Drury Lane Darling Read Free

was red at the end and his blue eyes were watering from the cold.
    The famous Lord Breslau proved to be a tall, slender gentleman who needed no title to tell the world he was an aristocrat. He fairly reeked of it. Nothing but years of inbreeding could produce a nose so razor-thin, eyes so bored, a mouth so cynical, and an air of such perfect disinterest that it avoided arrogance by a hair. No one but Weston could have fashioned the superfine jacket that sat like a second skin on his shoulders. His dark brown hair was worn short, brushed back in protest against the popular Brutus do.
    His manners, she allowed, were excellent. He proceeded straight to Lady Raleigh, bowed, and assured her her son was doing excellently in London. There was a general commotion of introducing everyone.
    The marquise proclaimed herself enchantee to meet Mees Calmstock. Pamela smiled and returned the compliment. Her bright eyes did not fail to observe, however, that at this close range the crow’s work was visible at the corners of the marquise’s eyes. The neck, too, while firm, was beginning to assume the texture of crepe.
    Lord Breslau was “charmed” to meet Miss Comstock, and said, “Nigel has told me so much about you.” Nigel, he noticed, had not been quite accurate in his description. He said the girl was “a great dull lump of a country bumpkin Mama plans to foist on me.” She was actually a rather small dull lump. When the introductions were over, there was a polite search for seats.
    Lady Raleigh had no intention of sharing a sofa with an actress, and with a commanding beam from her eyes, she impelled Nigel and Pamela to the sofa, one on either side of her. This left the marquise abandoned to Sir Aubrey’s eager company. Under Dot’s steely gaze, he showed her to a chair and pulled his own chair as close as he dared. Lord Breslau took up a pose by the fireplace, with one booted foot on the grate and half of his back to the room.
    In deference to the company, the talk turned to drama as soon as the trip had been covered and the observation made that they were lucky to have beat the rain.
    “We are just paying you a dashing visit,” the marquise said. “The tyrant”—she glanced playfully at Lord Breslau—“has given me two nights off. I must be back in London for Wednesday’s performance.”
    “We have an unexceptionable replacement in Rose Flanders,” Breslau said. This earned him an angry flash from the marquise.
    “How are you making out with clearing the debt at Drury Lane?” Lady Raleigh enquired politely of Breslau. Thus far, she had nodded to the actress, but not actually spoken to her.
    “Lady Chamaude’s performances are always sold out,” Breslau replied, with what the hostess considered a quite unnecessary acknowledging bow to the actress.
    The marquise, who found Sir Aubrey every bit as dull as he feared, lent an ear to the other conversation. “Give me a real role and you will see a real performance,” she snipped.
    “By Jove, I saw a real performance when I went to watch you,” Sir Aubrey assured her.
    “The marquise is referring to tragedy,” Breslau informed them. “It’s a cliché in the theater that actors always want to perform the roles they’re least qualified for.”
    Lady Raleigh stirred to life. “Lady Chamaude plays the ingénue, I believe?” she remarked, addressing her words to the grate.
    There was a short, uncomfortable silence, finally broken by the marquise, who exercised her control not to hear that spiteful remark. “You think I couldn’t play tragedy?” she challenged Breslau. Fire darted from her fine dark eyes. “How is the world to know I can act, if I am only allowed to laugh and flirt? I have known much tragedy in my life, as Sonny could tell you. It is all in my memoirs.”
    Lady Raleigh bridled up to hear Nigel being called a pet name by this creature.
    “In the dull months, folks want comedy,” Breslau insisted. “Our tragedies never fare half so