Alison felt the Dowager’s love for her son had overridden her good sense, but she said, “I have already forgiven him, Milady, and I will try to see his good qualities.” The chances of her befriending the swaggering, shallow Prince were about the same as the chances of her running off to join an Eskandelic harem, but she liked the Dowager enough to pretend to generosity of spirit.
It seemed as if every evening gown she owned had a neckline that revealed every inch of her bosom. Alison finally settled on a rose-red gown that made her feel slightly less exposed and, to her relief, did not require a corset. Belle arranged her hair in a severe knot at the base of her neck, no loose tendrils falling free, and with that and a simple gold chain Alison felt equipped to cope with whatever the Prince might bring to bear on her that night.
The other ladies were waiting in the entry hall when she emerged from her suite. “Do tell us who your mystery caller was,” Simone said. “That dress looks divine on you, by the way.”
“Thank you,” Alison said.
“I think it was that Veriboldan noble, the one who wore all that silver,” Carola said. “You did dance awfully close with him.”
“Oooh, was it Stefan Argyll? He’s so handsome!” Philippa said.
Alison could feel her cheeks begin to go blotchy. “It was the Prince, if you must know,” she said.
The other women fell silent. Philippa’s jaw dropped. Elisabeth laughed. “After that display, the Prince comes here to speak to you? You must be joking, Alison.”
As if on cue, someone knocked at the door. Alison took half a step toward the door, but hesitated when one of Milady’s servants sailed in and opened it. The Prince entered and gave a polite nod to the servant. “Your ladyship,” he said to Alison. “If you’re ready, my carriage is waiting for us.”
Where the silence before had been one of astonishment, it now became a silence of five women bursting with questions and exclamations they had to stifle with physical exertion. Alison couldn’t help smiling demurely at Elisabeth. “Have a pleasant evening, everyone,” she said. She took the arm North offered her and allowed him to lead her outside and help her into his carriage.
They rode in silence. Alison couldn’t think of anything to say to her companion, who contrary to her fears did not ogle her body, but sat gazing out the window. She twisted her skirt around her finger, then forced herself to smooth the fabric and sit quietly with her hands clasped in her lap.
“Have you been to Francel’s before, your ladyship?” North asked, still gazing out the window.
“No, your Highness, I rarely come to Aurilien,” she replied.
Silence fell again. Alison felt it was her turn to speak, and cast about for a subject. “Have you been to Kingsport, your Highness?”
“That’s your county seat, isn’t it? I come for the races, sometimes.”
“I’ve never been to a race. I understand they can be very exciting.”
“Very, especially when your horse wins.”
“Do you have many horses, then?”
North turned to look at her. “If this is the kind of conversation we’re to have this evening, we might be better off staying silent,” he said with a smile.
Against her will, Alison found herself smiling back. “It is rather awkward,” she admitted. “I’m sorry. I don’t really have a gift for conversation.”
“I imagine you don’t need it often.” His smile turned into something with a different meaning. Alison stiffened. And so it begins.
“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” she said.
The smile vanished. “I’ve offended you,” he said. “And we haven’t even reached the restaurant.”
“I don’t care for compliments like that, your Highness.”
“And yet—forgive me—you must hear them often.”
“Unfortunately, yes.”
“I’m not sure I understand. At the risk of feeling the flat of your hand again, I’m compelled to point out you are quite beautiful and I think it’s unreasonable to expect people not to notice that.”
Alison felt her face begin to freeze over. “I’d prefer to talk about something else, your Highness, if you don’t mind.”
North spread his hands wide to indicate he would acquiesce to her wishes. At that moment, the carriage came to a stop in front of a low-roofed building of red brick. A striped canvas awning sheltered the nondescript door, next to which was a small silver plaque that read FRANCEL’S in scrollwork lettering. North smiled wryly as the footman opened the carriage door. “You should probably smile,” he said, helping her down. “It will be so much more believable if you do.”
His expression was so comical that Alison gave him a genuine smile, and he responded by smiling back at her, a natural, uncomplicated smile. That wasn’t what she’d expected. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad.
It took less than five minutes for her to realize she was completely wrong. It was very bad. Not the restaurant; it was lovely, understated but elegant, the china and silver and crystal of a quality even the Dowager’s very well appointed table could not match, the food exceptional, and the wine better than Alison’s own cellars, product of her mother’s passion for oenology, could produce. Alison made a mental note to return someday. With a different dining partner.
