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  “Clarisse!” the viscountess exclaimed as she jumped from her seat at the small round table and rushed to Ms. Denby’s side. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t able to welcome you earlier today. I do hope you’ll forgive me.”

  Ms. Denby returned her cousin’s exuberant hug and then allowed Lady Hastings to lead her by the hand to a seat. “There is nothing to forgive, cousin. I have only gratitude for allowing us to impose upon you with such short notice.”

  At that, the viscountess shifted her smiling face to Meg. “You must be Miss Pickering,” she said, taking her by the hand.

  “A pleasure, my lady,” Meg said as she dipped a slight curtsey.

  “Come, sit, and I will pour us some tea while you tell me all about your urgent business here in Town.”

  Ms. Denby launched into Amelia’s story, calling on Meg for details here and there. Lady Hastings listened intently, nodding and providing appropriate responses to their tale. In the end, she slapped her hand daintily on the table.

  “We must do all we can to help her,” the viscountess insisted. “I will enlist the help of my friends—if anyone can find her, Lady Weston can.”

  “The duchess?” Meg gasped. Her Grace was one of the most influential women in Town.

  “The very one,” Lady Hastings replied. “She has her fingers in, well, everything. Together, we will find your Amelia Harding, though what we’ll do with her then is another question entirely.”

  ~*~

  Lord Leyburn’s stately carriage pulled to a stop outside of Drury Lane, and no one uttered a word. The only sounds came from Lily’s occasional cooing as her mother cuddled her against her shoulder.

  “Are you certain you won’t reconsider, Miss St. George?” Lady Leyburn asked, cutting into the silence.

  “My mind is quite made up, my lady, but thank you just the same.”

  She hoped she sounded more convincing than she felt. Her mind wasn’t made up at all. In truth, she wanted to sleep in a comfortable bed, in a secure and warm place. But she couldn’t. She knew she couldn’t risk it. Being out and about in Society would surely bring Father right to the countess’s door. Not only did she refuse to put her ladyship in that position, but she wouldn’t put herself in that position, either. It was no one’s job but her own to protect herself from the man she called father.

  “Well, here is my card,” Lord Leyburn said, stretching his hand out to offer her the small calling card. “If you ever need anything, you must promise to come to that address.”

  “Or if you just want to have a chat over tea,” the countess put in with a hopeful smile. “I’ve come to admire you very much, Miss St. George.”

  Amelia smiled back. “I will call once I’m settled. I promise.”

  The footman opened the door then and with a last goodbye and a thank you to the earl and countess, Amelia disembarked the carriage. The door closed behind her and within moments, the carriage started off again, leaving her alone, staring up at the Drury Lane theatre. A pit formed deep in her belly. What was she thinking? An influential member of the ton had offered to take her under her wing, introduce her into society and help her find a husband. It was everything Amelia had worked for, ever since her father sent her off to Ms. Denby’s School for Girls.

  But would she ever find fulfillment in that life? No. She would spend all her days wondering what could have been, and she didn’t wish to live her life with regrets. Never mind she already regretted so much about the last few hours, namely not telling Lord Grantham how she truly felt about him. But how could she voice her feelings when she wasn’t even sure of them herself yet? Either way, it would be a hard road. The question was: would it be worth it? Lord above, she hoped so.

  Amelia made her way around the side of the building, pulling her cloak tighter around her to block out the bitter wind. Summer couldn’t come soon enough.

  She spotted a gentleman going in the side door of the theatre. Her nerves, along with the cold, set her teeth to chattering, but she would not be deterred. This was her chance.

  “Pardon me!” she called out to him, but the wind carried her voice in the opposite direction. She called again, louder this time, “Pardon me!”

  Just inside the door, the gentleman blocked it from closing with his foot and peered out the crack. His brow furrowed and he pushed it open a little more as Amelia approached.

  “Can I help you, miss?” he asked, his accent distinctly American.

  “I certainly hope so,” she said, trying to catch her breath as she approached. “Amelia St. George.” She held out her hand and the man reached out to shake it.

