Two Wrongs Make a Marriage (26 page)

Why did this not make him happy? He was rich, single and free. He was very much alive, which was more than he’d expected as he marched up the steps towards the noose a year ago.

He fingered the circle of gold in his pocket and noticed the light aimlessness of his right hand. Thirteen months should not be long enough for a simple piece of jewellery to become a part of one. But this one had got heavier as he’d come to carry some of the burden that had come with it. When he’d been faced with the pressing demands of Lord Kenton’s actual responsibilities, he’d gone back to Spayne and demanded help.

The man had shrugged and said, ‘Do the best you can. Anything is better than nothing. And that is what they are used to from me.’

Managing had not been nearly as hard as he’d thought and more interesting than he’d ever have suspected in his old life. Much of the politics was play-acting, and he had always been good at that. The management of tenants and rent was common sense. And being married...

It was all gone, he told himself again. He’d given it up, just as he’d always planned to.

He walked down the road to the nearest inn, wishing for the horse he’d left safely back by the docks. But he thanked God and Spayne for Kenton’s boots, which fit well and meant that the walking would not bother him.

* * *

By the time he reached the alehouse, he was well and truly parched, and in need of more than one drink.

His purse would be lighter by the end of the evening, he was sure. He’d be blind drunk and have a woman in his bed. Perhaps two. As many as it took to put the recent past behind him and get back to being who he was.

It appeared he was in luck. His first pint was delivered by a buxom ginger-haired girl named Rose who was as interested in him, and his money, as he could wish her to be.

‘What’s yer name then, sir?’

‘John Briggs.’ He had very nearly said Kenton before stopping himself. This was the moment of decision. He gave a half-hearted flourish of his hand. ‘Itinerant thespian, at your service, madam.’ There were many inns that would not have him at all after that admission. But he’d best get re-accustomed to the sudden frostiness which came with the knowledge of his profession.

The girl gave him a blank look. ‘You speak well for a foreigner.’

‘An actor, my dear,’ he said patiently. ‘A playwright. A singer of songs. Teller of tales. Weaver of dreams.’ He reached out and pulled the gold coin he had palmed, from behind her ear. ‘I belong to the trunk that you have been holding in the best room above. And I paid in advance.’ Let her make what she would of that.

She eyed the coin in his hand, as though surprised to see it there, and wondering how he’d come by it. Then she decided it did not matter and gave him a look that was properly impressed. ‘An actor. I expect you are full of pretty words for a girl like me.’ She batted her lashes and waited to be dazzled.

Shakespeare.

Now he struggled to think of a single quote that did not make him think of the woman he was trying to forget. ‘I did not say I was a good actor, did I?’

Since he was being of no use, she took control of the situation and the chair opposite him, leaning forwards so that he could have an ample view down her bodice. ‘Who needs talk when you have money. Are you in need of company?’

Hadn’t he thought just the same, only a few moments ago? But now, when the opportunity presented itself to rectify it, he said, ‘I prefer my solitude. I am quite tired, you see.’ Where were his manners, flirting with the girl and then rejecting her a moment later? And where was his skill? His protestations of fatigue were in no way convincing.

She glared at him for wasting her time, so he pushed the coin across the table and in front of her. ‘See to it that my meal is sent to my room. And that is all I will need from you tonight,’ he added, as he imagined the girl forcing her way in after the plate.

She did a creditable attempt at a flounce as she left his table, but it was lost on him for he was already heading for the stairs. While the old Jack would not have refused such an offer, Kenton was not willing to let go of his conscience just yet. Tomorrow, perhaps. The girl would be just as willing as long as he had another coin. For tonight, he could open his trunk to assure himself that nothing had been taken from it in his prolonged absence and re-acquaint himself with his old life.

The large brass-bound crate that waited in the bedroom at the top of the stairs was the sum total of his possessions. Or at least, it had been until Spayne had caught up to him. Jack had nearly lost it that day, thinking it sold by the innkeeper, but the earl had rescued it as well as him, and shipped it on when they’d settled on this as the place of his eventual death and rebirth. Jack fished in his pocket for the key, with the chain that had been attached to hang the thing safely about his neck when he was on stage and could not guard the contents. As an afterthought, he strung the Kenton ring beside it and dropped it back inside his shirt to rest over his heart.

