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All eyes at the table turned in his direction. “You haven’t heard of The Darling of Drury Lane?” Harris asked. “Where have youbeen, old man? Oh, right. Spain.” He sat forward, placing his forearms on the table in anticipation of the tale he obviously planned to share. Lucas sat back down. “One wouldhaveto be in Spain not to have heard of Ruby Chadwick.”
“And even there, I’m sure her name has made the rounds of the officers’ quarters,” Pinckney added. “There are, uh,illustrationsof her for purchase at some of the gentlemen’s bookshops. I wonder . . . do you suppose she posed for them in person—”
“Miss Chadwick,” Sir Michael interrupted, raising an unsteady arm to make his point, “is the most exquisite of females to grace God’s green earth. Her beauty is unparalleled: fair of face, with eyes like storm clouds, lips like rose petals, hair as fiery—”
“Breeches roles,” Pinckney whispered loudly to Lucas behind his hand. “Legs on display. Lovely ones they are too.”
“Ah,” Lucas said. It explained much more about Sir Michael’s raptures about her than gray eyes and rosy lips did.
“She has her choice of admirers, so she can afford to be picky. And picky she is, by thunder,” Pinckney continued. “Surprising that she hasn’t taken a protector from among the lot of them already; but no one has bragged about it so far, and you can bet the lucky man would.”
“So our Sir Michael here hasn’t lost hope yet,” Harris said.
“She claims to be betrothed,” Sir Michael explained. “Won’t talk about him much, always manages to change the subject. I’ve yet to see the man materialize, however. And there isn’t a man living I can’t best if given half a chance.”
“Speaking of which,” Harris said.
“Right,” Sir Michael said, struggling to his feet. “I better be off if I’m to reach the theatre when the first play of the evening finishes. Must be quicker than her other admirers to get backstage, y’know.”
“You’ll be lucky to stay atop your horse in your state,” another of the fellow gamblers, a man named Berbrooke, said. He hadn’t spoken much this evening, this Berbrooke fellow, and even now was only stating the blatantly obvious.
“The Orpheus does two short plays each night,” Harris explained to Lucas. “Musical productions, they are, to an extent. Ruby Chadwick has a leading role in the first one but holds court for her gentlemen admirers during the second play. If she performed in both, people would be at the theatre all night long. Theatre owner thought better of it. Ruby brings in plenty of money as it is, although it doesn’t make the actors in the second play very happy.” He chuckled.
“She sounds intriguing,” Lucas said politely.
“Aye, she’s that but too rich for my blood,” Harris replied. “The betting books are full of wagers about her. She flirts with all and sundry but hasn’t let any gentleman get too close—I imagine it’s because of this mysterious betrothed of hers. A heroic figure, apparently. Only makes her admirers that much more determined, from what I hear.”
“Odds are against you, Sir Michael,” Pinckney said. “Sorry, old chap, but you know it’s true. The Earl of Cosgrove has the best odds anyway, last time I checked at White’s.”
“Cosgrove is like all the others—he’s only interested in her as a mistress,” Sir Michael exclaimed. “Everyone knows he’ll only marry the bluest blood—and only when he can’t avoid the parson’s mousetrap any longer. He’s avoided it longer than most already.”
“Ofcourse, he’s only interested in her as a mistress,” Harris said. “She’s anactress. That’s all any of her admirers are interested in. What gentleman in his right mind would marry her?”
“I would,” Sir Michael said indignantly.
“Only because you’re drunk,” Berbrooke said.
“I am, at that.” Sir Michael sighed, slumping back into his abandoned chair. “But I would still marry her. She’s a goddess.”
“As enlightening as this conversation is,” Lucas said, standing again, “I must be on my way if I’m to make it any farther north than the Hissing Goose tonight. Thank you all for your company—and your money—and I congratulate you on your pending nuptials, Sir Michael.”
The others laughed, and Sir Michael gave him a wobbly salute. “I shall invite you to my wedding, if there ends up being one,” he said.
“Enjoy your trip northward,” Harris said. “Don’t get lost in a bog on your way.”
Getting lost in a bog was a delay tactic Lucas hadn’t considered before. He’d keep it in mind if he happened to feel increasingly desperate en route. His mood was decidedly lighter than it had been though, thanks to his winnings at cards and the jovial banter.
He mounted Hector and turned northward. He was starting his journey too late to make any real progress this evening, but he’d continue for a while longer. His thoughts returned briefly to the conversation regarding Ruby Chadwick, the supposed Darling of Drury Lane, and apparently the talk of all the gentlemen so far this Season, not that Lucas had heard of her. He really had been more reclusive than he’d realized during his stay in London. He might have enjoyed seeing a dashing young actress cavort on stage, playing a breeches role.
What kind of bravado would it take, he wondered, for a young woman to appear onstage dressed in such a manner?
He had heard of other such actresses, some achieving great recognition. And yet he knew that even with that recognition, thetonwould not condonesuch an actress joining their illustrious ranks. Actresses were, by and large,part of the demimonde, fringe members of society known for their libertinelifestyles and not accepted by the best of families. Sir Michael wasn’t thehighest of sticklers, but the Earl of Cosgrove, with whom Lucas was somewhat familiar, most assuredly was. Cosgrove would never marry someone like that. Dabble with, yes. Marry? No.
Fog had settled in and grown thick during the time Lucas had been playingcards. He kept Hector at a walk as they carefully made their way toward thenorthern limits of the city. He passed a night watchman who called out the time.
Nine of the clock.
Nudging Hector to quicken his pace, he continued on his way.
