“Only the occasional Shakespeare,” he reminded her, savoring what had become a small joke between them. “But I have heard others speak who have seen Widow, and they all agree it is a brilliant piece of work. Trust your talent, Sarah. Your play will be the talk of London.”
“It already is,” she said. “Your connection to it has made it so.”
“Good. I am proud to shine a light on such a lovely new playwright.”
Her lips curved into a reluctant smile. She feared believing him. Gavin understood wanting something and yet fearing the outcome. “Be brave, my love.”
She showed her appreciation for his faith in him with another kiss, and then another until they were on the carpet making love. Later, he carried her sleeping form up to their bed. Stretching out beside her, he realized how happy he was to be with her. He’d missed being beside her last night. He felt more at home in this modest house than he did in the home of his childhood, Menheim. Then again, wherever Sarah was, there was where he would be happy.
He must not lose her.
Gavin was gone by the time Sarah rose the next morning. She felt rested and well loved. In the light of day, she realized he had saved her from immeasurable angst. Once she was in his arms, she could think of nothing other than him.
Of course, she was nervous about the opening of her play. One more day. That was all she had to prepare.
She knew that Colman and many of the other theater managers in town were very interested to see how she did. After all, most of them had turned down her plays. They hadn’t refused her talent to help their own work, but she sensed that, territorial men that they were, they were not going to greet The Fitful Widow with open arms.
Sarah dressed quickly and went downstairs to see what she had to break her fast. Afterward, she hurried to the theater, ready for the hundreds of tasks scheduled for the day. One item she didn’t have to worry about was her role. Gavin had rehearsed her so completely, she knew her part in every manner possible. One had only to throw out a line and Sarah could answer it. She knew this play better than anyone, save perhaps Gavin since he’d played every part rehearsing her lines with her. He’d even memorized most of them as well.
She was usually the first to the theater and especially so today. For a moment, she savored the quiet. Handbills had been passed out or tacked up where they may. Whether the house on the morrow would be a full one or almost empty, the die had been cast.
She knew there were some who said that Gavin had purchased all of this for her, and it was true. She’d said as much to him once. He’d answered that he was merely providing her the opportunity.
His faith in her seemed unwavering. Because of him, she’d found the courage to set aside doubts and to live her dream.
She prayed he would not be disappointed when the play opened, and yet, she knew he wouldn’t be. The Fitful Widow was a good play. Her best. She’d been around the theater long enough to know what pleased an audience.
The day’s rehearsals were in full costume. Things went wrong. They always did. Sarah was superstitious enough to believe if there were problems with the final rehearsal, then the play would be a success. She repeated that to herself every time a curtain didn’t pull or an actor dropped a line.
That night she could have poured herself in bed. She did not expect Gavin until late. He’d sent word that he would not be home until later that evening.
She intended to wait up for him. She promised herself she would only close her eyes for a few minutes, just for a touch of relief. Instead, she fell into a deep sleep.
Sarah was a bit disoriented when she woke and realized it was still night. She reached over to Gavin’s side of the bed. It was empty . . . and yet she sensed she was not alone. He was near.
Sarah had left a candle burning in the hallway. She pulled on a dressing robe, walked to the bedroom door and opened it. All seemed quiet in the house. Picking up the candle, she moved to the top of the stairs and stared down into the darkness. If Gavin was here, why did he not have a light burning?
“Gavin?”
There was no answer, and yet, she was certain of his presence.
She went down the stairs to the sitting room and that is where she found him. He sat in a patch of moonlight, sipping a glass of his whisky.
He looked up at her as she approached as if she interrupted some deep thinking. “Why haven’t you lit a candle?” she asked.
“I preferred the darkness,” he answered. “Have you ever noticed how when it is truly dark you can almost imagine you have disappeared?”
His was an odd statement. Her every sense screaming that something was wrong, Sarah placed the candle on a side table and sat on the footstool close to his chair. “Do you wish to disappear?”
His sharp blue eyes met hers. He didn’t answer.
“Gavin, what is wrong? Tell me.”
His brows came together. His jaw tightened.
“Is it the Money Bill?” she asked. She knew he was frustrated by how long it was taking to drive this needed bit of legislation out of the Commons.
He shook his head. His mouth twisted in a mocking smile as if to say the Money Bill was nothing.
