The Danice Allen Anthology

by Danice Allen

  “Julian,” Sam said in an imperative tone.

  He lifted his head, his pale hair glinting in the light from the chandelier overhead. His eyes were intensely blue, but unfocused, as if his thoughts were elsewhere on some troubling point.

  “What?” he said impatiently.

  Sam’s chin went higher and she puffed out her chest a little. “My gown,” she said. “My aunts think it might be too provocative. What do you think?”

  Julian blinked several times, then his eyes focused. Sam could swear she felt his gaze like a caressing hand as it trailed her person from top to bottom. A thrilling hope washed through her like a warm, spring rain. He had been too angry with her in the library to notice, but now he would see, now he would admit she was no child…

  “Well?” she prompted expectantly.

  Julian’s brow lifted sardonically. “As I am but a partial family friend—more of an uncle, as it were—I am perhaps a poor judge.”

  “A poor judge?” Nan said with a snort of disbelief. “You are the judge of taste and fashion in London.”

  Julian shrugged. “Although the décolletage is low, if she minds her posture, she will safe enough in it. The gown is, indeed, beautiful. And Samantha is beautiful in it. She will have everyone staring at her.”

  Sam’s heart soared.

  “But I think, on the whole, the look is too sophisticated for her. To me she looks like a mere girl playing dress-up in her mother’s clothes.”

  Sam’s heart dropped like a rock.

  In the carriage, on the way to the opera house, Julian looked determinedly out the window. Sam was sitting across from him, next to Priss, and it would be impossible not to notice that he’d hurt her feelings with his comment about the gown. He’d meant to hurt her … a little. He wanted her angry at him so she’d avoid him. He also wanted her to turn to the other men who would shower her with compliments tonight and hang about her like bees about the hive.

  The conversation with her in the library had been taxing, and he did not want her to bring up the subject of sex again, particularly in a public place. At present he had another more pressing problem to deal with … a problem of monumental importance and urgency that made Sam’s troublesome curiosity about sex, and her childish crush on him, seem a mere trifle in comparison.

  Julian surreptitiously stuck his finger in the inside pocket of his jacket, touching the sharp edge of the paper he’d folded and slipped away. He needed reminding that the note had indeed come to the house. That it wasn’t all a bad dream. It was hard to believe, but someone was threatening him. Threatening Sam. He remembered the few words that had been printed in a small hand on a single sheet of parchment.

  Don’t ask questions. Some secrets are best kept. I’m warning you…

  Chapter Six

  “The Royal Opera House at Covent Garden is the most beautiful theater in England, Samantha,” said Priss, peering out the window as they drove at a snail’s pace down Bow Street. It seemed that every carriage in town was headed in the same direction as they were. “You’re going to be quite astonished when you see it. Isn’t she, Julian?”

  Sam glanced at Julian to see him turn slowly from his own vigil at the window on the opposite side of the carriage. In the light of the carriage lantern, he appeared very sober. Obviously he was not in a chatty mood, but she wasn’t sure she wanted him to talk if he was going to be patronizing and hurtful and refer to her again as a “child.” The memory of his comment about her looking as if she were playing “dress-up in her mother’s clothes” still stung.

  “Yes, the original theater was destroyed by fire in 1808, then rebuilt in 1809,” Julian explained in the instructional tone he frequently used with Sam. But there was a weary edge to his voice and a bleak look in his eyes, as if he’d been reluctantly recalled to his sense of duty in preparing Sam for this latest foray into London society.

  As well, he was probably still angry with her for attempting to satisfy her curiosity by reading books that were not appropriate for an “innocent” young girl’s education. Sam still thought “ignorant” was a better term to describe what most men wanted in their brides.

  “The new building was designed by Robert Smirke, who modeled it on the Temple of Minerva at Athens,” he continued. “The facade boasts a Greek Doric portico and an ornamental frieze of literary figures by English sculptor John Flayman. But more importantly, along with the King Theatre, it is attended frequently by many luminaries of the ton. It’s a good place to be seen. Even the Prince Regent has a box there.”

