Authors: Julia Tagan
Father. Oliver's death. The realization hit him at once. Not only was he not his father's son, he wasn't the true Earl of Abingdon.
“I'm a bastard.”
Claire sucked in her breath. “No. You're every inch the Earl of Abingdon. You handle the title far better than Oliver, who would have us ruined within the decade, if not sooner. He may have been his father's lawful son, but you're much better suited for the position. You know that.”
Anger flared, bitter and full of bile. How could his mother have committed such a heinous act? And with a man of the theater no less.
She'd bought them miniature theaters and read them plays and encouraged them at every turn. No wonder he and Oliver had found solace in the arms of women who worked on the stage.
“How could she have done this?” He turned on Claire, his voice shaky. “I told you to leave her things alone.”
Claire matched him with her intensity. “So your true father was a playwright. Your mother was also mine and she was a wonderful, sweet person. Her protectiveness helped us when we were young, particularly when Father was feeling spiteful. Consider it from her point of view. He can't have been easy to live with.”
“She sullied our name.”
“You know how awful Father was. From what I can tell, she found happiness, for a time.”
“She was a wanton woman. How do we know Jasper is one of the Talbots?”
Claire laughed. “Because he looks exactly like father. Obviously they made peace with each other, after a time. We don't know the complications of married life.”
“I will soon enough.”
“Yes.” Claire furrowed her brow.
“What's that look for?”
“I have to ask you something.”
He knew what was coming and held his breath.
“William, are you sure you want to marry Lady Marianne?”
“Of course. Do you find fault with her?”
“Not on the surface. She's pretty and lively and comes from a good family.”
“And we need her, in order to help the duchess financially and solidify our family's reputation.”
“That was true six months ago. With the ward, Miss Farley, causing such a ruckus these days, is it necessary anymore? Their family name isn't much better than ours.”
“And part of that is my fault, for allowing her to go to Birmingham.”
“Whoever's fault it is, the fact remains we have Oliver's misdeeds to bear, and they have Miss Farley's. Will your marriage cancel the sordidness out, or simply increase it?”
“I have promised to marry Marianne, and I intend to carry through. I'm shocked you would even consider such a notion.”
“I'm simply thinking of what Mother went through.”
“You can't compare Marianne to Father. Just as Harriet, I mean Miss Farley, can hardly be compared with Oliver.”
“Why not?”
“Oliver was an unreliable boy who never grew up, who did exactly as he pleased, never mind the consequences. Harriet put her family first, or tried to, however misguided her intentions.”
Claire wagged her finger at him. “You're defending her. Now that's interesting.”
He shrugged. “I'm not. I'm saying they don't compare. If anything, it's more imperative than ever our two families merge, if this nonsense is ever going to die down.”
She didn't respond, instead placed the papers back in the trunk and closed it.
William crossed his arms and wandered to the window, staring vacantly out at the street below.
His brother's curses had come back to haunt him.
“May I point out one fact?” Claire asked.
“No.”
“You speak more passionately of Miss Farley than you do of Lady Marianne.”
“That's rubbish.”
But it wasn't. His sister had always been able to pinpoint exactly what was upsetting him, having done so numerous times after their mother had died, when she'd taken over the role of caregiver. He'd forgotten how uncanny her intuition was.
She turned him to face her. “You say Miss Farley is free to do anything she'd like.”
“That is true, and she's doing it.”
“What would you do, if you could do anything you liked?”
The answer came to him in a flash. But he refused to say it out loud. Instead, he repeated what was expected of him. “Manage the estate, take care of the family name and business, watch over you and Jasper.”
“But is that truly what you'd prefer to be doing?”
“Of course. As Lord Abingdon, it's my role.”
“Look at Mother. What if she'd followed her heart?”
“If Mother had done what she wanted, and flouted every convention of society, Jasper wouldn't have been born, and you and Oliver would have been left behind to live with Father. How can you even ask that question?”
“All right, you have a point. But unlike mother, you have no one to be beholden to.”
“If you mean I don't have any children, yes. But I am betrothed to Lady Marianne.”
“You're not married yet.”
He let out a harsh laugh. “If I broke my engagement with Lady Marianne, I'd face a breach of promise suit, and the scandal sheets would be thrilled with the opportunity to throw more muck at us. You're not thinking straight. Are you sure you don't have a fever again?”
