Page 76 of The Gentleman’s Leading Lady

“Were you, when he made his addresses?” Curious eyes watched them as they left together, the actress and the baron’s wife who had once been a courtesan, a skilled actress of her own.

“Dante never made me an offer of marriage.”

Only two horses were harnessed to the Baeccon town coach, unicorn style. The interior smelled of stale leather and male body odor when she climbed in, the scents masked with a heavy and not appealing perfume.

Cerys sat tense in the rear-facing seat as the coachman helped Lady Baeccon board, then closed the door. The sound of it filled her with alarm. She had not been alone with her ladyship before.

“I thought you said he had once thought of nothing but you. I thought you said you destroyed him.”

“I doubt you could understand what we shared. You haven’t the…imagination.” Bathsheba raked her with a scornful expression.

Of course she had the imagination. Cerys was an actress. She possessed imagination in spades. “You know, if I had married a baron, I would be as high as you,” Cerys flared in return. “You needn’t behave as if you’ve achieved something wonderful. Women take high lovers all the time. Dorothea Jordan won herself a prince.”

“And much good it did her.” The coach rocked as the horses moved forward. “Are you planning to marry a prince?”

“No,” Cerys said. “I am going to marry Dante.”

She said it mostly to rile Bathsheba, and yet the words felt right on her lips. She hadn’t decided, she told herself. She had yet to fully consider all her options. True, she was fascinated with the man. From the moment he took insult at her remarks on the Colonnade, she’d wanted to win this man over. Now she had him, and she must decide if she could keep him always, and do her best to make him happy in his choice.

Bathsheba narrowed her eyes and clutched her fur tippet as if trying to warm herself. “He can’t really want you. You’ve done something to lure him.”

“Best clap on the shackle while he is infatuated, then. I’m sure you know something about that.”

The leather shades concealed the vista outside the windows, but Cerys could sense by the turn of the carriage that they were not headed back to High Street. “Where are you taking me, my lady?”

Bathsheba waved a hand in the air. Her kid gloves were dyed to match her pelisse. So were her boots. Truly, she was a beautiful woman, stylish and as studied in her effect as someone who had worked for decades on the stage. Cerys wondered how long it had taken Dante to realize she was a hollow shell, focused on nothing but her own self-preservation.

“I directed the coachman to drive around for a time,” she said. “Give us an opportunity to talk without the intrusion of your tedious friends.”

“My friends are not—” Cerys bit back the words, aware of her ladyship’s smile of amusement. Little wonder Bathsheba thought her naïve.

Her ladyship leaned forward. “If Baeccon fulfills that silly promise and pays for a theater, will you go away?”

Cerys caught her breath at the woman’s confidence. Some would call it audacity.

“Of course not. My entire aim is to build premises for Dorsey’s Players, and I am a part of Dorsey’s Players.” The carriage moved at a slow pace, but the path felt rough. Cerys wondered if she could simply tumble herself out of the coach and be free.

“You cannot think to continue with the stage once you are married. Dante will not like it.”

“He has said he will not mind,” Cerys said, tugging at the tassels on her coat in frustration. Here she was, still biting like a starved trout at the woman’s bait. And why that thread of doubt in her tone? Did she think Dante had not been honest with her?

But Dante didn’t understand. He’d seen her out of their usual practice, guests in a grand home and playing the part of such. He’d only seen them rehearsing one play in their repertoire when they typically put on several a week, along with a farce or a harlequinade. Customarily, she spent the entire day rehearsing and preparing for the night’s performances. How would she be a wife and an actress both?

And what happened if there were children? They would need a mother.

She would have to make a decision. At best she would have to strike a balance between her time spent acting and her time spent with her family.

At worst, it must be one or the other.

Bathsheba turned her head, her chin a hard line. “If I were to give you money—a great deal of money—would you leave town with it?”

“Why?” Cerys asked, curiosity getting the better of her judgment.

The other woman turned back, and her eyes were steely. “Because,” she said, “you are in my way.”

This conversation was taking a turn Cerys could not like. “You had your chance with Dante,” she said. “You chose another. He remembers that. He has moved on, madam. It is time to accept defeat.”

Bathsheba smiled, but it was not a kind smile. “I never accept defeat. Very well. In truth, I did not think you would be wise enough to leave on your own. You do seem an infernally stubborn sort.”