Vintage Love (186 page)

It was a dangerous moment for her. The warmth of his embrace weakened her so that she was tempted to ask him to take her with him, put aside all her promises. But he didn’t wait to give her that chance. After he kissed her he drew away from her and abruptly left the theatre.

The weeks which followed were lonely ones for Mary. She missed the long walks and talks she’d enjoyed so much with the good-looking actor. She had one brief letter from him about ten days after he left London. His company was playing a small provincial theatre and was not doing very well. She at once wrote him a letter of encouragement. She addressed it to the theatre hoping it would reach him but she received no answer.

Her Beatrice was another triumph and all fashionable London were attending the Maiden Lane Theatre. Also, she continued to receive invitations to parties and balls given by wealthy and titled leaders of fashion of the great city. She routinely refused them and gave all her attention to improving her acting.

At about this time she began receiving large bouquets of roses each evening from someone who merely signed himself, “Your devoted admirer.” She brought this to the attention of Hector Waddington and he had the house manager look into the mystery.

One evening as she was putting on her makeup, the house manager came to her dressing room. He was a nervous little man and he apologized for intruding, and said, “I have come to tell you about the roses.”

She indicated the various vases filled with lovely red blooms in her dressing room and said, “You can see my dressing room is overflowing with them. And I’ve taken many of the bouquets home or given them away. It is too much!”

The house manager smiled in his nevous fashion. “I can tell you who sends them.”

“Who?”

“An old gentleman who has a great love of the theatre. Lately he has been coming here for every performance. Indeed, he has a seat reserved in the dress circle for all your future performances as Beatrice.”

Mary raised her eyebrows. “An old gentleman, you say?”

“Yes. Lord Patrick Carter. I have been told that he is at least eighty-three. But that is hearsay.”

“Why should this eighty-three-year-old man send me roses every night?” she wanted to know.

“He is eccentric,” the house manager told her. “He has Irish blood. They’re always a little strange.”

“He must be very strange, indeed,” she said. “He has sent me all these roses and attended every performance but he has never come backstage to compliment me in person.”

The house manager said, “I understand he is a shy man, Miss Waddington. But he is devoted to the theatre and beauty. So this is his way of paying tribute to you.”

“I don’t know what I shall do!” she protested. “I shall soon run out of vases!”

“I could speak to him,” the house manager suggested. “But I don’t think it would do any good. He is odd, as I have told you. Lately, there’s been much gossip about him in London, because of his devotion to his dogs.”

“His dogs?”

“Yes. He keeps a great many of them at his estate on the outskirts of the city. And he often brings them into town for a ride in his carriage.”

“A ride in his carriage!” She raised her eyebrows.

The house manager was enjoying the gossip. He went on to add, “And that is not all, Miss. These dogs wear clothing just like regular people. When he orders shoes for himself from the cobbler he orders leather boots for his dogs!”

“You must be joking!”

“Not at all, miss,” the house manager said. “The old man is said to have the dogs with him at the table when he dines, each to his own chair, and the only place he
doesn’t
bring them is to the theatre.”

“We can at last be thankful for that!”

“Yes, Miss.”

“Would you consider him dangerous?” she asked.

“Not at all, Miss,” the house manager hastened to say. “He is odd but quite harmless and mild of manner. A bachelor, as you might expect, and living quite alone on a vast estate. You’d say his loneliness might explain his devotion to his dogs — and to you, if I may be so bold as to include you in this fashion.”

She smiled, “You’re forgiven. And thank you for your explanation. I expect I shall simply have to find more vases!”

The flowers continued to arrive and she was told the old man presented himself at the theatre every night she played. One evening after the show she had an unexpected visitor. Colonel Bush, aide-de-camp to the Prince Regent, presented himself at her dressing room.

The courtly Colonel presented an imposing figure in his dress uniform. Bowing to her, he said, “We have not seen you for some time. The Prince Regent has been asking about you. Why have you refused his invitations?”