She shook her head. “You know I'm as healthy as you are. Stop thinking in straight lines, William. Your entire life is ahead of you. If you could do anything, what would it be?”
The more she asked the question, the more the idea took root in his mind. But it was untenable.
“Stop trying to stir things up. I plan on marrying Marianne on Saturday and bringing her here to live with us. And I would hope you'll behave properly and give her a sister's welcome.”
“I'm sorry, William, I am. But this news has to be a bit of a shock.”
He rubbed his face with his hands. He was the son of a playwright. Wouldn't Harriet be amused by the news?
If anyone found out the truth, he'd be ruined.
“Think, William,” Claire urged. “What would you like to do with your life?”
He stared at her. “I couldn't.”
She knelt at his feet. “Tell me William. Tell me everything.”
Once he began, the words came tumbling out of his mouth, one after another. The amorphous idea that had been swimming in his head took shape, and, once uttered, became an aspiration and then an ambition. And all the while Claire listened, nodding and questioning and encouraging him until he was exhausted.
When he was finished, they looked at each other and smiled.
Chapter 19
Although William passed several acquaintances on his way to the Drury Lane Theatre, all cast him a wary eye and didn't even bother to nod in his direction. The bore from Lady Rutland's dinner party had even dashed into a dressmaker's shop to avoid him, to his amusement. Unlike poor Marianne, he didn't care. He was relieved, in fact, to avoid the silly talk he'd been brought up with. The weather, inquiring after one's health. All rubbish.
He'd made a risky calculation with his actions, one he hoped would work out well for the people he most cared about: his brother and sister, the duchess. Marianne, with her flighty ways, also deserved to be treated with respect.
But the one person he couldn't live without, the one who had most reason to never speak to him again, was why he was venturing into a theater after vowing a month ago to steer clear forever.
After Claire's discovery, he'd learned his father, Henry Butler, a rising playwright of considerable talent, had worked at the Drury Lane right before his death. As William pushed open the heavy door to the theater, he couldn't help but wonder whether his palm landed where his father's once had, if there might be some kind of tactile connection to the man he'd never met.
William hoped his mother had looked upon her son fondly, that he hadn't been a painful reminder of what she'd lost.
True love. How could he not have known Harriet Farley was his true love? He'd been blinded by the accoutrements of society and family, the written and unwritten rules that had stifled every impulse in his body. And now he was acting on those impulses, professionally and personally. Both involved taking substantial risks.
A church clock tolled nine o'clock. He figured he had a good chance of finding Harriet here, as it was too early for the cast to be called for rehearsal, but the first performance was only a few days away. Before entering, he'd checked the playbill outside. Her name was at the top of the page, listed as the manager for the Farley Players, and in smaller type with the rest of the cast as Lady Macbeth.
He quietly pushed open the door between the lobby and the theater proper. A single figure stood onstage. William immediately recognized the determined posture of her back and shoulders. His heart beat fast and he looked around. They were alone.
Harriet arranged several chairs around a table before stepping back and taking in the tableau. After letting out an unladylike grunt that made him smile, she lugged the table further center stage.
The door closed behind him with an unexpected bang and he jumped. Harriet didn't bother turning around.
“Adam, glad you're here. Give me a hand, will you?”
William proceeded down the aisle without saying anything. His throat constricted as if he were being strangled, his hands were ice cold even though the air was warm and clammy.
“I'm still not sure of the staging of the banquet scene,” she continued. “I'd love to have Banquo lowered down from the fly space, but I don't know if Toby would put up with it. It would be terribly dramatic, and maybe you can talk him into it. What do you think?”
She turned around and spotted him. She took a deep breath and reached for the back of a chair. “My lord.”
“Harriet. I'm sorry to interrupt. I can see you're busy.”
What a stupid thing to say. Where were the right words when he needed them? He understood now why actors quoted Shakespeare all the time. Much easier to rely on the poetry of a genius.
“How can I help you, my lord?” Harriet wiped her hands on her skirt but didn't move any closer.
He ran to the lip of the stage and pulled himself up. “Please, don't call me that. I'm William, remember?”
“What are you doing here?”
“I was hoping we could speak. There's so much I have to tell you.”
