by Sandra Heath
Another carriage was arriving outside, and he turned quickly, seeing Venetia and Benedict in Venetia’s town barouche. He looked at Linnet again. “Your escorts for the night, I take it. I asked you what he is to you, Linnet, and I would be much obliged if you gave me an answer.”
“Why are you so concerned? You made your choice a year ago, my Lord, and what I do now really isn’t anything to do with you.”
“I’m fast losing patience, madam. What is Gresham to you?”
His tone was flint-sharp, and she drew back a little. “A very close friend,” she said.
“How close?”
“Close enough. And that’s all I’m going to say.” She seized the bell, ringing it loudly. “Please leave, Nicholas, before I have you thrown out.”
“Oh, I don’t think you need to be so uncivilized, madam,” he said softly, “for I intend to leave. I came here tonight to see if you were improved enough to be rational, but that’s evidently not the case. What I had to say, therefore, will remain unsaid. For the time being. Good night.”
She didn’t reply, nor did she look at him as he crossed the room. Sommers opened the doors, standing quickly aside as Nicholas passed.
“You rang for me, Miss Carlisle?”
“Please see Lord Fane to the door, Sommers.”
“Yes, madam.”
But Nicholas had already gone. As the butler hurried after him, Linnet moved quickly to the window, looking through the nets to see Venetia and Benedict standing in some consternation by their barouche, having recognized Nicholas’s landau.
Nicholas emerged from the house, and they turned. He paused to briefly accord Venetia a nod, but he looked right through Benedict. A moment later he was in the landau, being driven swiftly away across the courtyard.
Benedict hurried into the house ahead of Venetia, and Linnet moved from the window, waiting for him to enter the room.
He didn’t pause to hand Sommers his tricorn, but came straight into the drawing room, snatching the hat off and tossing it on to a table. He glanced around, and saw that she was alone. “What was Fane here for?” he demanded. “Did he bother you?”
“I’m quite all right, Benedict, and as to what he wanted, well, I have to confess that I really don’t know.”
“Are you sure he didn’t upset you?”
She managed to look composed, but the truth was that she was very upset indeed. She smiled. “Of course he didn’t.”
He relaxed then, coming quickly over to take her in his arms. “I can’t bear to think of him anywhere near you,” he whispered, tilting her lips to meet his.
She clung to him, needing his comfort and strength, then she smiled a little ruefully. “Well, at least I’ve had my first encounter with him.”
He drew away. “An encounter that took place when you were alone. Where is your great-aunt? I thought she was determined to protect you from such things.”
“She’s in her room, still resting after the journey. It isn’t her fault, Benedict, for she didn’t know anything about it. Nicholas sent a note to me yesterday, and I chose not to say a word to her. I’d be grateful if you’d do the same, for there’s no need for her to know he called, it would only bother her.”
Venetia spoke from the doorway, where she’d been waiting at a discreet distance. “It’s Linnet’s prerogative, Benedict, not yours.”
Reluctantly he nodded, smiling at Linnet. “Forgive me, I didn’t mean…”
She stopped his apology by hugging him briefly. Then she turned to survey Venetia, who wore a pale-pink satin gown, a dazzling array of Hartley diamonds, and a Grecian stephane in her dark hair. A white feather boa trailed casually to the floor, and she looked very lovely, the satin of the gown perfectly outlining her figure, but without the sort of impropriety that would have raised eyebrows.
Linnet went to her, taking both her hands. “You look absolutely wonderful.”
“And you, you wretch, look divine. I wish more than ever that you’d stayed in the Lake District. Perhaps I won’t invite you to dinner after all, for you’ll steal all the praise, and when I hold one of my famous dinner parties, I like to be the center of attention.” Venetia smiled at her, but then looked more serious. “You are sure Nicholas didn’t upset you?”
“Perfectly sure. Don’t let’s talk about him, or it will spoil the evening. Tell me, are we to be a threesome tonight?”