  “Did you hear that, Samantha?” Nan exclaimed bracingly, leaning over and giving Sam’s hand a vigorously friendly pat. “Prinny has a box there!”

  “I hear a box costs two thousand pounds per subscription,” Priss interjected.

  “Samantha, just yesterday you were saying that you hadn’t yet seen the Prince Regent,” Nan went on, at the same time throwing her sister an admonishing look for interrupting with such an unimportant detail. “Well, tonight you may!”

  Sam realized then that her hurt feelings over Julian’s comment were showing. She detested the very idea of appearing dispirited and sulky, so she stiffened her spine and rallied her spirits. She wasn’t about to be defeated by a few discouraging words. Besides, she’d never been to the theater, and it was an event she’d looked forward to for a long time. She wouldn’t let Julian spoil it for her. Moreover, the evening was still young, and she’d have plenty of opportunity to show him that she was much more than a green girl playing dress-up.

  Tossing back her head and forcing a brilliant smile, she announced, “I’d like to see the Prince, but it doesn’t matter if I don’t. I’m very excited about seeing Genevieve DuBois perform in Cleopatra, Queen of the Nile. Jean-Luc tells me she’s the shining star of London.”

  “I would have preferred to have introduced you to the theater by attending a Mozart opera or something similar,” Julian answered coolly. “But it is my understanding that Madame DuBois was born to play the role of Cleopatra. Even though the music isn’t as good as it should be, Madame DuBois’s performance is said to be enthralling.”

  It was warm praise for the actress, but delivered in a distracted fashion. Clearly Julian had something on his mind, and Sam earnestly wished to know about it. She hoped he wasn’t planning to make his courtship of Charlotte official and ask her to marry him that very night! Sam bit her lip, worried and feeling quite desperate that she might not have the time she needed to make her dreams come true.

  When the carriage finally stopped at the theater entrance, and Julian escorted her inside, Sam’s worries were forgotten for a while in the wonder of her surroundings. The outside facade of the building was magnificent, so she should have been prepared for the grandness and elegance of the vestibule and the staircase, which ascended between two rows of Ionic columns. Suspended between each of the columns was a beautiful Grecian lamp, and at the head of the staircase was a statue of Shakespeare on a pedestal of yellow marble. The play had not even begun and Sam was already enthralled!

  Nodding and smiling at acquaintances, they walked down the lobby, which was divided with arched recesses filled with paintings from various scenes of Shakespeare. Finally they entered a box and sat down in comfortable seats covered with light blue cloth.

  Sam hurriedly settled herself, then eagerly lifted her eyes and stared out over the five tiers of boxes and the horseshoe-shaped gallery, all filled to bursting with people. She was practically blinded by the shine and glitter of the chandeliers hanging from the ceiling and the diamonds and other jewels winking on the hands and necks of London’s most fashionable females. Again Sam wondered if her mother was in the audience, but she quickly dismissed the painful thought and looked eagerly toward the large stage and crimson curtain.

  “I think I’m going to like this,” she murmured to Prissy, who was sitting on one side of her, with Nan on the other. Yes, she knew she was going to like it despite the irritating fact that Julian was standing outside the box i
n the lobby, waiting for the Batsfords.

  “You ought to be enjoying yourself,” Priss whispered behind her fan. “You’ve caught the eye of everyone in the house!”

  “What?” Sam turned startled eyes to the semicircular tiers and was astonished to discover that she was indeed the object of many pairs of eyes. People were even using their opera glasses to stare at her. She felt herself blushing and wished her décolletage were not quite so low.

  “You must expect a great many visitors at intermission,” Nan warned her. “When a young man comes along that you want to sit beside you, just nudge me gently with your elbow, and I’ll move to the chair on the other side of Priss … as if I wished to speak to her particularly, you know.”

  With this strategy settled between them, the orchestra finally quit tuning their instruments and began to play in earnest, a hush came over the audience, and the curtain lifted. Sam turned and glanced at the empty seats behind her. The opera was beginning and still Julian waited in the hall for Charlotte Batsford and her parents. How irritating!