  Amelia had never shaken hands with a man. It felt odd and powerful all at the same time.

  “I’m Mr. Price. Now what can I do for you, Miss St. George?”

  Amelia hesitated. “Er, I’m not sure, really,” she admitted with a little shrug. “I realize this is unorthodox of me to come here without recommendation, but you see, I need a job.”

  Mr. Price’s eyebrows went up. “Oh?”

  “And I think I could be of use here,” Amelia pushed on. “I can sew, and I can apply face paint.”

  “Can you act?”

  Amelia came up short, not sure how to respond. “I-I think I can,” she finally stuttered out. “I’ve spent countless hours in the garden reciting Shakespeare and Marlowe, though I’ve never been given the opportunity to do so on a proper stage.” Lord knows I’ve pretended enough in the last few days. “Only on occasion at school when we would put on talent shows for one another. My friends all liked it when I performed, but—”

  Mr. Price held up a hand. “Miss St. George, do you intend to stand out here in the cold all day, yammering on, or would you like to come inside?”

  “Oh,” Amelia said, caught off guard once again. “I will come inside, if you don’t mind.”

  “I shouldn’t think I would, since I invited you.”

  Amelia decided in that moment that she would keep her mouth shut the rest of the day so as not to continue having to insert her foot. She would have to pinch herself a thousand times to make certain this was real. And who was this Mr. Price, anyway? He seemed important, but anyone could put on a nice suit and look important, couldn’t they?

  She followed Mr. Price through the corridors of Drury Lane’s backstage area, unable to lift her jaw from the floor. Was this truly happening? Was this man really going to give her something to do in this prestigious theatre? The theatre she’d dreamed of being a part of for so long? Amelia barely noticed the people bustling around them as they pushed forward. A man approached Mr. Price with what seemed like a hundred questions, which he answered promptly and with great confidence.

  It wasn’t until she came bursting from her dressing room that Amelia felt the slightest bit of apprehension. She couldn’t see the whole of the name on the door—all she could make out was the ending, von Engel.

  “Who is this?” the woman asked in a decidedly English accent, despite the German name upon her door.

  “It is of no concern to you, Ms. von Engel,” Mr. Price replied. “Is there something you need?”

  The woman, who had fiery red hair and the most beautiful green eyes Amelia had ever seen, flared her nostrils slightly and pursed her lips. “Not just now, Mr. Price, though I do think we should talk soon about the upcoming season.”

  “Do you?” he replied, the sarcasm dripping from his tone.

  “Well, of course.” Ms. von Engel smiled sweetly. “I am your leading lady, am I not?”

  “For now, Ms. von Engel,” he returned, and then he turned to Amelia. “This way, Miss St. George.”

  Amelia didn’t dare make eye contact with the redheaded fury. Clearly she felt threatened, but why?

  After another minute or so of traversing the theatre, Mr. Price opened a door on his right and then ushered Amelia inside.

  “Welcome to my office, Miss St. George,” he said, gesturing to the room at large.

  It wasn’t a terribly large room. Only enough space for a desk—
which was piled high with paperwork—and a few other small pieces of furniture. The whole place was in a general state of disarray.

  “Do you know how to read, Miss St. George?” he asked as he rounded his desk to stand on the other side of it.

  “Of course, sir.” Hadn’t she already told him she could recite Shakespeare and Marlowe?

  “And are you an organized person?”

  “I like to think so.”

  “Good.” Mr. Price slapped a hand to a stack of papers. “Then you shall organize my office for me.”

  “I shall?” Amelia repeated like a wet goose.

  “You said you needed a job, didn’t you?”

  “Oh, of course! Thank you, sir.”

  “I can’t pay you much. However, I can offer more than just money.”

  Amelia swallowed over the lump in her throat. She needed money more than anything. And what could he possibly offer that might be of more value to her?

  “I will pay you five shillings a week, and on top of that, I will coach you.”

  “Coach me?” She knew what he meant, but she couldn’t quite believe it.