Venetia cast a cross look at Benedict. “No, it seems my dear brother has seen fit to include Freddy Grainger in our party. We’re to be joined at the theater, and no doubt the bonds of matrimony will be rattled in my ears again.” She tweaked the boa, glancing at the clock. “Isn’t it time we left? The streets near the theater always become such a crush on first nights.”
Benedict retrieved his tricorn, putting it on, then he turned to his sister. “Venetia, you may speak airily about Freddy’s wish to marry you, but he is a fine catch, and if he should see you giving glances to that damned hack of a poet…”
Venetia’s hazel eyes flashed angrily. “I intend to manage my life as I see fit, Benedict, and I suggest you stop worrying about my affairs and turn your full attention to your own.” Humming, she walked away across the entrance hall and out to the waiting barouche.
An awkward silence fell on the drawing room, then he gave Linnet a rather sheepish smile. “Am I overstepping the mark?”
“Well, look at it from Venetia’s point of view. She’s a free agent, her own mistress, and you suddenly come back into her life after years of absence, expecting her to toe your line. It’s hardly likely to go down well, is it?”
“She should accept Freddy.”
“In your opinion.”
“And in yours, if I’m not mistaken.”
She smiled. “I happen to think she and Freddy would do well together, but I don’t make the error of pressing her on the point. Now then, are we going to the theater, or not?”
“We are.” He offered her his arm. “And I promise to hold my tongue tonight, Coleridge or no Coleridge.”
Linnet said nothing more, and together they emerged from the house to join Venetia in the barouche.
Chapter 6
The Theatre Royal stood on the corner of Drury Lane and Russell Street, and was the third building to be given the illustrious name, its two predecessors having suffered the fate of so many London theaters, by being burned to the ground. It was an imposing building, with a colonnade, a tall roof pillar surmounted by a statue of Apollo, and rows of windows that made it resemble a barracks.
There was a jam of carriages, for both the play and the leading actress were popular. As the barouche at last drew to a standstill by the main entrance, Linnet prepared for her first encounters with old friends, although she wasn’t as nervous as she might have been had it not been for the chance meeting with Lord Morpeth in Barnet. His attitude had gone a long way toward reassuring her.
Benedict alighted, turning to assist both ladies down, and almost immediately they were hailed by a party that had arrived a moment before. It was a group from Devonshire House, and included young Lady Georgiana Cavendish, who was now so much the object of Lord Morpeth’s affections, and her elderly great-uncle, Lord Frederick Cavendish, whose penchant for famous actresses of matronly years, Mrs. Siddons in particular, was well known throughout society. It was said that he only attended the theater in order to gaze upon the latest object of his affection, and Linnet could only presume that Miss Pope was at present the apple of his eye. Lady Georgiana was delighted to see Linnet again, and said so in a charmingly shy manner, but Lord Frederick saw no point in saying anything unless one went directly to the heart of the matter. He took one look at Linnet and declared that it was a damned shame about Fane, but that Benedict’s frequent visits to the Lake District must surely be interpreted as a sign that there’d soon be a very welcome announcement concerning the future.
Both parties lingered for a while in idle conversation, the gentlemen discussing a forthcoming match between horses owned by the Princ
e of Wales and the Earl of Sefton, while the ladies discussed Lady Georgiana’s recent presentation at court and the subsequent celebratory ball given for her at Devonshire House. Then it was time to go in, and the two groups parted.
Benedict drew Linnet’s hand tenderly over his arm. “There, it wasn’t so bad, was it? Lord Frederick may have mentioned last year, but it was only fleetingly, and he was much more concerned with trying to draw me into a wager on that horserace.”
He turned, offered Venetia his other arm, and they proceeded up the theater steps and into the crowded, glittering vestibule.
There was a terrible press, and a loud babble of refined conversation. Their progress up the staircase was slow, not only because of the sheer volume of people, but also because they knew so many of those they met. Linnet felt more and more at ease, for most people greeted her warmly, with only those who were close friends of Nicholas behaving more coolly. But it was her own friends who mattered, and they were all glad to see her again, so that by the time they were approaching the box, she found herself wishing she’d returned to London long before now. She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed the noise and excitement only the capital could provide.
