Chapter 8 #4
“Lord Andover and Mr. Dutton had some useful suggestions about investors we might approach, and locations we might consider for our new theater,” she greeted Dorsey.
His face was flushed with more than self-congratulation, and she recognized the short window she had to get rational discussion from him before he disappeared into the brandy flask tucked into his coat.
“The question remains of where we might perform and continue to earn funds while we build.”
“Ah, yes.” Dorsey, with some effort, focused his eyes on her. “The old market house is about to fall down, I’m told. Would be a danger to life performing there.”
“We could try to do some open-air performances at the new market house. Market days are Thursdays, but during the season, there are vendors at the shambles every day. They might prove an audience.”
“Not an audience with deep enough pockets to pay for a building,” Dorsey grumbled.
“But a way to establish our reputation.” Mame should be part of this conversation, as she would recall tomorrow what Dorsey forgot tonight.
But Mame had taken possession of the pianoforte and did not intend to relinquish it until her work was done.
“I’m told we would have to speak to the commissioners to secure permission, and possibly pay a fee to Lord Sherborne, who is lord of the manor and thus owner of the premises. ”
Dorsey peered at her, his eyes somewhat bloodshot. “If you’ve touched up Dutton well enough, then you can get Sherborne to agree, I’m sure.”
“I don’t plan on touching up anyone.” Cerys drew her shawl closer around her arms. The room was still overly warm; it was Dante’s attention making her skin prickle, she just knew it. “Do you think Mr. Thompson would offer us a space to perform?”
“He seems a man who is always on the lookout for new ways to attract income, and it wouldn’t take much to erect a wooden stage for the time being.” Dorsey grunted and patted his pockets. “But I want something grander.”
“That is where Mr. Manelli comes in.”
“Don’t see as how you’ll get him to agree, puss. He don’t seem the obliging sort.”
“I will get him to agree,” Cerys said. “I have a trade to propose.”
Dorsey lifted his eyebrows.
“Do elevate your mind from the cesspit. It is not that kind of trade.”
Dorsey cast his gaze in Mr. Manelli’s direction, and Cerys permitted herself to look.
“He’s a man, Cerys, my pet.”
“I am aware of that.” It was impossible not to be.
He was a commanding presence in the room, not just with his size but with his severe beauty.
He was not a man born to authority and didn’t have quite that quality to his arrogance.
No, his arrogance came from sure knowledge of his own skills. His potency.
And, possibly, knowledge of his own allure. Lady Baeccon placed a hand on the arm of the chaise she occupied, purposefully brushing his arm in order to divert Dante’s attention. It didn’t work. He had his gaze set on skewering Cerys.
She tilted her head to the side, showing her neck, and touched one gloved hand to her elbow, subtly lifting and compressing her breasts. She let her shawl dangle, suggesting that other parts of her garb might fall away with similar carelessness.
“As a man,” Dorsey clarified, “he’s going to try to take whatever he can from you.”
“Dorsey, you’ve known me two years. I’m not a peagoose. I’ve been around men.”
“You’ve never,” Dorsey said slowly, “been around a man who interested you.”
She blinked at him, taken aback. She would expect an astute observation from Mame, perhaps, or even Rhoda, but not Dorsey, and especially not Dorsey in his cups.
She tugged her shawl back onto her arm. “Whether Mr. Manelli is interesting in himself is not to the point. His interest to us is how he might build us a theater.”
“You fixed on him rather suddenly.”
“I believe he can do it, quickly, and he can create something beautiful.”
“But can we afford him?” Dorsey watched as Lady Baeccon went so far as to lay her hand on Manelli’s forearm to get his attention. From there, she slid her gloved hand along his elbow to his upper hand, deliberately provocative, intimate.
Because she wanted him to stop watching Cerys, and she wanted Cerys to see her touching him.
It was almost disappointing, how obvious her ladyship was. Cerys would have liked to have a somewhat more worthy opponent.
But she had that in Dante Manelli, who was not going to be manipulated by anyone, if he could help it. He was an intelligent man. He had learned from his first lesson in having Lady Baeccon destroy his heart.
Dorsey cocked his head to the side, still watching Cerys with a look more shrewd than she was accustomed to seeing from him.
“Moreover,” he said slowly, as if, quite out of character, he were considering his words, “your Manelli seems a gent looking to elevate himself. Don’t see as how he’d condescend to work with the likes of us. ”
Itinerant actors, little more than beggars and thieves, in the perception of many. Cerys wrapped her shawl about her shoulders.
“Leave Mr. Manelli to me,” she said with a confidence she didn’t feel.
Lady Baeccon spoke in his ear, using the ancient ploy of keeping her voice pitched low enough that Dante had to lean his head close. The action would let her scent waft to his nose and put her breasts directly in his line of sight. Cerys shook her head with a small smile.
Such tactics might have worked before, like a bludgeon over the head, but Lady Baeccon had made the mistake of wounding her prey in a manner he wouldn’t soon forget. It would take more subtle tactics to lure the man now. Did her ladyship know them?
Cerys, meantime, had a ploy of her own. She would offer Mr. Manelli a bargain he could not refuse.