Lucia had been a part of enough theatrical benefits in her life to realize that the one here tonight at Russell Street was different. Unless the featured performers were especially popular with the public, single-night benefits were a risk; audiences often stayed away from what they perceived as an untried production or an inferior offering. She’d seen benefits that had been out-and-out failures, performed halfheartedly before a near-empty house.
This performance of Hamlet would not be like that. The house was already sold out, and Mr. McGraw had gleefully announced to the company that he’d managed to squeeze in a few more spaces for those who wished to stand. There had also been a lively business in tickets being resold, and sales for other plays later in the week had been brisk because of rumors that Lucia might appear in those as well.
Yet Lucia understood all too well that the crowds had come from curiosity, and that they were not here to see her act, but to witness her failure. She was determined to amaze them instead, exactly as she’d told Rivers, but as she stood in the wings, waiting for her cue, the task seemed infinitely more daunting. Beyond the orchestra sat rows and rows of pale faces, nearly every one of them belonging to a man or woman who wished her ill. They wouldn’t be quietly polite about it, either, for most theatergoers believed their tickets entitled them to call out their displeasure during a performance. No wonder her heart hammered painfully in her chest and her stomach twisted with nervousness. She’d been too excited to eat more than a few pieces of toast since morning, and now even that seemed too much.
She couldn’t fail, she couldn’t. Rivers had given her this single, shining opportunity to prove herself, to be the actress she’d always claimed she wanted to be. She’d never have another chance to become independent, even wealthy, and if she failed, she hadn’t the faintest notion of where she would turn next.
For last night Rivers had made it abundantly clear that once the play was done and the wager was settled, their liaison was over. She’d thought she would be the one to ease away from him, but he’d beaten her to it, and taken the first step. Oh, he’d been every bit the perfect lover, as charming as ever over their dinner together and then later, in bed, as passionate as a man could be.
But before that, in the carriage, he had given her the diamond brooch, and she’d understood. She’d seen it often enough with Magdalena and other dancers in the company. When a gentleman wished to break with one of them, he gave them a gift of costly jewelry; hadn’t Rivers done exactly that when he’d parted with Magdalena last year?
She’d tried to tell herself that she’d expected this moment, that it was inevitable no matter how much she’d wished otherwise. But the little brooch had been so beautiful and perfect there in her hand, with flowers that held such significance to their time together, that she’d felt the shock of its other meaning like a blow straight to her heart. He’d said he’d give her what would make her happy, and this benefit was proof of that. He’d said he’d always remember her, and that was all she’d be left with as well: memories, a diamond brooch, and a broken heart.
She’d pinned the brooch to the front of her costume tonight, for luck and remembrance, just like Ophelia’s spray of rosemary. She hoped Rivers would see it, too, and she leaned a little farther to one side in the wings, trying to see the royal box where he would be sitting with Sir Edward.
“Here now, none of that,” whispered Mr. Audley sharply, tugging her back. “Don’t want to show yourself before you make your entrance.”
She gulped and tried to smile, and from the look on his face she didn’t succeed.
“You’re not going faint, either, missy,” he said crossly. Beneath the heavy stage paint, his expression was irritated and worried. “For tonight, you’re one of this company on this stage, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to let you turn coward and spoil everything for the rest of us.”
Instead of calming her, his words made her panic. What was she doing anyway? Who did she think she was, ready to go out and make an utter fool of herself before hundreds of people?
Her fear rising by the second, she stared down at her gauzy, gaudy, spangled costume, so unlike any of her ordinary clothes, and suddenly she thought of the long-ago pink gown she’d worn as a girl to recite poetry before the country folk. She’d discovered her talent then, how she’d the power to take words and turn them into magic that could make others laugh or weep.
That gift was still hers, and always would be. Acting couldn’t mend her broken heart, but it could take that pain and turn the hurt into something else. That had been one of Rivers’s first lessons for her; she didn’t want to consider the irony of how he was the cause of her suffering now. Ophelia, too, had been pushed away by the man she’d loved, and if Lucia could bring her own pain to her performance, then she would succeed.