The horseshoe auditorium of the Theatre Royal was delicately beautiful, with a magnificent vaulted Gothic ceiling and an array of handsome chandeliers. It was a vast area, boasting four rows of boxes and eight of those boxes, including Venetia’s, were almost directly above the stage.
Freddy Grainger was waiting for them. He was a lanky young man of twenty-nine, with thinning sandy hair, and a freckled face. He was far from handsome, but possessed a winning charm that made him very endearing, and he was so good-natured that he was much turned to by all those friends who needed a shoulder to cry on. Much liked throughout society, his lack of success with Venetia won him a great deal of sympathy, and there were many who, like Linnet, hoped he would triumph in the end.
He was seated in one of the box’s crimson velvet chairs, and as Linnet entered, having left the other two outside in conversation with an acquaintance she didn’t know, he rose quickly to his feet to greet her.
“Linnet! How glad I am to see you again. You’ve been away for far too long.”
She smiled. “How are you, Freddy?”
“Managing.”
“And how is Cornwall?”
“Profiting, at the moment. I wish I could say the same of my endeavors with a certain lady.”
“Don’t give up.”
Freddy took her hands. “Well, I’m sure that in you I have a staunch ally.”
“You do indeed.”
Benedict and Venetia entered the box at last, and Freddy turned immediately to greet him. He smiled warmly at Benedict. “Good evening, I trust you are well?”
“I am.” Benedict returned the smile.
Freddy then turned to Venetia, and as he did so he nervously straightened his white silk waistcoat, a gesture always brought on by having to face the woman he adored to distraction. “Er, good evening, Venetia,” he said tentatively.
She nodded coolly. “Good evening, Freddy.” Then she calmly took her seat, deliberately looking away across the auditorium to avoid any chance of catching his eye.
Freddy lowered his glance uncomfortably, and Linnet felt desperately sorry for him. Venetia’s attitude verged on the cruel, and it would serve her right if he took his affections elsewhere, for he deserved better than this.
She sat down in the chair Benedict drew out for her and glanced again at Venetia’s averted face. A year ago, Venetia wouldn’t have dreamed of behaving so ungraciously, but now she did it without hesitation. Was Benedict right? Had something occurred at the Holland House ball? Venetia denied that it was anything to do with Mr. Coleridge, but did admit that she’d changed her mind about Freddy that night. Why? What had happened that had altered her?
Linnet glanced around the dazzling auditorium, taking note of the occupants of the various boxes, and endeavoring not to look at one box in particular, that usually taken each season by Judith Jordan. It had always been the accepted thing for fashionable Cyprians to take boxes at the theater, so that they could display their charms and attract the attention of gentlemen. For the moment, however, the box was empty, and Linnet was conscious of a deep sense of relief. Seeing the Bird of Paradise, with her eye-catchingly tall plumes and even more eye-catchingly revealing gowns, would have ruined any enjoyment of this first excursion into society after so long.
After a slight delay, the play commenced, and she settled back to enjoy it. Miss Pope hadn’t lost her touch, although elderly now, and she soon had the audience laughing at the subtle humor that was so much the mark of Mr. Sheridan’s writing.
As the first act ended, Benedict leaned close to Linnet. “Coleridge is down there,” he whispered. “Do you see him? To the right, in the very front row of the pit.”
She leaned forward a little, and recognized the poet immediately. He was in his late twenties, with a wide forehead and long, half-curling dark hair. His eyes were large, and his eyebrows finely drawn and almost black. He was dressed well, if not exactly in the very pitch of high fashion, and there was a pad of paper and a pencil resting on his lap as he lounged in his seat; evidently, he was present in his capacity as theater critic for the Morning Chronicle. There was an air of ennui about him, and it wasn’t at all unbecoming, which forced Linnet to concede anew that the author of the intriguing and rather frightening story of the ancient mariner was a very attractive gentleman.
