“So do I, my dear. For your own sake, mostly.” The older woman nodded.
“Lord Macklin is a friend of yours.” Was he more than that? Jean wondered. Her father’s history made that idea all too plausible.
“Of my husband’s.”
“He is?” Jean wouldn’t have expected the very proper earl to know the husband of an actress. Even a superior one, as Mrs. Thorpe clearly was. Who was Mr. Thorpe?
“Yes.” Her companion’s eyes glowed with understanding. “He really is. And so today when he called and asked if I’d consider being your chaperone, I thought, why not? I feel excessively rested. I don’t have enough to do. Ifyouwould like it. Iama respectable married lady, despite what some may think of my profession.”
Jean remembered Anna Wandrell’s sharp examination. That girl and her family were on the lookout for improprieties. And then she imagined this formidable lady at her side when she faced that scrutiny again. She could use a polished ally, and she would need one soon if she wasn’t mistaken. But was Mrs. Thorpe a good choice? Not that she had any others. If she was found to be alone here, neighborhood tongues would wag.
Tab strolled across the room to survey their visitor. He took his time, seeming to catalog every detail. Then he jumped into Mrs. Thorpe’s lap, turned around twice, and lay down, purring. The lady smiled down at him, running a gentle hand over his fur. “Hello, young sir,” she said.
She looked good-humored and wise as well as formidable. “No one knows you here?”
“Only Lord Macklin. I haven’t spoken with anyone else.”
It wouldn’t be for long, Jean thought. It couldn’t be. The thought filled her with a kind of reckless melancholy. “All right,” she said. “Yes, why not?”
“Good.” Mrs. Thorpe tossed her head. “Hardly a demanding role, but it holds some potential for amusement.”
The clearly characteristic gesture sparked Jean’s memory. “I’ve seen you onstage! I never would have recognized you if you hadn’t told me.”
“I’m anactress. And a good one.”
“But surely your name was different?”
“Thorpe is my married name. I kept the one I started out with for the stage.” She smiled impishly. “Mr. Thorpe prefers it; he’s a rather important banker.”
“Lady Macbeth.” Jean’s recollections expanded. “Oh my. You gave me chills.”
Mrs. Thorpe accepted the praise with a pleased nod. “So we’re agreed then. We will embark on a small, harmless deception. I’m a perfectly competent chaperone, I assure you. I don’t intend to let you get into mischief.”
“I don’t plan any.”
“Really?” The older woman’s brows rose in a perfect picture of skepticism. “None at all?”
Perhaps a few more stolen kisses? But she wouldn’t be kissing Lord Furness again, because he was an idiot. She’d forgotten for a moment.
Mrs. Thorpe’s expression suggested that she could read Jean’s mind. “It will be our secret. You, me, and Lord Macklin. And Lord Furness, of course.”
“He doesn’t know?”
“Not yet. I insisted that you be allowed to decide the matter first.”
Jean appreciated that.
“This is his home,” continued her companion. “He has a right to know. But young men can be intemperate. I don’t know him. What do you think?”
“Let’s wait a bit. I’ll tell him.” She imagined his surprise and recognized that she’d enjoy it.
“Just as you say, my dear.” Mrs. Thorpe looked amused. “Now we should get acquainted. You must tell me about the household and what I would be expected to know about the people here.”
But they’d barely begun when a servant arrived to announce that the Wandrells were downstairs.
“Lord Macklin thought there might be an immediate need. I’ll go down.” Mrs. Thorpe rose and surveyed Jean. “Your gown is very well. Your hair—”
“Has escaped its bounds as usual, no doubt. My maid, Sarah, can subdue it.”