Page 62 of The Gentleman’s Leading Lady

“Was his father still alive at this time?”

“Why should that matter?” Bathsheba glanced toward the window as if through it she could see the truth of the past. “We were together six years ago, so…yes, I believe his father was alive. Ailing, and no longer actively working, but still alive.”

“Ah,” Cerys said. “Then you knew a very different Dante than the one I have met.”

“That is not true,” Bathsheba snapped. “Men do not change their character. Women do not, either.”

“Then you must have seen the burden his father’s disappointment placed on him,” Cerys said. She had seen it in Dante’s comment about their relationship, passing as it seemed. “When his father died, he was free to work as he wished, design what he wished, without being chained by his father’s choices and opinions. He took over the care of his mother and sisters, finally able to provide for them in the way he wanted.”

“You are indeed describing a different man. Dante never had much to do with his family. He despised them.”

“No,” Cerys said. “He feared they despised him, and that was a source of pain. I believe he is on much better terms with all of them now, as he intends for them to live in the house he is building here.”

“I was surprised to hear he is building a house in this town. He swore he would never live in one place.”

“I have told you,” Cerys said softly, “you knew a different man. He is building a house of his own designs, with all the features he can dream of. He has promised to show it to me.”

Her ladyship’s mouth turned down at the corners. “Then it seems you have indeed enchanted him, Miss Evans.”

“I do not know if I would use the word enchanted, myself.”

“And how long do you intend to toy with him? I do wonder what your family would say if they knew of the way you are carrying on.”

Cerys stiffened her back. She had indeed been free with her affections, in the sight of others as well as without. Chaperones were for genteel maidens, not girls like her, but still.

“My family knows I have joined an acting troupe. They gave their blessing, as much as they could be persuaded to do so.”

“But do they know you have thrown your heart after a man they might not approve?”

Mame lifted her eyebrows. “What is there to disapprove in Mr. Manelli?”

“Just who do you suppose Miss Evans’s family to be?” Diana asked curiously.

“No one of note,” Cerys said swiftly. “And I can hardly think it would be a matter of concern to them if they think me infatuated with an architect. I have had infatuations before. They pass.”

“Dante Manelli is not the type of man a woman forgets.” Bathsheba curled her fingers into fists, holding as tightly as she could to that unseen string.

Cerys was certain of that. Bathsheba Baeccon had certainly not forgotten her former lover. And Cerys would not forget him, either.

Mame came to her rescue. “Would you warn our Cerys away from any of the others, milady? Andover has been a gentleman, but I don’t doubt with the slightest encouragement, he would give her a slip on the shoulder. And Mr. Dutton is ready to give her carte blanche if she throws but one seductive look at him.” She paused. “Your ladyship, I believe, would know the art of dealing with powerful men.”

Bathsheba turned her head as if the action pained her and delivered a scornful glare at Mame. Some nerve had been touched. Their gazes clashed and battled, but Mame held her own, as if they were equals in the wisdom of women despite the vast difference in their stations.

“The first piece of advice I would give,” Bathsheba said, rising, “is not to fall in love. It puts a woman at the disadvantage immediately.”

“I already told her that,” Diana said, with a touch of scorn.

“The second.” Bathsheba tightened her gloves on her fingers. “I would advise you, Miss Evans, to stop pushing in where you are not wanted. You would not wish to shame your family with talk.”

Cerys sat still, her breath pinched in her chest. She never wanted to hurt her family. She hadn’t wanted to hurt them with her leaving, and she wouldn’t hurt them by sinking her reputation beyond repair. They were her lifeline, her life’s blood. Did Bathsheba know something about her? Bad conduct on her own, she could explain, but if a spiteful enemy carried tales to her mother and her mother’s friends⁠—

Diana lifted a languid hand in parting. “You will talk to his lordship, then, about making good on his vow to invest in Dorsey’s theater, since their play has proven a success? Good of you.”

“I will do my best. But you of all people, Lady Diana, know what it is to deal with a man who sees nothing in the world but his own pleasure.” On that bitter note, Bathsheba took her leave, a rose-colored smudge in the shadowed hallway as Buckle closed the door.

Diana watched her reflectively. “Steel in her backbone, I would say. Or is it spleen?”

Mame set the lady’s magazine on a small table. “I’ve learned a bit about her ladyship’s history. Bathsheba Baeccon was born of an Irish publican and made her way in London on her skill as a courtesan to titled and powerful men. Lord Baeccon was the first she managed to wrangle an offer of marriage from. The word at the time was that he greatly enjoyed depriving other men of her company, but it seems he has since come to question that choice.”