The Actor and the Earl (2 page)

Chapter 2

S
EBASTIAN
headed down the narrow road that the townhouse was situated on, dodging puddles of foul-smelling water as he struggled with the heavy bag that contained all the elements he’d need to transform into Bronwyn.

A familiar voice called out to him, and he looked up to see Claire leaning out of a second-floor window. “Go to the servants’ entrance. I’ll meet you there.”

Before Sebastian could answer, she had already disappeared back inside, slamming the window behind her and making the overhang of the building quiver in her wake. He muttered under his breath at the gall of the woman, expecting him to behave like one of the servants, but turned into the dark alley that ran between the two neighboring houses and climbed the few steps to the tradesman’s entrance. The door swung open, and he was grabbed by the front of his doublet and pulled inside by his grinning cousin.

“Take care, you witch,” he said, straightening his doublet once she had released him.

“No time for your prissy ways. We haven’t long before Earl Crofton arrives. Use the second bedroom on the left to get changed.”

“How gracious of you to let me use the room that was once mine.” He pushed past her, not turning back at her yelp of pain as his bag swung haphazardly and knocked her out of the way.

The small room was much as he’d remembered it. Little had changed in the four years since he’d defied his guardian, Claire’s father, and auditioned as a boy actor for a production of
The Comedy of Errors
. In his opinion, the money his family had paid for tutors to teach him to read had been well spent, as his literacy and quick wits had gained him the part he had wanted. The wood-framed bed still took most of the floor space, the rich furnishings the same as he’d remembered. In fact, the only addition was a plain wooden table upon which a mirror was balanced.

The mirrors in all of the theaters he had worked had been gifts from wealthy patrons. Where their frames had been plain, this mirror’s was ornate, and as Sebastian examined the carvings of flowers and flora, he couldn’t help but wonder how his family had come into possession of such an expensive item.

“It was a gift from Earl Crofton.” Once again Claire had managed to sneak up on him unannounced.

He turned to face her. “Really?”

“Yes. It arrived the day after the offer for Bronwyn’s hand had been accepted.”

Sebastian hummed softly to himself, amazed that anyone would want to marry his sister quite so much. “It is an extravagant gift, considering he had already secured the marriage.”

“My thoughts exactly,” said Claire. “I tell you this, Sebastian, Earl Crofton seems far too keen to remarry for my liking.”

“You did mention he already had an heir… so that begs the question of what happened to the previous Lady Crofton?”

“Nothing even remotely mysterious. She died during the birth of their son—three summers ago.”

Sebastian tutted. “I thought you were to say it has been mere months. Then it is obvious why the earl wishes to remarry: he is lonely.”

Claire’s snort in reply was most unladylike. “That is not what the rumors at court alluded to. He is man known not to have trouble finding company.”

“For someone who complained that Bronwyn’s disappearance might cause a scandal, I would’ve thought that you would not be one to sanction listening to idle gossip, Claire. Now leave me. I need time to dress if I am to have any hope of a successful outcome.”

Sebastian ignored Claire’s laugh as she left the room, focusing instead on unpacking his bag. He’d considered using the costume he’d worn as Beatrice, but it was nowhere near grand enough for supper with an earl, and he hoped what he had been able to borrow from a friend of a friend would be acceptable, even if it was already a few seasons out of date.

He upended his bag onto the bed and, putting a smaller bag to one side, began to sort through the pile of clothing. The gown was a rich indigo, and he held it up to inspect for damage. The velvet was a little rumpled, but he didn’t think Earl Crofton would notice that in the badly lit dining room. He laid it out across the bed, setting a corset and a white linen shift next to it. Noticing the laces of the light blue sleeves had become tangled, Sebastian unraveled them and then loosely tied them to the bodice. The voluminous skirt was next, which would need the farthingale and sewn-in whalebones to give it shape. He shook it, dislodging the roll, which he managed to catch before it sent the ruff flying off the bed. As he looked over his costume, he winced involuntarily, knowing that he had an evening of discomfort ahead of him, with the corset cinching his waist and the roll tied in place across his arse to give him a set of feminine hips.

After stripping out of his own rather plain clothes but leaving on his hose, he washed in the basin of lukewarm water that had been left for him and began to dress. He picked up the high-collared white shift and shook out the worst of the creases before slipping it over his head. The roll was little more cumbersome, its long sausage shape making it awkward to handle, but he tied it around his hips. Despite his nightly practice with the corset, it was a difficult maneuver to get the hated contraption in place, and he twisted and turned to get it seated in a way that could be described as remotely comfortable. He’d never had the occasion to be thankful that his sister was rather flat-chested before, but he was now, as the effect of the corset narrowing his waist and the material of the shift gave enough of an illusion of a bust for his purposes. On went the farthingale, its whalebone ribs giving the perfect shape for the skirt to lie over, but Sebastian cursed under his breath, as the corset made it difficult to reach behind his back to make sure the skirt was seated properly over the roll.

The deep indigo of the gown contrasted against the light blue of the skirt and sleeves once he’d finally got it on and had secured the cuffs. He felt like he had run for miles, exhausted from the trial of just getting ready. Next time he would have to get Claire to help him. The theater costumes were nowhere near as much trouble. They only had to give the illusion of a noblewoman at a distance, and there was no way he could get away with that at close quarters to Earl Crofton, a man who spent enough time at court to know what a noblewoman should be wearing.

Sebastian grabbed the small bag he’d put to one side earlier and headed to the mirror, pulling a black wig out of the bag and carding his fingers through the fake hair to get the ringlets into position. Setting it down for a moment, he fished out his supply of stage makeup and, with a practiced hand, smeared a thin layer of white paint across his face and neck and added rouge to his lips and cheeks. Happy with the effect, he pulled on the wig, taking care to place the ringlets so they didn’t smudge his makeup before it had chance to dry, and tucked away a few loose strands of his own hair. Finally, he tied the lace ruff in place, hiding his Adam’s apple.

