His sister released her breath with a sigh. “Thank you.”
“Where is this actress located and does she have a name, or shall I just question every actress in the troupe?”
“Kate Addison. Christopher set them up on Smythson property. He offered our land for their use. Can you believe it? They are camped close to the Cambridge Road.”
His sister continued with directions and worries, but Bran had stopped listening.Kate Addison?Memories he’d thought safely tucked away and hemmed in by regrets flooded his mind.
Just like that, everything came roaring back.
How many Kate Addisons could there be in the world? Especially amongst actresses?
Perhaps he misheard?
Perhaps this was the culmination of all his frustrations over the past twenty-four hours? A universe preparing him to hear a name he’d prayed to be erased from his life—?
“Brandon, are you listening to me?”
“I... am,” he lied. And then, because he had to know, he said, “How much older is she than Winderton?”
“Oh, lord, I don’t know. I haven’t asked many questions. All he had to do is say she was older and, well, what man wants a woman older than himself, I ask you? Last night, he suggested he would take her to Cotillion. Brandon, I don’t know what I will do if he walks into the dance tonight and fobs off this ill-mannered person on our friends.”
“Not to worry, Lucy, I will stop it.” There was no patronizing indulgence in his voice now. If this actress wastheKate Addison, she would not gain a foothold into his family. That woman had upended his life—and he’d be damned if he let her do the same to Winderton.
All thoughts of shaving or an easy slumber in his bed vanished. “The Cambridge Road?”
“Yes. In fact, Christopher might be there. He left the house and has not returned—”
She spoke to the air. Bran was already out the door.
Chapter Two
“Ibelieveit would be better if the fox jumped out from behind a barrel or some such barrier instead of how you have him trolling around,” the Duke of Winderton said. He was a young Adonis. Dark brown hair, square-jawed, tall, gray-eyed, with a bit of weight around his middle... and an absolute confidence his opinion mattered in this world.
Except it didn’t, not in this world where Kate Addison was proudly in charge.
This was her troupe. In a sunny clearing surrounded by sheltering trees, she and her actors had marked the “stage” out on the ground for their rehearsal. Later, they would take the planks they carted around and turn them into a proper platform for performing. They’d put on this play she’d written based uponAesop’s Fablescountless times and had neveronceneeded an outside opinion, ducal or otherwise.
She was, however, pleased with their location. If the troupe’s wagon had to break down, the clearing was a good place. It was on a main road with a path cut through the trees that provided a natural attendance gate. This was also an obviously well-heeled area of the country.
The troupe’s tents had been set up and their trunks with the tricks of their trade stacked neatly inside the larger, where the men would sleep on low cots. The women lived in a smaller tent set off to the side. Most troupes thought nothing of everyone sleeping in the same quarters, but Kate, who’d had years of experience sharing her private life with fellow actors, insisted on privacy for each of the sexes.
Next to the main tent, a paddock had also been hastily built for their horse Melon, a nag of dubious heritage who worked long and hard for them. Kate always ensured that Melon received the best of care.
Her acting company was not overlarge. Four men, two women, and Kate. Each had a story for why they had joined her. Nestor had been mocked for being Irish and given only the smallest parts in other troupes. He trusted that Kate would treat him better, and she did.
Mary, who served as her wardrobe mistress and who was one of the finest actresses Kate had ever met, had been denied roles unless she’d responded to the lecherous desires of the men in her last troupe. She’d also been paid a pittance of what she’d earned. They had treated her like their whore. But if she had been a whore, she would have made more money.
Then there was young Robbie whom Kate had saved from being beaten almost to death by a heavy-handed poorhouse warden.
Jess had been a milkmaid with a winsome face and the golden blonde looks men admired. She had been turned out by her master when it was discovered she was with child. She’d lost the baby. Mary had discovered her working on the Manchester streets and brought her to Kate.
John was the quietest of the group. He’d latched on to her troupe when she was just forming it and was as steady as they came.
Finally, there was Silas, a former soldier and her most trusted confidant. Silas had been a member of Kate’s former company and had readily agreed to leave with her when she informed him she was striking out on her own. That was five years ago, and now here they were, heading to London. Well, heading to London if they could afford to have the wagon fixed.
And if she didn’t throttle a duke.
The actors not playing in the scene lounged around with more than a passing interest in what was happening. She, who was known for her tart tongue, could see the smirks and sly glances they exchanged. They knew she wasn’t really speaking her mind, at least, not like she would with them, because insulting important locals was never a good policy.
