Gail Whitiker (6 page)

Laurence inclined his head. ‘Of course. I would hate to be the cause of any delay.’

* * *

Joanna glanced at him briefly, then turned and walked away. She wasn’t sure why she felt so flustered all of a sudden. She had done enough of these presentations that standing in front of a room full of men didn’t bother her any more. What, then? Embarrassment that he witnessed her comfortable exchange with Mr Penscott?

Surely not. There was nothing wrong with colleagues enjoying a laugh together. Certainly no one else seemed to think so. After a brief glance at the newcomer, Mr Penscott had gone back to unpacking boxes and her father seemed not to have heard the exchange at all. Even Mr Bretton did not seem unduly concerned. Following his last comment, he had sat down and taken a small leather-bound notebook from his satchel, which he had proceeded to open and lay flat upon his lap. Joanna had seen lines of writing, along with what looked like hieroglyphic symbols covering the page from top to bottom. A moment later, he’d taken out a pencil and began making notes and hadn’t looked at her again.

Unreasonably miffed, Joanna had carried on with her preparations. So, the great Valentine Lawe had deigned to make an appearance. How gracious of him. He had even dressed for the part, looking every inch the academic in a dark jacket over breeches and boots, his appearance smart but decidedly understated. He had abandoned his fancy lace jabot for a conservatively striped neckcloth and the signature rose was nowhere in sight. He was even wearing his wire-rimmed spectacles again.

Did he really need them, Joanna wondered, or were they little more than a contrivance?

Not that it mattered, she reminded herself. Laurence Bretton was only one of the many gentlemen who had come to hear her father speak and though she had given him an invitation, it did not entitle him to any special consideration. She had extended the invitation for the same reason he had offered to lend her the book—because they shared a common interest in Egypt.

That was all. Joanna had no intention of getting to know the gentleman better because despite Lady Cynthia’s beliefs that Mr Bretton was interested in her, Joanna knew all too well the fickleness of the writer’s heart. She had experienced it firsthand. Her infatuation with Aldwyn Patterson had scarred her to a far greater degree than anyone knew because only Joanna knew what he had whispered to her in the folly when they were alone. Only she knew the sweet promises he had made and the lyrical poetry he had written extolling her glorious emerald eyes and the sweetness of her face.

Only she knew how madly and stupidly she had fallen in love—only to discover his true nature when she had found out she was not the only young lady to be on the receiving end of his flattery.

Such was her disappointment in having discovered Laurence Bretton’s true calling. Though he was a different kind of writer, Joanna had no reason to suspect he was any different at heart. He lived in a world of fictional characters and implausible scenarios.

Witness his appearance as Valentine Lawe. What was that if not just another role in his world of make believe?

But her world wasn’t like that any more. Joanna was no longer in control of her own destiny. She was the daughter of an impoverished earl, fated to marry a man of means; one who possessed either wealth or a title, or better yet, wealth
and
a title, and who was willing to spend a large part of that wealth on the restoration of Joanna’s home.

That was the only hope her family had. Personal feelings didn’t enter into it. She was to be married off to the highest bidder—and she was deceiving herself if she thought to call it anything else.

* * *

For Laurence, the next two hours flew by. Lord Bonnington offered a highly informative talk concerning his explorations of the ruins at Dendera and of the many unexpected finds he and his team had made along the way. Numerous samples were documented and described, some that were passed around during the course of the discussion, while the more delicate articles were kept at the front of the room for viewing. Mr Penscott, who turned out to be a former student of Bonnington’s as well as his assistant, was often called upon to elaborate a point, though his explanations, being more straightforward than the earl’s, were better suited to the laymen in the audience.

Then there were the engravings, incredibly lifelike drawings of hieroglyphs and friezes, drawn in greatly reduced scale, but in such exquisite detail that Laurence could almost picture himself sitting on the artist’s stool, gazing at the magnificent scenes before him. And
she
had drawn them. Lady Joanna Northrup. To his surprise, the lovely and refined young woman who was destined to become mistress of a grand house in London was also one of the finest illustrators he had ever seen.

