Drury Lane Darling by Joan Smith Read Free Book Online Page B

the air and braced herself to be fascinating. She was confident she could win over the coldest audience. “What a lovely rest I had,” she said, smiling at her hostess, who appeared to be the source of the frost. “There is nothing like country quiet after the rigors of London. And what a charming suite you put me in, Lady Raleigh.”
    Lady Raleigh had been feeling generous, as Aubrey showed no appreciation of the guest, but her generosity had left her with Nigel’s visit. Her breeding remained, and she said stiffly, “The wallpaper is from China.”
    “The chopsticks and fans suggested it might be,” Fleur said, in accents that only Breslau recognized as gentle irony.
    Sherry was served, and the little group began talking among themselves. Pamela leaned toward Breslau and said, “Well, this is a surprise I must say! I thought Lady Chamaude would wear a disgraceful gown. She dresses just like Mama.”
    He lifted a brow. “Then your mama is to be complimented.”
    “I just thought she would be more dashing.”
    “That would be because you aren’t aware of the role Fleur’s playing this evening. Country gentlewoman, I think, but don’t fear it is Nigel she has her sights set on.”
    Pamela assumed it was Breslau himself who was Fleur’s quarry. This struck her as being much closer to the mark. She noticed that a country gentlewoman did not empty her glass quite so quickly as Fleur, nor did she hold the empty glass out for a refill before her host suggested it. She kept these observations to herself. The idea was beginning to take hold that Breslau disliked any disparagement of his leading lady. One eyebrow had a way of rising to denote displeasure. He watched the marquise like a hawk, too, or like a man in love. Strange to think of Breslau being in love with anyone but himself.
    Before long Lady Chamaude realized that any attention to Nigel went down ill, so she ignored him. Lady Raleigh was coolly polite, for she didn’t want Aubrey to know what Nigel was up to. The meeting was extremely uncomfortable, but no uproar had broken out by the time dinner was announced. Fleur sat at Sir Aubrey’s elbow, a little removed from his wife, which was a relief. At the end of the table, the hostess watched Fleur as though her guest planned to pocket the silverware. Over the meal, assiduous praise of the viands brought a token glow of pleasure to Sir Aubrey’s face.
    “What delicious mutton,” Lady Chamaude exclaimed. “I should love to taste your spring lamb.” And a little sauce for this dry mutton!
    “You knew it was our own,” Sir Aubrey said with approval. “Most of the farmers hereabouts raise cattle, you must know. Very few of us are into sheep.”
    “Your son is constantly boasting about Belmont,” the marquise told him.
    Nigel was astonished to hear it. He would no more have discussed the farm with Fleur than he would discuss the greenroom with his mother. Fleur was certainly up to all the rigs. She just said that to turn Papa up sweet, and it was working, too, by Jove. The scowl he’d brought to the table had mellowed to civility when the ladies rose to leave. How did Fleur even know they raised sheep? You couldn’t see them from the road.
    When the ladies retired to the saloon, the gentlemen’s taking of port was enlivened by Nigel’s account of his extraordinary luck. “You’ll never guess what, Papa. Wes has commissioned me to write a play for Drury Lane.”
    “Not commissioned!” Breslau objected swiftly. “I just suggested you think about it, after you’ve finished this editing job for Colchester.”
    Nigel had been so shocked to hear Breslau ask him to sleep in his suite that some excuse had to be given. Bereft of a sane one, Breslau had fallen back on Lady Raleigh’s suggestion. “Sleep in the cot in my suite tonight, and we’ll discuss it after the assembly.”
    “You would do better to come home and learn estate management,” his father said.
    “There’s plenty of time for that.