Chapter Fourteen

T he morning sun rose warm and bright over Rhodes Theatre as Lottie entered the bustling building. Her steps echoed on the polished wooden floors as she made her way toward the office they had been using to collaborate on the play. She expected to find Thatcher there, ready to work. After all, they had made significant progress with the play, and there was much to be done. “Goodrich!” she called out. “It’s time to work.”

To her dismay, the room was empty. The script sat abandoned on the cluttered table, untouched since their heated argument the previous day. Lottie felt her frustration simmering beneath the surface. This wasn’t the time for Thatcher’s flakiness.

She stormed out of the room, her long skirts swishing angrily. Lottie rarely lost her temper, but this time, her anger was justified. She had put her heart and soul into this project, and Thatcher’s unexplained absence felt like a betrayal.

In the corridor outside the rehearsal room, she ran into some of the actors who were preparing for their upcoming scenes. Their faces lit up as they saw her. “Lady Lottie,” one of the actors, a strapping young man named Robert, greeted her. “We were hoping you could help us with the next scene. Mr. Goodrich isn’t here yet.”

Lottie clenched her jaw, her vexation mounting. “Of course I’ll help,” she replied curtly. “But Mr. Goodrich’s absence is inexcusable. I can’t believe he would let down the entire production like this.”

The actors nodded in agreement, sharing Lottie’s disappointment. She took charge, directing them through the scene with precision and expertise. But even as she worked with the actors, her mind was racing. She couldn’t shake the feeling that something was amiss with Thatcher. Where was he?

After the impromptu rehearsal, Lottie made her way to Rainville’s office. She wasn’t one to mince words, and she intended to get answers.

The duke, seated behind his cluttered desk, looked up in surprise as Lottie entered without knocking. She didn’t bother with pleasantries. “Where is he?” she demanded.

Ever the picture of calm and composure, Rainville raised an eyebrow. “I beg your pardon. To whom are you referring?”

Lottie folded her arms across her chest. “Thatcher Goodrich. I need his home address.”

Rainville leaned back in his chair, studying her with a thoughtful expression. “Are you certain this is the path you wish to take?”

Lottie’s jaw clenched as her frustration bubbled to the surface. “I don’t have time for his games! The play is on the line, and I won’t let Thatcher’s irresponsibility ruin it.”

Relenting, the duke sighed, reaching for a piece of parchment and a quill. He scribbled down an address and handed it to Lottie. “Very well. But I would advise you to approach this matter with caution. You may find more than you bargained for.”

Lottie snatched the parchment from his hand and nodded curtly. Without another word, she left his office and set out to track down Thatcher, determined to get to the bottom of his mysterious absence.

She couldn’t believe Thatcher’s lack of professionalism and ethics. “He simply cannot do this,” she sputtered, waving her arms in exasperation. “We have a play to write, a king to please, and he’s off gallivanting somewhere, probably in some tavern!”

The actors, who had gathered again to further rehearse their scenes, exchanged wary glances. Robert cleared his throat and stepped forward, attempting to calm the irate playwright. “Lady Lottie,” he began, “we understand your frustration. But perhaps Mr. Goodrich has a valid reason for his absence.”

Lottie turned to him with a scowl. “A valid reason? What could possibly be valid at this late a date? Robert, we are in the midst of a critical collaboration! If Mr. Goodrich has a valid reason, he should have communicated it to us. But instead, he leaves us in the lurch, doesn’t he?”

Another actor, James, chimed in. “We share your concern, we do. We are just as committed to the success of this play as you are. Mr. Goodrich’s absence affects us all. But I confess that I’ve never seen him disrespect the theatre.”

Lottie let out an exasperated huff and thrust her hands on her hips. “Well, what are we supposed to do now? Sit around and wait for him to grace us with his presence?”

Robert shared a glance with James, and they exchanged a knowing nod. Then Robert stepped closer to Lottie, his voice gentle. “Lady Lottie,” he said, “we can start working on the scenes that don’t require Mr. Goodrich’s input. We’re a team, and we’ll do our best to make progress without him.”

James added, “And when he does return, we’ll have something to show him. Perhaps this will serve as a reminder of the importance of his role in this collaboration.”

Lottie eyed the actors, her initial fury beginning to ebb. She appreciated their sincerity and willingness to go on. They weren’t just performers; they were her team, and they were as invested in the success of the play as she was.

With a reluctant nod, she conceded, “You’re right. Let’s not waste any more time. We’ll work on what we can without him. But I won’t let Mr. Goodrich off the hook so easily when he returns.”

The actors grinned triumphantly, clearly relieved that they had successfully defused Lottie’s initial outburst.

“I’ll leave you to carry on,” she said, and bade them farewell, eager to track the infuriating playwright down.

She embarked on a journey through the bustling streets of London, her resolve unshaken despite her frustration with Thatcher’s absence.

As she made her way to his address, she couldn’t help but engage in lively exchanges with the people she encountered. First, she approached a flower vendor, a plump and rosy-cheeked woman who was carefully arranging her vibrant blooms. Lottie couldn’t resist stopping to admire the colorful array. “These are exquisite,” she exclaimed.

The vendor beamed at the compliment. “Aren’t they, miss? Fresh from the countryside this morning, they are. Would you like to purchase a bouquet?”

Lottie shook her head with a polite smile. “Not today, I’m afraid, but I appreciate the beauty you’ve brought to our city.”

Continuing her journey, she found herself near a group of children playing a spirited game of marbles on the cobblestone street. Their laughter filled the air as they cheered each other on. “Looks like you’re having a grand time,” she remarked, crouching down to watch their game.

