Just a Little Heartache (The Brotherhood #5) - Merry Farmer

Chapter 1

London – September, 1890

Niall hadn’t let the letter out of his sight since the moment he’d received it. Or rather, in the week since Lily Logan had handed the letter to him in the middle of a particularly chaotic rehearsal, it had lived tucked in the inner pocket of his jacket during the day and on the table next to his bed through the night, even when it was too dark to actually see it. He felt its presence at all times, in stillness or in chaos. And the rehearsal for his latest show was utter chaos just then, since the curtain was set to rise on Love’s Last Lesson in just over a fortnight. But all Niall could think about as he rushed from the hall to the dressing rooms—where he’d been approving a change to the lead actress’s Act Two costume to comply with the woman’s vanity—to the wings on stage left so that he could deal with yet another catastrophe, was the letter burning against his heart.

“But sir,” the harried director, Mr. Abrams, argued from a small platform set up over a few rows of seats in the house, “you are addressing this song to the chorus of royal courtiers. You cannot deliver it downstage with the chorus behind you.”

Niall skittered to a stop just past the wings on stage left, already rolling his eyes at the battle unfolding in front of him.

“The audience has come to see me, sir,” Everett Jewel, the star of the production and a legendary actor in his own mind, snapped back to the director. Even though they were merely rehearsing, Everett was in full costume and make-up—although he always seemed to dress in full costume and make-up, whether he was on the stage or strolling through Hyde Park. His back was straight and he looked as indignant as Niall had ever seen him.

“The audience has come to see Mr. Cristofori’s work,” Abrams shot back, narrowing his eyes at Everett.

“I can assure you, the crowds are already gathering outside the theater to see me,” Everett continued to argue. “Or did you not see the line outside the stage door after rehearsal yesterday.”

“I’m convinced you pay them to fawn over you,” Abrams grumbled.

Niall winced as Everett’s back shot even straighter and his kohl-rimmed eyes flared. Unsurprisingly, Everett’s partner, Patrick Wrexham, was only a few feet away, leaning against the proscenium, where he had been watching the rehearsal with a copy of the script and a pencil in his hands. Niall sent a look Patrick’s way, wondering if the former police officer would need to step in to break up yet another fight between Everett and Abrams. Patrick only answered Niall’s questioning look with a shrug and a half-grin as though it were just another day with Everett.

“Haven’t you read my reviews, man?” Everett strode a few feet to the right, as if delivering a stirring monologue. For all Niall knew, that was what Everett thought he was doing. “Have you not seen the likenesses of me printed in the papers? And you dare to suggest I have to pay my adoring public?”

“Is he serious or is he just winding Abrams up again?” Niall murmured to Patrick, moving to stand shoulder to shoulder with the burly man as they watched the argument pick up steam.

Patrick shrugged. “A little of both. He didn’t sleep well last night.”

“Nightmares again?” Niall asked. He knew enough about Everett’s horrific past to know there were nightmares.

“At first,” Patrick replied with a self-satisfied grin.

Niall answered that grin with a knowing chuckle. He also knew enough about Everett and Patrick’s relationship to know Patrick Wrexham was the best thing that had ever happened to London’s hero of the stage and that Patrick knew exactly how to deal with the peacock.

“This is Mr. Cristofori’s show,” Abrams argued on, pointing to Niall and alerting Everett to his presence. Everett spared a cheeky smile and a nod for Niall, but Abrams went on with, “You, sir, are but an instrument used to convey his work—a tool, if you will.”

“I’ll show you a tool, you—” The rest of his insult was drowned as Everett began to unfasten his trousers and several of the stunned chorus girls standing behind him gasped, either in fright or in expectation.

“Everett,” Patrick barked, barely moving from where he leaned. When Everett glanced his way, shoulders dropping slightly, Patrick shook his head.

Everett cleared his throat, face going pink, and refastened his trousers before anything untoward could be revealed. Once that was