Mr. Lambert as Hamlet rushed from the stage, and a single trumpet sounded to mark the end of one scene and the beginning of another. Lucia raised her head, took a deep breath, and linked her hand through the crook of Mr. Audley’s arm, the way they’d rehearsed their entrance. He nodded, satisfied, and together they walked from the wings into the bright light of the stage.
She was aware of the murmur that greeted her, the rush of not-so-quiet remarks that had nothing to do with Ophelia. She ignored them all, and focused entirely on the play. For the beginning of this scene, Ophelia had only a handful of lines to speak, all simple replies to her brother and father. But finally came the first lines that rang true for both her and Ophelia:
“He hath, my lord, of late made many tenders
Of his affection for me.”
The audience’s interest rose, acutely aware of the double meaning of her words as she continued.
“My lord, he hath importuned me with love
In honorable fashion…
And hath given countenance to his speech, my lord,
With almost all the holy vows of heaven.”
“Don’t believe him, dearie!” called a woman’s voice from the highest seats. “All rogues say the same false rubbish, and believe naught of it.”
Some people laughed at the woman, others shushed her, but far more murmured with agreement, and Lucia knew she was swaying them her way. Her confidence grew, and as Ophelia’s confusion and misery became more poignant with each scene, the audience’s support grew, too. Not only did they begin to cheer Ophelia and openly call their encouragement, they also began to boo and hiss at Hamlet, much to Mr. Lambert’s displeasure.
“It’s not right, you know, not right at all,” he fumed to Mr. McGraw between acts, and pointedly in Lucia’s hearing. “The prince is the hero of the play, not that damned chit Ophelia.”
But Lucia didn’t care. She continued to pour herself and her heart into the role, and by the time she’d reached her final scene, playing the mad Ophelia with her hair loose and tangled over her shoulders, she had lost herself so completely in the role that as she handed out her flowers, her tears of sorrow and bewilderment were so genuine that the audience was completely silent, suffering with her. When she exited, she stood in the wings with the tears streaming down her face, overwhelmed with emotion and oblivious to the congratulations of the other players.
“Here, here, dry your eyes,” Mr. McGraw said, hurrying toward her with a handkerchief. “They’re calling for you.”
She took the handkerchief and wiped her eyes, not understanding. “But they can’t,” she said. “It’s the middle of the play.”
“They can, because tonight the play belongs to you,” he said, all smiles. “They know the story well enough to realize you’ll die offstage and the only time you’ll be back is as a corpse, so they want you now. Come along, ma’am, take what’s due.”
She composed herself as best she could and let Mr. Lambert lead her back out to the stage. The applause stunned her, and small bouquets of flowers were thrown onto the stage around her. She smiled through her tears and curtseyed her thanks, and the cheers grew louder. Not in her headiest dreams had she expected such a response, yet all she could think of was what Rivers thought of her performance. Somewhere in the crowd, he’d been watching her. Did he approve? Had she moved him, too? Did he recognize how much of her own sorrow had fueled Ophelia’s?
Finally she left the stage, her arms full of the flowers that had been tossed to her, and the play was able to continue on. But McGraw wasn’t done.
“A word with you, Mrs. Willow,” he said, taking her aside. “You are a triumph, ma’am, a triumph, and the people adore you.”
“Am I?” she asked, startled by this praise from him. “Do they?”
“Yes, and yes,” he said firmly. “You have a rare talent, ma’am, but before we can proceed any further, I must know your understanding with his lordship. I’m all too aware of how gentlemen can be under the circumstances.”
She frowned. “I’m not sure I understand, Mr. McGraw.”
“Then let me be blunt, Mrs. Willow,” he said. “He has paid for tonight’s performance, and thus it will be his right to determine if it is to be repeated. Most gentlemen do not permit their mistresses to continue on the stage. The attention makes them jealous, and they don’t like other men ogling what’s theirs. So tell me, ma’am. Was this benefit to be a single event for the sake of his wager, or will he permit you to return to the stage for other performances?”
She flushed, chagrined that she hadn’t understood his meaning. “I have no such obligations to his lordship, Mr. McGraw,” she said as firmly as she could. “On the contrary, it is his express wish that I continue on the stage, and earn my living by acting if that is possible.”
“Oh, it’s certainly possible,” McGraw said, smiling warmly. “Especially since his lordship has stipulated that the return from tonight’s benefit is to go to you, not him.”
