“Not yet.”
Fenton squinted at him. “How long you known Lady Rivers?”
“We met at the start of the season.”
The fellow slowed the carriage, bringing them to a halt, and just sat there admiring the manor. Finally, he turned to Jeremy. “How long since she started paying for your upkeep then?”
It was commonplace for actors to have wealthy patrons who supported them financially, but Jeremy’s cheeks grew hot anyway under Fenton’s scrutiny. “She began only last month.”
His brows shot up. “Not the same day you met like all the others? I’m surprised she waited so long. The lady is always taking in strays.”
Jeremy colored even more. Yes, he was a kept man. Clothed by a rich woman. It was every actor’s dream come true. He’d signed a contract. He was hers, and she’d pledged to go along with any scene he felt might be required to ensure her ruse was a complete success. But Jeremy was sure it would not turn out to be as simple as she imagined. No performance was ever free from drama or unexpected mishaps. “She is a very generous patron to those of us in the arts.”
“Yes, she most certainly is. The needy and useless flock to her like geese to fallen crumbs.”
Clearly Fenton didn’t approve of actors. “Can we go?”
Fenton slapped the reins over the horse’s rump again and Jeremy’s excitement grew.
Yes, Jeremy was as needy and nearly as useless as anyone else in the theater. But at least he wasn’t stealing from anyone anymore. He didn’t need to. Lady Rivers believed he had promise as an actor, or else she wouldn’t have handed him the plum role in her little play. She trusted him.
But one particular thing she had insisted on was that he show respect to everyone employed at her father’s estate. Even the grumpy ones, he supposed. He had to win over this Fenton fellow, and make sure he said nothing to detract from his performance later. He smiled, determined to ignore Fenton’s sour mood. “Lady Rivers is fond of geese. She keeps one with a broken wing in London. Vicious, evil-tempered thing it is too,” Jeremy confided.
Fenton grunted. “Probably too tough to make a decent meal.”
He chuckled. “I’d say so. She calls it Fent—”
Jeremy buttoned his lips and shut his eyes briefly in horror. She called the evil thing Fenton. Lady Rivers had named the goose after the Stapleton steward, and Jeremy had just told him. How would he react? Insulted?
But Fenton started to laugh and said no more about the naming of the goose as he drove them toward the manor.
Stapleton grew closer and larger. Jeremy started counting windows and had to give up at six and twenty, but there were plenty more to be seen after that number had been surpassed.
They came to a halt before an impossibly wide set of doors.
“Well,” Fenton grumbled. “Out you get.”
Jeremy climbed down, clutching the small traveling case under his arm. His driver stayed on the bench, and no servants came out to help, so Jeremy had no choice but to retrieve his own trunk from the back of the conveyance. Once he had that, Fenton slapped the reins over his mount’s hindquarters again and drove off without another word.
Jeremy stood on the drive, watching him go with annoyance. He was accustomed to being treated rudely in London. He knew what people would believe about him when they met him here, too. He was an outsider, someone who didn’t belong. He still found it odd that Lady Rivers had asked him to come to the country and not someone more experienced.
He glanced around slowly, taking in his surroundings. The Stapleton Manor grounds were extensive and very, very empty of people. Eerily empty, in fact. He very much longed to be indoors. “Guess I’ll have to knock on the door myself,” he muttered under his breath as he started forward.
Before he could pull the bell, the great doors opened wide and a trio of servants trotted out.
A pair of liveried footmen hefted his trunk between them and hurried back inside at a run.
A third man lingered near Jeremy. “May I take that for you, sir?”
The case had been entrusted to him. He’d made a promise to never let it out of his sight for a moment. “No.”
“Very good, sir. If you will follow me.”
Jeremy entered Stapleton’s front hall, prepared for anything, but he couldn’t have stopped the whistle that left his lips. He had never seen such a beautiful chamber in all his life, and this was only an entrance hall.
The footman turned to him. “Wait here, please.”
“Of course,” Jeremy agreed.