Page 12 of Because You're Mine
His lips twisted skeptically. “Who is your father? What is his occupation?”
“He’s a…farmer,” came her careful reply.
“Evidently a successful one.” His dubious gaze swept over the soft wool fabric and the fine cut of her gown. “Why aren’t you at home with your family, Miss Ridley?”
Her replies became increasingly hesitant, and he sensed her sudden uneasiness. “I’ve had a falling-out with them.”
“Of what kind?” he asked, not missing the blush of deception that crept over her cheeks.
“I’d rather not say—”
“Does it involve a man?” He saw from the flicker of surprise in her brown eyes that the guess was accurate. Leaning back in his chair, he surveyed her coolly. “We’ll leave it at that, Miss Ridley. I don’t need—or care—to know anything about your personal life. However, let me advise you once again that if you are somehow harboring hopes that you and I will ever—”
“I understand,” she said matter-of-factly. “You don’t want an affair with me.” She retreated from his office, pausing at the door to add, “People change their minds, though.”
“I don’t,” he said, scowling as she disappeared from sight. For God’s sake, didn’t she understand the meaning of the word “no”?
Madeline was busy all day, mending tears and snags in a multitude of costumes, cleaning the clutter from the actors’ dressing rooms, sorting stacks of freshly printed handbills, and copying the duchess’s scheduling notes for Mr. Scott and other members of the company.
The theater company was like a large family, with all the internal squabbling that could be expected of an extended group. Especially intriguing was the colorful assortment of contract players. It seemed to Madeline that actors were far more interesting and flamboyant than normal people, talking and joking with a frankness that shocked her. No matter what the subject of their conversation, it always seemed to include some mention of Mr. Scott. Clearly they all admired, even worshipped him, using him as the standard by which they measured everyone else.
As Madeline swept the floor of the greenroom and cleared away dirty teacups and plates, she listened to a discussion between some of the Capital’s most popular players, about what made people fall in love.
“It’s not what you project,” said Arlyss Barry, a petite, curly-haired comic actress. “It’s what youdon’tshow. Mr. Scott, for example. Watch him in any role he plays, and you’ll see that he always holds something back. It’s the mystery of a person that makes you want him, or her.”
“Are we talking about the stage or real life?” asked Stephen Maitland, the blond gentleman who had accidently stabbed Mr. Scott during the fencing match.
“There’s a difference?” Charles Haversley, another young contract player, asked in pretend confusion, and they all laughed.
“In this case, no,” Arlyss Barry said. “People always want what they can’t have. The audience falls in love with a leading man because he’ll never belong to any of them. In real life, it’s the same. There’s not a man or woman alive who wouldn’t fall in love with someone who is out of their reach.”
Madeline stopped nearby with the broom and dustpan in hand. “I’m not certain I agree,” she said thoughtfully. “I’m not very well-versed in such matters, but…if someone were very kind to you, and made you feel safe and loved…wouldn’t one find that attractive?”
“I don’t know,” Charles said with a rakish grin. “Perhaps you should test your theory on me, Maddy, and we’ll see if it works.”
“I believe Maddy is already testing it on someone else,” Arlyss said slyly, laughing as she saw Madeline blush. “Forgive me, dear…we all like to tease each other. You’ll have to get used to it, I’m afraid.”
Madeline returned her smile. “Of course, Miss Barry.”
“On whom are you testing your theory?” Charles asked with great interest. “Don’t say it’s Mr. Scott?” He pretended to be indignant as he saw Maddy’s blush deepen. “Why him and not me? Granted, he’s rich, handsome, and famous…but what does he have besides that?”
Searching for a way to escape his teasing, Madeline began to employ the broom vigorously, sweeping her way out of the room and along the hall.
“Poor thing,” she heard Stephen say in a low tone. “He’ll never take notice of her…far too sweet for him, anyway…”
Troubled, Madeline stopped sweeping and leaned against the doorway of an empty rehearsal room. After listening to the actors talk—and they were far more worldly-wise than she—Madeline was beginning to realize that she had made a mistake. She had approached Mr. Scott the wrong way, boldly announcing her intentions, making herself entirely available, preserving not a shred of mystery to entice him. No wonder he showed so little interest in her. But it was too late to change things.
Sighing deeply, Madeline wished there were someone, some wise and experienced woman, who could give her some badly needed advice. The duchess…but she would never condone Madeline’s plans. Suddenly an idea came to her, and her brow cleared. Perhaps therewassomeone she could ask.
The sky was filled with murky clouds as the hired hack delivered Madeline to the house on Somerset. Mrs. Florence sat by the fire in the parlor grate with a supper tray. “My dear, you’ve returned later than I expected. Did they keep you terribly busy at the theater? You must be hungry. I’ll send for another tray.”
Madeline nodded in thanks and sat by her, shivering as the warmth of the fire sank into her wool gown. At the elderly woman’s bidding, Madeline related the events of the day, then stared into the fire. “Mrs. Florence, I would like to ask your advice about something, but I think you’ll be shocked.”
“It is impossible to shock me, child. I’ve lived too long to be surprised at anything.” The elderly woman leaned forward, her eyes bright in her softly lined face. “Well, you’ve piqued my curiosity—don’t keep me waiting.”
“I thought that with your experience…that is, your past knowledge…I wanted to ask you how…” Madeline paused and forced the words out. “I want to seduce a man.”
The elderly woman sat back, her eyes unblinking.