  But the minute Sam got her first glimpse of Genevieve DuBois lounging on a barge in the middle of the stage, with slaves rowing her down the wooden, blue-painted and curlicued waves of the Nile, she forgot about everything else.

  Madame DuBois was wearing a jet-black wig and her large, eloquent eyes were lined with kohl. She was dressed in an ankle-length toga-style white gown of nearly transparent material, her bared arms were ornamented with golden snake bracelets, and her brow was crowned with a cobra coronet. She was stunningly beautiful and, as became increasingly obvious as the opera progressed, extremely talented. She had a fine voice, but the expressions on her face and the way her entire body vibrated with emotion were what made her truly the “star.”

  When the first intermission came, Sam was so wrapped up in the play, she had a hard time returning to reality. She felt dazed and was genuinely surprised to find that an hour had passed and Charlotte Batsford and her parents had joined them in the box without her being at all aware of their arrival. She bid them good evening and made polite chitchat, all the while wishing she were the one seated by Julian and not Charlotte. But then several young men entered the box to pay their respects, and Sam saw her opportunity to show Julian that She was not a child.

  She flirted outrageously. She snapped open her fan and touched the edge of it to the curve of her cheek. She laughed and smiled, and she accepted compliments with a demure lowering of her lashes. Her admirers seemed to enjoy this new coquettish side of her, but she frequently felt they glanced too often at the low cut of her gown. Such ogling made Sam uncomfortable, but she reasoned that if Julian noticed that other men stared at her breasts, maybe he would finally acknowledge that she actually had some!

  Whenever she surreptitiously turned to observe Julian’s reaction to her popularity, he was usually immersed in serious conversation with Charlotte. Once or twice she caught him looking at her, but he wasn’t glowering like a jealous man. In fact, his expression was carefully neutral, giving her no clue about what he was thinking or feeling. It was very frustrating.

  As the first intermission bell chimed, signaling that the play was about to begin again, the men filed out till the only one left was Jean-Luc, who had apparently been hovering in the background. He stepped forward and bowed low, kissing her hand.

  “Jean-Luc!” Sam exclaimed delightedly. “I didn’t see you there!” She really was glad to see him, but since she was still hoping to stir Julian’s jealousy, she injected her voice with extra warmth and enthusiasm. “My goodness, why didn’t you come and say hello to me before now? The play is about to start.”

  Jean-Luc straightened and smiled. There was a conscious, rather amused twinkle in his dark eyes, as if he actually knew what she was up to, that he knew she was trying to make Julian jealous. But that was impossible … wasn’t it?

  “It is not my style to force my way through a throng of moonstruck men, Miss Darlington,” he informed her wryly. “There is always the possibility of scuffing my shoes or mussing my cravat in the crush.”

  She chuckled appreciatively.

  “But I cannot blame them for crowding about you,” he continued suavely. “Miss Darlington, you are the loveliest woman in the house, your beauty as rare and brilliant as the finest diamond.”

  Sam glowed. She hoped Jean-Luc had been speaking loudly enough for Julian to hear him above Mrs. Batsford’s continual chatter to her long-suffering husband. “So you like my gown? You don’t think it’s too sophisticated for me, do you?”

  “It was made for you. It is perfect in every way,” he assured her.

  Satisfied, Sam smiled and slid a look toward Julian. It was still impossible to tell if he was paying any attention to their conversation. He certainly didn’t appear to be listening to them or watching them. “Thank you, Mr. Bouvier.”

  “I know the play is going to start soon, but I do wish to visit with you, Miss Darlington. Perhaps your aunt—” He nodded at Nan. “Good evening, madam.”

  “Good evening,” Nan replied with a smile.

  “Perhaps your aunt,” he continued, “will allow me to take the seat beside you. We can watch the next act together … if that’s all right with you?”

  “Of course it’s all right,” Sam replied, gently nudging Nan with her elbow … their agreed-upon signal to make room for a favored suitor. She had planned to offer the seat to Nathan so she could talk to him about Clara, but so far she hadn’t seen him or Ninian at all that evening.

  “What do you think of Madame DuBois?” Jean-Luc began, once Nan had moved and he’d settled in his seat and politely greeted everyone in the box.