His admiration and respect for her only grew.

Unfortunately, as the evening went on so did his awareness of the differences between them. She was the daughter of an earl; a woman who lived in a world vastly removed from his and whose privileged life included servants, magnificent houses and all the conveniences money could buy.

He was the son of a gentleman and a minister’s daughter. Though better educated than most and with opportunities greater than some, Laurence knew he would never achieve the lofty heights necessary to be considered someone with whom Lady Joanna might associate.

She was a goddess and he a mere mortal bound to earth. Not surprisingly, the discovery left him with a decidedly hollow feeling.

‘Smashing good lecture, eh what?’ said the gentleman seated next to him. ‘I’d have given my eye-teeth to be on that expedition. But, I’m the first to admit my travelling days are over.’

Laurence regarded the gentleman, who didn’t appear to be much over fifty, with amusement. ‘You look as though you still have a good few trips left in you.’

‘Appreciate you saying so, m’boy, but traipsing through the desert is work for younger men than me.’ He turned his head and levelled a surprisingly keen look at Laurence. ‘Ever been to Egypt, Mr...?’

‘Bretton. And, no, I haven’t. Everything I know about the subject has been learned from books and from following the exploits of men like Lord Bonnington.’

‘Pity. Reading about the pyramids is nothing like standing at the top of one of those magnificent structures, knowing as you gaze out over the desert that it holds a thousand secrets you’re never going to be able to uncover. You can’t get any of that from a book.’

Laurence smiled, recognising in the man beside him the spirit of a true adventurer. ‘You’ve been there.’

‘Oh, yes,’ his companion said, ‘and I was younger than you when I made my first trip. Not many young bucks were making the journey back then. Most of them went to Florence and Rome on their grand tours. But Egypt is becoming popular now and I hear there are even ladies making the trip, though I don’t hold with all that nonsense. The desert’s no place for a woman.’

‘I heard that, Mr Dustin,’ Lady Joanna said in a tone of mild amusement as she came up behind them. ‘And I take leave to disagree with you.’

‘Of course you do, my dear, because you are your father’s daughter and every bit as stubborn, though I won’t hold that against you,’ he said, winking. ‘However, if you’ll excuse me, I want a word with Bonnington before he leaves. I’ve a slight difference of opinion when it comes to his theory about Seti the First, though he’ll likely tell me I’m talking through my hat.’ Abruptly, Mr Dustin turned and extended his hand to Laurence. ‘Don’t forget what I said, young man. If you ever get the chance to go, take it! You won’t regret it.’

‘I’ll be sure to remember your advice,’ Laurence said, shaking Mr Dustin’s hand. It was only as he did that he noticed the ebony-topped cane gripped in the gentleman’s other hand and realised why Mr Dustin’s travelling days were over.

‘Well, Mr Bretton, did you enjoy the lecture?’ Lady Joanna enquired when they were alone.

Her tone was no warmer than it had been earlier, but aware that she had, at least, come to speak to him, Laurence decided to make the most of it. ‘Very much. I am more envious than ever of what you saw and experienced while you were there.’

Her brow furrowed, but in confusion rather than disagreement. ‘Why would you say that? You are a famous playwright. A man much admired in society. What reason can you have for being envious of anyone?’

‘I am envious because I haven’t seen everything I want to see, or travelled to all the places I wish to travel,’ Laurence said. ‘Just because I write plays doesn’t mean I can’t have other interests.’

‘But the study of ancient Egypt must be one’s passion,’ Lady Joanna said. ‘A person could spend a lifetime engaged in such work and never know all there is to know. I’m sure the same could be said about writing plays.’

‘Yet, did Shakespeare not write a play about Caesar and Cleopatra?’ Laurence countered. ‘One that would have necessitated his having a thorough understanding of the history of the time in order to be able to write about two of its most colourful characters?’