Benedict eyed the poet. “That fellow has a great deal to answer for, I fancy.”
“He may be entirely innocent.”
“I think not.”
She glanced uneasily past him to where Freddy and Venetia sat. “Hush,” she whispered, “or they might hear you.”
He gave her a quick smile. “Don’t worry. I’m mindful of my promise.”
“Good, for I’m holding you to it.”
“Not an indiscreet word will pass my lips.”
The second act began, and Miss Pope’s great talents soon had the theater enthralled again. She stole every scene, and when the intermission arrived, the audience showed its enthusiasm for the actress by stamping, clapping, and calling her nickname. “Popie! Popie!” She made a hurried curtsy in front of the curtain, and then withdrew to prepare for the second half of the performance.
The intermission was always a signal for much coming and going, and the box was soon filled with people. Freddy endeavored in vain to engage Venetia in conversation, but she determinedly excluded him. He sat disconsolately, his eyes downcast, and Linnet felt most dreadfully for him. Then something occurred that convinced her that Mr. Coleridge was indeed the source of his troubles. By the merest chance, she happened to glance at Venetia at the very moment she turned to look down into the pit, directly at the poet. As if he sensed her gaze, he immediately turned his head and rose to his feet. He smiled, and accorded her a gracious bow, then he resumed his seat again. Venetia returned her attention to the people in her box, and the whole incident was over in a second or so, but it set Linnet thinking. Had the exchange of glances been a mere coincidence? Or had there been more to it? The more she thought about it, the more credence she gave to Benedict’s suspicions.
Shortly after that the bell rang to signal the end of the intermission, and there was much shuffling, coughing, and whispering as the audience settled to watch the stage again. Linnet prepared to do the same, but then something made her look across at the hitherto empty box belonging to Judith Jordan. Her heart almost stopped, for two people had at that very moment entered to belatedly take their places: one was Judith Jordan herself, the other was Nicholas.
The notorious Cyprian had seldom looked more a bird of paradise, for the striking plumes in her corn-colored hair were tall and magnificent, shimmering with spangles and sequins. She was a curvaceous creature, and her full figure looked as if it had been poured into her low-cut golden silk gown; indeed, as she bent to take the seat Nicholas drew out for
her, her creamy bosom threatened to pour itself out again unaided.
There was no question that she was a very beautiful woman. She had large dark-blue eyes and a sweetly formed face, and her lips possessed a permanent pout, as if inviting a kiss. She took her time about arranging the soft folds of her gown, and then sat back a little, wafting a fan that was made of the same magnificent plumes as those in her hair. It moved softly to and fro, its sequins and spangles flashing.
Nicholas sat next to her, and looked directly across at Linnet. He made no acknowledgment, but his glance flickered contemptuously toward Benedict for a moment before he turned his full attention to the stage.
His arrival with the most infamous demi-mondaine in London hadn’t gone unnoticed by certain sections of the audience, nor had the fact that his former love was seated in the box opposite. There were whispers, and raised quizzing glasses, and Linnet felt suddenly on trial. She knew the whispers were about events of the year before, and that there was speculation as to which story was the correct version, hers or Nicholas’s.
Benedict knew how she was feeling and his hand crept to enclose hers. She was glad of the gesture of comfort, and her fingers curled gratefully in his. She didn’t intend to give Nicholas the satisfaction of seeing how upset she was by his latest hurtful action, and steadfastly refused to look at the other box again. But inside, hidden from view, she was trembling with pain and anger. When he’d called earlier at Carlisle House, he’d known full well that he was escorting his wretched Cyprian to the same play, but he’d deliberately said nothing. It was just another instance of his callous and cruel disregard for her feelings.
The play proceeded, and Linnet pretended to be engrossed, but in truth her thoughts were of the occupants of the other box. In the end, she gave in to temptation, and looked across; with a jolt, she found herself looking directly into Judith Jordan’s coldly speculative gaze. The Cyprian’s eyes didn’t waver, and her sequined fan continued to waft softly to and fro in an almost menacing way.
