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With some deliberation, Angelica dressed in one of her best afternoon gowns. She was about to meet new members of the cast and even though her part seemed paltry after the demands of Ophelia, she wanted to look distinctive as the troupe’s leading lady. Mary had put out her lilac and primrose yellow cambric muslin with the flattering high square neckline, the short bodice fastened at the front with satin-covered buttons. She slipped it over her head and as Mary buttoned it up she was pleased to see how the colours flattered her, making her eyes greener and hair more golden. The bodice was lilac and the skirt and long inner sleeves a light primrose with small lilac cuffs and silk primroses round the neck.
Sleep had restored colour to her cheeks and as Angelica caught sight of herself in the looking-glass in the hall she was surprised at how well she looked. She had dabbed some powder onto her healing graze and it was already receding. Gathering up her script she fastened her pelisse, placed her best Leghorn bonnet on her head and picked up her reticule. Mary contemplated her with an amused face. ‘Miss Angelica, you’re blooming again. Your heart is not broken?’
Mary and Angelica had spent their girlhoods together and Angelica recognised her maid’s protectiveness when she had suspected Lord Latimer’s affections were shifting elsewhere. Angelica grasped Mary’s arm with a smile. ‘Never fear, my heart’s not even bruised.’ They walked towards the door and she paused before saying, ‘Although that’s not quite true. Perhaps my vanity was puffed a little to have such an attractive young nobleman swear he was in love with me and for a while there was an answering perturbation in my heart. More shamefully, there was some vanity and delight in discomfiting my detractors by becoming a duchess!’ She caught sight of herself in the looking-glass, a mischievous smile on her face. ‘I am glad it did not come to pass.’
They stepped into the cool afternoon. The sun was still hazy as they set out on their brisk walk to Covent Garden. The green gardens of the Square were left behind as the two young women walked down Bruton Street and into the bustle of Bond Street. Once again, the sight of Angelica drew admiring glances from the young men lounging along the pavement, or driving their curricles slowly to show off their flashy horses. Angelica turned to Mary with a wry smile. ‘In company like this, I can see the appeal of the veil. Anonymity is a boon, don’t you think?’
‘Well, Miss Angelica, I’m anonymous enough. It’s you who draws all eyes, some of ’em impertinent, for sure. They’re just piffling jack-a-dandies!’ she added with disdain. They were about to turn off the fashionable thoroughfare into Burlington Gardens when a curricle, being driven rather fast, came to a halt beside them, the horses whinnying and stamping. Angelica recognised these beautiful bays immediately, then when Rocky took the horses’ heads she knew Mr Asprey was the driver. An uncomfortable flashback of how he and the same horses had come to her aid on the highroad the day before made her flush. Here he was before her, tall in his driving coat, the capes blown back over a shoulder, his curly-brimmed beaver in his hands. ‘Good afternoon, Miss Leigh, Mary. I’m glad I caught up with you.’
‘Caught up with us, pray? How did you know where we would be?’
‘I’ve already warned you, I’m omniscient.’ He seemed in the most light-hearted of moods. He even chuckled.
‘I think not omniscient, sir, just blessed with a spy in the family.’
He let out a bark of laughter. ‘You know my daughter well, Miss Leigh. Anyway, may I hand you and Mary up and I’ll drive you to the theatre?’
There was just room on the seat for them both but it meant Angelica was squeezed in tight against Mr Asprey. If she had tried to make an inch or so of space between them Mary would have been thrown off the bench by the first rut in the road.
‘Spring ’em, Rocky,’ Mr Asprey called to his groom who let the spirited horses free then leapt up behind as the curricle passed. Mary and Angelica put an arm around each other to steady themselves. She was acutely aware of the pressure of his thigh against hers, a sense they were almost joined at the hip. She could feel his muscles tense as he handled his mettlesome team through the busy traffic. ‘First day of rehearsals?’ He glanced down at her.
‘Yes, indeed.’
Turning serious, his voice dropped so as not to be overheard by Rocky, perched behind them scanning the road ahead. ‘I’ve had visits this morning from both my rapscallion nephew and Miss Fitzjames. They spoke of your generosity of spirit. I said I would not have expected less.’ They were bowling through Leicester Square and Angelica peered through the trees at the Rotunda on the further northern corner where the famous Panorama paintings were exhibited. Ivor Asprey manoeuvred the horses into narrow Cranbourne Street and within moments they pulled up in front of the grand colonnaded façade of the theatre.
Rocky jumped to the ground and handed Mary down but Ivor put his hand on Angelica’s and said, ‘Could you spare me a minute or two?’
Angelica looked up, meeting his blue eyes with her own startled gaze. ‘Of course. You delivered us early.’ She turned to Mary and said, ‘I’ll join you before three.’