Being stared at by all the other diners was bad enough, but either the romantically dim lighting or the intimate atmosphere inspired North to do his best to win her heart. He probably can’t help himself, she told herself as she smiled rigidly at yet another meaningless compliment, he’s just so used to seducing women he keeps smoldering at me like that out of habit. His heavy-lidded smile, his incessant comments on her beauty, his accidentally-on-purpose brushing of his hand against hers when they both reached for the salt cellar at once, were all so studied she would have laughed if she hadn’t been so miserable. Perhaps there was some book, somewhere, with instructions on how to charm a woman. Well. A woman who wasn’t Alison Quinn, to whom those insincere compliments meant only that the giver was more interested in her body than herself. It had taken her far too long to recognize the difference between false and genuine. She couldn’t afford to freeze up here, in public, when she was supposed to be enjoying herself and proving to all that she and Anthony North were good friends. So she smiled and deflected his compliments—she had years of experience in doing that—and tried to steer the conversation in a direction even North couldn’t turn into innuendo.
“I realize our first conversation was rather rocky,” she said, “but I am curious about what you said, about your horses winning the race. Do you own many horses, your Highness?”
There was that natural, non-seductive smile again. “I do,” he said. “I have an excellent stable, if I say it myself, and several of them are prize-winners. Do you ride?”
“Not in any races,” she said with a laugh. “But yes, I enjoy riding. I rarely have the chance to do it, what with my work, so I’m afraid my riding these days is confined to the city. But every year I lead the Harvest Hunt, the first hunt of the season.”
“You work? I’m surprised you need to.”
Inwardly, she sighed. He’d gone nearly a full minute without taking that seductive tone. He was so much nicer when he wasn’t staring at her breasts. She should have worn a different dress. One with a neckline that went to her chin.
“I choose to work because I enjoy it,” she said patiently. “I love books. Always have. There’s never been a time when I didn’t love running around the publishing house, getting in the way of the printers and restacking the piles of books I’d knocked down.” She smiled at the memory. “I even enjoy working with the authors, though they’re a strange bunch and some of them need their egos coddled more than they need an editor.”
North sat back in his chair and frowned. “I never thought about books being produced. You see them in a library, or a bookstore, and they’re just…books.”
“The publishing process is quite complicated, I assure you.”
“I belie
ve it.” He threw his napkin down on his plate and checked his watch, a large gold disc on a gold chain. He swore, and apologized. “I thought dinner might go on longer. I’d take you home, but I think Zara would say we’d cheated.” He showed her the time. Her heart sank. He was right.
“I’m sorry, your ladyship, but I’m afraid I didn’t plan for anything else tonight.” He paused, and she waited for him to make some kind of suggestive remark as to what they might do to occupy another hour and a half, or however long might satisfy the Queen. But he only looked at her as if waiting for her to make a suggestion. Amazingly, an idea suggested itself. It was something she’d like to do, anyway, and she’d be damned if she’d let this royal annoyance ruin her evening.
“Show me your watch again,” she said, and made a quick calculation. Just enough time. “I have something I’d like to do, and you may join me if you wish. But we have to hurry.” She put her own napkin down and waited for North to pull out her chair, then hurried out of the restaurant, forcing him to move quickly to keep up with her. At the carriage, she told the driver, “Waxwold Theater.”
Chapter Four
North gave her a confused look. “You want to go to a theater?” He lowered his voice. “Your ladyship, I don’t know what things are like in Kingsport, but here in the capital, theaters aren’t the sort of places a lady should visit.”
“I know,” she said. “You’ll have to trust me.” She gave him a half-smile and said nothing more. They shouldn’t miss more than the first couple of minutes, even if the driver was slow. Her companion was certainly slow, if he couldn’t put the name of the theater together with the name of her county. Theater in Aurilien might be nothing more than slapstick farce or an excuse for making sexual jokes, but she and her partner Doyle intended to change that. She leaned against the windowsill and looked out eagerly, waiting for her first glimpse of her theater. She wished she dared jump out of the carriage and run ahead of it, dodging pedestrians and animal waste until she came to the theater door.
