Because You're Mine (Capital Theatre #2)(8)

“I would appreciate that, Your Grace.”

“I have a friend, an elderly woman who was once a well-known actress. She lives alone in a fine house on Somerset Street, but she takes in boarders occasionally. She likes to have young people around her, and it is quite entertaining to hear her reminisce about the past. I'm certain she'll let a room to you for a small weekly sum.”

“That sounds perfect.” Madeline flashed her a smile. “Thank you.”

A troubled expression crossed the woman's face. “I try not to pry into other people's concerns, but it's clear that you don't belong here, Madeline.”

She was silent, uncertain how to reply. She lowered her gaze to avoid looking into the duchess's perceptive eyes.

“You're not very good at hiding your feelings,” the other woman remarked. “If you're in some kind of trouble, child…I hope you'll decide to confide in me. I may be able to help.”

“I can't think why you would be so kind to a stranger,” Madeline said.

“You seem so very alone,” the duchess murmured. “There were times in my past when I felt that way. No matter what you're running from, the situation may not be as dire as it seems.”

Madeline nodded, although she had no intention of confiding in anyone. After thanking the duchess sincerely, Madeline left the heater and summoned a hack to take her to Somerset Street.

Mrs. Nell Florence was an elderly woman with silvery-peach hair that must have been a vivid shade of red in her youth. Her skin was pale and gently worn by time, her bone structure elegant. She seemed warm and kind, with a charming touch of vanity.

“So my dear Julia sent you to me, did she?” Mrs. Florence asked, welcoming Madeline into her home. “I'm certain we'll get along famously. You're an actress, I take it? No? I can't imagine that, not with a face like yours. If I'd possessed half such beauty when I was your age…but then, I did quite well with what I had.”

Busily she showed Madeline around the two-story house, each room filled with mementos from her acting career. “I was the toast of London,” Mrs. Florence declared, taking her past a wall of portraits done some thirty years earlier. Each painting depicted her in a different pose or costume, some of them shockingly revealing. She seemed to take great satisfaction in Madeline's blush. “You're an easy one to read, aren't you? What a refreshing quality.”

Intrigued by the collection of memorabilia, Madeline inspected framed play notices, engravings, and colored fashion plates of old costumes. “How wonderful, to have led such a life!” she exclaimed.

“I've had my ups and downs,” Mrs. Florence said. “And I've enjoyed all of it. Never regret anything, that's my advice. Come, I'll show you the room you'll be staying in, and then we'll have a long talk. You must tell me everything about yourself.”

Madeline had never before realized how obvious her thoughts were. It seemed that Mrs. Florence could read them as easily as Julia did. “Ah,” she said, regarding Madeline's face. “You don't want to discuss your past, I see. Well, we can find other things to talk about.”

Madeline was gratified by the elderly woman's understanding. “Thank you, Mrs. Florence,” she said, accompanying her on the rest of the tour.

After unpacking her few belongings, Madeline changed into a dove-gray wool gown trimmed with plum cording. She was going to the theater tonight, to see Logan Scott on stage and decide for herself if he was as talented as everyone claimed. Standing before the mirror, she finished fastening her gown…and frowned at the result.

While the garment was well made, the style was all wrong, modest and practical with a primly high neckline. How was she going to seduce any man, least of all Mr. Scott, without some alluring clothes? Wistfully Madeline smoothed her hands over her figure. If only she had a beautiful gown made of silk and lace flounces, and slippers trimmed in pearls, and fresh flowers for her hair.…

After brushing out her long golden-brown hair, she coiled and pinned it carefully on top of her head. She wished she had curling irons, to make artful wisps dangle against her temples and cheeks. “Not even a drop of perfume,” she said, shaking her head ruefully.

After a few moments, however, her naturally high spirits asserted themselves. She would solve such problems later. Tonight she had only one thing to accomplish, and that was to see her first London play.

The Duchess of Leeds was kind enough to show Madeline to a place in the wings where she could stay and watch the play. “You'll be all right here,” she said to Madeline. “Just make certain you keep out of everyone's way. They'll be rushing through scene and costume changes—you wouldn't want anyone to trip over you.”

Obediently Madeline shrank to the side and found that she could see most of the action onstage, albeit from an odd angle. The play, called A Lover Denied, was preceded by a musical performance and a one-act farce that sent ripples of laughter rolling through the audience. The curtains were drawn, and set pieces, flats, and people flew across the stage in apparent chaos. Miraculously everything fell into place in less than a minute. Two young men near Madeline pulled expertly at ropes and pulleys, and the curtains opened to reveal the beautifully crafted interior of a London mansion.

Applause and exclamations of pleasure emanated from the audience at the sight of the display. Then two characters, a husband and wife, began to discuss a list of suitors for their marriageable daughter. Madeline was enthralled as she watched the story unfold. She felt acute sympathy for the heroine, an ingenue who was being prevented from marrying her childhood sweetheart and instead was betrothed to a villainous man who refused to relinquish her to the arms of her true love.