Because You're Mine (Capital Theatre #2)(29)

“Yes…but I can't bear to look at those, or to show them.”

“Of course.” Madeline regarded her curiously, sensing that there were more secrets about Elizabeth that Mrs. Florence had chosen not to reveal.

When Madeline returned to the Capital the next morning, it was to discover that Arlyss Barry had fallen prey to the illness that had affected so many others. Her husband, who was also the head scene painter, had stayed home to take care of her. The duchess was clearly concerned. “It takes a great deal to keep Arlyss from the theater,” she told Madeline. “I want to visit her, but the duke has forbidden it. In fact, he's threatening to keep me at home for the next few weeks, until the illness has run its course through the company.”

“That sounds like a wise suggestion,” Madeline said. “Perhaps you should consider it, Your Grace.”

The duchess gave a frustrated sigh. “There's too much to do…and soon I'll be in confinement. I must stay here for as long as I can. In the meantime, both Arlyss and her understudy are ill. I wonder if you might consider taking the role during rehearsals until one of them is able to return?”

“Oh, Your Grace, I couldn't…” Madeline shook her head. “I could never act. I have no talent and absolutely no desire.…”

“You don't have to act. Just say the lines—you know them better than Arlyss herself—and move about the stage exactly as you've seen her do. You needn't be shy, Maddy. Everyone would understand you were temporarily taking Arlyss's place to make rehearsals easier for the company. Won't you consider it?”

“Mr. Scott won't like it,” Madeline said awkwardly.

“You leave him to me. Above all else, Logan wants what is best for his theater.”

Madeline didn't see Mr. Scott until the next morning. To her discomfort, she had been told that the rehearsal would be conducted with the players in costume. She was already self-conscious, assuming Arlyss's place; it was even worse, having to wear the character's gown, which was little more than translucent layers of blue and silver draped over her body. Because her measurements were smaller than Miss Barry's, the wide scooped neckline kept slipping down over her br**sts, revealing far more than had been intended.

“What a beauty you are,” Mrs. Lyttleton said, standing back to view the costume with pride. “'Tis a pity Miss Barry doesn't have your lovely figure. You give the costume an ethereal quality that she doesn't.”

“I think Miss Barry has a fine figure,” Madeline said quickly.

“She would if she stopped eating sugar biscuits with her tea every afternoon,” Mrs. Lyttleton said darkly, swinging her mountainous girth around as she turned to a rack of costumes to be worn that day.

As she joined the players in the greenroom, Madeline went to the nearest corner, trying to remain inconspicuous. Unfortunately, the revealing costume left her open to a predictable amount of teasing. Charles Haversley was the first to notice her, greeting her with admiring whistles.

“My Lord, what a transformation!” he cried, rushing to her and seizing her hands. His avid gaze moved over her body, lingering at her half-exposed br**sts. “Dear Miss Ridley, I had no idea what you were hiding beneath your usual attire. I'll admit, during my private moments I did wonder—”

“Charles,” interrupted the older actor, Mr. Burgess, who played the part of the bereaved father, “none of us, least of all Miss Ridley, wants to hear about your private moments.”

Madeline pulled her hands from Charles' enthusiastic grip. “Mr. Haversley…” she began in a chiding tone. Before she could continue, Stephen Maitland had joined them, his gaze locked on her bosom.

“Miss Ridley, I'll escort you to the stage. It's dark, and you might trip on the way—”

Their antics were interrupted by a quiet voice from across the room. “That's enough, gentlemen.”

Madeline looked toward the source of the voice and saw Mr. Scott standing across the room, a few pages of notes in his hand. He swept a glance across the assembled players, seeming not to notice Madeline. “Let's get started,” he said. “I have a few notes concerning yesterday morning's rehearsal, and then I want everyone to take their places for the first scene.”

Mr. Scott ran through the list of comments and changes, while the actors listened attentively. Near the end of his brief talk, he looked directly at Madeline for the first time. “Miss Ridley, I believe everyone is aware that you have agreed to take part in the rehearsal because Miss Barry and her stand-in are both indisposed. Our thanks for your assistance.”

Madeline felt her color rise, and she managed a small nod in response. He switched his gaze from her at once, his face unaccountably grim.

Quickly the players filed from the greenroom, Madeline along with them. She—or rather the character of the deceased wife's ghost—appeared in the first scene. As she passed Mr. Scott, who had stayed by the doorway, she stopped and looked up at him.

“Mr. Scott,” she said softly, careful not to let anyone overhear, “I know you told me to stay away from you, but the duchess asked—”

“I know,” he interrupted.

“You're not angry with me?”

His face was a mask of indifference. “Your presence won't affect me in the least.”