Chapter Twelve

T hatcher’s heart raced as he followed the palace servant through the grand corridors of King William IV’s residence. He had been summoned to discuss the progress of the play, and the thought of meeting the king in person filled him with a mixture of awe and trepidation. He felt the weight of the occasion, knowing that the success of his and Lottie’s play could have far-reaching consequences.

Beside him, Lottie walked with a determined stride, her presence a reassuring anchor in the sea of uncertainty. She had insisted on accompanying him to the meeting, refusing to let Thatcher meet the king alone. Lottie wanted to ensure that Thatcher didn’t say or do anything that might jeopardize their collaborative efforts.

The palace itself was a marvel of opulence, with gilded walls and crystal chandeliers. The air was scented with the fragrant blooms of the autumn garden, and the distant sound of a piano playing a delicate melody wafted through the air. Thatcher couldn’t help but marvel at the grandeur of it all, though he was acutely aware that he was far removed from the impoverished artist’s life he had once led.

As they entered a lavish drawing room, King William himself was seated at a tea table near a large window that overlooked the garden. The king, a portly man with a hearty laugh and a twinkle in his blue eyes, greeted them warmly. “Good afternoon, Mr. Goodrich,” he said as he extended his hand for Thatcher to shake. “And who is this lovely lady accompanying you today?”

“Your Majesty, may I present Lady Lottie Castlebury, a dear friend and a passionate supporter of the arts. She shares my enthusiasm for the theatre.”

He watched Lottie execute a graceful curtsy, her gaze steady and respectful as she addressed the king. “Your Majesty, it is an honor to be in your presence. I’ve long admired your support for the arts and your dedication to our beloved country.”

The king beamed with delight at the compliment, and they were invited to join him at the tea table. Biscuits and freshly brewed tea were served, and the conversation turned to the progress of their play.

Thatcher exchanged a quick, nervous glance with Lottie, and her own unease was apparent. But he took a deep breath and began to discuss their work with the king, describing the themes and characters they had developed, and the central conflict that would drive the narrative. As he spoke, the king listened attentively, occasionally nodding or asking insightful questions. His friendly demeanor put Thatcher somewhat at ease, but the weight of the situation was still palpable.

When he had finished the presentation, the king leaned back in his chair and regarded them both with a thoughtful expression. “I must say, Mr. Goodrich and Lady Lottie, I am quite intrigued by this play. It sounds like a story that the audience will find most captivating. Myself most especially.”

Relief swept through Thatcher, and he glanced at Lottie once more, his tension dissipating slightly. It seemed that his presentation had met with the king’s approval. “Thank you, Your Majesty,” he replied, his throat dry as sand. “I am honored by your interest and continued support.”

The king raised his teacup in a toast. “To the theatre and the arts!” he declared, and they clinked their teacups together.

As they continued to discuss the play and their plans for its production, Thatcher couldn’t help but marvel at the odd turn of events. He had come a long way from the struggling playwright he once was, and now he found himself in the presence of the king, with Lady Lottie by his side—the most infuriating, damnably beautiful, and exceedingly talented woman he’d ever met.

As King William reminisced about the theatre, his mind turned to his once-beloved Dorothea, Thatcher felt a mixture of fascination and trepidation. The king’s voice carried a wistful tone as he spoke of the actress who had long ago captured his heart and given him several children. “Ah, Dotti,” he sighed, his eyes distant. “She was a remarkable woman, a brilliant actress, and the mother of my children. We had our share of joys and sorrows, but I will always cherish the memories we created together.”

Lottie leaned forward, her eyes shining with admiration. “Your Majesty, I’ve always been inspired by Ms. Jordan’s talent and strength,” she confessed. “She paved the way for many women in the theatre, proving that they could command the stage as well as any man.”

“You, Lady Lottie, remind me of her in many ways,” he said, his voice tinged with nostalgia. “The same fire, the same determination to excel in a world that often underestimates women. Dotti would have been proud of your achievements.”