She smiled. “I have been working hard at my craft. I find parties tiring.”

“I can understand,” the gray-haired Colonel said with a sympathetic air. “But I pray you do me the honor of attending a ball I’m holding tomorrow evening in honor of my regiment. I have had special requests for your presence.”

She was instantly suspicious. She asked, “Is Captain Edward Blake going to be present?”

“I fear not,” Colonel Bush said. “He is on military duty in India at the moment.”

“I see,” she said. “Well, if you would particularly like me to attend. I will make an exception.”

“Excellent,” the lean-faced Colonel said. “I shall have a carriage pick you up here at the finish of the play.”

The Waddingtons were pleased that she’d decided to socialize once again. She brought a gown to the theatre with her and changed as soon as she left the stage. The carriage was at the stage door as the Colonel had promised and it whisked her to his town house in Berkeley Square.

Colonel Bush and his wife were at the door to greet her. It was another gala event with music, great quantities of food and drink, and dancing. The Prince Regent wasn’t present but many of his circle were. The officers of the regiment and their ladies were augmented by many from civilian life.

During one of the lively dances in which she joined she found herself opposite a pleasant-faced young man she vaguely felt she’d met before. As they moved through the motions of the dance he smiled warmly at her.

When the dance finished the young man said, “I greatly enjoyed dancing with you, Miss Waddington.”

She touched her fan to her bosom, and arched an eyebrow. “You know me?”

“All London knows and admires you, Miss May Waddington,” he assured her. “I have attended your performances many times.”

“You are very kind,” she said.

And then he shocked her by saying, “I should very much like us to be friends. My name is Howard Blake.”

It took all Mary’s ability as an actress to hide her shock. This, then, was the second son of Sir John and Lady Blake! As soon as she’d recovered, she said quite casually, “Blake! Now that is a familiar name. There are the Blakes of Benjamin Square. I’ve heard of Sir John Blake in government.”

The young man smiled. “I have the honor to be his son.”

“Really,” she made herself sound rather bored. “And do you not have a brother who is a member of this regiment?”

“I do,” Howard Blake said. “He is presently in India. Edward is somewhat older than I. We have never been close. I only came down from Oxford last year.”

So that explained why they had never met. He had been away when she was working as a servant in his father’s house.

The young man continued, “I’m now with a firm of barristers here in London. I hope that we may see each other again, Miss Waddington.”

She fanned herself languidly. “I can’t promise that,” she said. “But I am pleased to meet you.”

“Would you care for a glass of champagne?” he asked.

“Thank you, yes,” she said.

“Permit me,” he said and vanished in the crowd.

She watched him until he was lost in the maze of people. He seemed quite a different person from the arrogant Edward. She quite liked him and supposed she shouldn’t blame him for his brother’s shortcomings.

Howard Blake returned with two glasses of champagne in his hands.

“You’re so kind,” she drawled, peering at him from beneath long silky lashes.

“There is a terrace,” he indicated through the next room. “We could go out there and talk more easily.”

“As you wish,” she said. All fear of him was gone. He was merely Edward’s younger brother and quite unlike him, it seemed. There was no reason why they should not get to know each other better.

It was a lovely summer night and they stood on the marble balcony facing the garden. The perfume of the flowers swept up to her nostrils and she gazed up at the stars high above them.

“London can be an ugly place,” she said, the sound of the music coming softly through the French doors behind them. “And yet it can be so lovely!”

“You sound as if you have known both sides of it,” he suggested.

“I have had a glimpse of the more sordid side of the town,” she told him. “An acquaintance took me there as a novelty. I did not like it.”

Howard said, “A young woman of your beauty and sensitivity should be protected from the dark side of things.”

She glanced at his earnest, young face. “You really think that?”

“Indeed I do,” he vowed.

She smiled. “But many sensitive young girls are thrown upon their own resources in the city’s jungle. What about them?”

“I shudder to think of what their fate must be,” Howard Blake said.

Her eyes met his. “The brothels, perhaps? I hear that young gentlemen like yourself are among those who patronize such places and make them possible.”