Her flush deepened as she considered the significance of Rivers’s generosity. He knew she wouldn’t take money directly from him, but that she couldn’t object to this, the money having been earned through acting rather than in his bed. It was a clever, thoughtful arrangement, and an honorable one, too, and entirely in keeping with Rivers’s personality. He had said that he would do whatever was necessary to make her happy, and he had. It was also as sure a sign as the diamond brooch that he was done with her.
“Then I will consider whatever offers you make to me, Mr. McGraw,” she said, striving to sound businesslike. “Another performance of Hamlet?”
“Another, and another after that,” he said. “I should say six nights to begin, and after that, if we continue to suit each other, we might discuss a more permanent role for you in the Russell Street company.”
She nodded, her head spinning with possibilities. She had acclaim, she had a future as an actress, and she had money in her pocket. What more could she want?
Rivers, her heart whispered. You don’t have Rivers, and most likely you never did.
Swiftly she shoved aside the thought. “One more question, Mr. McGraw,” she said. “Can you suggest respectable lodgings near to Russell Street that would be suitable for me?”
“I can recommend a half dozen without hesitation that would be perfectly agreeable for a lady,” he said, studying her shrewdly. Despite clearly realizing the truth about her background, it was in his favor to perpetuate the myth of Mrs. Willow as a gently born lady driven to the stage by personal misfortune, even though most of London would know otherwise by now. “But if you’re looking for a place for this night, Mrs. McGraw and I would welcome you as our guest until you find yourself a, ah, new situation.”
Lucia raised her chin with determination. She might play Ophelia, but she’d no intention of withering away or going mad for the sake of Rivers. Part of her would never recover from losing him, yes, but she would be strong, and she would survive.
“Thank you, Mr. McGraw, on all accounts,” she said, holding out her hand to the manager. “It would seem I’ve found my new situation already.”
Impatiently Rivers shifted in his chair in the royal box, praying for the play to be done. Although Ophelia had already died and made her final appearance as a corpse, there was still the rest of the act to complete, and nearly all the other remaining characters to kill. Shakespeare was a bloodthirsty playwright like that, and it was a shame he hadn’t kept Ophelia lingering a little longer to make things more interesting.
He couldn’t wait to see Lucia, to congratulate her and kiss her and tell her how very fine she’d been. That was what mattered now, not the infernal bet that was keeping him here in this uncomfortable chair. Although he was surely the one person in the entire theater to know what Lucia was capable of as an actress, even he had been stunned by the depth of her performance and the emotions she’d brought to poor doomed Ophelia. All around him ladies and more than a few gentlemen, too, were shamelessly sniffing and blotting their eyes with their handkerchiefs, and he remembered how making the audience weep had been her goal as a dramatic actress. She’d done that, and more. Much, much more, and he was eager to tell her how proud he was of her.
“I say, Fitzroy, is this nearly done?” Everett whispered, leaning over to Rivers. “We all know your little filly has won the wager for you, and since her character’s gone and drowned herself, there’s really no use in wallowing through the rest of this, is there?”
“It’s nearly done,” Fitzroy said. “There’s still a couple of poisonings and a sword fight to finish off the rest of the Danish royal court. Then you and I will shake hands, everyone cheers, and we’re free to go to the tiring rooms.”
“A good thing, too.” Everett’s attention wandered from the stage to the ladies in the other boxes. On account of the wager, they’d agreed to sit by themselves and not include any other guests in their box tonight, and Everett was clearly bored without a nearby female to toy with. “What I still don’t understand is how you could have looked at your Mrs. Willow when she was whoever-she-was amongst the Di Rossis, and predicted she could turn into this. A worm into a butterfly.”
“She’s hardly a worm,” Rivers protested.
“I said she was,” Everett said. “She isn’t now. But that’s what I mean. How did you know then that she’d blossom like this?”
“I didn’t,” Rivers said, remembering back to that night in the dancers’ tiring room. Lucia had been completely unnoticeable, until she’d spoken. Then he’d seen the spark that had nearly been driven from her, the same spark and spirit that he’d come to love so well.
