Her hands stilled, lowering to her lap. By the look of her pale face, she did not like what he was saying. Not at all.
“I’ll never forget the sensation she made of every ballet, lighting up the whole of London with her energy. Nothing like it.” He exhaled with the exertion of so many words.
Lady Gower rose, teacups clattering. “Harry, we shouldn’t bore our guests. You do like to go on so. Perhaps we should excuse ourselves and let them take their leave.”
He shed his overcoat and loosened his cravat in the heat as he turned back to us. “Leave. Yes. They should leave.”
Jack rose, extending his hand. “Thank you kindly for your gracious hospitality, and the conversation. It was a delight, and I do hope we may call again, if it isn’t too much trouble.”
Lady Gower’s smile spread across her rice-powder face without a bit of sincerity. “But of course.”
Her sober-faced husband offered nothing.
The coach rumbled away from the station, pulling us toward London and the rest of that ballet waiting to be written. “I do believe you’ve found your villain.” I dropped the fact in the cool darkness of the carriage, and Jack looked up at me.
“I’m not convinced. It’s clear they’re hiding something, but I simply don’t see such a man setting a fire across the room and running away, if he was angry enough to kill someone. And the way he spoke of Delphine ... No, he simply doesn’t scream ‘villain’ to me.”
“No. Butshedoes.”
“Lady Gower? Why?” He crossed his arms.
“She concocted the lies smooth as silk. Her husband looked to her for cues. It’s her secret, her lie. Maybe not the fire, but something. She’s responsible for something.”
“Or she’s the more practiced deceiver and he knows it. Why would she give two bits about some dancer? She clearly isn’t in love with her husband—not enough to kill for him. And there have always been an abundance of older monied men who desire a pretty wife, if that’s all she was after.”
“You don’t have to believe me.”
“Oh, I do, actually. But I simply can’t understand why it happened.”
I drummed my fingers against my jaw. “I cannot say. Money, perhaps? Or Lady Gower is right and my mother never actually married him, but there was something between them—something scandalous that needed to be covered...”
“Horsefeathers. Your mother was married to Gower—her sister witnessed it—and for some reason, they don’t wish the connection to be known.”
I gripped the seat, trying to wrap my tired brain around Mum agreeing to marry that overstuffed grouch. It seemed ridiculous, the way she’d gone on so about my father. Not to mention the secret marriage that had occurred between my parents ... at some point. I slouched against the buttoned leather seat. “Well, you have a villain, at least. You can write your ballet.”
He shook his head. “There are too many holes yet.”
I sighed, wrestling my emotions into place. “So then we must write what we know and make up the pieces we don’t. Enough so Fournier can hold auditions and begin rehearsal. Unless you have other leads.”
“Very well, we’ll do it like this.” He sat back. “Delphine Bessette, the famous ballerina, catches the eye of Lord Gower, and he convinces her of the benefits of wedding him, so they become engaged. Meanwhile, his longtime childhood acquaintance has become destitute after bad investments, and she’s afraid for her future—no, her very life. She’s near starvation. She placed all her hopes in being rescued in marriage by Lord Gower, who had once loved her, but this ballerina has danced onto the path between them. Delphine and the woman fight over his hand, and Gower elopes with the dancer but realizes his mistake soon after, and one of them decides to fix the matter. So...” He lifted his hands like an explosive fire.
I eyed him. “And Marcus de Silva? What of him? What of their marriage?”
He shook his head. “That’s the part that makes no sense. De Silva couldn’t have married her. He wouldn’t touch another man’s wife, and besides, from what he’s told me, they were little more than civil with each other. Romance with her was the furthest thing from his mind.”
I cringed at my father’s side of the story, shuddering through my being. “You should have heardhertell it, then. She’d have convinced you of their love. There was nothing like it outside of storybooks.” Yes, it was a fairy tale. A true one, though.
We lapsed into silence, then he smiled. “I shall enjoy casting this one.”
I could sense his veiled attempt to steer us out of murky waters for my sake, and I played along. “Why is that?”
He leaned back, tipping his head to the side. “I never really could envision this uniquely magnificent heroine ... until I was suddenly sitting across from her.” His knowing smile glinted inthe dark. Surely he wasn’t hinting that I might take the lead. It was preposterous. “You have your Psalms mapped out? I cannot wait to see what you will do in the auditions.”
I sucked in a breath and let it out. Quite frankly, neither could I.
29
Alone figure moved into the golden glow of gaslights over the stage, tall and slender, and anticipation tightened in Jack Dorian’s chest.
