Lola lifted her chin, a gesture that Denys would have recognized quite well had he been present. But her voice when she spoke was cool and dismissive. “Thank you for coming to inform me of the situation, Lord Conyers. Now, if you don’t mind, I must dress.”
“Of course.” He bowed and departed, and Lola watched the door close behind him through narrowed eyes.
“I may have to leave London, my lord,” she muttered, and raised her glass, “but I’m damned well not leaving as a failure. Not this time.”
With that, she downed the remaining champagne, slammed down her glass, reached for her costume, and prepared herself to give the performance of her life.
The applause started before the curtain even began to close, and the audience was on its feet before the hem hit the floorboards. The roar of the crowd impelled the actors to go out and take their bows, but when it was her turn, Lola was too stunned to move. During the past three hours, she’d been so driven, so focused on her performance, that now, when the play was over, she felt dazed.
“Lola, c’mon.” Blackie grabbed her hand. “They’re calling for us, love.”
“Did I do all right?” she asked, yanking her hand out of his and gripping him by the arms. “Blackie, tell me the truth. Did I do all right?”
“All right?” Blackie laughed, shaking his head in disbelief, a grin splitting his dark, Irish face. “By God, you were brilliant.” He grabbed her hand again, adding over his shoulder as he started toward the stage with her in tow, “Even Arabella might be pleased.”
“I doubt that,” she said, but her reply was drowned out by the roar of the crowd as Blackie dragged her onto the stage. Hand in hand, they stopped in the center and looked at each other, and then, Blackie gave her a wink, and they bowed together.
The audience was not satisfied, however, and it wasn’t until they had offered two more bows that they could return to the wings. But even then, as fellow actors darted back and forth all around her, talking, laughing, congratulating each other, she still couldn’t quite believe any of it was real.
A hand thumped her back in approval, and she turned as John Breckenridge, the star of the play, paused beside her. “In the beginning, I had grave doubts about you, Miss Valentine,” he told her. “I was sure you’d fall on your face, but you proved me wrong. I’ve lost a fiver over it, but I don’t mind. You were good. Truly good.”
Her lips parted, but her throat closed up, and she couldn’t seem to offer a reply. John Breckinridge was one of London’s finest actors, worthy of the comparisons that had been made of him to Sir Henry Irving. Hearing praise of her performance from him was one of the sweetest things that had ever happened to her. “Thank you,” she managed at last. “Thank you.”
Jamie Saunders stopped beside him. “Good work, Lola,” he said, and held out his hand to her. She shook it, and he turned to John. “I believe you owe me a fiver. I’ll take it in ale at the Lucky Pig, thank you.” He glanced at Lola. “Some of us are going to the pub at the end of the street to celebrate. You’re welcome to join.”
Lola considered, then shook her head. Leaving London would be hard enough as it was. “Thank you, but I’m exhausted. Good night.”
She returned to her dressing room, and she was grateful it was empty. The moment she was inside and had closed the door behind her, her knees went wobbly, and she had to sit down.
She plunked down in front of her dressing table and stared, wide-eyed, at her reflection, trying to assimilate what had just happened. “I did it,” she whispered. “Oh my God, I just did Shakespeare.” Joy rose up inside her like a rocket, and she laughed out loud. “And I was good. How about that, Lord Conyers?”
But then, she looked down and saw her empty champagne glass on the powder-dusted surface of her dressing table, and all her joy died away.
She might have proved Conyers wrong about her talents, but she knew it didn’t make any difference. She still had no future here. Not now.
Had Denys seen her tonight? she wondered. Or was he still in Kent? What if he came backstage to congratulate her? To take her to dinner as he used to do so long ago? What if he asked her to marry him? How many times could she say no before she weakened and said yes?
The door opened and she jumped, then let out a sigh of relief that it was only Betsy. The girl sat down at her own dressing table farther along the wall and reached for a jar of lanolin to remove her paint and powder. The cosmetics hadn’t been necessary tonight, for Betsy had no part in the play, but as Lola’s understudy, the girl had to be prepared to go on stage at any moment regardless.
At any moment.
“Betsy?”
The girl turned her head. “Hmm?”
“You know the part, don’t you? You’ve been rehearsing Bianca, right? You haven’t been slouching or missing your rehearsals?”
“Oh, no, Miss Valentine.” The girl’s eyes widened. “I know we’re almost never rehearsing in the same rehearsal hall, so you don’t see me much, but—”
“Good.” Lola cut her off, and stood up. She grabbed her cosmetics case. “Be ready to go on tomorrow night. The part is yours from now on.”
She walked out before Betsy could recover her surprise enough to reply.
Doing a show was always an exhausting business, and Lola never failed to fall asleep afterward the moment her head touched the pillow. Tonight, however, sleep chose to desert her. She had promised Denys she would stay until the play’s run ended, and she’d already broken that promise, but that wasn’t what kept sleep at bay. No, what kept her tossing and turning was fear—fear that even though she was leaving, Conyers would still tell Denys about the most sordid aspects of her past. If that happened, Denys would come to the same conclusion Conyers had. He would think she’d prostituted herself.
She turned over with a groan and cursed herself for ever returning to London. And yet, how could she regret it?
Tonight, she’d achieved the one goal she’d set for herself in coming back. But far more important, she’d been given the chance to see Denys again, to be in his company, to have his arms around her and taste his kiss and revel in his lovemaking. How could she regret that? How could she regret those blissful moments together after the flower show?
He is the future Earl Conyers. He must marry, and she must be a girl of good family, but as long as you are here, he will never consider anyone else.
Conyers’s voice echoed through her brain, and Lola turned onto her side with a moan, grabbing a pillow and holding it over her ear. That, of course, didn’t help a bit.
What is there for you here, but to be his mistress?
Why? she wondered in despair as she tossed the pillow aside and rolled onto her back. Why couldn’t society and his family just leave them alone? Why couldn’t they just be allowed to be together as lovers? Why couldn’t they just enjoy each other for as long as it lasted? Why the hell couldn’t anything with her and Denys ever be simple?