Unfortunately, it was time for him to go on stage. He heard his cue to knock on the door as Louisa had done.
The Widow said, “Please enter.”
Gavin walked through the portal and was met with enthusiastic applause. Gavin was stunned.
Sarah took a step close to him. Out of the side of her mouth, she said, “Bow. Acknowledge them.”
Gavin obeyed. He made a courtly bow and earned a few cheers. Then audience grew quiet, a signal for the play to continue.
However, before Gavin could deliver his first line, Rov’s voice shouted out, “So now do we have the opportunity to watch him poke her in front of us?” His comment was met with a few ribald laughs.
Sarah edged close. “Ignore him.”
“Show us your legs, lovely Sarah,” Rovington called and started clapping. A scattering of others took up clapping, and Gavin knew if he didn’t address Rov, the situation would grow worse. Either way, Sarah’s play would be ruined. All people would remember on the morrow would be Rovington’s crude comments.
Gavin walked to the edge of the stage.
The crowd grew silent. “Lord Rovington,” Gavin acknowledged, “I see you in disguise.”
Heads turned, searching for Rov. Some spied him.
Gavin placed his hand on the hilt of his wooden sword. “Are you asking for a rematch?”
The word of their duel had spread. Many in this room knew that Rov had disgraced himself. Most believed that by firing before the count, he had attempted murder, and now Gavin was calling him out by name. This was the sort of drama theatergoers liked.
Knowing he held the attention in the room, Gavin challenged quietly, “Or is there nothing of the gentleman left in you?”
Rov stood. He pulled off the wig. “You are a terrible actor, Your Grace.”
“But I am an excellent swordsman. Far better than I am a marksman.”
“Go on with your play.”
“No,” Gavin said easily. “We shall settle this between us. You came this night to destroy what this woman has created. You wish to make a mockery of not only the cast, but all those in this room who have gathered for the enjoyment of a play. Let us, you and I, give them entertainment, Rovington. The sort they will not forget soon. Mrs. Pettijohn, fetch another sword. I’ve challenged his lordship.”
“Are you mad?” Rov demanded.
“Is it madness to do what is honorable?” Gavin asked. He held up his wooden sword and then smiled down at Rov. “I think not. But let us ask our audience. My friends,” Gavin spoke to those in the boxes and in the pit, “Lord Rovington has come disguised to start a riot. He thinks to strike out at me by making a mockery of Mrs. Pettijohn, a woman I sincerely admire.”
Gavin had not looked over to the box where his mother sat. He knew she would not be pleased, but he was enjoying himself. This was far more fun than addressing Parliament.
“Now I ask you,” Gavin continued. “Should I not avenge her good name?”
Heads nodded. Fans fluttered. There was murmuring through the audience. “Yes,” one woman called out. It may have been Lady Baldwin. Gavin was not certain; however, the emphatic word was soon echoed and then the crowd began clapping and calling for a duel with wooden swords between Rovington and Gavin.
Gavin took the sword that Sarah had taken from one of the other actors. Her expression was worried.
“I know what I’m doing,” he promised.
“That’s what I fear,” she answered and Gavin couldn’t help himself—he had to kiss her on the forehead, right there in front of everyone. It was a playful gesture. An affectionate one.
He held the wooden sword out. “Lord Rovington, you came here with cabbages to toss at this stage. Now let us see if you are man enough to fight in the open and to be judged by your peers.”
Rov made his way down the bench to the aisle. People moved out of his way. Necks craned to watch his progress. They expected him to go to the stage. Instead, he stood in the aisle a moment, his head high, his shoulders back, and then he said, “I shall not play the fool, especially in front of your whore.”
On those fine words, he pivoted and started to walk out of the theater.
But Gavin would not let him off, not after calling Sarah that name.