  “I will train you to be on the stage, Miss St. George.”

  Twelve

  Tom strode through his sister’s residence and demanded to see her at once. Her stalwart butler nodded and disappeared while Tom made himself comfortable in the main parlor.

  It was quiet, being that it was still fairly early in the morning, and Tom took the opportunity to catch his breath and get a hold of himself. Was he really doing this? Chasing after a girl who probably wanted nothing to do with him? It was Bianca all over again. Damn! Why couldn’t he just leave well enough alone and get on with his life? Why did his conscience always have to get in the way and force him to try to save these blasted chits? And why didn’t they just follow the rules? Why didn’t they do what was expected of them instead of running away and doing foolish things?

  “Thomas, what are you doing here?”

  Tom whirled around at the sound of his sister’s voice. She bustled into the parlor, dressed for traveling.

  “Where is she?” he asked without answering her question.

  Victoria’s eyes widened. “I beg your pardon? Am I alleged to be harboring someone?”

  “Amelia—Miss St. George,” Tom clarified, though his sister knew full well who he referred to.

  A sly smile crossed Victoria’s pink lips. Damn her.

  “Don’t get any ideas,” he warned.

  “Ideas?” she mimicked innocently. “Me?”

  “Just tell me where she is.”

  “You haven’t time to go chasing after her,” Victoria said, turning serious. “We’ve got to get to Devonshire. The funeral is tomorrow morning, you know.”

  “Of course I bloody know when the funeral is, but I hardly think Father will care if I’m there or not.”

  “No, but Mother will. And I will.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “You’ll not raise questions or bring any shame to this family by choosing to hunt down a wayward debutante rather than attend your father’s funeral. He is passing the title to you, Thomas. You have a duty—”

  “Damn duty!” If he had his druthers he’d be on a boat back to the islands and leave all this blasted nonsense behind. While many viewed being born into the aristocracy as a privilege, Tom could only consider it a burden. A prison from which he could never escape.

  “You can damn it all you want,” she went on, unflinching in the face of his temper. “But you’ll be at the funeral. You may hunt down your Amelia when you get back to town.”

  “She’s not my Amelia.”

  “Oh, no?” Victoria seemed genuinely surprised by this. “I had just assumed…”

  Tom stared at his sister aghast. “Assumed what? That I had defiled her?”

  “A young woman, hidden away in your cottage, who you’re now obsessed with chasing after, and who—”

  “Who what? Go on,” he urged.

  “Well, it was obvious there was something between you two.”

  Tom attempted to look shocked, but he knew deep down there was something there. But damned if he’d admit it to his meddling sister. “Something between us? Animosity perhaps. Annoyance for sure.”

  “Ah, well, that explains why you’re running after her.” His sister shrugged and gave a nonchalant tilt to her mouth.

  “Stop talking in riddles!” Tom yelled, throwing his hands in the air.

  “I’m being sarcastic,” Victoria said, her tone dry. “And I will happily avoid any riddle-talk for the rest of this conversation.” She walked the short distance between them until she stood face-to-face with Tom. “You can say what you want, but there was something more than animosity and annoyance between the two of you. However, you will not indulge your desire to figure it out until after the funeral. If you’re not there tomorrow, so help me—”

  Tom held up his hand to quiet his sister. “Fine,” he said, resignation in his voice. “I will be there. I just hope Amelia will be all right in the meantime.”

  Victoria put a comforting hand on his arm. “We gave her enough to put her up at Mivart’s for a month. Though if she’s smart, she’ll find cheaper lodging than that.”

  “Why were you so generous with her?” Tom asked, curious if his sister had an ulterior motive.

  “What a question.” She smacked him playfully on the shoulder. “I don’t need motive to help a person in need.”

  That was true. His sister nearly got herself hanged for trying to help others.

  “Now,” she said, swiftly changing the subject and the general tone of the room. “Will you travel down with us or take your own conveyance?”

