Chapter 23

Victoria sat in her usual place in the theatre. Papers littered the empty seat beside her and some of the floor. She had begun by making changes to her play, but at some point, her attention had drifted instead to making notes about Loralie's performance.

Her friend stood with her back to Henry, her posture desperate and alluring. At this part in the play, Loralie's character and Henry's were having doubts about sharing a life together. Loralie excellently played the role of a woman who was desperately torn by longing.

Victoria's eyes snapped to the balcony across from her and then to the rows of empty seats. Thomas had not come that evening. Of course, he had not said that he would, but lately, the young lord had taken to joining her at the theatre. Victoria had hoped that he would make an appearance that evening, especially since their time at the ball had been cut so short.

Loralie left the stage, having finished performing her scene with Henry. Victoria pursed her lips together and kept making notes, trying to describe the posture that Loralie had adopted. Some playwrights did not put quite that much detail into their plays, but Victoria wanted every gesture to be described perfectly. Her Lady Constance was a woman who communicated with far more than words—with her gestures and presence.

Loralie's soft footsteps announced her presence even before she spoke. "Victoria," she said. "Did you enjoy the performance?"

Victoria smiled. "Have I ever not enjoyed one of your performances?"

Loralie chuckled. "If you have ever found one of my performances dissatisfactory, you have never said so. And you would not. A lady would never be so forward."

"Perhaps," Victoria conceded, "but you are also a remarkably talented actress. I cannot imagine that you would ever give a performance that was less than perfect."

Loralie shook her head. "You praise me too highly, but I suppose you also had the benefit of not having seen my earliest performances. I was not always as talented as I am now. It took many years of hard work for me to learn everything."

"I do not believe that people realize how hard it is becoming an actress," Victoria said.

"I can assure you that they do not." Loralie perched on the arm of the paper-laden chair, and warmth rushed to Victoria's face.

"Would you like me to move those?" she asked, nodding to the papers.

Loralie shook her head. "Do not let me interfere with your creativity."

"I do not believe it possible for one of the Muses to interfere with creativity," Victoria said.

Loralie smiled. "You are the only woman ever to call me a Muse."

"Is that a compliment?"

"I think so," Loralie replied. "Certainly, it is a welcome change from the legions of men who all pay me the same compliments. You would be surprised by how lacking most men are in charms and wit."

"Perhaps."

"Perhaps because you have a handsome lord besotted with you," Loralie said, her eyes flashing with mischief. "He seems rather attached."

Victoria looked askance, her eyes going to the balcony opposite her. "We spent some time together at a ball."

"Oh? Did you enjoy it?"

"I did," Victoria admitted, "but it was—well—it was a little … I should have liked to spend more time with him. That is all. My stepmother loathes him, and I believe that she is trying to find me a love match with Lord Ardenridge."

"Ah." Loralie furrowed her brow. "I wonder why."

"What do you mean?"

"Surely, you do not believe that Lady Norwood is trying to arrange this love match out of altruism," Loralie said, her tone suggesting that she was choosing her words with the utmost care. "That seems unlikely for her."

Victoria sighed and leaned back in her chair. "I want to believe it is altruism, that she has finally learned to love me."

Loralie said nothing, and although Victoria's gaze was on the open book in her lap, she sensed that her friend watched her carefully. While lords and ladies were known for being tactful and cautious with their words, Loralie was equally as accomplished.

She surely sensed the doubt in Victoria's words, but Loralie would say nothing—not at first. Instead, she would wait for Victoria to voice her own thoughts. With a soft sigh, Victoria finally met her friend's gaze. Her heart melted at the softness she found there.

"I know that is a child's dream," Victoria said softly. "I know it is unlikely that my stepmother is thinking about my own interests. It is more likely that this love match benefits her in some manner or that she merely hopes to rid herself of me."

"Oh, Victoria …"

"I do not understand why she wishes to keep me away from Lord Bedford, though," Victoria continued. "If my stepmother is so determined simply to see me wed, it should hardly concern her who the groom is. Perhaps she fears his rakish reputation. Is it possible that he might cast me aside after we are wed, forcing my stepmother to care for me once more?"

Loralie frowned. "I suppose that is possible, but it seems unlikely to me."

Victoria blinked. "How unlikely?"

"Well," Loralie said. "It does not—it looks unfortunate, disgraceful, for a man to divorce or abandon his wife. I imagine if he wished to rid himself of you, he would remain your husband and simply have dalliances with other women. In that case, you would not need to have your stepmother care for you."

Victoria winced at how readily Loralie explained it all, at how easily she laid out the unromantic future before Victoria's very eyes. "Perhaps my stepmother fears the disgrace that would befall her, then."

"I suppose," Loralie said doubtfully. "But have you seen any evidence that Lord Bedford is a rake?"

Victoria's face grew hot, and she knew that her face must be the colour of a sunset, for Loralie drew in a sharp breath. "Oh, I see," her friend said, her voice trembling with a small laugh. "But engaging in an amorous congress with him does not necessarily indicate that he will be faithless. You have no knowledge of him behaving similarly with other women, do you?"

