Page 96 of Regency in Color

Chapter Five

The next weeks passed in a blur.

Maintaining the current schedule while rehearsing a new show and the music for the Waterloo re-enactment at Vauxhall Gardens was no mean feat. Every day, Frank rose at dawn, made breakfast, took Lulu to school, came back to wash, shave, and change his clothes, then he rehearsed until it was time to perform in the evening. He barely slept, and some days, he forgot to eat. He’d taken on too much again, but he was determined to make it work.

In any case, Andie made it worth it.

Watching her come into her own in the new style of singing was immensely gratifying. He’d suspected she could do it, but he never could have imagined quite how well. She’d been nervous about the trapeze ring, naturally, but after he’d personally shown her the reinforcements and rode to the ground floor on it himself, she agreed to give it a try as long as it did not go higher than the orchestra’s balcony. Within a few days, she got over her nerves, twirling with joy and singing better than ever.

And that was only the half of it.

Though they had agreed it best to maintain a more professional relationship—at least in public—they escaped every chance they got, stealing kisses behind the curtains or sneaking up to the roof. They never got more than a minute or two, but they made those minutes count.

Frank hadn’t stopped smiling for a month.

It was the worst-kept secret in Shoreditch that Frank Creighton had finally fallen in love. No one said anything, but they’d have to be stupid to miss the heated looks, the “accidental” contact, and the whispered words. He’d always had an expressive face, and when it came to Andie, he couldn’t hide his wonder. She thought herself a misfit, but she didn’t realize how much strength, talent, and determination it took to get where she was, to resist society’s pressure to conform or be destroyed. Frank knew precisely how difficult that was, and he admired her all the more for it. She wasn’t only beautiful, talented, and clever; she was formidable.

Frank played her song one more time after she left for the day, still picturing her sitting in the moon. They had to be more careful. He knew he could ruin her life, but he was damned if he could live without her.

“So this is where you’ve been hiding.”

Frank stopped playing as a familiar voice carried through the empty theater. Over the top of the piano, he saw his eldest brother sweeping in like Galahad in a spotless blue coat, his silver hair gleaming bright as the grail. He looked around the theater with a kind of repulsed fascination, the master of any space he deigned to enter.

“I’ve only been here for fourteen years.” Frank played a couple of notes. “Right here, sitting at this piano, waiting for one of you to come berate me. To what do I owe the pleasure, Lord Bodmin?”

Will rolled his eyes, and it was like they were children again. “Always so dramatic, Franz. Perhaps you should open a theater.”

“Perhaps I will, Wilhelm.” Frank grabbed his emergency cigar from behind his sheet music. “You want a drink?”

“Go on, then.” His brother followed him to the bar, inspecting a stool before he reluctantly sat down. “What do you have to drink in this place? Tell me it’s not all piss water and blue ruin.”

Frank pulled a couple of glasses from under the bar, briefly considering actually pissing into one of them, but perhaps he should hear what his brother had to say first. He could always piss into the second one. Wanting to show Will what was what, he opened a fresh bottle of St. Croix and poured them each a measure.

“I’m impressed.” Will raised his glass in salute. “Cheers.”

“Cheers.” Frank sipped his slowly, wanting to keep his wits about him. He had been close to his brothers once, but it had been a long time, and there was a reason he’d left.

Will nodded toward the bottle. “Quality rum. You know Mother is close with this family. Visits Madame Archambault’s salons every month. Rather likes her. The younger daughter’s having her first Season. Charming girl. But the elder daughter, well…” He raised his eyebrows in a way Frank hadn’t seen in about thirty years. “Just your type, come to think of it.”

Frank leaned his elbows on the bar. “I haven’t seen you since the war broke out. You didn’t come all the way to bloody Shoreditch to talk about society girls. Why are you here?”

“It’s Mother’s birthday,” he explained. “She’ll be seventy-five. We’re hosting a fete to surprise her, inviting all of her friends.”

“Mother has friends?” Frank frowned. “She won’t want me there.”

“Of course she’ll want you there,” Will insisted. “I know you didn’t part on the best of terms—”

“She told me I was a disappointment and she wished I’d disappeared in Rome.”

Will cringed. “She loves you really.”

Frank crossed his arms, unconvinced. “Is she still telling people I’m dead?”

His brother snickered. “Well, aren’t you? In a manner of speaking, that is. Isn’t that your whole act?”

“You’ve seen the show?” Frank blinked, shocked.

Will shrugged. “Of course I have. Got to keep an eye out for my little brother. I’ve still got your best interests at heart, you understand.”