‘Of course, but Shakespeare was first and foremost a playwright. Any research he did would have been undertaken to validate the dialogue and the lifestyles of the characters about which he wrote. You claim an interest in a field that is as strongly felt as what you must feel for writing.’

Laurence couldn’t argue with that because he couldn’t tell her that his first love really
was
history and that he wasn’t a famous playwright at all, that the mask he wore as Valentine Lawe was precisely that. But neither could he deny that her persistent doubts were beginning to bother him. ‘Lady Joanna. You do not know me well. Indeed, you do not know me at all, but I trust you will believe me when I say that I am capable of having interests in areas beyond those for which I have gained renown. Yes, I am a student of the classics and have read and enjoyed the works of Socrates and Shakespeare,’ he said quietly. ‘However, I also enjoy music, art, sport and history. Egyptian history, in particular. I have followed the exploits of Mr Burckhardt and Monsieur Champollion, having been fascinated by the latter’s
précis du système hiéroglyphique
, and I am here tonight because I admire your father’s work and want to learn more.’

‘But what I saw of you last night—’

‘Has nothing to do with who or what I am now,’ Laurence said in frustration. ‘Had you
not
seen me at Mrs Blough-Upton’s house last night, we would not even be
having
this conversation. But you did and we are and this difference in opinion is the result. But believe me when I say that I am not here under false pretences. I’ve come to sit at the foot of a man I have long admired and to learn from his experiences. Now, are you going to grant me the promised introduction, or shall I ask Mr Dustin to do it for you?’

Laurence knew his words had made an impression. Lady Joanna obviously hadn’t expected him to take exception to her remark, nor to contest it as vigorously as he had. But he wasn’t about to stand here and be questioned about a subject he was genuinely interested in, simply because Lady Joanna Northrup believed him more interested in something else!

The seconds ticked by as she stared at him. Then, obviously coming to a decision, she nodded her head. ‘That will not be necessary. If you will follow me, I will introduce you to my father.’

It was not an apology and Laurence knew better than to mistake it for one. He might have come away the victor in this small battle of wills, but he was a long way from emerging triumphant in the war. Lady Joanna had more respect for her father’s assistant than she did for him. When she looked at Penscott, she saw a man whose interest in Egypt was as keen as her own and whose credibility in the field had been established as a result of the years of work he had done at her father’s side.

All she saw when she looked at
him
, Laurence reminded himself, was a man who made up stories about people who existed in make-believe worlds. One who wore fancy clothes and was admired for the extent of his imagination rather than the sharpness of his intellect.

Well, that was going to change, Laurence decided as he followed her towards the front of the room. He might not succeed in winning her heart, but he was damned if he was going to walk away without at least having gained her respect!

Chapter Four

A
t the front of the room, Lord Bonnington stood in the company of several other gentlemen, most of whom Laurence knew either by name or reputation. Lord Kingston, a prominent peer whose collection of Egyptian artefacts was said to be one of the most impressive in England, was engaged in conversation with Mr Geoffrey Toberston, a well known historian, while beside them, Sir Guthry Mortimer, the noted cartographer, chatted with Mr Dustin and Lord Amberley, who according to the papers had funded several of Bonnington’s expeditions.

Also present were Mr David Sheppard, an ambitious young man who was currently in the throes of planning his first expedition to Egypt, and Captain James Sterne, son and heir of Lord Rinstrom and a man who had accompanied Lord Bonnington on one of his early expeditions to Egypt.

‘Papa, allow me to introduce Mr Laurence Bretton,’ Lady Joanna said, drawing Laurence into the centre of the group. ‘We met in a bookshop where he kindly offered to lend me his copy of Volney’s
Travels
. In return, I invited him to your lecture.’

‘Did you indeed?’ Bonnington’s sharp gaze fell on Laurence. ‘I don’t believe I’ve seen you at any of my lectures, Mr Bretton.’

‘You haven’t, my lord, but I am very familiar with your work. I’ve been following your exploits for years and have read all of your reports with great enjoyment.’

‘Have you now. And what did you think of tonight’s presentation?’

