“She does it. And we used to act in them.” He chuckled.
“What were they about?”
“When we were young? Nonsense. Pirates. Women being rescued. Damsels in distress. Anything and everything with no reason or rhyme, though I’m sure she would beg to differ. I’m sure her plays made perfect sense to her. It is always that way, that our own madness is normal and other’s madness is not.” He stopped himself wondering why he had blathered on about madness in front of a man potentially suffering some sort of madness.
Fortunately Jonathan paid no heed to the short rant and asked, “Were they any good?”
Gregory barked out a laugh. “They were not.” He wiped his hands down his face, “But now… now they are… They are quite good in fact.”
Gregory paused, the mirth replaced by melancholy. He couldn’t bring himself to think of Mary and her appalling-turned-appealing plays. Her plays had changed. She had changed. She had changed him. But he couldn’t think of that at the moment. Jonathan was petitioning him for more memories.
“Please. Is there more you can tell me? I just want to remember.” Gregory hesitated. Maybe he had already shared too much. How much was too much for someone who couldn’t remember? He didn’t have to replace all the memories immediately. Then again, if it was Gregory lying in that bed, he would be demanding to know.
Then Gregory acquiesced and told him everything he could.
After a few hours, interspersed with food, Gregory determined enough had been shared for one day. As he made his way to leave the room, Jonathan left him with his parting thoughts. “I can’t believe I’ve been given a second chance at this. Not everyone gets one.”
What Jonathan meant for himself was not entirely clear to Gregory, but Gregory’s heart had been struck by the words,second chance.
As he mused over these words, his heart began to grasp the depth of their meaning. He might not be given a second chance with Mary. What if he never got to hold her again? What if he never got to feel the weight of her lips against his? The plushness of her body against him? What if all his plans for the estate and holding a future duchess at arm’s length all went awry? He would not be given a second chance at life. He knew, in large part, what life could be like with Mary.
She was beauty personified. She was kindness embodied. She was passion incarnate.
She was the woman he could imagine having children with and lying in bed with for days. She was the woman whose plays he would recite lines with until his dying breath. Beyond life, beyond breath, he did not want to have to wish for more chances because she was the one had wanted. She was one of his longest standing friends. He wanted to see her succeed. Her and her damn play. It was good, and he wanted everyone to know it. He wanted to see her accomplish her dreams and fulfill her desires. He wanted to be her desire, and he wanted to sate her desires.
How had she become everything to him? How could he define her significance anymore? She was the only chance he wanted. And then one resounding thought remained.
She was…mine.
Chapter 19
Allweeklong,minepulsated in Gregory’s mind. He had to set some things in motion in order to have any amount of confidence in being able to persuade Mary to give him a real shot. Part of him had wanted to ride over to her house, throw her over his shoulder and ride off into a sunset, or some cheesy gesture Margaret often chirped about from her gothic fiction novels and Mary’s earlier plays. But there would be nowhere to ride to unless he planned out a destination. Unfortunately, those plans took longer than expected, and one week ended up taking two weeks.
Mary couldn’t believe it had been two full weeks since she had heard from Gregory. Of course she wasn’t waiting for a missive or rushing to watch for deliveries every time she heard gravel crunching out the front door. Until one time her waiting and rushing did pay off. At least, in one way.
It was considered improper for a man to send letters directly to a woman not of his family, so she understood why Lyle had his solicitors address her instead. She had to read the letter three times before she could convince her mind to comprehend the words. Then she had to read it another two times before she could convince that same mind to believe the words.
Lyle wanted to purchase the rights to her recent play and have it performed at Vauxhall. Starting in two weeks.
Vauxhall? And she had only hoped for a few house parties. Once they had missed the Winchester’s house party, she was uncertain as to where she would finally see her play on stage. It had been disappointing, but she hadn’t had time to feel the disappointment, what with being unconscious and all. Of late, the frustration had set in though.
But Vauxhall? That was an unimaginable dream for almost any playwright, nevermind a woman.
She would have to address one point in Lyle’s letter requesting names of preferred actors and actresses for the parts, as she wanted to act as the mistress in the play. It was part of her dream. She had to make it happen.
There was so much to do that her head started spinning. She needed to send letters to Lyle’s solicitors accepting the offer. Then she needed to share her news with Margaret and her parents. She was going to be an actress, on a stage, in front of potentially thousands of people. All of a sudden that thought turned her palms clammy and her heart thumping.
With a quiver in her quill, she sent her messages and then went outside to put herself to work for the day. Tomorrow was sure to be a full day.
When Mary awoke the next day, she threw herself out of bed and into the day’s activities. As presaged, it would be a delightfully busy day.
In a few short hours she found herself on stage acting out the role of the mistress. The role she had been playing for weeks was now sharing a stage in a grand theater with real actors and actresses.
Looking into the eyes of a stranger, the man playing the role of the prince, she felt her breathing quicken too rapidly and her arms start to float. The next thing she knew, she detected the overpowering aroma of sal volatile.
Margaret was kneeling with Mary’s head in her lap. “Mary? Are you alright?”
Mary looked up into her friend’s distraught expression.
