No one knew any of that because here she was just Catherine Jones, the much-admired singer who had taken London by storm; a woman celebrated for her talent rather than looked down upon for her sins.
A woman who had buried her pain so deep no one even knew it existed.
Catherine glanced down at her gloved hands and sighed. She must be talented indeed to be able to fool all of London into believing she was happy.
The marquess’s carriage rolled to a stop at the bottom of the stone steps and one of the liveried footmen jumped down to open the door. He was too well trained to peer inside, but Catherine knew he was waiting for her to disembark...something she knew better than to do. Actresses were not deposited at the front door of elegant residences. They were admitted through the servants’ entrance and taken up the back stairs, hopefully without being seen by any of the guests. No doubt, the butler would soon come out and instruct the driver to move on.
But to her dismay, no such direction came. And when a shout rang out from one of the carriages in line behind them, the footman finally poked his head in and said, ‘Excuse me, miss, but we have to move on.’
Catherine bit her lip, wondering who was responsible for the mistake. She glanced at the crowds milling beyond the carriage door and knew exactly what they would think if she were to emerge from Lord Alderbury’s carriage now. Unmarried women of good birth did not arrive unescorted at evening events and certainly not in the carriages of their hosts. That suggested an association well-bred people chose to ignore. But what choice did she have? She couldn’t sit in the carriage all night.
And so she climbed out, trying to appear nonchalant as she stepped into the crowd of richly dressed women and their elegant escorts. A few of the ladies raised well-groomed eyebrows while others just whispered and smiled behind their fans.
Catherine smoothed out the folds in her gown and pretended not to notice. She wanted to tell them she had been specifically invited by the Marquess of Alderbury to perform at this evening’s soirée, but if that was the case, why had no one been sent to meet her? Had his lordship forgotten she was coming—?
‘Good evening, Miss Jones. Welcome to Alderbury House.’
The voice, polite, reserved and as smooth as warm honey, came from somewhere to her left and, turning around, Catherine saw a gentleman walking towards her. He wasn’t old enough to be the marquess, but neither could he be mistaken for a member of the household staff. Tall, dignified and impossibly handsome in exquisitely tailored evening clothes, his self-sufficient air suggested a man who was at home in his surroundings. One who had been born to the role. Another member of the family, perhaps? ‘Thank you, Mr...?’
‘Valbourg,’ he said. ‘My father is engaged elsewhere, but asked that I be on hand to greet you. I apologise for having kept you waiting.’
‘My apologies, Lord Valbourg,’ Catherine said, belatedly aware that she was addressing the marquess’s eldest son. ‘I hope you will convey my gratitude to your father for having been so kind as to send a carriage to collect me from the theatre.’
‘Actually, that was my doing,’ Valbourg said. ‘Since I asked you to come immediately after your performance, I thought the least I could do was provide comfortable transportation to bring you here. A carriage will also be made available to take you home at the end of the evening.’
‘Thank you, but that won’t be necessary,’ Catherine said, well aware that the infamous Stubbs would be watching for her arrival and preferring not to have to pay him extra to forget what he had seen. ‘I am able to make my own way around London.’
‘I’m sure you are, but you will not be required to do so this evening.’ He indicated the stairs. ‘Shall we?’
There was nothing in his tone to indicate disapproval of her response, but Catherine felt it none the less. Obviously Lord Valbourg did not deem it appropriate for a woman to travel around London on her own and had no doubt formed an opinion as to her character and morals as a result. Pity. She didn’t like being judged on appearances, especially when those appearances were misleading.
The truth was, she seldom went anywhere on her own because Mrs Rankin, the lady who had been with her since her arrival in London and who acted as both companion and chaperon, made sure she did not. It was only as a result of the lady being so dreadfully ill—and Lily being otherwise engaged—that Catherine had come on her own tonight. However, suspecting there was little she could say that would change his opinion, she gathered her skirts and started up the stairs beside him. She would deal with the issue of the ride home later.
They entered the hall, a magnificent room sumptuously furnished and sprinkled with priceless artwork and gilt-edged mirrors. Guests were directed up the white marble staircase and to the left, where Catherine assumed the marquess and his family were receiving.
She was taken up the stairs and to the right.
‘I thought you would like to see where you will be performing,’ Valbourg said politely. ‘Refreshments, if desired, will be brought to you there.’
Catherine inclined her head. ‘Thank you, my lord.’ As kind as Valbourg’s offer was, she knew what he was saying. She was the paid entertainment; not an invited guest. Strange how that still had the power to hurt. ‘Actually, I never eat before a performance,’ she added in a voice as remote as his. ‘I find it affects my voice.’
‘Then I wonder at you having the stamina to perform so magnificently in Promises night after night.’
Her head came round sharply. ‘You’ve seen the play?’
‘Indeed. I was curious to know what all of London was talking about.’
‘Really.’ She resented having to ask, but curiosity got the better of her. ‘Did you enjoy it?’
‘Very much.’ Valbourg glanced briefly in her direction. ‘And you were...exceptional.’
His gaze lingered for no more than a moment, but it was long enough for Catherine to form an impression of sculpted cheekbones, dark eyes and a firm, sensuous mouth. Lord Valbourg was an elegant and powerful man; one whose slightest glance would bring women flocking to his side in the hopes of securing his affection.
How fortunate she was not one of those women.
‘Thank you,’ she said, returning her gaze to the stairs. ‘I would not have thought Promises the type of play a man like you would enjoy, but I shall certainly pass your comments along to Mr Templeton.’ She flicked another glance in his direction. ‘I cannot recall having seen you in the audience.’
‘Why would you? I am but one of the many thousands who stare at you every night,’ Valbourg said. ‘In such crowds, all faces blur into one, none of them distinguishable or particularly memorable.’
And yet, yours would be, Catherine found herself thinking. In fact, as she glanced at Valbourg again, she realised there was something familiar about his features. The black, wavy hair, the dark slash of eyebrows above expressive eyes and a slender, aristocratic nose. And that mouth, capable, no doubt, of humbling a man with a few carefully chosen words, or of bringing a woman to ecstasy with a lingering kiss—
‘I say, Brother, what gem have you brought into the house tonight?’ A very different voice cut into her musings. ‘Can it be the Angel of London come to grace us with her presence?’
Valbourg stopped and turned around, causing Catherine to do the same.
‘Ah, Hugh, I wondered when I would be seeing you. Miss Jones, allow me to introduce my brother, Lord Hugh Nelson. Hugh, Miss Catherine Jones.’
Brother. Yes, Catherine could see the resemblance. Though he looked to be younger than Valbourg, Lord Hugh shared his brother’s dark hair, sculpted cheekbones and slender, aristocratic nose. But where Valbourg’s eyes were a warm chocolate brown, Lord Hugh’s were the cool clear grey of a winter morning. His clothes were more dandified than Valbourg’s, and where the latter’s build suggested a man who enjoyed