‘Fascinating. I only wish I could have been at Dendera with you.’

‘As do I,’ Mr Dustin spoke up. ‘Might have been too, if it wasn’t for this blasted leg.’

‘Which I told you to have reset after you broke it the last time,’ Bonnington said drily. ‘But would you listen to me? Oh, no! Told me what I could do with my advice, as I recall.’

‘Well, what did you expect?’ Dustin muttered. ‘You’re an archaeologist. Not a bloody surgeon.’

Laurence smiled, recognising the friendly bickering for what it was. No doubt Mr Dustin, having either been a rival of Bonnington’s or a one-time member of his team, had been rendered incapable of travelling by a series of unfortunate accidents; something he no doubt lamented every day of his life, especially on evenings such as these.

‘The desert does get into one’s blood,’ the older man murmured now.

‘Volney’s
Travels
, eh?’ the earl said, turning back to Laurence. ‘Not an easy volume to find.’

‘No, but I have an excellent source for such books and have been able to amass a fairly substantial library.’

‘Which is more than I can say for some of the shops I visited,’ Lady Joanna said. ‘The clerk at the last one was quite relieved when Mr Bretton offered to lend me his copy.’

‘On the contrary, he would have been more than happy to help,’ Laurence said, remembering the look of infatuation on the young man’s face and aware of feeling much the same way at the time. ‘But given that I had the book at home, I saw no point in making him go to the trouble.’

‘Bretton,’ Captain Sterne said slowly. ‘That name’s familiar. Why do I know it?’ He tapped one finger against his lip and then smiled, a little too innocently. ‘But of course, you’re that writer chap. The one all the ladies chatter about. Lang, isn’t it?’

‘Lawe,’ Laurence said, aware of the patronising tone. ‘Valentine Lawe.’

‘That’s right, Valentine Lawe. What a coincidence. I went to see your play last Season,’ Sterne said. ‘Quite good for what it was.’

Laurence smiled, amused by Sterne’s condescension in light of the play’s runaway success. ‘Thank you. The response has been gratifying.’

‘Still, I wonder, sir, what brings you here tonight? I cannot suppose you to have become lost on your way to the theatre, but neither can I think of any reason why a playwright would be attending a lecture such as this.’

Laurence heard a few snickers from the gentlemen standing close by, but ignored them. He’d run into Sterne’s type before. ‘As Lady Joanna said, we discovered a mutual interest in Egypt whilst browsing in a shop and she extended the invitation at that time.’

‘Really. And I suppose a man like you would think a
mutual
interest in a subject like that reason enough for approaching a lady with whom one is not acquainted,’ Sterne drawled. ‘And whose social consequence is so vastly superior to one’s own.’

‘Actually, no,’ Laurence said, recognising an adversary and wondering if Sterne tried to intimidate anyone who attempted to speak to Lady Joanna in such a way. ‘But in hearing Lady Joanna’s conversation and recognising an interest as keen as my own, I decided the circumstances warranted the offer being made. It was only after I did so that I became aware of the lady’s identity.’

‘Indeed, the first thing he asked after I told him my name was if I was related to you, Papa,’ Lady Joanna said quickly.

‘Did he indeed? Well, I’m not about to find fault with a gentleman whose intentions are so obviously good. If you’ve a mind to talk about Egypt, Mr Bretton, feel free to come by the house,’ Bonnington said. ‘My door is always open to young men who share a passion for the field. Captain Sterne, perhaps you would care to join Lord Amberley and myself for dinner tomorrow evening? I’ve begun making plans for a trip to Abu Simbel and I remember you saying you would be interested in going.’

‘I would indeed,’ Sterne said. ‘I regretted having to miss Dendera, but it was necessary that I be in America at the time. There were business concerns that needed attending to.’ His glance shifted, coming to rest on Lady Joanna. ‘I hope we will have the pleasure of your company once again, Lady Joanna? I have yet to meet an expedition artist more talented...or more beautiful.’

