“Yes, since we know how this all ends. It’ll be fine.”
Mary stamped her foot. Gregory would have bet on the herd of elephants stampeding through the theater before he would bet on Mary displaying such an outrageous gesture.
“Let’s begin, shall we? No time like the present.”
It took a few more cajoling attempts, but soon the women defaulted to old times when Gregory was their natural, trustworthy leader. For the next two hours, the three were so engrossed in their reading of lines that the sound of clapping at the end of act two caught them completely off guard.
“Mr. Fairfax? To what do we owe the pleasure?”
Mr. Fairfax stood in the doorway with unmatched dark hair tied in a short queue and black eyes as cold as coal. He was an inch shorter than Gregory but had broader shoulders. Gregory would be hard pressed to say with certainty who would definitively win in a fight, but he had faith in his punch and his shot. Unsure as to why he felt impelled to evaluate that potential battle, he dropped the thoughts.
“Your grace, I came around for a visit, and your butler directed me to the parlor. Your mother happened to come by at the moment and encouraged me to find you here instead. She said you would surely welcome the call.”
Gregory dipped his head.
“Lady Edwards. Lady Campbell. I couldn’t help but overhear the lines you were reading. Is this a new play? I don’t recognize any of it.”
Margaret gushed to answer and dramatically extended her arm to Mary, “It is an original work by my dear friend, Lady Edwards.”
“By jove, I’m impressed. May I join you and hear more?”
Mary’s cheeks turned pink. “Of course. I’m flattered, Mr. Fairfax.”
Gregory should have been happy. This was Mr. Fairfax and he was impressed by Mary’s play. He knew Mary’s ambition to have her play done in front of an audience, and he wanted to help her but wasn’t sure how. Never in his wildest dreams had he actually thought that Mary had written something that would actually pass muster. It had all always been silliness, sirens, pirates, and cliche happily ever afters.
Mr. Fairfax held all the cards to make Mary’s dreams come true, and Gregory hadn’t even put two and two together to realize that until this moment. He wanted to help her, so why did he feel so tense toward Mr. Fairfax? He was vexed. Why was he sizing him up and envisioning a hard right hook to his annoyingly angular jaw? Papers just needed to be approved and signed with Mr. Fairfax, the owner of Vauxhall, Gregory’s new business partner. Nothing more.
Chapter 7
GregoryglaredatMr.Fairfax, now referred to as Lyle since he had somehow weaseled his way into reading lines with the three of them and using Christian names to address each other. Why Gregory perceived it as weaseling he wasn’t yet ready to examine.
This was the third time that Lyle and Mary were going over the scene in which they waltzed together. Lyle had convinced the women that he would provide an invaluable, unbiased third party perspective by reading other characters’ lines; in so doing, he became all of the extra characters who danced with Mary in the ballroom scenes. He insisted on running those lines as close as possible to the way they would unfold in the play, which entailed dancing, specifically waltzing.
If this were a real ballroom, the fact that he was on their third waltz would serve to announce their engagement.
Gregory clenched and unclenched his fists hanging at the sides of his thighs. It was everything in him not to walk over to the waltzers, grab Lyle by his collar, and throw him off the stage. But this was going to be his business partner. Besides, he wasn’t doing anything wrong. They weren’t really waltzing, they weren’t courting, they weren’t anything.
Mary tilted her head back and laughed at something Lyle said. With her head back, eyes closed, and her mouth slightly parted, Gregory couldn’t help but start to imagine another setting with her and what he would like to be doing with those lush lips.
When was the last time she laughed like that with him? The four of them used to always have such great fun together. Likely not the last time, but the first memory that came to Gregory was of the four of them lying in a field having a picnic. Mary had lain back and was cloud gazing again. Thinking back on it now, cloud gazing must have been one of her favorite pastimes. Mary could often be found woolgathering, with a proclivity to do so while taking in cloud shapes.
On that particular day, he happened to be sitting between Mary and Jonathan.
“Girls can’t climb trees! It’s not proper.” Jonathan egged Margaret on.
She always took the bait, “Horse feathers, you dratted boy.” Before he could reply, Margaret reached for Jonathan’s hat and took off for the nearest tree, ostensibly to prove him wrong.
“Margaret, language.” His reprimand was lost on the breeze. Instead, he turned to Mary. Her eyes were closed, and she had a small smile on her face.
“You can’t be very good at cloud gazing if your eyes aren’t open.”
Her smile widened.
He leaned closer to her body as if pulled there. He was determined to make her laugh. “Don’t look now, but how can you ascertain if that’s a pirate ship seeking lost treasure, or just a pile of aspic?”
Her smile turned into a laugh and she opened her eyes looking warmly into his, as if knowing he would be that close. He felt as though she were reading his soul. He caught his breath. Then Margaret had squealed, “Gregory! Come collect your oaf of a friend and tell him that girls can so climb trees.”
Margaret’s current squeal brought him back to the present. “Fabulous! Mary and Lyle, I do believe you two own the stage. Mary, you should be so proud of your play. It will be a ripping success.”