It was strange to feel the weight there. Kenton had no need for such securities. For these long months, the key had rested in a bureau drawer, very nearly forgotten. Someone here had watched over the luggage, keeping it dry and oiling the lock. The mechanism turned smoothly, and he popped the latch and lifted the lid to reveal his treasures.

The pots of stage paint and rouge had gone stale or dried up from lack of use. They would have to be replaced, of course. A series of beards and wigs that he had once thought quite realistic would need to go as well. Now they appeared motheaten and he could not imagine bringing them close to his face without a shudder of disgust.

Wrapped in a piece of worn flannel, he found the crown that he had worn for any number of performances: Henrys four through eight, both Richards, John, and other kings as well, indiscriminate of era or nationality. It was gilded and set with glass jewels, and had been the envy of his fellows. But now he saw it for what it was, a dull thing, clearly false, too light compared to the coronet which Spayne had allowed him to wear one night in jest.

‘See how it feels, my boy.’ The earl’s voice had been almost seductive and Jack had allowed himself to succumb. ‘Kenton would know of this. He would expect it. If you wish to be him, even for a while, you must walk as if it is always on your head.’

Jack tossed the false crown aside with a curse, trying to shake the memory of the very real weight of the coronet and the sense of pride and confidence it had brought. That had been just as much an illusion as the dross in front of him. He was not Kenton. He never had been.

He took up one of the costumes instead, the rich robe that went along with the crown. Not so rich, of course, now that he’d seen real court robes. The velvet on this was threadbare, the ermine little more than white rabbit, trimmed with splotches of paint. The antique coat beneath it, which he’d worn in
She Would if She Could
, had been a true gentleman’s coat, when it had been new. As a costume, it was quite better than anything else he could afford. But the gold lace was tarnished and missing in patches on the great bucket cuffs. He slipped into it, for it had always made him feel better, young and dashing, full of wit like the comedies of Goldsmith and Sheridan that it suited.

Today, it bound and pinched. It was too narrow in the shoulders and too short in the sleeves. It had been fine thirteen months ago, but now, it seemed to be made for a smaller man, a lesser man, an actor who could twist himself into the shape needed to fit it and pretend that it had been made for him.

He yanked it off and tossed it back into the trunk, slamming the lid. When last he’d seen it, he had been quite proud of this accumulation. He was sure it looked the same as the day when he’d put it aside.

But he was equally sure that he never wanted to see the trunk or its contents again. He might as well have stored the lot at the bottom of the ocean, for all it mattered. It was ruined and useless, to the last button and thread. His old things did not fit him. It was as if, far later in life than was natural, he’d grown the last few inches to make a proper man, and this new self could find no peace in playing a king when there was work to do, or apeing Romeo, only to go to bed alone.

He reached up and yanked the chain from his neck, freeing the key and fitting it back in the lock to save the innkeeper the trouble of breaking it when it was sold.

The ring he slipped back on his finger. Then he went down the stairs and to the stable to arrange for a horse.

Chapter Twenty-One

T
hey were burying an empty coffin.

The mourners knew it, of course. The fishermen had discovered the broken boat, washed up on shore, with a scrap of linen the only evidence that her sometime husband had been aboard. But with the outpouring of sympathy she’d received, some sort of public memorial service had seemed necessary.

The church was near to full, friends and acquaintances dabbing delicately at their eyes and remarking at the suddenness of her widowhood, the tragedy of it, and the level head and likability of Kenton. He would be missed by all and Thea was to be a symbol of pity and sympathy.

Spayne was there as well, giving up his seclusion for a trip to the metropolis, white faced, tight lipped and clearly suffering the loss.

The only one absent was Henry de Warde, who had sent a tersely worded note, but showed no sign of returning to town, even to gloat, while the memory of his embarrassment was still fresh.

