Chapter Six
When Adam reached the theatre the next evening, he looked forward to slipping in a conversation or two with Miss Watson. Despite all the reprimands and reminders he gave himself since he rose this morning, he wanted to know more about her. To learn why she felt the way she did about marriage, and what she enjoyed beyond reading and acting.
To his disappointment, she hadn’t arrived, and an hour later when the actors began to dress, she was still absent. As Adam strode down the hall peering into any open door to no avail, he wondered if she’d taken ill.
The noise level backstage before the theatre doors opened was a huge contrast to later in the evening. Men lugged scenery backdrops about while others shouted to a man on a scaffold. The actors hadn’t arrived yet, but Mr. Billups slipped in and out of Boiselle’s room, with nothing in his hands to show his purpose.
The third time Mr. Billups left the spy’s room, Adam approached, using the Miss Watson as an excuse to talk to him. “I don’t see her. Does she often miss the Friday evening performance?”
He shook his head. “She won’t be coming anymore. She sent a note ‘round to the manager.”
Disappointment made his shoulders sag. If nothing else, she kept the hours of surveillance entertaining. He steered the conversation toward his real questions. “Does Mr. Tilney arrive early?”
“No earlier than any of the other nights you’ve been here.” Billups studied him through narrowed eyelids, and Adam felt his layers of secrecy being peeled away one by one.
“I see. He’s an interesting sort, wouldn’t you say?”
“I wouldn’t say. Just as you haven’t said why you come night after night only to linger backstage.”
Adam stiffened, looking down his nose at the man, a method that usually silenced strangers. “No, I haven’t. I shall take no more of your time.”
Refusing to leave, regardless of Billups’ observations, Adam took up a spot out of the way and settled in to watch Boiselle’s door.
Unable to believe Miss Watson stayed away willingly, he wondered if she’d been found out by her parents. Her father would punish her, certainly, in addition to barring her from attending the theatre. She’d mentioned Miss Harrow having covered for her—did that mean contact with her would be forbidden?
Such thoughts shouldn’t be distracting him. Pushing them aside, he muttered under his breath. “Anyone could be here, it doesn’t need to be me.”
About thirty minutes later, a strange man slipped inside the building and looked about. Adam pretended not to notice, but watched as he entered Boiselle’s room. The man remained about five minutes, then left just as quietly as he came.
This was what Adam had been waiting for. He strode toward the dressing rooms, only to divert when Billups beat him there. What role did he play in this? If he picked up a message left by the stranger, Adam would leave empty-handed yet again.
Billups left as quickly as the other man had, and Adam waited until the hallway was empty before going into the room.
Boiselle clearly wasn’t a neat person, and had no valet cleaning his mess. Cosmetic jars were strewn about on a table in front on a mirror. Clothing hung from hooks inside an open wardrobe, or lay in a heap on a chair. How the man found his next costume was beyond Adam’s comprehension.
Adam searched every pocket he could find, to no luck. He pulled out the drawer at the base of the wardrobe, but it was empty. Other than the mess of clothing, there was nowhere else to hide a message.
Lifting each garment off their hook and checking inside didn’t yield anything except the fact the man wore too much cologne. He went through the pile again, more slowly this time, and shook out each one. Halfway down the pile, a folded paper dropped to the floor.
Success.
Without waiting to read it, knowing the urgency to leave the room, Adam pocketed the note and slipped away. Only when he was on the street outside did he pause long enough to look at the message. Under the light from a streetlamp, he unfolded it.
The message was encrypted, as expected. All Adam could do was pass the note along to the men who deciphered for the Crown.
~~~
Mary Jane leaned her head back to find clean air, trapped in the arms of her waltz partner, who clearly felt enough perfume could mask any amount of body odor. The blend of the two was unbearable, and holding her breath was making her lightheaded.
A full two weeks had passed since her parents discovered how she spent her nights. Mama and Mrs. Harrow happened to call on the same esteemed member of the ton and discussed all the times Mary Jane and Charlotte weren’t where they’d claimed.
Father had exploded in a rage when he heard. The words Morningside, country house and small room in the attic weren’t as chilling as nunnery.
She’d go mad being cloistered. Even the benefit of not suffering the dull conversation of too many hopeful gentlemen couldn’t make the idea tolerable.
Once again, he was stomping about, his voice rattling windows. Mary Jane couldn’t make out his words, but she had a feeling the ultimatum had come.
