And so the Harper Company’s “Titania” was fated to die, as she was born, in the West. Kyle had sworn them all to secrecy, insuring it when he’d informed them it was their return fare and bonus he was earning for them. If word of Titania’s true identity became known, by any means, they’d all walk home, he assured them, and then never walk out on any stage he ever heard about again. If word leaked out, later, as it might—this being, he’d said sadly, a vile and imperfect world— he’d deny it so convincingly, he’d make the tale-teller look like a mug. They didn’t doubt any of it.
“A great pity. She’d be a sensation. I tremble just to think of the Scots Lady she might do,” Blayne mused, deliberately avoiding mentioning Lady Macbeth by her proper name, in the best tradition of the theater. “But what a hold you have over your people. No one can get a word about her. Not even I,” Blayne said, smiling his sweetest smile at Hannah, “and I have connections—or thought I did.”
“?‘How sharper than a serpent’s tooth,’ sir?” Kyle quoted, as he glanced to Hannah’s downcast eyes as she studied her plate. “Ah, but I think not. Rather, it’sa case of loyalty for her word to me, despite the urgings of her heart. Though tom, she remains steadfast. However it appears to you now, you brought up a noble woman, I assure you.”
“Yes. She could not love thee so much, sir, loved she not honor more,” Gray misquoted gently.
“My word!” Blayne Darling said on a forced laugh. “She’s ringed around with defenders. Where are my seconds? But peace—you mistake me, gentlemen, I never meant to chide her,” he said gaily, though his eyes were not amused. It was more than the fact that Hannah refused to introduce him to the mysterious Titania, or even give him her name so he could pass it on to his friends. That was difficult enough to explain to them—though he would, because he could explain anything to anyone, given time. It was that Hannah, without saying a word, had got everyone’s attention now. He knew how to change that.
“Your Titania is queen of the night, if not this night,” Blayne said, “so be it. More importantly, shall you be in town long enough to see me in performance at the Wheeler? My wife will be joining me in a week, as will our company, and the week after that, we’ll do our humble best to entertain the good citizens of Aspen. Shall you be there? But give the word, and I’ll leave tickets for all of you.”
“Alas,” Kyle said as the turkeys were carried out, “but no. We’ll have gone by then, I fear.”
Just as she’d already told him, Hannah thought, avoiding her father’s eyes. But then, she’d said it when they were with all his friends and hers, and she knew he seldom listened for more than his cue to speak again when he was in a crowd. She’d been as thrilled as frightened when she’d seen him in the audience last night, but now she wondered if he’d come to see Kyle’s troupe because he’d remembered it was the one she was with, or if it had been an accidental meeting. After all, he hadn’t sought her out in New York since she’d left him. But he might do so in the future, she decided, since he seemed impressed by Kyle, and even more so by her friendship with Gray.
Blayne Darling was always aware of up-and-coming directors; it was his business to be. One never knew how the wheel would turn, he always said. Just as he was always aware of who had money, since he believed that fine feathers made for fine friends in the audience. And, as he also always said, an actor’s best friends,aside from his prompter and his makeup man, were his acquaintances with investors.
“Your young man is well-known to me,” he’d said, shrugging a shoulder toward Gray when he’d made his only personal aside to her before they’d parted last night.
“He’s not my young man,” she’d answered.
“The more fool you are if he’s not,” he’d laughed. “He looks as if he wishes to be, and the Dylan family is as rich as Rockefeller—or their friends, the Vanderbilts. And with no foolish prejudices against people in the theater—why, his brother married into it, or rather, took his wife from out of it. Harper’s very well, but Dylan could buy and sell him before breakfast,” he’d added.
“You know I’ll never marry again,” she’d started to say, until the look in his eyes, half-pitying, half-embarrassed for her, reminded her that he hadn’t been necessarily only speaking of marriage. He was of the theater, after all. He’d never understood her prudishness in such matters, since she’d been born and bred to the life backstage. He never guessed it was just because of that life, that she’d such a yearning for everything that wasn’t backstage—everything that was deemed good and proper in that world she longed to be part of, that imperfectly seen real world that lay beyond the footlights.
