The hackney drew up outside Lord and Lady Grantley’s elegant town house and she jumped down, handing the cabbie his fare before hurrying up the steps to the front door.
“Fenella . . . Fenella, wait for us.”
At the familiar voice, she spun around in the act of putting her key in the lock. “Diana . . . Petra, oh I am so pleased to see you. I have so much to tell you both.” She held out her hands in welcome to her friends as they came up the steps. “Let’s get inside, it’s freezing.”
She opened the door and the three women stepped into the marble-floored hall, embracing one another in turn. “Let’s go into the yellow drawing room. We won’t be disturbed there. Collins,” she addressed the butler, who stood patiently waiting to take their outer garments once the flurry of greeting was finished. “Could you bring coffee for us?”
“At once, Miss Fenella.” He bowed and signaled a footman, who hurried forward to take their coats before disappearing through the baize door that led into the kitchen and servants’ quarters.
“I’m intrigued,” Diana Lacey said, adjusting the folds of her paisley silk scarf as she followed Fenella to the stairs.
“Yes, we came to see if you were intending to go to the Warehams’ masked ball. We can’t make up our minds about it,” Petra Rutherford added. “But it can wait until you’ve unburdened yourself.”
Fenella flung open the door to a pleasant salon, furnished in various sunny shades of yellow. A fire burned brightly in the Adams fireplace and heavy, deep yellow velvet curtains hung at the long windows overlooking the street below. “Come in and get warm,” she invited, going to the fire to warm her own hands.
Her friends followed suit. “So, speak,” Diana demanded. “What’s the big secret?”
“Well, for the last year I’ve been going to acting classes in Bloomsbury . . . oh, thank you, Collins,” she broke off as the butler set the tray of coffee on the sideboard. “Leave it. I’ll pour.”
“Very well, ma’am.” He bowed and left them alone.
“Acting classes?” Petra said, taking up the coffeepot. “Why on earth would you do that?”
Fenella shrugged. “Because I’d always wanted to. I saw an advertisement in the Gazette for drama classes run by Cedric Hardcastle . . . d’you know the name?” When her friends looked blank, she said, “He was a very well-known actor about ten years ago, classical for the most part. But I think he took to the bottle with too much enthusiasm.”
She shook her head. “I don’t really know the details, but anyway, the idea of drama lessons intrigued me. He’s a miserable curmudgeon for the most part, but now I’ve started, I don’t seem able to stop . . . except for this morning.” She took the cup Petra handed her and sat down on a yellow brocade sofa. For a moment she was silent, gathering her thoughts, and her friends waited with growing impatience.
“Do you know Edward Tremayne?” She decided to abandon the preliminaries and start in the middle of the story.
“Is he anything to do with that loathsome Julia and her unpleasant brother?” Petra asked, wrinkling her nose. “They’re the only Tremaynes I know.”
“Half brother.”
“The plot thickens,” Diana murmured, leaning forward in her chair. “Start at the beginning, Fenella.”
They listened attentively as she told them about the dramatic entrance of Edward Tremayne into what had seemed like a regular, weekly drama class.
“Just to be clear,” Petra said when Fenella had finished her narrative. “You’re actually intending to act on the stage . . . the public stage.”
“Well, perhaps,” Fenella replied, chewing her lip. “I don’t think I ever really thought seriously about that. I was just enjoying the weekly classes with Cedric . . . they’ve become something of a bright spot in the week,” she added after an instant’s hesitation. “But I didn’t think it would become a reality.”
Diana regarded her with a slight frown. She hadn’t missed the hesitation or the significance of what came after. She wondered if Petra had noticed it too. However, now was not the moment to probe. “It seems a logical conclusion, though,” she said. “I mean, why take classes if you’re not intending to do anything with them?” She chuckled. “Strutting the boards . . . you really will put the cat among the pigeons, my dear. I’m proud of you.”
“But what about this Edward?” Petra jumped in. “You don’t seem to like him much. Won’t that make a difference to whether you play the part or not?”
“But Fenella doesn’t know whether she likes him or not,” Diana objected. “Or at least that’s the impression I’m getting.”
Fenella jumped up and went to the sideboard. “We need something more interesting than coffee. Sherry?” She lifted the cut-glass decanter in invitation before pouring three glasses.
“Thank you.” Diana took hers. “So, do you or don’t you?”
“Do I or don’t I what?”
“Like him,” she said impatiently. “You’re being very fuzzy-headed, darling, and it’s not like you.”
“I feel fuzzy-headed,” Fenella admitted, sipping her sherry. “Can one be attracted to someone one doesn’t like?”
“Ask Diana,” Petra said with a grin. “She and Rupert were at daggers drawn for ages, even while they were making mad, passionate love.”
“I suppose that’s true, but it does sound rather trite,” Diana protested. “And it was as true for Rupert as for me. He detested me.”
“I don’t think he ever fell out of love with you,” Petra stated. “It was all for show. No one was at all surprised when you eloped.”
“Well, I only really met Edward Tremayne for the first time today,” Fenella declared. “So it’s a bit premature to start talking of making mad, passionate love. He confuses me. He can be charming, funny and sympathetic one minute, and scornful, arrogant and detestable the next.”
“Well, given his background, it’s not surprising he’s got an ax to grind,” Petra said. “Can you imagine being forced to grow up at a disadvantage to Carlton and Julia? They must have made his life hell.”
“Not to mention living with the stigma of his birth,” Diana said. “Not that I would give a damn about it myself,” she added hastily, “but you know perfectly well how some members of Society would look upon illegitimacy . . . unless, of course, it’s a royal bastard,” she added. “A Fitz-something is welcome anywhere.”
“I suppose so,” Fenella agreed. “But am I going to keep this rendezvous on Friday at his lodgings or not?”
“You said you would,” Petra pointed out.
“Yes, and it would be very impolite to leave him in the lurch,” Diana put in.
Fenella laughed suddenly. “Of course you’re right. I have no intention of not keeping the appointment. I never did. Now, what about the Warehams’ masked ball? It’s next month, isn’t it?”
“Yes, and it’ll be the official start of the Season. Has George said anything about escorting you?”