Chapter 20

"Ah! I finally have my play!" Charles exclaimed, holding the pages in his hands. "Would you like me to read it now?"

"Please."

Victoria's fingers and wrist ached from writing so much. After that heated encounter in the library, she and Lord Bedford had retreated to the bedroom. They had spent the day together, and he had only left towards the evening. Victoria did not sleep that night. Instead, she seated herself at her desk and began to write, trying to describe every thought and sensation the encounter inspired. She wrote Lady Constance as the woman she always wanted to be, as the bold lady who was unafraid to indulge in pleasures.

By the time she finished penning the dalliance between Lady Constance and Lord Belmont, Victoria felt her own body ache for Lord Bedford's presence and body. She knew that he had business to attend to, however, and she could not simply summon him and insist that he attend to her the very next day. Surely, that would be too soon. Instead, Victoria contented herself with writing the play. She worked through the night and well into the next morning, stopping for nothing until the last words were written.

Then, she rose from her desk and arched her back, wincing at the aches that had spread along her spine and between her shoulders. It was difficult to be terribly bothered, though, when the long-awaited play was finally completed. She had done it!

Victoria had gathered the pages and at once made her way to the theatre. She had presented it to Charles and now sat watching his face carefully, searching for the smallest indication of what he felt about the play's quality.

He did not look as though he hated it. Mostly, he just looked thoughtful. He found her play a piece of art to be given serious consideration. Victoria shivered in delight. At long last, she was a playwright!

"Interesting," Charles said.

"Is it?"

"Certainly. I have never read anything so scandalous in all my days! If I did not know you, I would never believe that a lady of your breeding had written it!" Charles exclaimed. "Remarkable!"

She flushed. It helped that her teacher had been so patient and enthusiastic with her.

"Do you think the troupe would be willing to perform it?"

"I am certain they would do anything for you," Charles said. "However, I would recommend making some alterations before it is ready for the stage."

"Alterations?" Victoria asked. "Do you think it is too scandalous?"

"Not at all. My concern is that it is too simple—the plot, rather."

"The plot?"

"Yes. Lady Constance and Lord Belmont meet at a ball, and they initially despise one another. That is a good conflict, and I enjoyed reading about their interactions," Charles said. "Once they begin to develop feelings for one another, however, the conflict disappears. And that is only the second act. The play concludes with a happy ending, but nothing is preventing the characters from becoming lovers. There must be some obstacle for the love story to work."

"I did have the friend," Victoria pointed out. "Lady Amelia."

"You did," Charles said, "but she does not quite work. While it is true that she disproves of the relationship between Lady Constance and Lord Belmont, she does not do much to try and prevent her friend from wedding this rake. She tells Lady Constance that she believes indulging in such hedonistic pursuits will harm her reputation, but that is all she does."

Victoria's heart sank. As loathe as she was to admit it, Charles made a compelling point. Lady Amelia did not exactly try to prevent the couple from being together in any meaningful way.

"I understand," Victoria replied.

"I also do not think that Lady Amelia makes for an effective opponent," Charles said. "When you write, My Lady, your villain must be as strong and cunning as your hero. Otherwise, the story will not work. There is never a moment in the play where it appears that Lady Amelia might emerge victorious. She is not exceptionally bold or clever like the heroine is. She is just an ordinary woman."

Victoria bit her lip and slowly nodded. Even as Charles revealed all the flaws in her work, his voice was soft and his face kind. He did not wish to upset her. No, he genuinely wanted to ensure that her very first play was worthy of being shown on stage, and Victoria would have preferred to receive his criticism than for him to lie and pretend the work was flawless. Still, his words left her feeling strangely vulnerable.

"I am not certain what the conflict should be," Victoria admitted. "Lord Bedford suggested my stepmother."

Charles snorted. "Perhaps. You would not be the first playwright to pen something unfavourable about a person you know."

"I meant it in jest," Victoria said. "I would never speak ill of my stepmother. She is flawed, like any other person, but she has been very kind to me."

"She would present a good example, though," Charles said.

Victoria raised an eyebrow. "How?"

Charles tapped the play with his fingertips. "Think about this. Lady Constance is a powerful, independent woman. Because of this, the narrative loses some tension already. Let us imagine instead that she is a young woman with a cruel stepmother. Writing Lady Constance like that would make her situation more sympathetic.

We would see her struggle against the unfair villain, who seeks to restrain her brazen spirit. And as someone in a position of power over Lady Constance, the stepmother would be more believable as a threat to Lady Constance's happiness."

"Oh," Victoria breathed. "I think I understand. I have no intention of using my stepmother or any stepmother, but that is a good idea."

Charles hummed and pushed her play across the table and back into her hands. "Find another powerful person, then. Or perhaps the villain is involved with the hero somehow. There are many different characters you could try."

"Mephistopheles," Victoria offered.

Charles chuckled. "I am not certain that introducing a demon from Dr Faustus would achieve the desired effect, especially since you are celebrating hedonism in this very fine play. But he would certainly be a powerful threat."

Victoria gathered her pages together and held them tightly against her chest. It was the product of so many hours of work; all her passion poured out in ink, and flaws exposed before her very eyes. This was what being an artist was: an act of creation and vision and starting again. "Thank you for reading it for me," Victoria said. "I am sorry that it is not quite where it needs to be yet."

"For a first play, it is quite good, My Lady," Charles said. "If it were not good, I would certainly tell you so."

Somehow, Victoria doubted that. "Thank you. The next time you read this play, it will be perfect."

"I know it will be."

With those parting words, Victoria left Charles' study. It would have been a pleasant surprise if he had not requested any changes to the play. She knew that few, if any, of the aspiring playwrights who came to Charles brought him perfect plays.

There were usually minor requests, at least. Her suggested changes were more substantial, but he had not found her work too salacious or criticized the emotional scenes between Lady Constance and Lord Belmont. That was a good indication that the parts relating to her own experiences were well-articulated and feasible.

Seeing her, Loralie waved and approached her. "Well?" the actress asked without preamble.

"I need to make some minor revisions before the play will be ready for the stage," Victoria said.

"Unfortunate," Loralie replied, pursing her lips together.

"Not at all!" Victoria exclaimed, laughing a little. "All of Charles' thoughts make sense, and he is right about them. If I make his suggested changes, the play will be better for it. I want to make sure that when I first see my work on stage, it is as good as it possibly can be."

"I suppose I can understand that."

"Perhaps my rake will have some advice," Victoria added. "He helped me with some of the scenes by teaching me—well—"

Loralie clapped her hands together, her face one of mock scandal. "Victoria!"

"I took your advice to listen to my heart," Victoria said, "and I do like him a great deal. I have wondered if he might even propose to me. My stepmother said that gentlemen often do that very quickly. They do not want to give another man the opportunity to steal their would-be brides."

"That might be the one piece of advice she has given you that I agree with," Loralie mused. "I am glad that you like him and that he seems to return your affections."

"So am I."

Well," Loralie said. "When you are a famous playwright, you must promise to remember all the lowly theatre troupe who enabled you to become such a dramatic genius."

Victoria laughed. "I do not know which is more ridiculous, your assertion that I might be a famous playwright or the claim that I could ever forget any of you. This theatre was the first place that I ever really felt as though I belonged. I think of you all as a part of my family."

"And we think of you as a part of ours," Loralie said softly. "We always have and always will."

Victoria smiled, a rush of affection for Loralie and the rest of the troupe coming over her so strongly that she felt as if her heart might burst. Perhaps, a theatre troupe was not the family a proper lady ought to have, but they were Victoria's family, nonetheless. And as far as she was concerned, they were perfect.