17. Chapter 17
seventeen
A s it turned out, getting back to her old life wasn’t as easy as Jenny had hoped.
For starters, she had to board with a roommate.
The girl, named Lucienne, was kind and generous and not nearly as irritating as the rest of the boarders.
The house was filled with the female performers and chorus girls that would perform in Le Petit Duc with her, along with some female costumers and set painters.
Word of Jenny’s marriage had already reached them because they all—except Luci—made a point of bowing and curtseying obnoxiously and addressing her as Lady David and my lady.
It was all in good fun and thankfully it didn’t last more than the first couple of days.
Still, Jenny had hoped that her marriage news might stay in England rather than follow her to Paris.
A hope, she realized now, had been delusional.
Once rehearsals started, no one treated her differently.
The first day was a company gathering with the opera’s composer and the proprietor of the Théatre de la Renaissance as they explained their vision for the production.
She’d already met them when they’d come to London.
She hadn’t met the composer at the time, but he emphasized how thrilled he was to have her singing the lead role.
She was marginally certain this was not because she was now the wife of a duke’s heir.
Rehearsals had barely been going on for a week before she was called into the production office.
It was an unspoken rule among the performers that there was a line between them and the administrators who financed and managed the opera house.
She’d never performed at the Théatre de la Renaissance before, but she imagined the same rules applied here.
When an assistant had come to her to ask for her appearance before the start of rehearsals today, she’d been a little apprehensive and the furtive glances of the other performers weren’t reassuring.
Now, sitting before the very large desk in the very cramped office, she felt she had been right in that.
“Forgive me, but I don’t understand why I must sign a new contract.
I already signed one when I was offered the role.
” She glanced between the two men who were in charge, the Frenchman, M.
Delcroix, and the Englishman, Mr. Winpenny.
“Perhaps I didn’t explain myself,” said M. Delcroix. “Yours is not the signature we need. Were you not married recently?”
Jenny frowned. She didn’t like the way this conversation was heading. “I suppose so.” She wanted to insist it was merely a marriage of convenience, that it should hardly count.
“You suppose?” Both of their eyebrows raised.
“In technical terms, yes.”
“Indeed,” Mr. Winpenny put in. “In legal terms, now that you are married, we need your husband’s signature on the contract.”
“But you have mine.”
They shook their heads in perfect unison as if they’d rehearsed it. “No, it will not do.”
“It will not,” the Englishman clarified.
“We must have your husband’s permission, his signature.
I have consulted with our solicitor and he will not be moved on this point.
Under the law, you understand, you are now an extension of Lord David Felding.
He must sign to allow you to work and earn money. ”
“I signed before I was married. The contract will be valid. ”
Mr. Winpenny shrugged. “Perhaps, but it’s something that would have to be decided in the courts and no one wants that bother. We can simply have the new contract signed by your husband and there will be no untidiness left to clean up later, should it come to that.”
“But I don’t want to bother him with this. I am the one singing and performing, am I not? His name is not on the program.”
“Speaking of that, our financier has made a very interesting suggestion,” M. Delcroix said. His eyes lit up like a gas lamp as he exchanged a look with Mr. Winpenny. Jenny’s heart sank as she felt she had a very good idea where this was headed. “We’d like to list your name as Lady David Felding.”
“Absolutely not.” She stood as if that alone would give her voice more power.
“Forgive me, but it is your name, is it not?” Mr. Winpenny asked.
“My name is Jenny Dove.”
He smiled kindly. “But your title,” he clarified, “is Lady David Felding, while your name is now Jenny Felding.”
Could she not escape David’s influence even here in a theater in Paris? “No one calls me Lady David.” It was a ridiculous title.
“Perhaps not here in the theater, but have you not read a newspaper?”
She sank back down into her chair and covered her face with her hands.
She had avoided newspapers ever since the night she’d returned and seen several left out from Mrs. Wilson’s packing.
She’d set the ones aside that mentioned Jenny’s marriage.
It hadn’t been front page news in Paris, of course, but mention of their new marriage had made it to several back pages, especially ones that discussed theater and upcoming performances.
Apparently, the fact that she’d be starring in a new production had piqued some curiosity .
“I’d like to continue using my maiden name for performances. Jenny Dove. It will continue to be my stage name.”
They shared a disappointed glance. “Well, perhaps in the program, but we’ll have to use your title a bit for advertising, you understand.”
He kept saying that phrase as if by virtue of repeating it she would miraculously understand, but she did not want to be known only as David’s wife.
She wanted her name to be known for her own merit.
Good God, how had she expected to go on with her life as if nothing had changed?
She was married to a future duke, for heaven’s sake.
“Fine. Use it however you’d like for advertising purposes, but I wish to be listed in the program as Jenny Dove. I plan to continue performing under that name. I don’t want there to be confusion.”
There was some grumbling but by the time she left their office, she’d gotten their reluctant agreement.
She’d also been handed a brand-new contract, which she needed to get to David so he could sign.
They’d given her a week to get it or they threatened to give her role to someone else.
She didn’t for a minute believe they would follow through on their threat.
Apparently, her new title gave her some leverage.
But that didn’t change the fact that she’d have to reach out to David for his signature.
Bother. And she’d only just stopped missing him.