Laurence saw two bright spots of colour appear in the lady’s cheeks. ‘You are too kind, Captain Sterne. Yes, I hope to be included, but it is Papa’s decision to make.’

‘Actually, I suspect your aunt will have a say in it too,’ her father said. ‘She doesn’t hold with the idea of you travelling abroad. And given that this trip is to be of a longer duration than the last, it may not be appropriate. There are matters here at home that need attending to.’

The remark hung in the air, pregnant with meaning. Laurence saw the expressions on the faces of the men around him and knew what they were thinking. Lady Joanna needed a husband and she wasn’t going to find one on an expedition to Egypt. Unless Sterne intended putting himself forwards as a candidate, and judging by the way he was looking at her, that wasn’t unlikely.

‘Well, I must be off,’ Lord Amberley said. ‘Excellent presentation on Dendera, Bonnington. I look forward to talking to you and Sterne about Abu Simbel tomorrow evening. Shall we say seven o’clock at my club?’

‘Fine by me,’ Bonnington said.

‘And me,’ Sterne replied. ‘I’ve business earlier in the day, but it should be concluded by then. Good evening, Lady Joanna.’

‘Captain Sterne,’ Joanna said.

Laurence thought her expression looked a little strained as she smiled back at the man, but Sterne seemed not to notice and left the room in the company of several other gentlemen, their laughter and backwards glances in Laurence’s direction leaving him in no doubt that he was the source of their amusement.

Finally, only Mr Dustin, Mr Penscott, Lady Joanna and her father remained.

‘Well, come along, Mr Penscott, let’s get packed up,’ the earl said. ‘I’ve no wish to be here until midnight. You may as well go home, Joanna. There’s no point in you waiting around.’

‘But won’t you need the carriage to take everything back to Eaton Place, Papa?’

‘Ah.’ Bonnington paused, as though the thought hadn’t occurred to him. ‘Yes, I suppose I will.’ He glanced at the boxes, then at the three gentlemen remaining. ‘Mr Penscott, how did you arrive here this evening?’

‘By hackney, my lord.’

‘And you, Dustin?’

‘Sir Mortimer was good enough to offer me a ride.’

‘Pity. He’s already left. What about you, Mr Bretton?’

‘I have a carriage waiting outside.’

‘Splendid, then perhaps you would be good enough to see my daughter home,’ the earl said with relief. ‘I don’t like the idea of her travelling unescorted at this time of night.’

Lady Joanna’s eyes widened. ‘You may not like me travelling unescorted, Papa, but neither is it appropriate that I travel alone with Mr Bretton in his carriage.’

‘Nor need you,’ Laurence said quickly. ‘I shall have my coachman drive you home and make other arrangements for myself.’

‘I wouldn’t dream of putting you to all that trouble,’ she objected. ‘I can wait here until Papa is ready to leave.’

‘No need,’ Mr Dustin said. ‘If Mr Bretton is determined to take on the role of Sir Galahad, I am happy to offer my services as chaperon. As a married father of five, I think I’ve experience enough to play the part. And given that it’s come on to rain, I would very much appreciate a dry ride home. What say you, Lady Joanna? Does that meet with your approval?’

Laurence waited for the lady to answer, sincerely hoping that Mr Dustin’s presence would provide the reassurance she needed while still giving him a chance to spend time in her company. He was determined to put things right between them and a carriage ride, no matter how short, might be just the place to start.

Fortunately, her father cast the deciding vote. ‘Yes, do go with him, Joanna, otherwise poor Mr Bretton here will be forced to listen to Dustin’s tall tales the entire way home and I would not wish that on my worst enemy.’

‘I will have you know every one of those stories is true,’ Mr Dustin said huffily. ‘And I have entertained far better men with them than you!’

‘Yes, I know. Several of whom expired from boredom on the way!’

‘Stop it, you two!’ Lady Joanna said, laughing. ‘The way you carry on, you’d think you didn’t like each other, and I know that you have been great friends these many years.’