She sat, barely breathing, her thigh still tight against his. His gloved hand remained on hers in her lap when eventually he said, ‘You have woken me to myself, Miss Leigh.’ His voice was quiet and his eyes closely watching her face. ‘I was as ashes where once I had been flame, but you have rekindled the fire in me. I fear I can no longer live without its warmth.’
‘Mr Asprey, what are you saying?’ Her heart was beating fast with a growing hope that he could love her, but there was confusion and despair too. Was he about to suggest some irregular arrangement instead, after all she had been told often enough it was all an actress could hope for.
Angelica watched him remove his glove and noticed with a pang his strong lean hand. He lifted her own gloved fingers and began to undo the tiny pearl buttons at the wrist. She held her breath, her whole being alert to this new feeling of almost unbearable anticipation. Slowly he withdrew her glove, one fingertip at a time and she felt a tremor of excitement gazing down at her small pale hand lying in his. Her breath became uneven as his hand enclosed hers.
Angelica was aware of nothing outside the envelope of their unspoken feeling. The market seethed around them as the morning traders packed up their goods into carts, and children and dogs scampered through the debris, scavenging any ruined produce that remained. The shouts and cries and rattling wheels barely penetrated her consciousness. Every nerve vibrated; she was only aware of the man who sat tensely beside her, the man who made her pulse throb in her throat and her spirit long to know him and be known, to love with every fibre of her being and find an answering passion in return.
Angelica turned her hand so she could interlace her fingers with his, filling her with a sense of intimacy and joy. Ivor Asprey looked down with a kind of wonder as if he too was only now allowing himself to believe and said, so quietly she wondered if she had heard aright, ‘I’m laying my heart bare before you. I do not wish to armour it again against the world.’ He met her eyes, his own soft with emotion. ‘My heart has been so cold, neglected, shut away. I have never known true love for a woman before and now it overwhelms me with its irresistible force, like a tide rolling in to shore.’ He brought her hand to his chest and murmured, ‘Will you accept my poor, disregarded heart, Miss Leigh, hand in hand, heart on heart?’
The spell between them was broken by Mary’s voice calling from the theatre door, ‘Miss Angelica, Dummie Dunbar’s kicking up. He wants you here now for the read-through.’
As Angelica shifted on the seat to move, Ivor kept her hand pressed to his heart, his eyes closed for a moment. ‘May I call on you? I’m busy in Parliament all tomorrow with the critical stage of my child labour bill. May I come to you the following afternoon, at two?’ She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.
Mr Asprey leapt to the ground to help Angelica down from his curricle. He had returned to his polite public demeanour. They inclined their heads to each other and she turned and walked away, removing her bonnet as she approached the stage door. The sun at last emerged through the low cloud and light lit her hair like a halo. He stood motionless long after he had watched her disappear into the dim doorway. His face was inscrutable but he held his ungloved hand to his face and breathed in the scent of her skin.
Angelica’s heart was in turmoil. She knew she appeared distracted as the cast was introduced. She barely noticed the handsome Mr Jones who would play her love interest, the Count Valantia. Their manager, Dunbar, was as slippery as ever, always in search of a sensational aspect to add to the production. Could Miss Leigh, in the part of Amanthis, be surprised at her morning toilette, he mused out loud. No, she could not, Angelica insisted, grateful for the support of Mr Jones who was young and more of a purist about honouring the script. Angelica’s success in Hamlet had given her a little more influence and she felt she could now resist Mr Dunbar’s more meretricious ideas.
After a desultory read-through of the play in which everyone’s energy seemed subdued, the cast was dismissed early. Angelica had asked Mr Brunner if he could pick them up in the carriage at five o’clock, still half an hour away. She turned to Mary and said, ‘I can’t bear to remain in this dingy room awaiting the hour, let’s watch for Mr Brunner from the theatre steps.’
The Piazza was filled with activity and the young women observed with fascination and occasional alarm as the gamblers and drinkers started to spill onto the street. Women and girls congregated around the taverns and there was laughter and ribaldry. Children played in the dirt and chased each other and the stray dogs. Mary knew well the life of these homeless waifs, the camaraderie and the vulnerability, and it still made her shiver to think of how she had had to scrabble to survive before Mrs Leigh happened upon her that auspicious night.
She took Angelica’s arm and pointed to a doorway by the theatre. ‘It was there that your mother found me trying to sleep in an old fruit crate. She seemed such an angel and smelled so pretty.’ Angelica knew the story of how her mother exerted her charms on Mr Breville and the grubby waif had been taken in to be trained as a maid for Angelica.
Mary still had hold of her arm. ‘I was so hungry and dirty and will never forget that beautiful well-upholstered carriage. Then to arrive at a palace of luxury and warmth in Berkeley Square was like a fairytale.’
‘You have been such a friend to me too, Mary. When you arrived at the house I no longer felt quite so alone. There was always someone who would fight for me. You are quite a fighter you know.’ They laughed.
