Chapter One
“Whaur’s yer Wullie Shakespeare noo?”
—Overheard in the audience, Edinburgh Playhouse, 1756
Edinburgh, Scotland
February, 1817
L ord Colin Stewart, 4th Earl of Kintrie, lieutenant colonel retired, and sometime road engineer, strolled along Edinburgh’s Princes Street on a cold, sunny February afternoon. He was in the city to attend to certain matters and had one task left that day. Clearing his head with a brisk walk after a morning of meetings with lawyers and bankers was just what he needed. His lawyer had finalized the deed of his house on Heriot Row; his banker had delivered a sobering review of his late father’s finances, Colin’s obligations, and his brother’s too as Duke of Rothes; and he had met with a tailor. Six years in a Highland regiment had left him a dearth of suitable clothing; he needed a few good pieces, though he did not fuss over fashion if things were in good repair.
He was satisfied with his old, neatly cut black frock coat and trousers, with a blue plaid waistcoat, a touch of color six months since his father’s death. His black Hessians were well-polished to hide the miles he had covered on the Continent, in Greece, and Ireland, and he need not replace them. Regimental duties in Ireland kept him busy; but since his father’s death, he had gone to Scotland as needed. Last month, he had retired, returning to Scotland for good.
He pinched the brim of his tall hat while his greatcoat whipped about his legs in the wintry breeze. Turning at Broughton Street, he walked with a slight catch in his stride, using his walnut-and-ivory cane. Some thought a walking stick an elegant accessory; he needed his.
Glimpsing the columned facade of Edinburgh’s Theatre Royal, he paused, feeling a nervous qualm. Then he crossed the cobbled street. Mrs. Siddons, his friend and theatre owner, had written to request a meeting, and he could not refuse. And it provided a chance to do what he had dreamed of for six years.
He intended to find Maisie Gordon and ask her to marry him properly.
A long leap, for she had rejected him soundly years ago. Friends in common said she had not married and still painted theatrical scenery at the theatre. Though Colin had been gone for years, traveling, fighting, and dreaming, he had not forgotten her.
Not one to throw caution to the wind, he was ready for this risk. An engineering prospect could soon take him far north for months, even years. He would not commit to it until he found Maisie Gordon and knew what the future might hold.
Injured at Waterloo, he had recuperated in London and was sent to Ireland, while his father relented and guaranteed him the earldom of Kintrie. Nearly thirty, unmarried, and not yet settled, he faced challenges and opportunities. He would help his older brother, now duke, to manage Rothes as well. He felt as if he scrambled for a foothold; he would find his way, but he had to see Maisie first.
Mrs. Siddons’s invitation opened the door at the perfect time. Her letter had an anxious tone; if there were trouble, perhaps he could help, even become a patron of the arts in support of a struggling theatre. He had heard the lady’s husband had died two years ago.
Though his youthful fantasy of acting was done, he had briefly stepped onstage in London before throwing himself into engineering for the army. He enjoyed working with rolled-up sleeves and dirt on his hands to design roads and place black powder explosions while honing a keen instinct for safety and danger.
Today he might encounter a different sort of danger. Conquering his nerves, he took the steps to the portico and stopped short. A poster by the door advertised Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet . Startled, he saw the play would open next week. The engraved illustration showed the lead characters in a fervent embrace, Juliet in a trailing gown, Romeo in poufy sleeves. When he had played the role, he hated that costume. But he had loved the girl. He felt a twist in his heart.
Frowning, he entered the foyer. Voices echoed from the direction of the auditorium as people set the stage or rehearsed. Suddenly he wondered if he had made a mistake coming here. But he had an old promise to fulfill for better or worse, as it were.
Behind him, the door opened and slammed, and a lad ran past in a brown jacket and flat cap. Colin called out and the boy stopped.
“Young sir, can you tell me where I might find Mrs. Siddons?”