Mama calmed him some, although his voice still carried to the morning room where Mary Jane sat with a book. At that moment, she couldn’t have recalled its title if asked, her trepidations were so great.
Not long after Father’s voice calmed to conversational tones, Mama came and sat with Mary Jane on the cushion in the window seat.
“You heard your father, no doubt.”
“Yes mum.”
“He’s quite upset.”
“Yes mum.”
“His final decision is that you’ll marry his vicar friend, the widower with three children under six years of age.”
Mary Jane choked. A widower with children was bad enough, but a vicar? All her desire to act wouldn’t help her pretend to be the proper wife of a vicar.
“Unless you are engaged at the end of the Season.”
Many of the households in London had returned to their country homes to escape the summer heat, meaning she had days, at most weeks, to find a husband. “There’s not enough time—”
“You’ve had four years, Mary Jane. We’ve been patient long enough. We’re attending an assembly each night until you find someone, so please be reasonable and don’t chase them all away.” She rang her fingers through Mary Jane’s hair that hung loose down her back. “I don’t know you haven’t found the man you think will make you happy, but true happiness can be found wherever you are. You’ll have children to fill your life. You’ll be allowed to decorate your home to your tastes. If you’re lucky, your husband will allow you to buy as many books as you please.”
“Those aren’t what I want.”
“Don’t think you can marry an actor, your father would send you straight to a nunnery.”
It wasn’t an actor who filled her thoughts, but someone who suffered through the same restrictions she did. Lord Adam would delight her parents, and stun all Polite Society. Seeing their faces would almost make marriage tolerable.
She and Lord Adam could agree to allow each other their unusual pursuits, perhaps even open a theatre of their own. Then she could be there every night—with the right costume and makeup, she might even play a role or two.
Yes, this was the perfect plan. The only problem was finding Lord Adam and convincing him of its value. Other than the one ball, she’d only seen him at the theatre. She had no idea where he lived, so she couldn’t send him a note, as scandalous as that would be.
She jumped to her feet, eager to plot her seduction. “What time will we leave, Mama? I must have my maid wash my hair.”
~~~
With much of the ton no longer in Town, the smaller crowd made it easier to see who was in the ballroom. Mary Jane waved to Charlotte, who hurried across the room to her. Mary Jane pleaded with her mother. “May we take a turn about the room?”
“Can I trust you to remain inside?”
Mrs. Harrow had followed in Charlotte’s wake. “I think between us we can make certain of it.”
Mary Jane shivered at the determined glare Charlotte’s mother gave her daughter. “Let’s go,” she whispered, tugging Charlotte’s arm.
“Have you been kept prisoner as I have?” Charlotte asked.
“Yes. This is the first time I’ve left the house. I must marry before the end of the Season.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t have as severe a threat, but I’m not allowed out unless my mother or brother is with me. What will we do?”
“I have a plan, and if I can find Lord Adam, it might come to pass as I hope.”
“You believe he’ll take part in some charade? Be careful, Mary Jane.”
“Don’t worry. Father has chosen a widowed vicar for me if I fail. I can’t fail.”
Mary Jane slowed to be able to see who was at the ball. Most specifically, Lord Adam. “Do you know what his brother the duke looks like?”
“I’ve seen him once, but he doesn’t go to many assemblies.”
“Does he have any friends? He’s always been alone when I’ve spoken to him.”
“I only saw him that one night, so I’m of no help to you. Do you think we could ask out hostess without causing a stir?”
Mary Jane glared.
“No, I didn’t think so either. What about the butler?”
“Mama would instinctively know I’ve left the room.”
“I know. Let’s find a footman.” Charlotte dragged her to the refreshment tables, where several footmen stood at the ready. Stopping in front of one, she said, “Please enquire if Lord Adam St. Peters has arrived.”
The young man nodded and left.
“You see how easy that was?” Charlotte asked.
“As long as no one heard you, we’re safe.” Mary Jane continued to search the guests for the familiar face. Suddenly, she saw him.
“There.” She nodded in his direction.
“I don’t see—oh, yes I do. I shall envy you forever if you convince him to marry you. That is your plan, isn’t it?”
“Since a faux engagement wouldn’t convince father, I have to go through with the wedding. After that, however, he’s free to do what he wishes.”
“You speak as if this agreement has been made. You are quite sure of yourself.”
Mary Jane sighed, taking a first step toward Lord Adam. “I’m quite sure no other man will do.” If only she felt that way because she loved him madly.