Her mother was draped head to toe in black and weeping so hard that Thea feared the woman would throw herself into the open grave. Could she not manage to maintain decorum? ‘Come away, Mother,’ Thea had said, sincerely worried. ‘You needn’t weep so.’

‘But I cannot seem to help myself,’ her mother said. ‘I have had such news, my dear. And I cannot decide whether to weep from joy or sadness.’ To Thea’s surprise, she wiped away real tears. ‘I did not want to share it with you today, for it might make your expressions of grief even more difficult.’

Her mother was concerned for her ability to play the part, even now. And the fact that, after trying so hard for so long, Thea was on some level a disappointment, added yet another sting to the wound on her heart. ‘I will manage,’ she said, feeling the tears gathering behind her eyes, even if there was no real reason for them. ‘What is your news?’

‘We have had a letter from Grandfather. After all this time, he has relented. And it was all because of you, my darling. He heard of your marriage to Kenton and was so impressed by the worth of the match and the tragedy of its sudden end, that he has acknowledged the union of your parents and freed your father’s portion of the money. Do not think, should you choose to marry again, that you need to concern yourself with our welfare.’

‘I have no intention of marrying again,’ Thea said flatly. It was, perhaps, the last full truth she could ever speak.

‘Come now, darling,’ her mother said with a worried frown. ‘You are young yet. It is too soon to think of shutting yourself away.’

Perhaps not the last truth. ‘Jack is lost to me,’ she added. ‘And I miss him terribly.’ While her mother wept, her own eyes were still unfortunately dry. She should be able to produce at least one tear from them. What was it Jack had said about acting? Think of something sad. The prospect of never seeing him again was quite sad enough to act convincingly, she was sure. She felt the stuffiness of the head and the prickling of the lashes that indicated a proper widow’s grief. It was a pity that he could not be here to admire her newfound skill.

‘Yes, my dear.’ Her mother stroked her hands, then thought the better of it and gathered her close in for a hug. ‘You will go on without him. Wait and see. You mustn’t be angry with him for leaving you, for he has finally made you a success.’

‘Now that I do not need Grandfather’s help, he wishes to know me?’ Her own efforts had been for nothing after all.

‘You married well, bagged a title and now you are a rich widow.’

‘I did none of those things.’ She had trapped herself in a lie so perfect that no amount of protesting would make people believe the truth.

‘It is the appearance that matters, not the truth.’

‘You are very wise,’ Thea said, surprised that she had not noticed it before. ‘Grandfather was wrong to not have acknowledged you from the first. From what Jack told me, you could have had more money than Grandfather might offer had you kept to the stage.’

‘But then I would not have had your father,’ her mother said. ‘The choice was quite simple, really.’

She gave her mother a worried look. ‘I was wrong to disapprove. I have not treated you as I should, Mother. You have been good to me. And I have been nothing but false.’

Her mother gathered her close and kissed her upon both cheeks. At one time Thea might have scolded her about the continual display of excess emotion where anyone might see, but today it felt good to know that she was loved. ‘You have been my daughter. And I am proud of you.’

‘But I should have been proud of you as well. People are such hypocrites.’ She stared out at the crowded pews. ‘They claim to be better than others, but they do it with a smile on their face and a lie on their lips.’ Her mother had left her old life behind and chosen to live amongst people who would never accept her. She claimed the choice had been easy.

But it was one that Jack had refused to make.

Thea wiped away her first tear.

‘Truth is like staring into the sun, my dear,’ her mother said. ‘Just as blinding as a lie might be, but far more damaging. It changes you.’

Thea wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand. Her widow’s weeds were not red, as she had threatened. They were subdued, tasteful and dark as jet, just as Jack had predicted. And the black-edged handkerchief that she held to her face was becoming quite damp.

They should be tears of relief. The charade was finally over. She had justice for her parents and could go on about her life just as planned, alone.

Without warning, a sob erupted from her and she crammed her knuckles into her mouth, trying to stop another. Damn the man. He had made her care for him. Then he had left before she’d admitted the truth.