Surprise invaded Hester. "There must be other actresses in line for the main role you would consider." She harboured no wish to get in the way of anyone's career, as she'd been away for a year.
“I would.” He conceded. “But you’re the best and back. The only one who’ll do it justice.”
"I—thank you." She loved acting but hadn't expected to plunge right into work so soon. "What is it about?"
It is about a scullery maid who falls in love with her employer, the duke. It explores the friction between social ranks.” So, a follower of John Gay, who wrote “The Beggar’s Opera” almost a century ago, and denounced the exploitation of the poor by the rich.
The play sounded so attuned with her own private plight. “Can I take it home for a close inspection?” she asked. The theatre would have more printed copies to work with.
“Sure.” He smiled tenderly at her. “And study your role while you’re at it.”
At the backstage that evening, Hester helped with the ‘flats’, the painted scenery that could be shifted as the scene changed. As the panels moved, she could see the revellers. By the interval, she sat on the three-feet-high stage floor, her feet achy with walking around. She’d take off her boots as soon as she could.
Through a slight opening in the curtains, she saw people circulating. A huge man dressed in black finery caught her eye. And she wished he’d not because it seemed only one dratted lord had her whole attention, together with the whole of the air in her lungs, and the wild beating of her heart. He had his back to the stage, his wavy brown hair shining in the light of the chandeliers. The man stood not in the box he owned, but in somebody else’s. A tall girl in the finest rose silk was in front of him, facing the stage. By her side, an older man that she recognised as the Duke of Haddington as he’d been the keeper of a former actress who fled London after he’d finished with her.
Hester’s jaw dropped while she realised Lady Millicent as being the daughter of that man. Gallantly, Worcester bowed to the girl as Hester’s insides bled at the sight. His future wife was tall, pretty and poised; a perfect breed for a marchioness. Everything inside sank, and something akin to defeat invaded her. The mere picture assembled before her told of everything this jagged world was about and how meaningless she’d been to him, accepting to be an insignificant way for him to assuage his needs.
The actors returned for the next act, and she focused on the flats as she tried to blank out what she’d just seen.
Standing to applaud the grand-finale, Drake’s eyes perused the stage. He came to the theatre not for the play, though it proved to be of high quality as usual for the Green’s company. He’d been quite certain Hester would be here.
During the interval, he noticed Lady Millicent sitting with her father in their box. He went to greet them to help her with her ruse to forego marriage. He’d not deny any girl who had a father like hers.
Said father had followed him to the deserted hallway when he took his leave.
“Worcester.” He called at his back.
Drake turned to find the Duke of Haddington standing in the middle of the carpet. In his fifties, his dark hair began to grey though he still retained a lean figure. His dark eyes held a tinge hard-pressed not to resemble cruelty. The very sight of him caused nausea.
“Haddington.” Drake acknowledged the man.
The older man strode to him with that self-importance that justified every illegal act the ton dished to their inferiors. “The interval is at an end, so I’ll be quick.”
Drake waited, wishing to shorten the conversation as much as possible.
“We need to meet to sign the marriage contract.” The duke stopped before the marquess, looking down his nose though he was much shorter than the latter.
Relief took him over because there would be none. “Naturally.” That Drake hadn’t even asked for the girl’s hand so far appeared to make no difference. It showed how completely the ton relied on hearsay.
“In it, I’ll include a clause obligating you to end your liaison with your mistress.” The hypocritical bastard had no limits! “I’ll not have my daughter be London’s laughingstock.”
That was one of his reasons to avoid marriage. When he imagined himself leg-shackled to a woman with whom he had nothing in common, the impression he had was of living such a bleak life he’d succumb to utter hopelessness.
The vexation that arose in him at the man’s gall nearly impelled him to call this off at once. Only his promise to the bastard’s daughter stayed him. He masked his response as deeper bleakness invaded him at the fact Hester had taken care of the aforementioned chore days ago. “That’s a given.” He answered coldly.
The duke gave a satisfied nod. “Good.” The scapegrace must have thought his superiority in rank gave him the right to make demands. “I’ll have my solicitor draw up the contract.”
Inwardly, Drake scoffed. With a father-in-law like him, one needed no foes. By the time the documents were ready, he’d have disabused society of the match. He gave a slight bow of acknowledgement and headed to his box.
With the play over, he waited until the theatre emptied to leave his seat. He knew the backstage very well as he’d been there several times to try and woo Hester to his proposition. Purposefully, he exited his box and walked impatiently downstairs.
Outside her father’s office, he stopped short. Alone, Hester sat behind the desk, reading a sheaf of papers with a concentrated frown on her perfect face.
He remembered the first time he’d seen her on stage. From his box, her beauty and talent had mesmerised him. She’d moved around the stage as though it was her own home, her realm. Her role as the Fairy Queen demanded her light brown hair fall in loose waves around her. The deep blue high-waist dress she’d worn left her shoulders bare and moulded to her round breasts with mouth-watering precision. He’d not been able to take his eyes from her, his body ready to tumble them both in his bed. He’d wanted her so badly he sat in his chair like a statue while his blood raced in his veins.
Her eyes had been as wide on him as his on her when they met in the dressing room that same night. He’d wanted to shove all those lechers from that room and kiss her, and kiss her until he’d become a pulp of mindlessness. But when it was time to close the theatre, she’d given him a shallow curtsy and shallower smile and left as though he meant nothing, as though they hadn’t been devouring each other with their eyes.
She’d kept him at arm’s length and on fire for so long, he’d feared he’d succumb from the fever in his blood. But he came back every night, fool that he was, as his body spiralled into derangement at the mere sight of the petite woman. His fairy queen fast became an obsession he tried hard to control. When she allowed him to kiss her hand, it had reduced him to a ragged worshiper at this goddess’s altar, nearly brought to his knees. No other woman had ever done this to him, and he’d not known how to deal with it.
Now, seeing her, hair in a practical bun, a simple dress he remembered her wearing in those first days did all the same things to him as when he met her.