“I'm not sure I want to listen, to be honest. From what I understand, you saved me at Covent Garden, and I thank you. But I don't want to see you. I can't.”
“I'm sorry about what happened in Hyde Park. I should never have said what I did. I'm a terrible fool.”
“Yes. You are.” Her expression was resolute. “Please leave.”
“One moment, Harriet. I'd like to explain. And apologize.”
“So now you're a married man you think you may call on me? Be alone with me? I'm not sure what Marianne would think of your behavior.”
It finally dawned on him. “You haven't heard, have you?”
“I've been quite busy the past week, as I have a theater company to run. Some of us must work for a living, you see.”
He laughed at that.
“Don't mock me.”
“No, I wasn't laughing at what you said. It's the bit about working for a living. You don't know the news.”
“Please, go. Don't play riddles with me.”
“Marianne and I aren't married.”
A flicker of surprise crossed her face before she hardened her features again. “Very well. I prefer not to be seen alone with a man who's betrothed, if that makes any difference to you.”
“I'm not betrothed.” If he had hoped for a warm reaction to the news, he was quite mistaken.
Harriet's eyes blazed. “You broke the engagement? What kind of swine are you? How could you have done that to her? She's a good girl and put her trust in you and your family to take care of hers.” She shook her head with contempt. “You've done a terrible thing, William.”
“No, you have it wrong.”
“How do I have it wrong? Are you intending to marry Marianne?”
“No. But it wasn't I who broke off the engagement. It was Marianne.”
Confusion flared. “Why on earth would she do such a thing?” She looked up at him, panicked. “Did you tell her about us? About what happened in Birmingham?”
“No, of course not,” he reassured her. “Marianne broke it off for good reason.”
“And what was that?”
He detected a hint of curiosity in her voice.
He stood taller than he had in years and spoke the words with pride. “I work for a living now. Which doesn't make me a suitable husband for a girl like Marianne.”
“What?”
“You see, as of this week, I'm the Earl of Abingdon in name only.”
* * * *
Harriet stared at William, dumbstruck.
“I don't understand. Earl of Abingdon in name only? I've never heard of such a thing.”
He gave a conspiratorial smile, one she did not return. Who did he think he was, waltzing back into her life as if she would drop everything and run into his arms? Unfortunately, that had been her first impulse, once she'd realized it was he and not Adam who had entered the theater. She hated to admit it.
William was even more alluring than ever, which was maddening. The cut of his breeches and coat flattered his long legs and tall frame, and he moved with an unstudied, natural grace. His amber eyes locked into hers and flustered her. And on top of that, he possessed an odd quality she'd never seen before in him, a lightness, as if he hadn't a care in the world.
He shrugged his shoulders. “Claire discovered some letters of my mother's which indicate my true father was not her husband. My ruddy coloring was something of an anomaly among the more rarified circles of London, and now we know why.”
It was true. His looks and demeanor were more rough-and-tumble. And much more sensual. She had to stop this line of thinking and keep her wits about her, but she wasn't sure how to respond. Most men, having learned they were illegitimate, would be angry and bitter. But apparently the news had had the opposite effect on William. “I'm so sorry.”
“Nothing to be sorry about. Unfortunately, I can't disclaim the title, although I would if I could, but Jasper has happily taken on most of the duties, and all of the financial rewards, instead. Which leaves me free to pursue my passion.”
The door to the lobby opened and the head of the box office nodded at the two of them. “Cast and crew will be arriving in five minutes or so. Anything you need, Miss Farley?”
“Thanks, Mr. Bishop. Nothing for now.” She waited until he was gone. “Come with me to my office. We can speak privately.” The last thing she wanted was for the cast to catch sight of William and greet him like a returning hero.
They walked in silence backstage and up to the second floor, where the producer had lent her a small office for the length of the run. Harriet's mind ran in circles. William hadn't married Marianne after all. If only Harriet hadn't been so busy with the show, she would surely have read the news in the papers and been better prepared for this encounter. William, who had been so averse to scandal his whole life, was now embroiled in a ghastly one. Yet he wasn't bowed down by it. In fact, he seemed quite buoyant.