"He allegedly engaged in some unsavory behaviour across the continent," Victoria said, "but that is what I have heard my stepmother say."

"Have you met any of these previous lovers?" Loralie asked.

"I have not," Victoria said. "However, I also do not know many ladies of the ton yet. I have only spoken to a handful of them, and most of my time has been spent with Lord Bedford or Lord Ardenridge."

"Which makes it difficult to know what others believe about the lord's reputation," Loralie mused. "Still, if you have no evidence that he has done anything wrong …"

Victoria sighed. "I want to believe that he truly loves me, just as I want to believe that my stepmother has developed a genuine interest in my happiness."

"Which is more likely?" Loralie asked.

Victoria shrugged. "I am unsure."

Loralie squeezed Victoria's shoulder. "I wish I had all the answers for you, my friend. I suppose my thoughts on this are that—until you have some concrete evidence that Lord Bedford is a rake who may abandon you—you should give him the benefit of your doubt. It is so difficult to find real love in the world, and you will forever regret it if you do not at least allow yourself the possibility of being loved by Lord Bedford. It is quite apparent that you are besotted with him, and I truly believe that you should try. See how it all plays out."

"And if it plays out badly? If our love does not have a happy ending?"

Loralie's smile was soft and sad. "If the worst should happen, you will live with us. You will join the troupe and become a playwright, an actress, or both. It will be a hard life. It will not provide you with the comforts that a young lady should have. However, it will be a life. You will have people who care about you, and you will survive. That is more than many can say."

Victoria's eyes stung a little, and she roughly rubbed away the gathering tears with her hands. "Thank you."

"Of course," Loralie said. "Whatever happens with Lord Bedford, you will always have us, Victoria. Never forget that."

"Loralie!" Charles' booming voice echoed from the stage. "We need to resume rehearsal!"

"Just a moment!" Loralie called. "Will you be all right, Victoria?"

Victoria nodded. "Yes," she said. "I am fine. I just have much to think about."

"Of course."

With a final smile, Loralie left. Victoria bit her lip. Every part of her seemed suddenly full of an indescribable flood of emotion. She wanted to love Lord Bedford, and she wanted him to love her. Still, there was a relief in knowing that if her love match with him was not the bliss that she had hoped for, she would not be alone. She could rely on the love of the theatre troupe.

Loralie reached the stage and joined Charles. Victoria was seated too far away to hear their conversation, but she watched as Charles gestured grandly, seemingly indicating with enthusiasm some changes that Loralie ought to make to her performance. Victoria took a shuddering breath.

Charles had been right about her play. There did need to be a villain or obstacle of some kind, partly because conflict made for well-crafted plays. And partly because, as Victoria now realized, love itself was a conflicted thing. It was not the perfect and seamless thing she had always imagined, but frightening and complicated and filled with doubts.

Victoria looked at the chair beside her and carefully sorted through the pages. She found the one where Lady Constance made her love confession.

LADY CONSTANCE: I must confess that I love Lord Belmont. Perhaps it is unwise, but I love him more than I have loved any other man.

Victoria bit her lip and drew through the lines of text. Perhaps it would be more dramatic if Lady Constance herself showed some doubt. On stage, Loralie was making gestures, too. She clasped her hand to her heart, looking forlorn.

Charles shook his head, and words were exchanged. Loralie went through a series of movements—hanging her head and gazing from beneath her eyelashes, striding away and holding an outstretched hand as if to push someone away, begging and looking bereft—and Victoria swallowed hard. In her mind's eye, she tried to imagine how the proud, empowered Lady Constance would react to something like love—love that she doubted no less.

She pressed her pencil against her lips, deep in thought. Then, she carefully wrote:

LADY CONSTANCE: [She clasps her hands to her heart, looking forlorn and lost. She is uncertain like she has never been before, and although it is clear that she tries to remain composed, it is apparent that she is struggling.] Oh! What misfortune is this? What pain? What sweet agony has seized me?

Lord Belmont consumes my every waking thought and haunts my dreams! Even when I gaze at other men, it is his visage that I see! It cannot be love—it cannot! A man such as he could never learn to love, and I know this. Despite it all, my heart beats for him with such passion that I never thought it possible.

Victoria let out a slow breath of air. She felt as if writing Lady Constance's words made her own heart beat more quickly. Where had those words come from, though? Were they her own feelings brought onto the page, or had she merely created them for Lady Constance?

Victoria sighed. Loralie's reassurances truly were a comfort, and Victoria knew that she should be grateful for the support of such friends. Even if she did have such friends, though, she knew that it would hurt her deeply if Lord Bedford's affections were proven to be false.

And why should you believe that they are true? a traitorous voice murmured in Victoria's mind. You are nothing special or unique, and the other ladies of the ton are so much lovelier than you.

She bit her lip and took a steadying breath. Time would tell. That was all she could reasonably expect.