‘Oh, she’ll notice,’ Victoria said with a feline smile. ‘The widow is over the moon at being able to tell her friends that the famous playwright, Valentine Lawe, will be at her gathering this evening. She is but another of your many conquests, my dear, and I do believe she is hoping for an opportunity to further the acquaintance, if you know what I mean.’
Laurence frowned, all too aware of what his sister meant and none too pleased by the implication. ‘Thank you, but I have absolutely no intention of becoming the latest in a long line of Lydia’s discarded lovers, nor a potential candidate for her third husband. She may be one of the wealthiest widows in town, but having spent more time in her company than I like, I understand why people say what they do about her.’ He cast a last look at his appearance and then nodded his satisfaction. ‘Thank you, Edwards. As usual, you have done an excellent job of turning me out in a manner suitable to the occasion.’
‘My pleasure, Mr Bretton.’
As the valet bowed and withdrew, Victoria picked up the boutonnière resting on the dressing table and drew out the pin. ‘Are you sure you want me to come with you tonight, dearest? You really don’t need me at your side any more. Lord knows, you’ve attended enough gatherings in the guise of Valentine Lawe to be able to carry it off without any assistance from me.’
‘Be that as it may, I like having you there,’ Laurence said, watching his sister pin the velvety-red rose close to his collar. ‘You are a refreshing breath of reality in the midst of all this madness.’
‘Madness you invited upon yourself,’ Victoria murmured, stepping back to survey her handiwork. ‘You were the one who volunteered to step into the role of Valentine Lawe. Before that, he existed only in my mind, the nom de plume behind which I wrote my plays.’
‘Exactly. Valentine Lawe is your creation so it is only right that you be there to hear the compliments being showered upon his … or rather, your plays,’ Laurence said. ‘Besides, what else have you to do this evening? I happen to know that your husband is otherwise engaged.’
‘Yes, but don’t forget that I am helping his cousin Isabelle plan her wedding, as well as picking out furnishings for the orphanage, and all while endeavouring to write a new play. I have more than enough to do and not nearly enough time in which to do it.’
‘Nonsense. Your mother-in-law is overseeing most of the arrangements for Isabelle’s wedding,’ Laurence said, ‘and your husband has more than enough servants to attend to the requirements of his new orphanage. As for the play, I have every confidence in you penning yet another masterpiece that will garner the same high level of praise as your last four. Besides, you know you will have a much better time if you come with me.’
‘I’m not so sure about that,’ Victoria said. ‘Lydia Blough-Upton has never been one of my favourite people. She is an outrageous flirt, an insatiable gossip and she continues to make her feelings for you embarrassingly obvious. Still, I suppose I do owe you a few more favours. Your stepping forwards to assume the role of Valentine Lawe has certainly allowed my life to return to normal, though given what it’s done to yours, I do wonder if it wouldn’t have been easier just to admit that I wrote the plays and see how it all turned out.’
‘In some ways, I suspect it would,’ Laurence said, removing his spectacles and placing them on the dressing table. He only needed them for reading and, given that they did nothing for the image he was trying to convey, he felt no grief at leaving them behind. ‘No doubt you and Winifred would have been shunned by good society for a time and our family would have been ignored by those who felt it wasn’t the thing for the daughter of a gentleman to write plays that mocked society and the church.’
‘I do not mock the church,’ Victoria said defensively. ‘Only those who draw their livings from it and you cannot deny there is more than enough room for ridicule in that. As to society, I suspect the furore would have eventually died down, replaced by an even more scandalous bit of gossip about someone placed far higher up the social ladder than me. But when I see how much happier Mama and Winifred are with you in the role of Valentine Lawe than me, I have to believe you did the right thing, Laurie. Even if you did fail to give it the consideration it deserved.’
‘I gave it no consideration whatsoever.’
‘Exactly, and taking that into account, I think it has all turned out very well. Besides, only think how disappointed the young ladies would be if they were to find out that you are not the dashing and very eligible playwright they have all come to know and admire.’
‘I doubt it would trouble them overly much,’ Laurence said, thinking not for the first time of the lovely and erudite Miss Joanna Northrup, a lady he tended to believe would be far more impressed with his intellectual abilities than his literary ones. ‘They are infatuated with the image, not with the man.’
‘I’m not so sure,’ Victoria said. ‘Even I have seen the changes in you since you assumed the role of Valentine Lawe. You are far more confident than you were in the past and, while you have always been charming, there is an added refinement to your manner now that is highly engaging. No doubt Lydia Blough-Upton would like to have you all to herself tonight so she can flirt with you unobserved by your staid and newly married sister.’
‘My darling girl,’ Laurence said, tucking Victoria’s arm in his, ‘you will never be staid and it is quite impossible for me to do anything unobserved now that the world believes me to be Valentine Lawe. Anonymity is a thing of the past. I am now and for ever will be the public face of your creative genius.’
‘Then let us go forth and face the world together,’ Victoria said, sweeping her fan off the bed. ‘All of London awaits your entrance and none more so than the ever-growing and increasingly ardent fans of the illustrious Valentine Lawe!’
Chapter Two
As Lady Cynthia had predicted, Mrs Blough-Upton’s soirée was a breath-stealing crush that Joanna was ready to leave well before the clock chimed the midnight hour. She had forgotten how stifling these affairs could be and how pompous was much of English society. Several well-dressed couples cast curious glances in her direction, and though she was paid flattering compliments by many of the gentlemen to whom she was introduced, a few of the young ladies were not as kind.
‘I suppose it is only to be expected that you would come back with imperfections of the skin,’ Miss Blenkinsop said, peering with disdain at the offending freckles sprinkled across the bridge of Joanna’s nose. ‘After all, the sun is so very harsh in India.’
‘Egypt.’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘My father and I were in Egypt,’ Joanna said as patiently as she could. ‘Not India.’
‘Ah. But the two countries are quite close, are they not?’
‘Do you not wear a hat when you are out during the day, Lady Joanna?’ Miss Farkington enquired.
‘Of course, but with the sun being so strong, it is sometimes difficult to—’
‘I would die if I were ever to discover a blemish on my skin,’ Miss Blenkinsop interrupted dramatically. ‘It is the reason I spent most of last summer in the drawing room.’
‘Indeed, Mama insists on rubbing my skin with lemon juice whenever I have been outside,’ Miss Farkington informed them. ‘She said an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure and that if I wish to go about in the sun, I should wait until after I am married to do so. And preferably until after I have presented my husband with his first heir.’
Having no idea how to respond to such a silly remark,