to check on my progress in the affair of our wager. Or, more probably, crow over my inability to discover the secret. I shall return

soon.”

As Atherton left through the door at the back of the box, Lady Constance spoke. “I’m too fatigued to promenade. Do move over closer to me so we may talk.”

Obediently Louisa moved into the seat that the Viscount had vacated. Lady Constance began to point out certain noteworthy personages as they left and entered various boxes. The names flashed by Louisa so fast that she could not always connect them with the faces. A few of them, however, she remembered from her ride in the Park: Poodle Byng with his curly hair, Lord Petersham of the beaky nose and snuff, Lord Worcester in his sky blue trousers.

“There you are, my dear,” said a voice from the back of the box.

Lady Constance turned. “Come in, come in. Louisa, have you met Lady Jersey?”

Looking up, Louisa saw a small woman, exquisitely dressed, with deep-fringed eyes that glanced at her provocatively. “Hello, Lady Jersey,” said Louisa.

“Constance, my dear,” said Lady Jersey in a rather commanding tone, “Lady Castlereagh wishes to speak to you in the corridor.”

“Of course,” replied Lady Constance, as though Jersey had every right to order her about.

As Lady Constance left, Lady Jersey settled her elegantly gowned body into the chair. “You are looking quite charming tonight, my dear.”

Such a compliment from a woman that even Louisa knew hated other women must have some import behind it. “Thank you,” she murmured.

Lady Jersey leaned closer, those deep-fringed eyes glinting conspiratorially. ‘I must congratulate you. You have become quite an item.”

“I?” replied Louisa in some surprise. “Why?”

Lady Jersey laughed, but there was no warmth in that laugh. “You are far too modest. Since Atherton has taken you up all the
ton
is buzzing as to whether he is dangling after you or whether perhaps you have something to do with his wager with Alvanley. Perhaps you know who Lady Incognita is.”

  Louisa’s heart thudded painfully in her throat. Had Jersey anything on which to base this speculation or was she merely fishing?

Jersey smiled maliciously. “We have long given up on Atherton. Certainly we never expected him to form a partiality for an unknown.” She sighed. “The man has had innumerable connections. All ineligible, of course.”

Louisa’s mouth grew suddenly dry. Could Lady Jersey have been or hope to become one of those “connections”? It was true that she was older than he, but she was still a woman of great beauty.

It was said that men adored her. And everyone knew what she had been to the Regent.

Suddenly Louisa recalled the conversation in the carriage. She would use it. “Lord Atherton is not dangling after me,” she replied with as much calm dignity as she could muster. “Nor, I’m afraid, can I help him discover Lady Incognita’s true identity. Lady Constance’s husband does not care for the theater and her brother kindly agreed to escort her.”

“And
you,”
said Jersey.

“My Mama was a friend of Lady Con-stance’s,” replied Louisa. “She has been most kind to me.”

  “I see,” said Jersey with a smile that chilled Louisa’s blood. “Let me give you a little friendly advice, my dear. Atherton is not the man for a girl like you. His taste runs to sophistication - and experience.”

Louisa’s calm turned to anger. No matter who Lady Jersey was she did not have to sit there and continue this terrible conversation. “I thank you for your advice,” she said coldly, “but it is quite unnecessary, I assure you. And now I believe I’ll stretch my legs.” And Louisa rose and marched into the corridor without a backward glance.

She had just about reached Lady Con-stance, who was
not
speaking to Lady Castlereagh or anyone else for that matter, when she felt a detaining hand on her arm and Atherton stopped her. “Louisa, are you ill? You look extremely pale.”

“I ... I have just had a quarrel with Lady Jersey.”

His eyebrows rose. “You picked a formidable antagonist.”

“I did not pick her,” faltered Louisa. “She attacked me.”

“Concerning what?” asked the Vis-count.

Too late Louisa realized the trap she had set for herself. “I ... I cannot say.”

Atherton frowned. “You mean you
will
not.”

  Louisa shook her head. “Please, do not ask me.”

The   Viscount’s   features   hardened. “Perhaps I should ask Jersey.”

“No! Oh no. Philip, you must not.”

Atherton’s eyes glittered with anger. “Understand me, Louisa. I
will
know what Jersey said to you. Now, will you tell me or shall I go to her?”

With those dark eyes on her, Louisa could only capitulate. “She ... she said I was an item of gossip.”

“
How so?”

“That, that either you were dangling after me or that you expected to win your wager through me.”

“I see.”

Louisa felt like sinking through the floor. “I know, I know it isn’t true, the part about dangling. I told her she was wrong. That you were only befriending me because of your sister and Mama.”

“And what else did she say?”

“Nothing.”

“Louisa, you are a poor liar. Now, out with the rest of it.”

  His eyes seemed to draw the words out of her. “She ... she said you were a poor ch-choice for a girl like me. That you had had innumerable connections and liked women with experience.”

