Forever Your Earl Read Online Free Page B

original plays. Yet due to the Imperial’s outsider status, Maggie had been welcomed. She and her iconoclastic work were the star attractions.
    â€œOughtn’t you be back at the office, stringing up another aristo on the pillory of public opinion?” Maggie asked as they continued to stroll around clumps of actors and dancers.
    â€œYou’re mixing your metaphors,” Eleanor noted. “And it’s one aristo in particular who brings me here.” As quickly as she could, she told her friend all about the arrangement she and Lord Ashford had made.
    â€œ The Lord Ashford?” Maggie pressed. “The selfsame one who caused two actresses here to get into a full-­out brawl, hair-­pulling and biting included?”
    â€œThe same,” Eleanor answered, filing the idea away. She’d need to see if The Hawk’s Eye had reported that little incident. If not, they were surely remiss in their duties.
    â€œI’ve seen him sitting in the boxes.” Maggie pointed out into the theater, where the boxes reserved for the wealthy arrayed themselves like red velvet jewelry cases. During performances, the occupants would be displayed like a veritable treasury of silk, satin, and gems. “Always surrounded by a cadre of toadies. And women, of course. He’s got one of those faces I call a corset-­tightener. You look at him, and suddenly air becomes a little more scarce.”
    â€œTo me,” Eleanor said, “he’s nothing more than a means to sell more papers.”
    â€œMethinks the lady doth protest too much,” Maggie murmured. “You know my history with aristo rakes. They’re as trustworthy as boats made of paper.”
    â€œAt least I know how to swim.” It was a shame she and Maggie saw each other as infrequently as they did. But between Eleanor’s deadlines and Maggie hammering away at a new play, their schedules seldom aligned.
    â€œIf your arrangement with Lord Ashford begins tonight,” Maggie pondered, “what are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be at home, pretending not to dress up for him?”
    â€œI do need to dress for him,” Eleanor said, “but my ensemble involves buckskins and beaver hats, not décolletage and diadems.”
    Maggie excitedly pressed her hand to her mouth. “A breeches part! But this is too wonderful! Let me fetch Madame Hortense and Mr. Swindon. They will be beside themselves with glee—­we haven’t had a decent breeches part since my Countess’s Deception .”
    Her friend hurried off, and as she progressed through the theater, she grabbed anyone passing by to eagerly explain Eleanor’s upcoming transformation. Thrilled squeals rose up from the crowd—­theater ­people were always pleased to pull someone into their mad, idiosyncratic world, and the cast and crew at the Imperial were no exception. Soon, Eleanor found herself surrounded by nearly a dozen chattering figures, pulling her this way and that, deciding just what kind of man she’d be: dark, fair, dandy, rough. She felt like so much clay in the hands of countless giddy sculptors. Far at the back stood Maggie, laughing into her hand.
    What would Lord Ashford make of such a scene? Though he kept company with a good many actresses, he likely wasn’t as familiar with this aspect of theater life.
    Madame Hortense, the angular, middle-­aged woman in charge of makeup and wigs, and Mr. Swindon, the heavyset costumer, shoved their way to the front of the crowd. They both surveyed her critically.
    â€œSo this is what a fish at Billingsgate feels like,” Eleanor mumbled.
    â€œCome with us.” Madame Hortense led Eleanor down several flights of stairs, with Mr. Swindon and a whole entourage trailing after them. At last they reached a dressing room, lined with mirrors and tables, costumes draped over every available surface.
    â€œShoo, all of you!” Mr. Swindon waved his fingers at the