One of the children, a freckled-faced boy with tousled hair, grinned up at her. “Aye, miss! It’s the best game in all of London!”

Lottie chuckled, sharing in their youthful enthusiasm for simple pleasures. “Well, carry on, then. Enjoy every moment of it.” Life went by too quickly.

As she ventured farther into the heart of the city, Lottie encountered a street musician playing a melancholic tune on a violin. The haunting melody tugged at her heartstrings, and she couldn’t help but pause to listen. “That’s a beautiful piece,” she commented, once the musician had finished.

The violinist, a kindly-looking man with a round face, nodded appreciatively. “Thank you, miss. It’s a tune from my homeland, and it brings me solace.” Lottie offered him a small donation as a token of her appreciation, and the musician’s eyes brightened with gratitude. “May your day be filled with joy, miss,” he said, his voice filled with sincerity.

With a nod and a smile, Lottie resumed her walk through the streets of London. Her impatience to confront Thatcher battled with her innate courtesy as she interacted with the people she encountered on her journey. Her determination to give him a piece of her mind remained unwavering, but she couldn’t deny the instinctual politeness that guided her interactions.

As she approached a street vendor selling roasted chestnuts, the warm aroma wafted through the air, tempting her senses. She couldn’t resist purchasing a small bag, even though her mind was preoccupied with thoughts of her missing collaborator.

“Ah, the chestnuts are perfect today,” the vendor remarked, handing her the bag.

Lottie nodded in agreement, managing a polite smile. “Indeed, they are. Thank you.”

A group of young women dressed in the latest fashion strolled by, chatting animatedly about their social plans for the evening. Lottie couldn’t help but overhear their conversation and momentarily forget her frustration.

“It’s Lady Clarissa’s soirée tonight,” one of the women exclaimed, her voice tinged with excitement.

Lottie approached them, curiosity getting the better of her. “Lady Clarissa’s soirée, you say? Is it a grand affair?”

The women turned to her, their curiosity piqued by the newcomer. “Oh, yes! The finest in all of London. We’ve been anticipating it for weeks.”

Lottie engaged in a lively conversation with the group, learning about the upcoming social event and sharing in their enthusiasm. It was another refreshing diversion from her original mission.

As she said her goodbyes and continued on her way, Lottie couldn’t help but think of the many faces of London, each person with their own story and joys to share. But her resolve to confront Thatcher remained undiminished, and she pressed forward, eager to address his neglect of their work.

Finally, she made it to her destination, a small, nondescript townhouse in a once-genteel neighborhood. With shaking hands, she raised her fist and knocked.

“Good day,” a gray-haired servant greeted her as the door swung open. “May I help you?”

“I’m here for Mr. Goodrich.” Oh, the anger flooded back to her. “I demand to see him at once.”

“He’s, well, indisposed, at the moment, my lady.” The tint of embarrassment in his tone told Lottie exactly how the no-good playwright was indisposed . “Perhaps you should come back at a later time.”

Thatcher’s absence this morning rushed to her mind, and her anger sparked hot. Forgetting herself, she stepped over the threshold and marched down the hall toward the stairs. “I know you’re in here, Goodrich!” she shouted as she marched up them.

“My lady, I implore you,” the servant begged as he rushed up the stairs and stepped around her, blocking entry to the third door on the left.

“Implore away, but I’ve got things to say to this man.”

Lottie couldn’t hide her shock as she pushed past the servant and entered Thatcher’s private chamber. The sight that met her eyes left her flummoxed and speechless. There, in his bedchamber, Thatcher sat in a steaming bath, his magnificent body marred with bruises and cuts.

“Good Lord, Thatcher, what on earth happened to you?” she blurted out.

Thatcher’s eyes shot open, and he winced as he moved in the bath. He seemed surprised, but his expression quickly turned guarded. “Lottie? What are you doing here?”

Ignoring his question, she rushed to his side, her fingers trembling as she reached out to touch one of the bruises on his arm. “These injuries… Did you get into a fight?”

He winced again as she touched the bruise, but he didn’t pull away. “It’s nothing,” he muttered, clearly uncomfortable with her close scrutiny.

“Nothing?” Lottie repeated incredulously. “You look like you’ve been through a war. You can’t just dismiss this as nothing .”

Thatcher sighed, his shoulders slumping. “It’s a long story. One I’d rather not get into right now.”

Her concern deepened, and she regarded him sympathetically, but still willfully. “Well, that’s just tough, because I’m not leaving until you tell me what happened. We were supposed to be working on the play together, and instead, I find you in this state.”

He met her gaze, his smoky eyes filled with a complex mix of emotions. “It’s complicated, Lottie. I’m afraid it involves some unsavory characters and some unfinished business.”

Lottie’s curiosity got the better of her, and she couldn’t stop from pressing further. “Unsavory characters? Unfinished business? Thatcher, you can’t keep secrets from me if they affect our work.”

Thatcher sighed again, more heavily this time. “You’re right, of course. But it’s a long story, and I’d rather not relive it right now. Can we please discuss it later? After I’ve had a chance to recover?”

Lottie reluctantly nodded. “Very well, we’ll discuss it later. But don’t think you’re off the hook. I won’t let you hide this from me.”

Thatcher managed a faint smile, and for a moment, the vulnerability in his eyes surprised her. “Thank you. You’re…quite something.”

She smiled back in exasperated affection. “Yes, well, that’s why I’m here. To keep you in line and make sure you don’t mess up our play.”