  Tom wasn’t about to be trapped in a carriage with his sister for hours on end, and he certainly wouldn’t be beholden to them should they decide to spend more time in Devonshire. “I’ll take my own carriage, thank you. See you tomorrow.”

  ~*~

  Amelia dearly loved her new job. She’d never known there could be so much joy in filing paperwork, but it gave her such a delightful sense of purpose, she couldn’t help but feel giddy as she flitted about Mr. Price’s office. In the back of her mind, though, she thought of Thomas. Today had been his father’s funeral. Soon, he would stand before the House of Lords and take his father’s seat there. What kind of viscount would he be? Would he follow in his father’s footsteps? Or would he rise up to the title?

  Amelia shook her head and returned her focus to the task at hand. Mr. Barclay—or Lord Grantham, now—was not any of her concern. She had a new life, a new purpose. A job, a path to the stage—and she wouldn’t have to depend on any man. Not Thomas, not her father, no one, other than Mr. Price, but he seemed a nice enough man. Not at all like the aforementioned men in her life.

  The door to Mr. Price’s office opened and he peeked in. “You’re still here, Miss St. George?” he asked, his brow furrowed.

  Amelia shrugged. “Is it late?” She hadn’t looked at a clock all day.

  “Very,” Mr. Price replied. “Have you had dinner?”

  Amelia hadn’t eaten at all, now she thought about it. She shook her head, and Mr. Price heaved a sigh.

  “Put your work down. It can wait until tomorrow. And then come with me.”

  “Where are we going?” Amelia came to her feet, at which point she realized her muscles were incredibly tight and sore. Perhaps she did need a break.

  Mr. Price led her through the corridors, out onto the street, directly to a small pub adjacent to the theatre. A warm glow came from within, and a wide smile parted Amelia’s lips. She couldn’t quite believe she was being taken for a meal with her boss—with the manager of Drury Lane, of all people. How had she fallen upon such good fortune?

  They settled at an empty table near the fireplace, and Amelia took a look around. It wasn’t really a place a proper lady would be seen, which was why it was filled with mostly men and a few women of the demimonde.

  Amelia gave a little chuckle. Wasn’t she now a member
of that same group?

  “Something amusing?”

  “No,” Amelia said, shaking her head. “It’s just…I never imagined I’d be here.”

  “Where? In this pub?”

  “In this pub,” she said. “In London. Working in Drury Lane. I mean, I wished it. I dreamt it for so long, and there are certainly still many dreams to fulfill, but, well, I must say I’m very happy for now.”

  Mr. Price smiled as he waved over a waiter. He ordered food and drink for them and then turned back to Amelia.

  “Well, I’m glad to hear you’re happy, Miss St. George. There aren’t many gently bred ladies who would find such contentment filing papers in a dark office all day.”

  Amelia might have been surprised that he pegged her for a gently bred lady, but she knew she’d been brought up well. In spite of not having a mother most of her life, and only a violent, drunken father, she’d prevailed, thanks to Ms. Denby. And she didn’t mind one bit that she was going to throw it all away in favor of a career on the stage.

  “Mr. Price,” she ventured, “there’s something that’s been nagging at me all day.”

  The man’s eyebrows shot up. “At least it’s something and not someone.”

  “No, of course not. Everyone’s been lovely so far, though I admit I haven’t ventured out of the office very much.”

  Mr. Price nodded. “Go on. What do you want to ask me?”

  “Why me?” she blurted out, and then sought to clarify. “What I mean to ask is why are you being so kind to me? What’s in it for you?”

  “Ah-ha!” Mr. Price laughed. “I knew this question would arise sooner or later, and I must say, Miss St. George, you’re quite an astute young lady. There is, indeed, something in all of this for me.”

  Amelia swallowed hard. He seemed like such a kind man, but perhaps he was simply trying to bait her. Actresses were notoriously loose of morals, but she wasn’t like that. Of course, she’d had less-than-pure thoughts of Mr. Barclay, but that was only because he was so very handsome. Thankfully, his personality remedied her of her lustful thoughts. But what if Mr. Price wanted something she wasn’t willing to give?