Page 7 of The Gentleman’s Leading Lady

“So,” the disdainful beauty murmured, “not the man who does the actual work.”

He let his brows lower. His sisters quaked in fear when Dante scowled.

The cool beauty stared back at him, disdainful as ever. She had a rose petal mouth, the lower lip quite a bit plumper than its mate, and a pucker in the corners that looked as if she held in a mischievous smile.

Or a sneer.

“Heard you did the Royal Crescent.” The man called Dorsey had a booming voice, trained for shouting above noisy crowds. He had decked himself out as a dandy with a striped waistcoat, a top hat set at a rakish angle over combed-forward curls, and a clutch of baubles on fobs at his waist. He looked to be a match for the new Prince Regent in years, so the youthful affectations came off a bit strained.

“I had a part in the making of the Crescent, yes.”

“I’m bringing him in to build the villas for my Parade as well,” Thompson said. “Something like that, but even grander.”

At Thompson’s sweeping gesture, several in the party gazed over the broad and empty square as if they could see, past the Old Well pump room, the sumptuous sweep of the newly built terrace, gleaming like bone in the pale spring sunlight, with the ironwork balconies trimming the middle like a delicate belt.

“How difficult it must have been,” the lilac harpy remarked, “to duplicate the Royal Crescent at Bath.”

Dante forced a smile around clenched teeth. He’d made several suggestions that had been vetoed by the senior architect employed on the project, one Charles Masters from Bath, who firmly believed that whatever had worked in the other city was good enough for Cheltenham, too. Masters had insisted on stucco over brick when Dante wanted Cotswold stone for the façade, which could be easily ferried now using the new tramway. Masters had insisted on plain sills and cornices, absolutely minimal moldings, no frieze or architraves anywhere, arguing down every one of the additions Dante thought would add interest.

The decision had pleased the builder and controlled the cost of the project to the satisfaction of the investor, Joseph Pitt. But to Dante the entire effect was plain, almost severe. He liked a bit more flair in his creations. Notes of elegance and beauty to please the eye.

He steadfastly ignored how pleasing the little termagant was to the eye and instead focused on her insults.

With long practice, he’d learned to hold his temper when others skewered him. “If you but visited Bath, miss, you’d see several differences in the designs, lending a quite different overall impression.” Dante directed his gaze not at her inquisitive face, but at the bonnet above her left ear.

The Bath buildings, for instance, had a warm glow to them, built in famous Bath stone, and the houses in that Crescent sported columns along the upper stories. Dante had sketched similar designs for the Cheltenham version, with at least a pediment or two to balance the whole and call up the grandeur of a temple. Masters had overruled him in the name of function and affordability, and the result was a drab slab of bricks that Dante was now personally and permanently associated with.

“I have seen Bath,” the disdainful beauty returned, “and sadly, the Cheltenham Crescent does not stand up to the grandeur of the original.”

Dante ground his teeth together. If he’d had his way, it would have. Work on the Crescent had made him rich, at least by his own standards, but it wasn’t the mark he wanted to leave on the world. Yet this lilac harpy had already dismissed him as unworthy. Unremarkable. Beneath her notice, save to point out where he had failed.

“Are you from Bath then, lovey?” An older woman addressed the girl. She was dressed as a matron, disdaining the ubiquitous white for color and wearing a velvet pelisse over her abundant bosom, with a bonnet sprouting fruit and feathers topping the whole.

“No,” said the younger, and that was all.

“Thing is,” said Dorsey, hooking his thumb in the pocket for his fob, “there’s nowhere left in town with a proper building to lend us. And we needs us a theater, now that the Queen’s burnt down.”

“Shame about that,” Thompson said immediately.

Dorsey shook his head, though he expressed agreement. “Shame.”

“One of the old inns won’t do?” Dante asked.

“All let to lodgers for the season, and none of them grand as what we wants,” said Dorsey. “We’ve done our part with the inns and the barns at the byways, see?”

Dante had only the dimmest comprehension of the hierarchy of theater, but he knew that the strolling players were little more than vagabonds, often viewed as thieves. They performed where they could, employing whatever acts would bring in coin, and their audiences drew from all levels of the lower classes. The magistrate or council of a town decided if the troupe could be allowed a decent venue for their productions, or if the wanderers were best shooed along to the next town with threats of reprisal if they stayed.

Then there were the respectable companies who toured on their circuit, moving their effects and their stages from town to town. They provided tasteful entertainment for the genteel and adjacent classes, often borrowing from the latest London sensations and sometimes London actors. He had seen Sarah Siddons perform in Bristol and knew that while the licensed theaters of London were the crown jewels, the regional theaters could occasionally manufacture very acceptable ornaments.

Dante wondered where Dorsey’s troupe fell among this broad spectrum of quality.

An actress. The lilac harpy was an actress. What ground had she to sneer at him, a man who knew what it meant to earn his living?

Dante turned his back on her. “Have you asked at the Great House?” he inquired of Dorsey. He didn’t know why. It wasn’t as if he were a chatty person in general, and he felt even less inclined to help the little termagant so ready with her insults.

“Bit iffy there with the change in ownership,” Dorsey replied. “Not sure Fisher wants to take the jump. Said he’s safer letting the grand rooms for assemblies and card parties and dinners and the like.”

Dante nodded. There was something about the man’s affable manner that stirred comradeship. Dorsey wore the garb of a gentleman, but he didn’t have the artifice of manner. He spoke as he thought, plain and to the point. “And the Assembly Rooms?” Dante asked.