Thatcher watched the exchange, aware of the significance of the king’s words. Lottie, with her passion for the theatre and her unwavering determination, was being compared to the famous actress who had once captured the heart of a king, Jane Austen herself, and the whole of London. He couldn’t deny the admiration and attraction he felt for Lottie in that moment, even as it stoked the embers of their complicated relationship.

Her fiery spirit had always intrigued him, but now, in the presence of the king’s praise, he felt something more. It was a stirring deep within his chest, an unsettling sensation he couldn’t quite name. He glanced away, hoping to conceal the turmoil in his eyes. This wasn’t the plan! He had never intended to become so entangled with Lady Lottie, and yet here they were. It was a situation he couldn’t have foreseen, and it left him feeling vulnerable in ways he didn’t want to admit. Thatcher had always been the master of his own fate, relying on his sharp wit and determination to carve a path to success. But with Lottie by his side, challenging him at every turn and stoking unfamiliar feelings, he couldn’t help but feel like a man teetering on the edge of something unknown and dangerous. And he didn’t like it one bit.

Amidst the king’s conversation, Thatcher suddenly heard a distant bark, followed by a servant’s frantic shout in the background. He turned his attention toward the commotion and couldn’t suppress a grin as he spotted an exuberant Irish setter sprinting toward them.

“Oh dear!” the servant cried, trying to catch up with the canine whirlwind. “Forgive me, Your Majesty. Monty’s gotten away again!”

Thatcher chuckled, his gaze fixed on the approaching dog. “Well, I suppose he’s eager to join our discussion, Your Majesty,” he quipped.

King William’s eyes widened as the dog drew nearer, his once-regal countenance breaking into a bemused smile. “It seems that Monty has his own opinions about the matters at hand,” he observed.

As the setter bounded toward them, Thatcher leaned down, extending a hand in greeting. “Hello, Monty,” he said with a grin, ruffling the dog’s fur. Monty responded with enthusiastic wagging and an attempt to shower Thatcher with slobbery kisses.

The servant finally managed to catch up. “I’m so sorry, Your Majesty,” he panted, his face flushed with embarrassment.

The king waved off the apology with a good-natured chuckle. “No harm done, I think Monty has made his point,” he remarked, casting a playful glance at Thatcher. “He’s clearly a fan of our discussions.”

Thatcher straightened once more and listened with rapt attention as King William again expressed his anticipation for the upcoming play. “I must confess, Mr. Goodrich, I am quite eager to witness the magic you shall create on the stage. It’s been far too long since I’ve had the pleasure of attending a truly exceptional theatrical performance. Why, the last time was your last play!”

Thatcher felt a mixture of pride and pressure at the king’s words. His play was expected to deliver, and the weight of anticipation hung heavily in the air.

Lottie, always quick with words, responded with a charming smile. “Your Majesty, we are deeply honored by your enthusiasm and support,” she said. “Rest assured, Mr. Goodrich shall put his heart and soul into this production, aiming to create a play that will captivate and delight you.”

The king nodded appreciatively. “I have no doubt that he shall, Lady Lottie,” he replied. “The stage has a way of bringing forth extraordinary talent, and I have the utmost confidence in his abilities.”

As the king continued to express his excitement and offer anecdotes about his past experiences in the theatre, Thatcher remained filled with both apprehension and determination. The King’s approval was a powerful motivator, but it also meant that his—well, their —work would be under close scrutiny. They couldn’t afford to disappoint.

A pang of guilt tugged at his conscience. He knew, as well as Lottie did, that she was every bit as responsible for the play’s creation as he was. Her insights, ideas, and passion had breathed life into their collaborative effort. But he also understood the harsh realities of the world they lived in. Women faced numerous restrictions and prejudices when it came to the arts, especially in the realm of playwriting. The theatre world was male-dominated, and it was a realm where women often struggled to gain recognition for their talents. Thatcher admired Lottie’s determination and skill, but he couldn’t openly acknowledge her contributions without risking her reputation and future prospects in the theatre.

The weight of this unspoken truth bore down on him as King William praised his work. While he felt pride in the collaboration, there was also a sense of unease, knowing that Lottie’s role in their success would remain hidden. It was a silent compromise they had made, one born out of necessity rather than desire.

And, for now, that would have to be enough.