“Whatever you saw in her then, she’s become a tasty small morsel of beauteous womanhood, ripe for amorous indulgence,” Everett was saying. “If ever you tire of her, Fitzroy, then I’d be happy to—”
“No, Everett,” Rivers said sharply, unwilling to consider such an eventuality. “Speak of her again, and I swear you’ll be meeting me with pistols at dawn. Content yourself with Magdalena.”
“Magdalena,” Everett said fondly, musing philosophically. “That is true. I can safely call my darling Magdalena my own. I do like a lady with spirit and fire, and she has that in spades. But then, I don’t have to tell you that, do I?”
“It was so long ago, I scarce remember,” Rivers said. “Besides, Magdalena suits you far better than she ever did me, and I wish you well of her. Look, the queen has finally died, and there goes the king. Hah, now we’re well rid of Hamlet, too. One more speech, and then we’ll be done.”
That last speech ended, and the players came out together to bow, holding hands as they strung across the stage. In the middle was Lucia, still dressed in her madwoman’s costume, with her hair loose and her eyes ringed with black paint. McGraw led her out to stand on the edge of the stage by herself, and she curtseyed as the crowd cheered and clapped.
She grinned, and flipped her hair back over her shoulders. There, pinned to her bodice, was the brooch Rivers had given to her, the jeweled flowers a bright spot on her white costume. For luck and for love, he hoped, and it pleased him no end to see it there at her breast.
She was peering up at the box, shading her eyes against the candlelit stage. Not only were all the other players doing the same, but the rest of the audience had turned to look as well.
“Stand, Everett,” Rivers ordered. “They’re all hunting for us, so make a show of it for Lucia’s sake. Shake my hand, there, to show we’ve no hard feelings between us.”
Reluctantly Everett rose and did as he’d been told.
“Damnation, I didn’t know I’d be part of the show,” he said, handing Rivers the small pouch heavy with the coins from the wager. “Though these guineas should all be going to Mrs. Willow. She’s the one who won them.”
“That she did,” Rivers said, tucking the pouch into his coat. “I’ll tell her you said so.”
He’d already decided to give Lucia the wager, and hoped she’d accept it, though he suspected she wouldn’t. Roses were safer, and he bent down to retrieve the enormous bouquet that he’d bought earlier. At once he plunged into the crowds thronging the passageway outside the box, determined to make his way down the stairs and back to the tiring rooms where Lucia would be waiting. He knew he wouldn’t have her to himself—tiring rooms were always very public places—but he still intended to congratulate her, and give her both the roses and the key to her new house. He could already imagine her little gasp of pleasure when he explained about the house, and how warmly she’d thank him later in private.
But it seemed that nearly every person he’d ever met had come to Russell Street that night, and every one of them wanted him to stop to be congratulated about how he’d won the wager, slowing his progress to an interminable crawl. By the time he reached the backstage area and the tiring room, the celebration had clearly been in progress for a while. The narrow space was packed with well-wishers in addition to the actors and actresses, musicians, stagehands, and anyone else who wished a glass of the wine and ale that seemed to be flowing freely. Voices and laughter grew to a near-deafening level as each person raised his or her voice to be heard over the din, and if that wasn’t enough, a fiddler stood on a table in the corner playing jigs.
All Rivers cared about was finding Lucia, which wasn’t easy given her small size. He held the roses high, not wanting them to be crushed, and that must have been what caught her eye.
“Rivers!” she called, and stupidly he thought of how well she’d learned to raise her voice to be heard over a crowd. “Rivers, here!”
He turned to see her climbing on a stool or box, suddenly tall enough to rise above the crowd and wave to him. She looked happier than he’d ever seen her, her smile wide and her eyes dancing, and he felt a little catch in his chest at how much he loved her. She still hadn’t changed from her costume, a cheap, tawdry version of Ophelia’s burial dress that made the brooch he’d given her sparkle even more by comparison. She’d hurriedly braided her hair in a thick plait down her back and she’d missed one curling lock that hung free beside her cheek, and yet somehow all of it made her even more endearing.
“For you, love,” he said when he reached her, handing her the flowers. Her smile warmed, clear to her eyes. “You were magnificent.”
He kissed her quickly, self-conscious of the others around them. He hadn’t realized earlier how much paint she was wearing, with her face covered with white to show that she was dead, and black lines around her eyes. It had an odd, greasy scent that didn’t smell like her, and he recoiled from it.