Fresh-faced with wide brown eyes, the boy looked twelve or so. “Mrs. Siddons is my mum, sir. She is in her office, I think. I am Henry Siddons. Do we know you, sir? Are you here about the play?”
“Henry! Greetings. I am Lord Kintrie. I came because Mrs. Siddons invited me to meet with her. I remember you and your brother as lads. My condolences about your father.”
“Thank you, sir. William and I are both in the play,” Henry said proudly. “This way!”
“Lead on, Master Siddons.”
They followed a side corridor to an open door, where Henry knocked and ran off. A woman standing behind a desk looked up and smiled. Lovely, black-haired, with the classic face of a Madonna, she wore a purple gown; Colin realized Harriet Siddons kept lesser mourning these two years later.
“Lord Kintrie! Thank you for coming.” She came toward him.
“Mrs. Siddons, how good to see you again.” He took her hand, then removed his hat, aware that he towered over her.
“It has been so long. Can I offer you tea?” She glanced at his cane without remark and hurried to clear a space on a sofa piled high with garments to clear a seat. She took a chair by the desk and he perched on the sofa.
“None for me, thank you.” He glanced around the room, as cluttered and comfortable as he remembered, with a threadbare sofa buried in costumes, a desk covered with papers and books, and a jaunty assortment of hats stacked about. He remembered Mrs. Siddons had a millinery shop and also made costumes for the plays. He had forgotten how much he loved this place. If Harriet Siddons needed funds, he would donate whatever he could spare.
“How are things, madam? I was very sorry to hear about your husband, and regret that I was away with the regiment then.”
“Thank you. It was so sudden. My brother Charles helps me, though it is one thing after another in a theatre. But the play’s the thing, you know.”
“The play’s indeed the thing. You seem to be making an excellent job of it.”
“We manage. You came through the wars well enough?” She glanced at the cane.
“I did. After Waterloo, I convalesced in England and was posted to Ireland. After my father passed away a few months ago, I retired and came home.”
“I was sorry to hear about your father, the Duke of Rothes. My solicitor, Mr. Cameron, told me you would be in town seeing to matters, so on the chance, I sent a letter to your house in town.”
“I am pleased you did. Hugh Cameron is my solicitor too—we met this morning. Your letter hinted at a dilemma, madam. Can I assist somehow?”
“Perhaps. You know we do our utmost here to produce only the best theatre.”
“Absolutely. Years ago, I enjoyed my chance to tread the boards here.”
“You were the perfect Romeo! Have you acted since?”
“A little. I had a turn as Macbeth at London’s Drury theatre—just a stand-by, as I was about to join the regiment. I played the lead after the chief actor took ill.”
“Bad luck follows that play around! We presented it last fall and have had poor luck since. Did you see my mother-in-law at the Drury? She has retired from acting but is often there.”
“I had the pleasure of meeting Mrs. Sarah Siddons. She is a legend. I hope she is well.”
“Yes, for her age. A legend indeed. As for our theatre, we are starting costumed rehearsals for Romeo and Juliet . The curtains open in a few days—with luck.”
“With luck?” Wanting to ask if Maisie Gordon was part of the production, he waited.
“Alas, I have lost my Romeo!”
“Lost! Where did he go?”
“The poor young man broke his leg this week. His doctor has confined him to bed.”
“So unfortunate. I trust whoever is covering the role can step up.”
“My brother meant to, but he was called back to England—his father-in-law took ill. Another actor offered to cover it, but he already plays Tybalt. Perhaps you remember Mr. Baird?”
Colin frowned. Baird! “Aye. We were in school together and I saw him briefly in the regiment. He resigned and returned to Edinburgh last year.”
“Aye, claiming unhealth, though he seems well enough to me. He is recently engaged to a young lady you will remember. Miss Marjorie Gordon.”
The world went still. “Miss Gordon is engaged?”
She gave him a grim look. “I wondered if you knew. You two were fond of each other.”
