She was pleasantly surprised that she had a voice in the matter. She was tempted to ask to look at other theaters just to see how much of a voice she possessed, but dared not tempt fate.
“This is fine,” she managed.
“Good,” Mr. Talbert answered. To the theater owner he said, “I shall contact you in the morning at eleven to discuss the details.”
“Yes, sir. Very good, sir. Please, offer my congratulations to His Grace. If he wishes to change the theater name, he may.”
Mr. Talbert dismissed him with a wave of his hand that was more ducal than any gesture Sarah had seen Baynton make. They returned to the coach.
“That was easy,” Sarah said, settling back on the coach’s velvet cushions. “Having money does make all the difference.”
She’d spoken her thoughts aloud and had not considered how they could be interpreted. Mr. Talbert’s frown warned her—not well.
Sitting up, she was ready to clarify her thoughtlessness, but the secretary spoke first, holding her off with his raised palm.
“Please, Mrs. Pettijohn, no excuses. I understand what the rules are. You are not the first mistress I have been expected to escort around for an employer.” He said this as if he would just as soon toss her into the Thames.
And Sarah had the unsettling sense that this man had a grievance—not against her—but certainly against Baynton. He was not happy with his employer.
“Let me inform you,” Mr. Talbert continued, “that these arrangements between a woman and her benefactor always end. You may believe you own the enviable position, but you do not.”
“Are you warning me, sir?” If so, Sarah could tell him a thing or two, having watched her mother and her lovers over the years . . . but there was something else here. A discontent that she sensed had nothing to do with her.
“Why should I do that?” he said, his face suddenly a mask. “However, I shall ask you not to lead him to his ruin.”
“I have no desire to do such a thing,” Sarah answered soberly.
“Aye, but I don’t trust what is between the two of you,” Mr. Talbert said. “I grew concerned in the way he used his own coat to protect you in the rain yesterday when we learned your landlord had turned you out. He also missed several important engagements for you. He’s never done that before to my knowledge. He is an important man, Mrs. Pettijohn. England needs him and the political world is fraught with intrigue. He has enemies.”
“I’m not one of them.”
Talbert gave her a tight smile. “Whether you are or you are not, I’ll not stand by and idly watch you toy with the honest emotions of this great man. After all, I know your kind.”
“You do not know me at all sir,” she said. “And you have no basis other than your own prejudice to believe ill of me.”
“My prejudice? Heavens, woman, he’s fighting a duel over you. Have you stopped to think of the cost if he is killed?”
Sarah sat back in the seat, both incensed and justifiably upset by his accusation because she did feel guilty. “I had nothing to do with their argument.”
“Says the Siren,” he replied softly, his disdain in every word.
“The Siren is not me, the person,” Sarah shot back. “I did not ask His Grace to miss his appointments. Is it not your responsibility to see that he maintains his schedule?”
“And he usually listens to me. Or he did . . . before you appeared.”
“Oh dear,” Sarah replied mockingly. After years in the theater, she’d worked with spite before. She understood this game. Talbert had no cause to hold a grudge against her, but she sensed there was more to the matter. Perhaps he’d been disgruntled for some time? If that were the case, he would certainly be annoyed at the attention the duke lavished on her.
The coach began to slow to a halt. They pulled up in front of a charming house off of Knightsbridge, a neighborhood where she would never have imagined she could have lived.
“This is the first house I have chosen for you to see,” Mr. Talbert started, his manner formal, distant, but then he changed abruptly. He asked, “Are you sincere in your desire to help His Grace? To prevent the duel? I warn you, Lord Rovington has already killed two men dueling.”
“And what of the duke?”
“He has never faced the fire or sword of another. He is a novice.”
“Dear Lord,” Sarah whispered. The implications of what could happen were horrific. “I did not ask to be a part of their argument,” she said. “I have done nothing and wish only for them to set this argument aside.” She thought of the man who had refused to basely use her last night, who had been so generous to her this day. “Please believe me, this is not what I want.”
“Speaking to you now, I believe you.” He paused a moment as if considering and then said, “Perhaps there is something you and I may both do together to save His Grace.”