The whalebone creaked in the farthingale as he moved, and the roll shifted uncomfortably under the skirt. He was very glad that he had little appetite. The prospect of eating supper while being squeezed by the corset made his stomach ache. Looking at himself in the mirror, he was in part disturbed that he made quite a handsome woman, though he wouldn’t go as far as to describe himself as attractive, and also that he really did look like Bronwyn. It was one thing to play a woman on stage but another to pass for one in real life. He sighed loudly, wondering just what he had gotten himself into.

“Earl Crofton has arrived,” Claire said as she stepped into his room. “Turn around, let’s get a good look at you.”

Sebastian felt rather like one of the harlots advertising their wares on South Bank as Claire eyed him up and down. She retied the lacing of his sleeves to stop them coming loose, and with a firm tug pulled the corset tighter, further cinching his waist, and rearranged his wig so the ringlets fell over the front of his shoulders.

Claire sighed happily. “I told you that you would have no problem posing as Bronwyn, but with the makeup you look prettier than the poor girl usually manages. I will be proud to present you to Anthony Crofton and play your chaperone.”

Sebastian frowned. “Really, Claire, you are too cruel.”

“I speak only the truth.”

“First time for everything,” he muttered under his breath.

“Are you ready?”

Sebastian lifted the hem of his skirts to reveal his stockinged feet. “Small problem: no shoes.”

Claire stared at his feet, hands on her hips. “Not sure I can do anything about that. There’s no way your hooves would fit in my slippers, even if we were to cut the backs off.”

“I’ll just have to put my boots back on and remember to take small steps so they don’t show. There’s no way I’m going barefoot.”

With some difficultly, due to the corset and whalebone, Sebastian managed to bend down far enough to put on his boots, and a steadying arm from Claire made sure he didn’t fall as he swayed.

“So it is just the three of us for supper?” he asked as he straightened up.

“Yes—there’s no need to extend this ruse further than necessary. These sorts of secrets are easily divulged if not careful.”

“At first I was just feeling sorry for myself. Now I’m beginning to feel sorry for him.”

“Why should you? He must want this marriage as some sort of cover for himself. No man of his looks and standing would’ve settled for Bronwyn,” said Claire, once again checking his appearance. “And the portrait he received of Bronwyn made her more plain than pretty. Mark my words, Sebastian, there is more going on here than him wanting a wife.”

“If you have these doubts, why did your father agree to give Crofton Bronwyn’s hand?” he asked, becoming more concerned by the minute.

“Because my father does not share them—he thinks Earl Crofton is perfectly suitable.”

“It sounds like Bronwyn did the right thing by eloping.”

“He may be a man of secrets, but he is definitely a man with a heavy purse.”

She ushered him out of the room and down the stairs, and Sebastian thanked the heavens that he was used to navigating small passageways while wearing a long, wide dress behind the scenes at the Swan. They stopped at the foot of the staircase for Claire to give him a final appraising glance, and she nodded her approval. “And remember, small steps. I don’t want to see your scuffed boots!”

The wood-paneled dining room was illuminated by candlelight that danced in patterns across the table set for three, but the room was still dark enough for Sebastian to relax a little. A heady aroma of dried flowers added to the intimate atmosphere created by the low light.

But Sebastian didn’t have time to enjoy the ambiance, as the whirlwind that was Earl Anthony Crofton appeared in front of him and grabbed his hand, only to plant a delicate kiss on the back of it. “At last we meet.”

As much as it pained him to admit it, Claire had been right—which was twice in two days, and that made Sebastian nervous. But Anthony Crofton was undeniably handsome, and there was no way he would have been romantically interested in plain old Bronwyn.

Earl Crofton was tall, nearly six feet, and dressed in the height of courtly fashion. His dark-red doublet emphasized his broad chest, and his muscular legs showcased his hose and garter. He had a long face, accented by his short brown hair and beard trimmed to perfection, and Sebastian noticed a golden earring in his left lobe.

There was no denying that the earl was attractive, and Sebastian knew that it was not just the elaborate dress and makeup that were making his temperature rise. Despite having spent the last few years as an actor, he’d not lived up to the reputation that many of his colleagues had more than earned, and the earl’s appearance was stirring feelings that he usually had the good sense to ignore.

“I have been eagerly awaiting your arrival, Earl Crofton,” Sebastian said in the falsetto voice he’d used the night before for Beatrice.

“Please, call me Anthony.” He bowed low before letting go of Sebastian’s hand. “Your picture did not do you justice.”

“You are too kind.”

Supper was a more elaborate affair than he was used to, Claire having arranged a wide selection of meats, cheese, and bread, accompanied by wine. Sebastian was seated between Claire and Anthony, and Claire played an excellent hostess, keeping the conversation flowing without allowing it to travel in the wrong direction.

Sebastian couldn’t help but notice the lingering looks the earl was giving him. Although not unexpected—as he was meant to be the earl’s prospective wife—the close examination made him uncomfortable, and he feared that at any moment their scheme would be discovered.

Anthony was every bit as charming as he was handsome, and Sebastian found himself enjoying the evening despite the plan. He was careful only to sip the wine in a manner he hoped appeared ladylike, and he had no problem eating genteelly, as his corset squeezed his appetite as much as his waist. Anthony told stories that swung from dramatic to bordering on the risqué, and entertained his fellow diners with his adventures at court, much to Claire’s delight.

“And of course there was the matter of Lord Hettingshaw and the parrot. You have heard it?” asked Anthony, his eyes bright.