Then again, the one thing she had learned over her years is that to survive, a woman never gives up.
She crawled from the bed, shoved her hair back, and walked to the washbasin. She splashed cold water on her face. Her reflection in the glass was not good. She looked old, defeated.
In her plays, Love always won . . . but not in life—not for her.
It had been a blessing that Charlene had found love and been happy. Perhaps that is why Sarah had let down her guard, had started to let herself hope?
“What a terrible word—’hope,’” she muttered to her reflection.
He said he loved you, the devil’s angel said in her head. He claimed you would always have his heart. It is yours and will never go to another woman.
Sarah dropped her hands into the basin’s cold water, holding them there, appreciating the feeling of something other than pain, denying that ache inside her that begged her to settle for what crumbs Baynton offered.
But she knew better. She’d watched her mother trust one lover after another. In the end, people moved on with their lives. The woman who won was the one with the commitment.
A commitment Baynton was not free to make.
“I will overcome this,” she assured herself. “My play will be a success and I will go forward without him.”
And Gavin could have his little wife who was barely out of the schoolroom and his hundreds of horrid children. Sarah would not only survive, she was determined to thrive.
With that mind-set, she arrived at the theater shortly before one. Already, as with any opening night, members of her company were at work. Costumes were being carefully inspected. Bits of stage business were being rehearsed. The workers tested the ropes that pulled the set pieces and finishing touches were added to the scenic curtain of a country village.
There were hundreds of small tasks to keep Sarah’s mind busy and off of Baynton. She helped realign the bench seats in the pit. She personally swept the boxes and was thankful that Geoff and Charles knew how to spend money and had good taste because the cushioned chairs and appointments of the boxes could have rivaled the finest theaters.
Her dear, dear friend Lady Baldwin came early as she had promised to help with selling seats. Having been an actress, she understood what was important. Lady Baldwin was as tall as she was wide and adored flamboyant feathers in her turban and bold prints.
Sarah had never been so happy to see anyone. She confided in Lady Baldwin that she and the duke were no more. Her ladyship enveloped her in a hug.
“I’m so sorry,” she told Sarah. “I had hoped you would be like my Bertie and me.” Her late husband Bertie had been one of the king’s closest advisors. “I had believed you would make a lovely duchess.”
“I didn’t want a title,” Sarah said. “I just wanted him.”
“I know, dove,” Lady Baldwin commiserated. “But a title is never a bad thing, either.”
Her common sense sparked a laugh out of Sarah.
“Very good,” her ladyship said approvingly. “That is the spirit I want from you. No moping. Not now. We have a play to stage—and one that has all of London buzzing.”
She was right. Seat sales were brisk. In fact, people were clamoring for even the most expensive boxes.
Usually first nights, especially in new theaters, were not well attended. Sarah had been worried that no one would show. Now it seemed as if all the fashionable world would be in attendance.
She was certain it was because of Baynton. London knew what he was doing for her and now wished to know if he had purchased a pig in the poke. Sarah was determined to prove all critics wrong.
Of course, Gavin would be in attendance. She knew he would not stay away.
Standing in the wings of the stage she would grace in a few hours as the Widow Peregrine, Sarah looked up at the finest box in the house where he would be sitting. She could well imagine him there. For a second, her throat tightened and tears threatened. If she allowed herself, she could have a complete breakdown—
“Mrs. Pettijohn,” Lady Baldwin said in an officious tone, “we are completely sold out and there are still more who want to come in. What shall we do? I suggest we add more benches in the pit. Sir John Dawson said he’d be willing to sit there if it means he may have a ticket.”
“No, it is already a crush as it is. Please offer my apologies and beg him to return tomorrow.”
“All right, but I believe you are making a mistake. One extra bench will not hurt.”
Sarah glanced out at the people already milling around for seats in the pit. “It is never wise to overstuff a theater. I’ve seen what happens when fights are started.”
“Very well,” Lady Baldwin replied and then gave a giddy laugh. “This is all so exciting.” She hurried off to deliver the bad news to Sir John.
