Free Love's a Stage by Laura London Page A

considered the most dashing and reckless of adventurers. Such were the dangers that one heard of whole balloons and their crews vanishing forever in some fearful accident. Therefore, Frances was more alarmed than gratified by Captain Zephyr’s stern invitation and was grateful that Mr. Rivington created a diversion by loosening her bonnet and subjecting its waterlogged and misshapen form to a critical inspection.
    “My new Breath o’ Life bonnet,” gasped Frances.
    “I don’t know much about ladies’ hats,” said Rivington doubtfully, “but it looks to me like whatever breath of life it did have has been extinguished. Shall I toss it out?”
    “Yes!” declared Frances, fervently. “I never want to see it again. I’m convinced it made me look too . . . too young ladyish today. What I needed was the Jezebel, or a Bonnet à la Borgia.”
    However limited might be his knowledge of feminine apparel, Rivington was nevertheless able to interpret this to mean that Frances’ trip to the Lane had not met with success. “You didn’t get a part? I’m sorry! Did you see Kennan?”
    Frances shook her head and stretched her bare toes closer to the fire. “He wasn’t there . . .” she said, wiggling her toes. “But I saw your cousin.”
    “Which? David? I thought he was in Brighton this week, with the Prince.”
    “Oh, no,” interpolated Captain Zephyr, helpfully. “The Prince’s party came back yesterday. I saw David at Sefton’s rout last night—the young dog! Damned if Caroline Lamb wasn’t hanging on his arm, too. There’s a connection I wouldn’t care to encourage! That’s a gal who don’t have a notion how to manage an affair of the heart, and you know how crazy women get over David. I remember last year when that Russian princess chained herself to his bed! Took us half the night to chop her free.” He stopped, noticing the pink band that was beginning to spread across Frances’ satin-skinned cheeks. The healthy glow pleased him immensely, since he mistook its cause, and he said, “There you go, young’un! A spot before the fire will take the trick every time. The color’s begun to return to your face! What’s this Richard says about not getting a part? Are you an actress?”
    “Not exactly, sir, but I would have liked to join the company at Drury Lane. I was quickly shown the error of my pretension! I don’t even look like an actress, and as for being able to act, why, I had no more idea of how to go about it than a cat raising puppies. I looked precisely what I was: an amateur and an outsider.”
    Having disposed of her bonnet, Rivington came to stand before the hearth; he swung the towel gently as he encompassed Frances in a speculative gaze. “You might,” he suggested carefully, gauging her response, “ask David to help you. He can get what he likes at the Lane and you can depend on him not to interfere with your ulterior plans. He’s a natural for noninvolvement.”
    His words weren’t phrased as a warning. Was it his expression that made them seem like one? Was Rivington trying to tell her that whatever his cousin offered her, it wouldn’t be his heart? Perhaps Mr. Rivington felt that she needed to be cautioned but he was quite, quite wrong. There was no danger, Miss Atherton told herself, that she would fall in love with the shameless Lord Landry!
    “There are no circumstances under which I shall request or require Lord Landry’s aid,” said Frances firmly. “No matter how influential he may be!” she added, remembering Lord Landry’s hateful inference that her knowledge of his title might cause her to repent her initial rejection of his advances. “I shall find some other way.”
    Nearly a week passed before Frances was able to continue her pursuit of Edward Kennan. Her sneeze became a cough, and the cough heralded the arrival of a sore throat. Miss Sophie’s maid, Henrietta, an ardent adherent to such time-tested maxims as “Feed a Cold” and “Cold in Head, Stay in