Never Fall for Your Fiancee

“Er…” Hugh knew next to nothing about the theatre or theatre types. Perhaps such theatricals were the norm. “That is very good to know.”

“In my humble opinion—and in the esteemed opinions of some of my most effusive critics—complete immersion gives a superior portrayal.”

The hand gripping his sleeve released him to waft in the air. For some inexplicable reason, her voice was excessively loud, almost as if she were projecting it from the stage to the gods now rather than sitting on the yellow-striped sofa in his drawing room barely two feet away. “When I played Lady Macbeth, for instance, during a hugely successful extended run at Drury Lane, I went quite mad for almost three months. I even took up sleepwalking.”

“You did?” Surely that was a bit excessive? “How very dedicated of you.”

“Acting is an art, my lord, one which takes a great deal of dedication if one wishes to receive the sort of accolades I do.” She smiled wistfully at what she clearly saw as a happy memory rather than complete lunacy. “It was universally agreed by everyone who saw the play, they had never seen such a tragic, twisted, and utterly convincing portrayal as mine—and to the best of my knowledge, nobody has come close to playing her better since. Yet none of them truly understand the very essence of my performance.” Lucretia DeVere shuddered and clutched at her ample bosom. “You see … I became her, Lord Fareham.… In every sinew, every hair, every fiber of my being … I was the misunderstood wife of Macbeth himself! That is my secret.”

“I see.” Hugh turned to Giles and blinked, not entirely sure what to make of any of that while wondering if his friend’s recommended choice was intentionally as mad as a hatter purely for his own amusement. However, Giles was nodding sagely rather than smugly, appearing more than a little bit smitten with the odd matron by his side.

“It was a triumph. I saw the play four times in quick succession. Your performance, Mrs. DeVere, moved me to tears.”

“You sweet boy.” The peculiar woman squeezed Giles’s arm as if he had just given her the moon. “But it’s Mrs. Landridge, dear. Widowed mother of three charming daughters. Still keenly mourning the loss of her beloved husband.” Actual tears formed in the woman’s eyes. “But delighted the good Lord spared my darling Minerva and that she has found the happiness she deserves.”

Her watery eyes fixed on Hugh while her bottom lip quivered. “What a treasure she found in you, sir! All those months you sat diligently by her bedside … all those months where you refused to give up! Never have two souls deserved each other more than my precious Minerva and the man I shall soon proudly call my son.” Her chubby hand cupped his cheek, and even Hugh felt a little emotional. “I adore you!”

“I say.”

“I told you she was convincing.”

“Indeed. Very.” Even the rapid rise and fall of her substantial bosom somehow conveyed both pathos and joy simultaneously. “I’ve never seen anything like it in my life.” He felt the beginnings of a smile play at the corners of his mouth. “I think it might actually work.”

“But only if we can sort out the Vee problem.”