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‘How many guests?’ Eden asked, suppressing his instinctive refusal. Turn his theatre into a cross between country-house theatricals, Astley’s Amphitheatre and a vast dinner party?
‘Two hundred invitations?’ Maude ventured. ‘We must make it exclusive.’
‘Rip out the stalls?’ He was losing this before he’d even begun to object, he knew it. But somehow she was mesmer-ising him and all he wanted to do was please her.
‘Take them out, carefully. We’ve got some carpenters amongst the men, they’ll help your team. The theatre won’t need to be closed to the public for more than one night.’
He ought to say no. That was the sensible, prudent thing. He did not support charities, yet somehow she had inveigled him on to her damn committee. He did nothing to compromise the commercial success of the Unicorn and here he was, contemplating an exercise that would cost him goodness knows what. He had a reputation as a hard man and yet he was yielding to a woman who did not even try to wheedle concessions out of him. This was dangerous insanity and he was going to refuse.
‘Yes, all right. When?’
Maude jumped to her feet and for one, breathless moment, he thought she was going to come round the desk and kiss him. ‘Oh, thank you!’ She sat right back in her chair again, Eden told himself he was a fool, and Maude drew out her memorandum book. ‘Is three weeks too soon?’
Eden studied his own diary. It would give them a break in the run of Her Precious Honour, but that was no bad thing—it would give the cast a rest. ‘No, that is fine. But can you do it in time?’
‘Making things happen is my forte,’ Maude said with a smile that became, he thought, a touch wry. ‘I nearly always achieve what I set out to do.’
‘Only nearly?’
‘I—’ She broke off and the sadness he had seen in her face that morning came back, touching her beauty with a haunting shadow.
‘Maude.’ Eden reached out a hand, not knowing why and she put out hers to meet it. Their fingers clasped across the stacks of paper on his desk, curled into each other, held. ‘Maude, I—’
‘Darling!’ The door banged back on its hinges and in she swept, Madame Marguerite, scarves flying, gems glittering, her timing, as always, perfect. ‘Eden, you absolutely must—oh. And who is this?’ She produced one of her carefully graded smiles, this one for lovely young women who might be a threat, but on the other hand, might simply be admirers.
‘Lady Maude, may I introduce Madame Marguerite? Madame, this is Lady Maude Templeton. I told you she is investing in the Unicorn.’
‘Lady Maude, I’m so pleased to meet you.’ One of her less haughty greetings, thank goodness. Apparently she was moved to be pleased. Eden helped her to a chair and resumed his.
‘Lady Maude has asked me to join the committee of her charity, if you recall, Madame.’
‘But of course. So worthy—you must add my name to the donations list,’ she said airily.
‘Thank you so much, Madame.’ Maude whipped out a notebook and pencil. ‘For how much?’
To Eden’s vast amusement she sat there, pencil poised, smiling at Madame, who, he knew full well, had intended to forget all about it the moment she was out of the door. He was sorely tempted to sit there and see what happened, but for the sake of peace and quiet suggested, ‘Twenty guineas? I’ll arrange it, Madame.’
‘Thank you, darling.’ She smiled at him, her famous blue eyes wide and glorious. ‘I can always rely on darling Eden,’ she added as an aside to Maude.
‘I am sure you can, ma’am. May I say how very much both my father, the Earl of Pangbourne, and I, admire your performances?’
‘I am charmed to hear it. I must, however, be on my way. Eden—’
He got up to open the door. ‘You came in to say there was something I must do?’
‘Oh? Did I?’ she said vaguely. ‘Never mind, darling, I am sure I’ll remember.’ She swept out on a cloud of Attar of Roses and a rustling of silk.
Eden went back to his place behind the desk. ‘That,’ he said superfluously, ‘was Madame Marguerite.’
‘I was very pleased to meet her,’ Maude said. ‘She’s your mother, isn’t she?’
Chapter Thirteen
‘My mother?’ There did not seem to be any point in lying about it. It was not as though he was ashamed of it, exactly, more that he found it much easier not to think of Marguerite as his mother. There were no expectations then. ‘Yes.’
‘It is not widely known?’ Maude did not appear shocked. But then, she was a lady, and ladies were bred to disguise their feelings.
‘Not known at all. How did you guess?’