The hand on her arm tightened so that she winced in pain but his voice was entirely calm as he repeated, “I see.”

As Louisa watched, his eyes became opaque, even the anger in them becoming hidden from her. “Here comes my sister. Shall we return to our box?” he said as calmly as though nothing had passed between them.

As Louisa let herself be guided back into the box she realized with a pang how many dreams she had allowed herself to build, dreams in which Atherton asked for her hand. But now, she saw how foolish such dreaming had been. The Viscount had obviously been angry; he did not like having Jersey interfere in his life.

But it was obvious, too, that he had no intention of offering for Louisa; how patently foolish she had been to ever imagine such a thing. Jersey, all malice aside, certainly knew Atherton’s tastes. And, after all, he had not even bothered to deny her charges, as he surely must have if her regard mattered to him.

No, she must face the facts clearly, Louisa told herself. To a man of the world like Atherton she could be nothing more than an amusement, an antidote for
ennui.

And, she realized as she settled in her chair, she had no cause to complain, not really. Atherton had been charming, that was true. But he had not in any sense been forward with her. He had only treated her as he most probably treated any woman within his purview. If she, foolish creature, had chosen to build castles in the air upon so unsubstantial a foundation the fault was most assuredly her own.

How humiliating, too, to have to relate such things to him. He must think her a regular chucklehead.

The play resumed and Louisa watched attentively. It seemed to her that she had, in some indefinable way, split in half. Half of her was mourning the loss of her dreams while the other half continued to laugh at the play.

When the performance was over, this unreal part of herself let Atherton guide her back to the carriage; it made amiable conversation on the way home; it even bid Atherton a calm good-bye at the door.

It was only when Louisa reached the shelter of the great oak bed that the protecting numbness left her, and then the tears came as she grieved for those lost dreams - dreams of a love that would never be.

Chapter Thirteen

It was not until she woke the next morning that the other import of Jersey’s words hit Louisa. If the
ton
ever discovered her true identity, Atherton would suffer for it. Even his interest in the wager would not save him from the ridicule of the fashionables whose boredom made them welcome any diversion, no matter how painful for the victim.

Whatever his reasons for seeking to discover the true identity of Lady Incognita, he certainly had not intended to be seen dangling after a Lady Author. Not even the wager could save him from the whispers of the
ton.

But even worse than that was her terrible feeling that he would lose whatever regard he now had left for her. Certainly he could only look with con-tempt upon such a creature, a creature who had deceived him cruelly.

  And when he read
Love in the Ruins,
as he most assuredly would - Louisa felt panic wash over her. What if he recognized himself in Reginald? After all, there was so much of him there, so many of his mannerisms. Louisa fought to put down the panic. If he recognized himself, he would hate her forever.

And if someone else recognized him ... Oh, that would be even worse!

Hurriedly she jumped from the bed. She would go to Mr. Grimstead, she thought with a terrified glance at the clock, just as soon as the library opened. She would tell him that she simply must have
Love in the Ruins
back. She would shut herself up with it until she had so changed Reginald that he was unrecognizable to anyone.

* * * *

  Several hours later Louisa descended from a hackney coach in Leadenhall Street. She had no eyes now for the statue of Minerva, spear in one hand and shield in the other, that stood guard in the niche above the door. All she could think of was to get to Mr. Grimstead.

The greetings of the shop boy, the smile of the man behind the library counter, all were equally lost on her as she hurried to Mr. Grimstead’s door. So distraught was she that she did not even take her customary look around before entering.

Mr. Grimstead, his friendly round face reflecting concern, showed her to a chair. “I hope there’s no ill health in your family,” he said anxiously.

  “No, no,” Louisa replied. “We are all well. But I need to have
Love in the Ruins
back again. I ... I have to change it.”

Mr. Grimstead frowned. “But Miss Penhope, it’s the best you’ve done. The hero is a trump, a real out-and-outer.”

Louisa felt the tears dangerously close as she struggled to go on. “I must have it. Please, I must.”

Mr. Grimstead shook his head. I’m sorry, miss. I see it’s very important to you, but I can’t do a thing about it. The book’s already at the booksellers. There’s no way in the world to get it back now.”

Louisa fought to keep down the tears. “Are ... are you sure?”

“Quite sure, miss. Come now, whatever you think, it’s a fine romance. The best yet. And your new one’ll be capital, too. I’m sure. How’s it coming?”

“Oh, it’s all right, I guess,” replied Louisa distractedly, barely hearing him. She rose hastily to her feet. “I ... I have to go. Thank you.”

There were tears in her eyes as she made her way out his door, tears that blinded her so that she did not see the man who stepped in front of her until she was almost upon him. Only then did she recognize Lord Harvey.

“Miss Penhope,” said he in stentorian tones, “are you in distress?”

And then Louisa, disregarding all etiquette, brushed past him and out the door where she threw herself into the waiting hackney and tearfully gave the direction for home.