‘No, I said wait!’ Phoebe threw in a panic, twisting and grabbing hold of the hem of Sophie’s favourite dress before it disappeared for good. ‘There’s been a misunderstanding. I can’t fill in for you!’
‘What? You can’t back out now! Your friend told Frank you was an actress, that you trained with your cousin, and was highly proficient with a theatrical épée an’ all!’
Carlotta paused, her dark eyes narrowing.
‘She saidHerowas your favourite role!’
Which was precisely the moment that Phoebe realised that Aurelia had said a lot more than she’d admitted. She pictured the viscount’s face if she stepped out on stage while he was watching, and the blood drained from her face.
‘There must be some other way!’ she returned fiercely, yanking on the hem of the dress, while Rosa and Lucia put up a significant fight with each of the puffed sleeves.
‘A deal is a deal!’ Carlotta countered. ‘This is my livelihood, and the boss will have me out on the street if I let him down. Now take the costume, or I’ll have to take back––’
‘I’m not going out on that stage,’ Phoebe hissed. ‘I’m not even the fainting type!’
Which was the precise moment that two very separate, yet distinct, things happened.
The first was that there was a resounding rip as Sophie’s favourite bodice parted company with her favourite skirt; and the second was that the room filled with the very last voice she wanted to hear in the world.
‘Do excuse my interruption, but I wonder if I might be of assistance, Mrs … Smith?’
Phoebe spun in disbelief, to find herself face to face with the condescending viscount, again – while she was in her petticoats, again.
‘Oh, Your Lordship, you should have said you was coming, I would have dressed up for the occasion!’ Carlotta purred, sashaying forward in a way that suggested she would have done exactly the opposite.
‘Thank you Carlotta, but I wasn’t planning on being here,’ he replied, halting her progress with a single glance. ‘It’s actually Mrs Mary Smith I’ve come to see, who I understand is under contract elsewhere, and therefore unable to take on any additional roles. Please pass on my apologies to all concerned. And, Mrs Smith, as patron of this theatre, I’m afraid I will have to escort you from the premises.’
‘Be my guest!’ Carlotta flared, her expression changing instantly. ‘She’s overrated! And overpaid! Her dress weren’t no common muslin, I can tell you!’
Enraged, she spun to collect up the pieces of Sophie’s dress and fling them at Phoebe, who scowled furiously, before clutching them close and fleeing the room.
‘Mrs Smith...’
The viscount’s call echoed down the empty corridor as Phoebe raced towards the backstage door. She had no desire to hear whatever searing judgement he had to impart, but was also starkly aware she was about to exit Bath Theatre Royal in her corset and petticoats, and without a penny to ensure her safe journey home.
Bracing herself, she forced herself to slow and turn to face the viscount, his cloak billowing behind like a sycophantic cloud of self-importance.
‘You can’t leave like that!’ he glowered, reaching to unhook his theatre cloak as he strode to catch up.
In the next breath, it was fixed snugly around her shoulders and she was being bundled out into the cold evening air.
‘I don’t know what game you think you’re playing, Miss Fairfax,’ he growled, as soon as the door closed behind them. ‘But this isn’t some roadside in Somerset, or even a canal-side in Sydney Gardens! If anyone else had recognised you, watched you going backstage, walked in on that fight between you and Carlotta… You’d be ruined! And why aren’t you ever fully dressed?!’
He paused to inhale deeply, his expression darkening into something she couldn’t quite read as he glanced down at her stays and scowled.
‘Why areyoualways looking over my shoulder?!’ Phoebe demanded, shaking with fury and chagrin. ‘You are not my guardian or my brother! How and with whom I spend my time is of no concern to you whatsoever!’
She wanted to say so much more, but that would also incriminate Aurelia, and even though she deserved no loyalty, Phoebe couldn’t expose her entirely. Instead, she slipped the poultice into her petticoat skirts, and watched the viscount’s eyes narrow to glittering jewels.
‘I have no desire to be either your guardian or brother!’ he forced intently. ‘Don’t you understand, you little fool? There is a vast difference between chasing adventure, and risking your reputation. And for what? Another parlour game? One of your damned heroic adventures? If anyone else had recognised you … or seen you … the rest of your life would be…’
He paused to catch his breath as a shard of moonlight fell between them.
‘It’s no good,’ he muttered, raking his hand through his hair, ‘you infuriate me to the point of all distraction, and I cannot trust what I am saying. It’s time you left, lest I do something we all regret.’
ChapterFifteen
Six weeks, six days, and avoiding the viscount until the wedding