Howard Blake looked shocked. “That may be true of some of the young rakes, even of my brother,” he said. “But it is not true of me. I have certain standards by which I try to live.”

She was sure he meant what he said and her heart warmed to him. She said, “I believe you. I hope I’m not being naive.”

“I promise what I say to you is the truth,” Howard Blake said.

She put her empty champagne glass on the broad marble balustrade. Smiling up at him, she said, “But then your society friends would consider your being with me ‘slumming.’ Most of them consider theatre people vulgar and uneducated.”

“That is becoming less true,” the young man protested. “And one must respect such players as yourself who reveal to us the beauty of the classics. You are not a performer in a pub or circus!”

“Thank you.”

“You are as much a lady as anyone here,” he went on vehemently. “I’d challenge any man to prove differently!”

“Please, don’t,” she said, amused. “I should hate to find you on the field of honor defending my poor reputation.”

“It is in no way poor!” The young man protested. “And you may indeed count on me!”

“I think we should rejoin the others,” she told him. “We might cause talk.”

“May I have the pleasure of escorting you home?” he asked as they entered the crowded ballroom.

“The Colonel sent his carriage for me. I’m sure he has arranged for me to be taken home as well,” she said.

The young man smiled at her. “I feel sure that can be arranged. I’ll explain that you’d prefer to have me take you home!”

Mary made a laughing protest that was not truly a protest. And soon after she saw Howard Blake consulting with the Colonel. He then returned to her and informed her that it was all arranged for him to see her safely to her lodgings.

Mary smiled at him, “You are a most persistent young man!”

“When I feel the prize is worth it,” he said.

They were parted when someone else led her out to dance. Inevitably the exciting evening came to an end. She bade the Colonel and his lady goodnight and left in the company of Howard Blake. Torches held by footmen lit up the street as the various members of the party sought out their carriages. The many vehicles had formed in a long line and it was some time before the one owned by Howard Blake came along.

On the drive home he sat close to her in the darkness and said, “I hate to see this evening end.”

Mary gazed up at his handsome face shadowed so that it was hard to see his expression. She said, “It has meant so much to you?”

“Yes. And solely because of you!”

“Nonsense! You are a flatterer!” she rebuked him archly.

“I speak the truth,” he insisted.

“I must take your words with some discretion,” she told him. “An actress hears many words of praise and dares believe only a small fraction of them.”

“You may believe all I tell you,” the young man said.

“I have enjoyed meeting you,” she told him. “But I question that we should see each other again. We come from two quite different worlds. Our friendship must of necessity be limited.”

“I do not accept those limitations,” Howard Blake protested in words which echoed those used by his brother to seduce her. Yet she did not think this was what this young man had in mind.

“You might be wise to,” she said.

“Are you in love?” he asked. “Have you given your promise to someone?”

She hesitated and in the face of his honesty felt she should offer him an honest reply. She said, “There is a young man, someone of my own world. An actor. He has asked me to marry him. I haven’t made up my mind, though I’m tremendously fond of him.”

“I see,” he said, quietly. “There has been no final decision on your part?”

“No.”

“Then I
shall
see you again,” he told her.

The carriage had arrived at her door. She did not have to make any reply to this. He saw her safely inside, removed his hat, and taking her hand in his, chastely kissed it.

He raised his eyes to hers. “Until our next meeting,” he said.

“Goodnight and thank you,” she murmured.

She watched through the glass of the front door until the carriage vanished around the corner. She was sure she was a much wiser person than the poor country girl who had been so cruelly deceived by Edward Blake and she felt that her judgement was right in accepting Howard as a different character altogether.

Now began a most exciting period of her life. It seemed that all her free hours away from the theatre were filled by the young man whom she had expected, simply because of his name, to hate. She and Howard Blake became constant companions and regular attendants at the fashionable court parties and those given by other London social leaders. Once, to her amusement, he introduced her to his mother at one such dinner.