Page 16 of To Have and to Hoax
“Or raising a stable full of horses,” Diana added dryly.
“—he started his own theater with the inheritance left him by a relative. I don’t recall all the precise details,” Violet said, waving her hand impatiently. “But it was quite a scandal—his father hasn’t spoken his name since the day he received word of the purchase of the theater. He was a couple of years ahead of James and Penvale and Jeremy at Oxford,” she said, and then her face fell as a realization dawned on her. “Oh, but Diana, he won’t do at all! James knows him! He’ll see through any ruse in an instant.”
“Are they closely acquainted?” Diana asked.
“No,” Violet said, drawing out the syllable as she thought, trying to recall mentions of him James had made in passing. “I don’t know that they were ever particularly intimate.”
“And Belfry is supposed to be quite the actor, isn’t he?” Diana pressed. “Performs in many of the productions at his own theater? It’s all part of the scandal surrounding him, is it not?”
“Well, yes—”
“Then I don’t think it will be a problem,” Diana said dismissively. “Any actor worth his salt must be possessed of a few clever costumes—and men never see anything other than they’re expecting to. Audley won’t notice a thing.”
“Much as it pains me to admit this, James isn’tentirelyunintelligent,” Violet said. “I don’t know if this will work.”
“Well, do you have a better idea?” Diana asked impatiently.
“Not at present,” Violet admitted.
“Then it’s worth a try, I say.”
“It’s rather easy for you to say, when you won’t be the one running the risk of being caught out by your husband in a blatant lie,” Violet said peevishly.
In response to this, Diana played her trump card. She placed a hand dramatically upon her breast, heaving a deep sigh. “Of course, you are correct,” she said mournfully. “What wouldn’t I give to have my own dear husband here, primed to serve as the target of such a scheme?” She blinked as though fighting back tears, though her eyes looked suspiciously clear. “But of course, I am a widow now, and must live vicariously though my beloved friends to fill my long, sorrowful days—”
“Enough,” Violet said, feeling it best to interrupt before Diana really got into the spirit of the thing. “I’ll do it, I’ll do it. But if this all goes disastrously awry, I shall be laying the blame squarely at your feet.”
“Fair enough,” Diana said, serenely taking a bite of ice, all traces of emotion suddenly, mysteriously absent.
“How do you intend to contact him?” Emily asked curiously—she had been observing without commenting for several minutes now. “Sending a letter seems rather risky, and it’s not as though you can just show up at his theater . . .”
“I think,” Diana said slowly, “that my useless brother may for once prove to be beneficial to me.”
“I can’t believe I let you convince me to do this,” Penvale said for at least the third time in the past five minutes. It was dinnertime the following evening. The day before, they had proceeded directly from Gunter’s to Diana’s home, where they had sent a frantic note to Penvale at his club. He had appeared less than an hour later, looking mildly alarmed, but his expression had rapidly changed to one of irritation upon joining them in Diana’s elegantly appointed sitting room and learning what was being asked of him.
“Hauled out of my own club,” he continued, setting down his drink and beginning to stride back and forth from one end of the room to the other. “Forced to lure a man I barely know to my sister’s house, and obliged to phrase it all in such a way that he no doubt thinks she’s interested in having some sort of liaison with him—”
“Who says I’m not?” Diana asked, smiling innocently at her brother. “I’m a widow, after all, and I’ve been distressingly well-behaved since Templeton died.” She heaved a heavy sigh, which had the result of displaying her impressive bosom to even greater advantage in her evening gown of crimson silk; Violet personally thought Diana might have saved the effort for the gentleman whose favor they would shortly be attempting to curry.
“Good lord, Diana,” Penvale said severely, giving his sister a stern look. “You might do well to look for someone a bit less notorious, at the very least. You’re new to this business, after all.”
“Yes,” Diana said, batting her eyelashes. “And I’ve a lot of lost time to make up.”
Penvale retrieved his drink and took another hearty swallow. “I regret this already.”
“Well, it’s too late for that,” Violet said briskly, although privately she was beginning to have a few misgivings. Diana’s idea had sounded so reasonable in the bright sunshine outside Gunter’s, safely ensconced in her barouche, all this seeming more like a game than anything else. Now, however, she was beginning to feel rather foolish. Her plan to trick James into fretting over her health had seemed perfectly acceptable when she had fabricated it a couple of days before, stewing in her own anger, but now that she would be forced to confess it to a perfect stranger, she was not feeling quite so certain.
Penvale’s reaction upon learning of her scheme had not been encouraging.
“I am feigning a case of consumption,” she had informed him, with as much dignity as she could muster, when it had become apparent that some sort of explanation would be required to ensure his cooperation.
“You’rewhat?” he had asked incredulously, staring at Violet as though she had grown another head.
“I am teaching him a lesson,” Violet said. “It’s all down to you anyway, Penvale. Your bloody note started all of this fuss.”
“Had I known how much trouble that letter would cause me, I should have stood stoic and penless even had Audley been bleeding to death before me,” he muttered.
“That is a charming sentiment indeed,” Violet said. “But in any case, I am going to show my husband exactly what it felt like to stand in that coaching yard and have him tell me it was none of my concern whether he lived or died.” She crossed her arms, her confidence bolstered by a wave of renewed indignation. “Men!”