‘In point of fact, I have put
up
with him for these many years,’ her father said. ‘There is a difference.’

‘Don’t I know it!’ Mr Dustin said with a snort. ‘Well, come along, Lady Joanna. It’s time I was at home by the fire. My leg plays me up on damp nights like this.’

‘You and Mr Bretton go on ahead,’ the lady said. ‘I’ll just gather up a few things and meet you downstairs.’

‘I shall wait for you by the door,’ Laurence said, wondering if her reasons for lingering had anything to do with Penscott, who had been gazing at her with admiration throughout the entire lecture. ‘Thank you, Lord Bonnington, for a most enlightening evening.’

‘My pleasure, Mr Bretton. Well, get a move on, Mr Penscott,’ the earl said gruffly. ‘I’ve no desire to be locked up in here for the rest of the night!’

* * *

Joanna gathered up her drawings, happy to have a few minutes alone to sort through her feelings before finding herself in a carriage with Mr Bretton for the drive home. She had no idea why she found his company so unsettling, but it definitely
was
his presence that set her on edge. She’d felt as flustered as a Bath Miss the entire evening and she really had no explanation as to why.

Yes, he was as handsome. Even without the dramatic costume, those compelling blue eyes and disturbingly sensual mouth would always capture a lady’s attention, as would his broad shoulders and tall, athletic build. But surely she had learned to look beyond the physical aspects of a gentleman’s appearance. Surely her regrettable experience with Aldwyn had taught her the folly of allowing herself to put stock in such insubstantial attributes.

‘Thank you for your assistance this evening, Lady Joanna,’ Mr Penscott said, coming up to her. ‘The presentation was favourably received and your sketches were, as always, much admired.’

‘Thank you, Mr Penscott. I think it went very well.’

‘How could it do otherwise when you were so intimately involved in the arrangements? You have always been a great organiser,’ he said with an engaging smile. ‘It is a shame your involvement will soon be coming to an end.’

‘An end?’ Joanna regarded him quizzically. ‘Are you aware of something I am not, Mr Penscott?’

‘No, of course not. I simply thought...that is, Lady Cynthia led me to believe that you were...soon to be wed, in which case I thought it was unlikely that you would be able to...or indeed that you would
wish
to, continue travelling with us,’ he stammered, cheeks darkening.

‘I see no reason why my marriage should have any bearing on that,’ Joanna said. ‘I am hopeful of my husband sharing my interest in the work and perhaps even of his being willing to do it with me.’

‘Yes, of course, that would be the ideal situation,’ Mr Penscott said, not quite meeting her eyes. ‘I know I would have been...more than happy to do so had our circumstances not altered so...dramatically.’

As if realising he’d said too much, Mr Penscott bowed and hastily walked away, leaving Joanna to stare after him and mull over the significance of his words. She had long been aware of his feelings towards her and of his one-time hopes in her direction. But they both knew those hopes could no longer be entertained. She was the earl’s daughter and he the earl’s employee. Their worlds were far too distant to permit such an association.

Breathing a sigh of regret, Joanna slipped the rest of her drawings into the case and set it on the table. The evening had started off well, but had deteriorated as the hours passed—and it was not over yet. There was still the carriage ride home and knowing she could not delay it any longer, Joanna bid her father and Mr Penscott a good evening and then made her way downstairs. She was glad Mr Dustin would be riding in the carriage with them—indeed, his presence was the only reason she had agreed to go—but she knew she would be expected to make conversation and, given the way Mr Bretton had spoken to her earlier, that wasn’t going to be easy.

He certainly hadn’t been backwards in telling her what he thought of her opinions of him.

Still, after tonight she doubted their paths would cross again. Apart from their interest in Egyptian history, it was obvious they had nothing else in common and so had no reason to seek one another out. She neither expected him to follow through on his invitation to the theatre, nor to seek out her father’s company. Nor had
she
any intention of using Volney’s
Travels
as an excuse for seeing him. She would post the book back to him or deliver it to his house at a time when he was not there.