“I’m so glad you are here, Rivers,” she said, her voice breathless with excitement. “I want to make a speech, you see.”
“One moment,” he said, and handed her the pouch full of Everett’s guineas. “This is for you, too.”
She looked warily from him to the pouch, guessing from the weight of the coins what it was.
“Yes, it’s Everett’s stake,” he said before she could protest. “He agreed that you earned it far more than I did. I’m sure you can put it to use.”
She paused, considering, then nodded crisply. “I can,” she said. “Thank you, and thank Sir Edward for me, too. Now I must make my speech.”
He had wanted to give her the key to her new house now, not listen to her make a speech. But others had overheard and suddenly the moment had passed, and then it was too late.
“Speech, speech!” called one of the other players nearby, and the cry was quickly picked up around them until Lucia raised her hand to silence them.
“Friends, dear friends,” she began, the roses cradled in the crook of her arm and the pouch in her hand. “Thank you all for joining me on this special night, a night that would not have been possible without this gentleman, Lord Rivers Fitzroy.”
She beamed at him as the others cheered, and Rivers nodded and smiled, thoroughly uncomfortable with being lauded like this. She was the one who loved the attention, not he, and he was relieved when she began to speak again.
“You all know how last month his lordship and I made a certain partnership for the sake of a wager,” she continued, her speech so polished and practiced that she might well have rehearsed it along with her lines in the play. “He promised to instruct me in the finer arts of being an actress, and I promised to quit my old place, do my best to learn what he could teach me, and mind his wisdom in all matters pertaining to acting.”
“Sounds like a good recipe for a wife,” a man called from the back of the room, and the others laughed in raucous appreciation. Lucia made a sour face, but she laughed, too, and didn’t correct the man.
Rivers didn’t laugh, because he didn’t find it amusing. In fact he found it both uncomfortable and disrespectful, but he didn’t see a way that he could correct the fellow’s impudence without appearing to be a prig. He tried to remind himself that this was how theater people often were, and that any other time, in any other circumstances, he likely would have been laughing, too. Instead he merely stood beside Lucia, feeling deuced awkward, until she once again held up her hand for quiet.
“His lordship and I have shared common goals for nearly six weeks,” she continued. “His lordship would win his wager with Sir Everett, and I would become sufficiently accomplished to take my place on the stage. His lordship gave me his confidence, and assured me that I wouldn’t be permitted to fail. He believed in my talent, and he told me I’d have no choice but to succeed.”
Her voice soared, and he heard the faint tremble that always betrayed her emotion. He was surprised she remembered that conversation in such detail. That morning when he’d been suffering badly from too much wine the night before seemed very long ago, but he knew he’d said all those things. He’d said them then, and he believed them still, just as he still believed in her. More, because he loved her, and he longed to pull her into his arms and tell her exactly that.
But she wasn’t done with her speech just yet. “Although our time together is done,” she was saying, “his lordship has kept his word, as I have kept mine. Now he has won his wager, and I’ve played on the stage here at Russell Street.”
She held up his bag of guineas as proof, and more cheers and huzzahs greeted her. Rivers continued to smile, but a few of her words caught his ear and stayed there unpleasantly.
What the devil did she mean by “our time together is done”? If she meant the time stipulated by the wager, then yes, that was finished. But their time together certainly wasn’t over—in fact, he believed it had only begun.
The key to the house with the yellow shutters was feeling very heavy in his pocket.
McGraw pushed his way through the crowd to stand on Lucia’s other side. He, too, was clearly in a celebratory mood, his face nearly as ruddy as the gaudy red waistcoat he wore in honor of the occasion.
“Tonight may have been this splendid lady’s first appearance on the boards here at Russell Street,” he said in a booming voice, “but I rejoice to inform you all that it will not be the last. Mrs. Willow has accepted my offer to reprise her role of Ophelia in a special engagement of Hamlet, to play exclusively for the next week, which I pray will be only the first of many roles with our esteemed company. To Mrs. Willow, the newest member of our company!”
The cheers and applause erupted again, the congratulations warm and genuine. They’d every right to be, since Lucia’s performances would bring extra revenue to the entire company. There was no doubt that Lucia herself was delighted, too, making tiny hops of excitement up and down on the stool. She turned toward McGraw and said something that Rivers couldn’t hear. Whatever it was, it made McGraw laugh, and he planted a swift kiss on Lucia’s cheek.
