“Oh, years.” Five to be precise.
“Your mother was an actress, I believe.”
So much for not wanting to remind him of that bit of her history. “She was.”
“You had no interest in following in her footsteps?”
“I hadn’t her talent for pretending to be what I wasn’t. Neither did I fancy being the object of a good deal of attention, which, of course, those upon a stage are. Every move watched. Every line heard. Every performance judged.”
He studied her for a long moment, no doubt striving to determine if a hidden meaning resided in the depths of her words. “I prefer a quiet life,” he finally said. “My estate provides that.”
“I’ve never been to Cornwall.”
“I think you’d like it there.” His cheeks turned a brilliant red to match his hair, and he looked out the window, as if embarrassed by what he’d possibly revealed—he envisioned her there.
“I’m sure I would,” she said softly.
He looked at her and smiled. She wondered if a time would come when he would be comfortable enough with her not to blush at every turn, although she found it quite endearing.
A short while later, with Lady Finsbury trailing, he escorted Regina into the theater, and she sensed his pride in doing so, in having her hand nestled within the crook of his elbow. That carried far more weight than anything else. He was glad of her company, found pleasure in having her decorate his arm.
He was well-liked, and they were greeted by several lords and ladies, even a few who had snubbed herin the past. He brought her respectability and in turn could bring it to her daughter. Soon, she would tell him about Arianna.
Before they were too involved, before turning away from her would cause her public humiliation. Before he would be forced to explain why he had lost interest. She prayed she’d not misjudged him, that he wasn’t a rumormonger, that he would keep what she shared with him to himself and wouldn’t be petty enough to want to hurt her daughter.
He leaned toward her. He was not a tall man, didn’t tower over her as Knightly did, and she drew comfort from that. They were more equal. “I do hope you weren’t offended by what my cousin is reading.” His voice was low, laced with chagrin.
“Not at all. I know several ladies who have enjoyed reading it.”
“Have you read it?”
It was one thing to lie to Knightly in order to exact revenge, but this man was quite possibly her future, and she certainly wasn’t going to have him dictate her reading choices. “I have, yes. Despite its uproar, I found nothing in it offensive.”
“Neither did I.”
He could have knocked her over with a feather. “It didn’t seem like the sort of book you’d read. I thought you like mysteries.”
“They are my preferred reading.” He leaned nearer, lowering his voice even more. “Quite a few gentlemen are reading it, hoping, I think, to discover that they are, in fact, the inspiration for Lord K.”
She laughed lightly, delighted by his revelation andteasing tone. She imagined they’d relish many joy-filled moments of sharing gossip. “I wasn’t aware of that. Mostly I’ve only heard of their dislike for it.”
“I’ve always found naysayers to be more boisterous, perhaps because they wish to drown out the truth.” He glanced up. “Shall we make our way to our box?”
Ourbox. As though it was already theirs. As though they were together in a more permanent capacity than a single night at the theater entailed. “Yes, I think we should.”
He glanced back over his shoulder. “Lady Finsbury, we’re going up now.”
Their chaperone had been carrying on a conversation with another lady and politely excused herself to follow them. As they made their way up the stairs, Regina wondered how Chidding might feel to know she was the author. Would he take pride in it since he’d enjoyed the book? Would he be horrified to learn he might have been reading about her escapades with another? That was far more likely. Unless she did claim it was all fiction, merely her fantasies, and happenstance that she’d referred to the gentleman in the book as Lord K. Because of course, at the time, Knightly had been foremost in her mind.
He had a right to know the funds he’d acquire through marriage could be stripped away. How had everything suddenly become so complicated? But it was all for pondering later, when she was abed, unable to sleep because of the trouble she—and her blasted half brother—had brought to her door. Penning the book had been cathartic. If only she’d burned it afterward. It had brought Knightly back into her life,endangered her ability to properly care for her daughter, and threatened her relationship with Chidding. A double-edged sword. More quadruple-edged because no matter how she turned it, she was in danger of being sliced by it.
She would never again seek revenge.
She forced the thoughts aside, intent on enjoying her evening. She did love the theater. The scent of it. Sawdust from sets created. Paint applied often to ensure nothing resembled the inside of Chidding’s carriage unless it was supposed to. The sweat from too many bodies clustered together in the narrow seats where most people sat. The sound of her mother’s voice reaching the rafters with what seemed to be so little effort. But she’d brought that voice up from her soul and projected it to the world. When she was not on the stage, she’d needed to rest it, so had never read a story to Regina. Instead, she’d had Regina, before she could read, recount tales she’d made up, and later, to read books to her. Perhaps Regina had found solace in writing articles during her travels and then a book later because creating stories from nothing, along with reading, encompassed some of her favorite memories of her mother.
This theater, in particular, was beautiful, with its scrolled woodwork and red carpeting. The huge crystal chandeliers created a sparkling sort of light. The first time Knightly had brought her here, she’d been awestruck because she’d never viewed the theater from this perspective. Her father had never invited her to join him in his box. A small part of her resented that oversight because she would have liked to havebeen curled on his lap while he pointed toward the stage. “There’s your mother, the woman I love.”
She wondered if he’d ever brought his family. If he’d sat beside his wife, striving not to give any indication he was watching his lover.