“Ah.” He schooled his reaction. “Does she still help in the theatre?”
“We rely on Miss Gordon for most of the scenery work now. But we may need to cancel this play if we cannot find an outstanding Romeo. The Siddons reputation, you know!”
“Of course.” His thoughts whirled. Maisie engaged to that scoundrel Baird! “It is unthinkable to close the play. You will find someone.”
“Our Romeo must be gifted and charismatic, and—oh, Kintrie, I must ask! Will you do it?”
He lifted his brows. “Me?”
“That is why I wrote. How fortunate that you are in town. It seems destined!”
He sought another destiny here, but that might be quashed. “I am flattered, madam. But I have no plans to act again.” Romeo limping across the stage hardly suited, he thought.
“A few weeks only! It needs some afternoons and evenings, but there would be plenty of time for other things. What a marvelous Romeo you were—and would be again! The Earl of Kintrie! This could save our theatre.”
“Does it need saving?”
“We are in dire straits. You are heaven-sent, sir.” She tipped her head in a fetching way and he felt true affection. His senior by ten years, Harriet Siddons had been a true friend to a young man torn between his love of theatre, his duty to a demanding father, and his secret love for an artist’s daughter.
“I have pressing responsibilities.” But despite obligations, he had an affinity for acting and sensed the excitement in the atmosphere in this place.
“If I may say, sir, the theatre is in your blood. Here is your chance.”
He was tempted. But if Maisie Gordon was engaged to Baird—he blew out a breath. He had the strength to move on, even reluctantly. But if he played Romeo again, he would see her often, which would be painful for both. He had been a heartbroken Romeo to her teary-eyed Juliet, and six years ago, had written to express his love and intentions; he’d waited months. When her reply finally arrived, she politely wished him a safe and pleasant future. A blot or two might have been tear stains; he was not sure.
He had stayed safe enough, but happiness had eluded him. He had made a promise that he meant to fulfill. Yet if she refused him, he still loved her and craved to see her even once. Love, he had found, had a strong substance melded of affection, passion, trust, commitment, and was shot through with risk. He was willing to face that.
But he was too late.
“Will you consider it, Kintrie?” Harriet Siddons asked.
He startled out of his thoughts. “Who is your Juliet?”
“I am playing her, and hope to be half as good as Sarah Siddons.”
“You will be magnificent.” He frowned. “I will give it some thought, madam.”
“Of course. But we have little time.” She rose from her chair. “Come to the auditorium. I hope you will be eager to join us when you see what we are doing.”
Soon seated inside the cavernous auditorium near the stage, he watched actors rehearsing while others worked onstage. Candles blazed across the proscenium, and bright chandeliers floated overhead. As actors practiced lines downstage, two men moved furniture and props around. Another stood on a scaffold, tacking lengths of painted cloths to high wooden frames; one large-scale backcloth depicted the stone wall of a castle interior; another showed a town, river, and trees.
A tall ladder stood in front of the landscape backdrop. A woman perched there, her back to the stage while she reached up to paint. Her dark gown and apron tied at the high waist accented her trim figure. Her hair, a rich chestnut brown, was piled in a tousled knot, tendrils looping along her neck.
She did not turn around, but Colin knew the graceful line of her neck and back, the slim, straight shoulders, the sweet curve of her cheek, the stubborn tilt of her head. She was thinner than he remembered.
“What do you think?” Mrs. Siddons said.
“Impressive. The scenery is excellent.” Heart pounding, he watched the girl on the ladder. Someone spoke and Maisie Gordon turned, her profile lovely. A burly brown-haired fellow in coat and cravat came through the side curtains and went to her.
Seeing her angelic smile, Colin felt a wrench in his chest. Recognizing Reginald Baird, he flared his nostrils and went very still.
He could not walk away. Not yet. He had to know. If it was not to be, so be it.
“Mrs. Siddons,” he said. “I will do it.”