Chapter 9

"I hope that you finish your play quickly," Loralie said, sighing. "The lines I'm being forced to read are terrible. I feel like a fool reading some of them! I cannot wait for your superior dialogue!"

Victoria stifled a laugh. "You do not know that. You have not read any of my lines. How do you know that it is not worse than what that script says?"

"I do not imagine that they can be worse!" Loralie declared, waving the script in the air. "No one could write worse dialogue than this!"

They were seated together on the edge of the stage, while Loralie practiced her lines. This was a new play for the stage, written by a fledgling playwright. Charles had agreed to stage it, declaring that the theatre needed something new. Even though A Midsummer Night's Dream had been popular with audiences, it was still not as successful as they had all hoped. Charles believed that some new play, one that no one had seen before, would be the best for the theatre.

The play was not terrible exactly, but Loralie was right. Some of the lines were ridiculous, particularly the overly dramatic love confessions between Phoebe—Loralie's role—and Apollo—Henry's role. Even Rhys, who had never written anything besides receipts and the odd record of expenses, declared that he could do better.

"I am sure that we could change them a little," Victoria offered.

It was not unusual for stage productions to change small aspects of plays for performance, after all. Certainly, changing a few of the less eloquent sentences would be preferable to having Loralie laugh in the middle of a serious scene.

"I think it would be more than a little to make this play work," Loralie said. "I told Charles I did not like this play, and he agreed to show it to our patrons anyway."

"Why would he do that?"

Loralie sighed and rolled her eyes. "Evidently, this playwright is the son of some important man, so we have to indulge him, even if his craft is terrible."

"I wonder what the writer knows about love," Victoria mused. "Is this what it is like?"

Loralie searched Victoria's face for a heartbeat, seemingly searching for something. "You have been a little strange today," Loralie said. "You seem distract—oh! I forgot to tell you! A gentleman asked after you when you were here last."

"A dark-haired gentleman?"

Loralie nodded, her face pinching with worry. "I am so sorry that I did not think to tell you. Are you all right? I did not tell him anything about you."

Victoria sighed and traced her fingers over the play's script. The theatre troupe always denied that she visited them. Mostly, it was so that her stepmother would not learn of her visits to the theatre, but it seemed that Loralie would also deny to rakes that she was there. "I am fine. I met that gentleman, though. He is seemingly a notorious rake."

"Seemingly?"

Victoria quickly recounted everything from her initial meeting with Lord Bedford to their most recent encounter. She even hesitantly and awkwardly told Loralie about all the strange and contradictory feelings that she felt towards the handsome, young lord.

When she was finished, Loralie whistled lowly between her teeth. "You sound as though you are in love with him."

"In love? Surely, I cannot love him so quickly! We have only had two conversations!"

Loralie laughed softly and patted Victoria's arm. "Sometimes, that is all one needs."

"I did not expect you to believe in love at first sight," Victoria said, staring at her worldly, knowledgeable friend with something akin to disbelief. "I always assumed you were more practical."

"I am," Loralie said, "but that does not mean that I have never felt any tender emotions for a man after a short amount of time. Certainly, that is enough time for infatuation to develop, and often, that blooms into something deeper and more profound."

"Perhaps," Victoria said, "but I must remember that he is a rake. I wish that I could have become infatuated with a good man."

"A good man," Loralie said. "I do think, Victoria, that men are more complicated than good and bad. Even if Lord Bedford is a rake, that does not necessarily mean that he is bad."

"No?"

"It means that he pursues his passions," Loralie spoke delicately, as if she were choosing her words very carefully. "You are similar in that regard, but your passion is for the theatre, rather than … well …"

"Amorous congress," Victoria replied with a laugh. "I am surprised that you will not just say it."

"I was trying to have mercy on your delicate, lady-like disposition."

"I do not think I have the nature needed of a lady," Victoria said.

"You do," Loralie said, her face softening. "You may deny it, Victoria, but it is obvious to me."

Victoria shook her head. "If attending these balls has taught me anything, it is that I do not understand my stepmother's world. Nor my father's world."

"That is to be expected," Loralie said. "You have not attended many such functions, and besides, you are not the usual lady. I have told you so before."

"Yes, but I suppose I did not realize how different I was until I met proper ladies."

Loralie's face softened with sympathy. "Different is good. You do not want to be like all those other ton ladies. You are enough, and you are a lady. Do not let anyone convince you that you are lesser in any way."

"Thank you," Victoria replied warmly.

"So," Loralie said, idly tracing her finger along the edge of the cheap, paper pages. "What do you intend to do? Are you going to allow this rake to teach you about love?"

Victoria sighed. Although she had thought of little else since that conversation with Lord Bedford, she had no clear answer still. "I confess that I find the prospect delightful, but I still feel as if I should not. He might very well lead me to my ruin. There is much that I do not understand about being a lady; however, I know that being involved with a rake is an unwise choice."