Now, sensitive questions forsaken, if not forgotten, Blayne Darling set himself to entertain them, and so they finished their Thanksgiving dinner with laughter. He told story after story, acting them out wonderfully, and when they’d done and were trying to stand and waddle from the table, it was difficult to tell who was more pleased—the host or his audience, which by now included all the diners in the room.
It was as they were standing, saying good night to the lesser guests at the table, that the moment came when Hannah realized her father wouldn’t be making many more farewells to her for a while.
“How do, Dylan,” a ruddy-faced, middle-aged gentleman said as he came up to Gray. “Saw you from ‘cross the room, but didn’t want to interrupt. We’ve got to do some talking about the Erie, son, and maybe the Oregon-Pacific lines as well. And how-de-do, Blayne. Haven’t seen you since I was last in New York. But I didn’t see you with such a little sweetheart on your arm then. I couldn’t take myeyes off her all night, thought she was Gray’s handful though…just his style. But too young for you, old man, and far too pretty.”
“Pretty? Why, where are your eyes, John?” the ruddy gentleman’s friend asked, eyeing Hannah avidly. “A peach is what she is.”
“Gentlemen,” Blayne Darling said, “I present my daughter, Hannah, to you. I won’t give you their names, my dear,” he said to her, “they’re too crafty, by far.”
“Your daughter? Good heavens,” the first gentleman exclaimed. “Hard to believe, you always spoke of a child. Ho. Some child. Hand him down more than his walking cane, spectacles are in order, old man.”
“Just so, time flies,” Blayne said lightly, for he was never at a loss for words, even when he was, as he gazed at Hannah with something smoldering in his expressive eyes, something less than pride and more than embarrassment. Whatever it was was gone in a moment, covered over with an expression of great affection.
And then, of course, immediately after, it turned out that there was that appointment he had that he’d almost entirely forgotten. He apologized to one and all, held Hannah’s hand, and gave her a kiss on the forehead, very much in the style of Lear with Cordelia, but feeling, to Hannah, more like the bishop sending Joan to the stake with his blessing. Then he left them.
Kyle was quick, but he’d an entire, if diminished, theatrical company to say good night to, and so it was the work of a moment for Gray to steer Hannah out the door, around a corner, and into a darkened niche in the almost deserted lobby, behind a potted palm and near the stair.
But whatever he was planning was changed by what he saw in her face, and then trembling on her eyelashes.
“No, don’t,” he said, wrapping his arms around her and holding her close. “Ah, please don’t. It isn’t worth it. It mightn’t even be the way it seems.”
She let him gather her up close, and she laid her cheek against his chest, all sense of propriety forgotten in the comforting cradle of his arms. Because she knew it was just the way it seemed, and nothing would ever change that or her father, and so it was beyond good to be held so closely by someone who cared. She stayed silent, content just to stand so, breathing in the good clean soap and spice scent of him, feeling the safety of his embrace, comforted even beyond what her hurt hadbeen. She stayed so for a long while, until the sudden sound of his voice reminded her to wonder just what it was that her comforter cared about.
“Lord,” Gray breathed into her ear, “what a mass of bones you are! It’s like holding a mackerel. No one girl could have so many…why,” he exclaimed as he ran his hand slowly down her side, “it’s all whalebones! How many whales have died in order to hold you together, I wonder, and why? when you seem so nicely put together without them, or so I’d think, from what I’ve seen…Oh,” he said as she pulled away, “am I not supposed to see what I feel? or feel what I see?” he asked innocently, delighted to see the flush of anger he’d provoked replace the sick look of shock she’d worn when he’d first taken her into his arms. She glared at him. And then relaxed, and smiled a wan smile.
“Thank you,” she said softly. “It was good of you. I needed a shoulder to lean on just then.”
“You can have more, just now,” he said, and took her back into his arms.
She didn’t move so much as a fraction away, but a second before his lips met hers, she spoke again.
“No,” she said, “I can’t. Please, no.”