  “I think she’s wonderful,” Sam replied warmly, then her brows drew together in a slight frown. “But I don’t detect the slightest French accent.”

  Jean-Luc laughed. “You don’t detect an accent because she isn’t French.”

  “She isn’t? But her name—”

  “Is a stage name, concocted to lend her a little glamour. It is the usual practice.”

  “Well, she deserves a glamorous name,” Sam said decidedly. “I think her extremely beautiful and vastly talented.”

  A murmur of excitement suddenly rumbled through the room and they turned to see what was causing the to-do.

  “Speaking of beautiful and vastly talented women,” Jean-Luc murmured.

  Sam looked to where he was looking, at a tier just below theirs on the other side of the gallery. Settling herself in a box, seated all by herself except for a lady’s companion in the back, was the most stunning and exotic woman Sam had ever seen. She had black hair swept high on her head, white skin, and large, luminous dark eyes. She had a voluptuous figure and apparently no qualms about showing it off. She was dressed in an extremely low-cut, red gown trimmed in black braid. Sam noticed with chagrin that the woman had a great deal more to display above her décolletage than she did.

  “She’s very beautiful, indeed,” Sam said. “But isn’t her gown rather … er … daring?”

  Jean-Luc leaned close to Sam’s ear and whispered, “She’s displaying her wares, Miss Darlington.”

  “Her wares?” Sam repeated.

  “She’s a courtesan,” Jean-Luc clarified. “A very famous and expensive one, I might add.”

  “Goodness,” Sam said, instantly interested. She stared at the woman. Perhaps Julian’s mistress was a similar type of female. “She must be very wealthy if she can afford to buy a subscription box at the Royal Opera House.”

  “Rather, her protector is very wealthy,” Jean-Luc corrected.

  Sam turned to look at Jean-Luc. “So her protector purchased the subscription for her?”

  Jean-Luc shrugged. “Of course.”

  Sam sighed. “You probably think I’m being vulgar, Jean-Luc. I know I shouldn’t be speaking about such things, but I must confess I’m rather curious about gentlemen’s mistresses.”

  Jean-Luc raised a brow, obviously amused. “Are you, indeed? And while I realize I
shouldn’t be talking with you about such things, either, Miss Darlington, I wonder why you find the subject of mistresses so interesting?”

  Sam shifted uncomfortably in her seat and glanced over her shoulder at Julian, this time hoping that he wasn’t listening. “I know very little about the subject, of course, but it sometimes seems that gentlemen treat their mistresses better than they treat their wives.”

  Jean-Luc nodded judiciously. “That is often true. But you must remember, Miss Darlington, it is very rare that a mistress has a single protector for her entire life. Her luxuries are never taken for granted. She must constantly struggle to please, and she feels the constant anxiety of knowing she could be tossed over for someone prettier or younger at any moment. On the other hand, a wife is secure for the rest of her life.”

  “You mean financially secure?”

  “Yes. What else?”

  “It would be nice for a wife to be secure in her husband’s love, rather than his money, for the rest of her life,” Sam said wistfully.

  “You are a romantic,” Jean-Luc suggested with a smile.

  “Is that bad?”

  “No, chère,” he assured her. “It is rather refreshing.”

  “Oh, look, Jean-Luc. That woman is staring directly into our box! She is even using her opera glasses. Why in heaven’s name would she be interested in us?”

  “You are a new face, are you not?”

  “I don’t think she’s looking at me…”

  “Hush, chère, the curtain is rising.”

  But Sam had one more question. “What is her name?”

  “Her name is Isabelle … Something-or-other. I don’t remember.”

  “And who is her wealthy protector?”

  But Jean-Luc must not have heard her above the beginning strains of the orchestra, because he did not reply. Sam was about to repeat her question, but the curtain rose, and she was instantly caught up again in the story.

  Julian was not having a good time. Despite Charlotte’s soothing presence and her sensible conversation, he was restless, irritable, and distracted. Not even the mesmerizing performance by Genevieve DuBois could keep his thoughts from returning to the threatening note he’d received that day.