"Being involved with powerful men, whether or not they are rakes, is often an unwise choice," Loralie said, "but I suppose there is more to think about being a lady. I wish that your stepmother were a more compassionate guide."

"She has been kinder of late."

"Does that not seem strange to you?"

"It does," Victoria conceded.

She had tried not to think too much about it. While it was unlikely that her stepmother had suddenly become a compassionate woman who was invested in her future, Victoria so earnestly wanted to believe that was precisely what had happened.

"I cannot imagine what would happen to make her behave so differently, though," Victoria said, "so until I know something for certain, I am choosing to believe that my stepmother is trying to be a gentler mother to me."

"I hope that is so," Loralie said. "She does not like your rake?"

"No," Victoria replied. "She has shown an interest in helping me find a suitable love match, however."

"Well," Loralie said. "That does seem to be a shame."

"A shame?"

"You have such conflicted feelings towards your rake," Loralie said. "It sounds like an attraction to him. Perhaps, love. These are often contradictory feelings."

"What should I do, then?" Victoria asked. "I do not want to disappoint my stepmother or ruin my reputation, but at the same time, I want—I want so much. I desperately want to learn everything he is willing to teach me about love."

"That is a difficult position to be in."

"What would you do if it were you?"

Loralie laughed. "I am certain that your stepmother would not want you to listen to my advice."

"She would not even want me to talk to you," Victoria said. "I am not willing to do that to please her, though. Tell me what you would do."

"I would follow my heart."

"That is all?"

"Yes. I would listen to what my heart believed to be the correct path. If I loved a man—or thought I might love him—I would at least let him court me. I would want to see if love would blossom between us."

"And if it did not?" Victoria asked. "Surely, affection does not always lead to love."

"No," Loralie agreed. "Sometimes, it leads to being hurt. But loss is a fact of life. It is something that we see every day. Chances to gain something new and wonderous do not arrive every day, however. I would rather try for love and risk being hurt than never trying at all. Love is worth the risk, always."

Victoria slowly nodded. "That makes sense."

"It is easier to say than do," Loralie said.

"Yes. But also, I do not know if he loves me. I am not certain that I could endure his rejection if he does not love me. If he proves false, I shall be terribly bereft."

"You will heal," Loralie said softly. "I promise. It may take some time, but eventually, that wound will heal."

"Do you speak from experience?"

"Yes. I have lost love many times," Loralie said, "but even those times were worth it in the end. I think about them when I do my performances. I remember the moments when those loves were beautiful and perfect and everything. That is also why I believe that love is worth continuing to search for, and you—more than anyone else I have ever met—deserve to find love."

Feeling uncharacteristically shy, Victoria tucked a curl behind her ear. "Thank you. No one has ever told me that before."

"They should," Loralie said. "I am sorry that they have not."

"My stepmother is trying," Victoria replied. "She has encouraged me to find a love match."

"How thoughtful of her. How odd."

Victoria said nothing. She did not want to think about the reasons behind her stepmother's odd behaviour. Perhaps, it was cowardly of her. If her stepmother did not mean well, Victoria knew that she would learn of it eventually. The truth could never be hidden forever. While she could, Victoria wanted to believe that her stepmother truly did have her best interests in her heart.

There was still the matter of her rake. Victoria swallowed hard. "I will see him again."

It was the season. She would see him many more times, and as long as she was careful, her stepmother need not even know that Victoria was conversing with a rake or that he was teaching her about love.

"You have given me much to think about," Victoria said.

"Was it helpful?"

‘Yes," she replied. "Thank you. I—I suppose that I should apologize, though. I was supposed to be helping you with your lines, and we have not even got halfway through this play!"

Loralie shook her head. "I will confess that I find it difficult to be upset about that. If anything, I am grateful for the distraction from the terrible lines that I will have to read on stage. It will be a miracle if Henry and I manage to keep from laughing during the performance."

"Perhaps no one in the audience will notice because they will also be laughing."

"No chance," Loralie said, shaking her head. "If there is an error in a performance, no matter how small, someone watching will notice. That is the first rule of the theatre."

Loralie often mentioned various rules for the theatre, but Victoria was convinced that her friend simply created rules when it was convenient for some argument she wanted to make.

"I should be going," Victoria said. "I have stayed too long already."

"Indeed," Loralie said. "You must let me know all about romancing your rake when we talk next."

Victoria stood and stretched her arms above her head, letting the ache in her muscles slowly loosen. "I will. And you must promise to be my leading actress when I finally complete my play for the troupe."

"I would be offended if you asked anyone else."

Victoria grinned and carefully lowered herself from the stage. Inside, her heart sang. Her stepmother did not want her to pursue a rake. Victoria understood that, and perhaps it would be wise for her to listen. But Loralie's words filled her with such courage that she felt as if she might burst. Why did she need to only imagine what it would be like to love a man? Why did she need to write about Constance and her Lord Belmont when Victoria could live that experience with Lord Bedford?

Performance and art were wonderful, but surely, experience was the best teacher of all.