That was enough for Rivers. Gently but firmly he took Lucia by the arm, and turned her so she had no choice but to look at him.
“Why in blazes didn’t you tell me you were joining this company?” he asked. “Why am I the last to hear of it?”
“You’re not the last, Rivers,” she said defensively. “Mr. McGraw only asked me a short time ago, during the play, after I’d finished my lines. I couldn’t have told you.”
“Why not?” He wished she weren’t standing on the stool. It felt odd, having her nearly eye to eye with him. “You could have told me first, before you announced it to the world.”
“I thought you’d be pleased for me, Rivers,” she said, more wistfully than he’d expected. “I thought you’d be happy, too. You got what you wanted, and now I have, too. We both should be happy.”
He grumbled, and shook his head to show that he wasn’t happy at all.
“This is not the place for this conversation, Lucia,” he said. “Why don’t you change your clothes, and we’ll go to dine.”
She hopped down from the stool and set the bouquet on a nearby table. She took him by the arm, not by the hand the way she usually did, and led him to the far corner of the room. It wasn’t the most private of places, but at least it was out of hearing of the rest of the crowd, who were noisily continuing their merrymaking.
She turned and faced him squarely, staring at his chest instead of meeting his eyes, and clasped her hands before her.
“I am sorry, Rivers,” she said softly, “but I’m not going with you. I’m dining with the rest of the company to celebrate.”
If she’d struck him with her fists he wouldn’t have been more surprised.
“Damnation, Lucia,” he growled. “You’re supposed to celebrate with me.”
“This is what I must do if I wish to make my way as an actress,” she said. “You know that’s what I want, above all things.”
His immediate response was that this wasn’t what he wanted, not at all, but with a manful effort he shoved aside his own wishes for her sake. This was her special night, and he did not want to deny her anything.
“Very well, then,” he said. “Where will you be dining? I’ll have my carriage waiting to fetch you home when you are done.”
“No,” she said, her hands twisting restlessly, betraying her. “I’m not coming back to your house, Rivers.”
He noted the subtle yet devastating difference between home and your house. What nonsense was this?
“Of course you’ll be coming back to Cavendish Square, Lucia,” he said firmly, willing it to be so. “Where else would you go?”
“I’m arranging for lodgings of my own,” she said. “I can’t be your guest any longer.”
He thought again of the house with the yellow shutters.
“I understand entirely,” he said with hearty relief, reaching for the key in his pocket. “You should have your own home, to arrange however you please.”
She nodded quickly. “I will be taking lodgings not far from here, close to the theater,” she said. “Mr. McGraw is paying me fairly, and I can afford it now.”
His hand fell away from the key. “There’s no need for that, Lucia. I can—”
“Please understand, Rivers,” she said, her voice flat and the words coming as if by rote. “Tonight I will be staying with Mr. and Mrs. McGraw, and then I shall be in rooms of my own. This is my decision. This is what I want. Please.”
He did not want to understand. He wanted her with him.
“No, Lucia,” he said, refusing, denying. “No.”
Still she did not look at him, her fingers knotted together. “You said you would do anything to make me happy. This makes me happy.”
“Lucia, don’t—”
“This makes me happy, Rivers,” she said again, so deliberately that only her hands betrayed her. “You have made me happy, happier than I’d ever dreamed possible, and I thank you for it.”
He reached for her, desperate for any way to make her stop this madness, but she quickly backed away.
“You will be happy, too,” she said, a breathless rush of words. “You may not believe it now, but in time you will. Be happy, my lord. That is all I wish for you, as you did for me. Be happy.”
“Lucia, please,” he said, reaching for her again, but this time she ran and didn’t look back, darting away to rejoin the others.
It couldn’t end like this, he thought. She loved him, and he loved her. He couldn’t be mistaken about something like that. He had promised to give her whatever she wanted to be happy, but how could she truly be happier without him? He couldn’t believe it, not after these last six weeks that they’d had together. He didn’t want to believe it, because it couldn’t be possible.
Yet as she ran away from him, he let her go, and did not follow.