She unlocked the door to her office and led him inside, signaling for him to take a seat. Once safely behind her escritoire, she shuffled some papers about. Having the solid wooden desk between them was helpful. She was curious to know what had happened, but planned on keeping her demeanor business-like and curt.
“I suppose the news of your birth explains why your father, or rather, your mother's husband, treated you so badly.”
“Yes.” He leaned forward, eager to share his story. “He found out about the affair and made her break it off. Or perhaps she chose to break it off, to keep the family intact. It's not clear exactly what happened from the correspondence. What's interesting, though, is the profession of my real father.” He paused for a moment, an annoying bit of theatricality.
Harriet raised one eyebrow at him but did not prompt him further.
“He was a playwright.”
“What?” Of all the occupations, it was the last one she'd expected to hear. She stared at him, mouth open, defenses gone. “How on earth did your mother end up having an affair with someone in the theater?”
“Seems it happens quite often.” William threw her a knowing glance, which she ignored. “My mother always loved the theater. I assume they were introduced one evening after a performance and fell madly in love. What's even stranger is it appears Adam and your father knew the man. Remember when I first met Adam, he had an odd reaction?”
“No.”
“Right, well you were probably too busy at the time trying to get rid of me. I remember it quite clearly. He seemed stunned. Said something about how I was âthe spitting image.' Same when we first came upon your father.”
She did remember her father sitting in the courtyard behind the pub, looking up at William with a baffled expression. “He thought you were a butler.” Her voice broke. Thinking of him still made her ache.
“I'm sorry, Harriet. I'm sorry he was lost in the fire.”
“He had his vices, but he was a good man, deep down. Thank you.” She quickly changed the subject. “So I take it your father was not a butler?”
“No. His name was Henry Butler.” He pulled out a piece of paper from his front pocket. “Here's the obituary. He passed away a few months before my mother died. She'd kept his obituary with his letters in a locked trunk.”
“How tragic, the timing of their deaths.”
“Yes, even though they'd broken off the affair years earlier.”
She scanned the newspaper clipping. The name was a familiar one from her youth, but in the past decade Butler's plays had waned in popularity. How sad William had never met the man.
“The news wasn't a complete surprise.” William rubbed his eyes. “My brother Oliver, the night of his death, was angry I wouldn't sanction his desire to marry an actress. He was drunk, and said he had it on good authority I was illegitimate. The actress, who was also inebriated, tried to tell me the details but I ordered them both to get out of my sight, that I never wanted to see them again.”
“I imagine I would have felt the same way.”
“I said some horrible things to my brother. He rode off into the night and was dead, along with the actress, a few hours later.”
Harriet didn't speak. She knew all too well the torment one could feel about one's family, the unshakeable guilt. His pain was palpable.
“I want to marry you.” William's words came out of nowhere.
Harriet shook her head. “What on earth are you talking about?” The impudence of his words fueled her anger. “How dare you? Turn around and leave here for good.”
“Is it because I've disavowed my title?”
She sputtered her reply. “Of course not. I'm not like Marianne. I wouldn't care if you were a chimney sweep. That's not the point. Why would I ever considering marrying you after what happened between us? After the way you treated me in Birmingham?”
“I'm sorry.” He braced his hands on the edge of the desk and took a deep breath. His eyes burned into hers. “I was a beast to even think you were working with Freddie.”
“You certainly were.”
“And I was too worried about my own culpability in Mrs. Ivey's death to consider how my words and actions affected you. I was selfish and narrow-minded, and I'm sorry.”
Did he think she would be swayed so easily? “So now Marianne has thrown you over and you're a pariah in good society, I'm suddenly a suitable prospect for a wife?” Her voice dripped with sarcasm. “You may enjoy playing at being a commoner now, but I assure you when life gets difficult you'll wish you'd never shunned your title and your connections.”
“You're wrong.”
“Why on earth would you do such a thing? Perhaps there was gossip among certain circles, but no one would have dared say anything about your parentage to your face.”
“Maybe not. But you can't imagine what a relief it is to cast off those bonds. Jasper enjoys running the estate and managing the accounts and the nonsense I simply tolerated because I ought to, and because, for a long time, I felt guilty for Oliver's death. I finally realized, with Claire's help, I ought to make of my life what I want. You did it yourself. Miss Farley, the first actress-manager in London. I have great plans. And I'd like to have you by my side.”