And there it was. Oh, it was more beautiful than she’d imagined. It had been nothing but a skeleton four months ago, the last time she’d been able to visit. Now the gray brick, solid edifice extended back behind its gleaming white façade, delicate and dreamlike, which rose a full story higher than the surrounding buildings. Night had fallen while Alison and the Prince were in the restaurant, and in the darkness the light Devices picking out the edges of the marquee were visible as soon as the carriage turned the corner. They sparkled and cast interesting shadows on the ground in front of the theater and across the few passersby, all of whom looked up at the marquee as they passed. The silver-lit letters proclaiming the play was Two Came to Kingsport were even more vivid than she’d imagined. It was beautiful and it was hers and she felt a rush of satisfaction like nothing she’d experienced in the two weeks since Zara North’s summons had interrupted her life.
The carriage pulled up to the curb in front of the brass double doors. Alison hustled the Prince out of the carriage, conscious of the passing time. “Come along, your Highness,” she said, then had to take North’s hand and draw him along after her when he stood gazing up at the marquee.
Alison waved at Francesca, managing the ticket booth, and Francesca grinned when she recognized Alison. “Milady! You’re just in time. It’s almost a full house, but of course your box is empty. If you hurry, you’ll make the curtain.” She gave North an appreciative glance that said she didn’t know who he was, but was happy to take a second look if he’d hold still long enough. North was bewildered enough he didn’t notice. Alison tugged on his hand and led him through the shining brass doors. Oh, it was a beautiful place, her theater.
She led her unwanted companion through the foyer, with its blue carpet and softly upholstered walls—those were Doyle’s idea, and she was grateful now that he’d stood up to her objections—up the shallow winding stairs and down the dimly-lit hall that curved along the back wall of the theater to box 3, her private box and one Doyle was never, ever to sell, on pain of her displeasure. She’d certainly sunk enough of her money into the place that she thought that wasn’t unreasonable. The curtain was rising as they entered, so the box’s light Devices were dimmed to nothing and the six chairs were little more than shadows in the secondhand light from the stage. North took a few steps inside when Alison did and stood still, gaping a little. His confusion had been funny at first, but Alison was tired of it. She pushed him into a chair and whispered, “This is a play. You know what a play is? I’m going to watch and you can, I don’t know, take a nap or something. But don’t talk or I’ll kick you out, whatever the Queen says.”
She’d seen it performed before, back in Kingsport, but this was her theater, her players—Doyle hired them, but she paid the bills—and it was one of her favorite comedies. She forgot all about North until the donkey appeared in scene five and, to her surprise, her laughter harmonized with a man’s deeper chuckle. She glanced over and saw North leaning forward, avidly intent on the stage. He laughed again, harder, with no trace of the studied sensuality he’d displayed at supper, no sign of self-awareness, and for a moment Alison felt a completely unexpected sense of companionship with him. It won’t last, she told herself, and went back to watching the play.
At intermission she stood and stretched, forgetting for the moment that she was elegantly gowned and standing where anyone could see her. Now that the house lights were up, she realized people did see her, and saw her royal companion as well. Zara certainly couldn’t complain about this.
“Is it over?” North asked. She looked down at him and saw an uncharacteristic eagerness in his face.
“This is the intermission. It’s so the audience and the performers can rest for a bit. Use the facilities, get a drink, things like that.”
“I didn’t know theater was like this. I thought it was all people hitting each other with sticks or hopping in and out of other people’s beds.” North did a little stretching of his own. “I think I will use the facilities myself, if you’ll show me where they are. You seem very familiar with—oh, of course. The Waxwold Theater. Are you the owner?”
“Part owner. Davis Doyle and I are partners. He’s the manager—does almost everything around here. But you’ll have to hurry if you don’t want to miss the second act. It’s considered rude to enter after the curtain’s gone up.”
She showed him where to go and decided to refresh herself as long as she was there. North was back in the box when she returned, looking out over the crowd, occasionally nodding to people he recognized. “Why is it I’ve never heard of this place? So many courtiers, so many nobles…it seems very popular.”
“The theater only just opened last month. I wanted to come before the final performance.”
North looked at her in astonishment. “Won’t people want to see it anymore?”
Alison smiled. His unmannered enthusiasm was refreshing. “Yes, but more people will want to see a new play after a while. I can’t remember what they’re doing next. Horatia Virga, I think. No, it’s After the Spring Rains Fall. It’s a tragedy. Doyle said—never mind, the curtain’s going up.”
The second act of Two Came to Kingsport was even funnier than the first, and North laughed until tears ran down his face. He’s a totally different person, Alison thought. I almost like him, if I didn’t know he would revert to type once we’re out of here.
North applauded loudly as the cast took their bows. “This was a wonderful idea,” he said. “I’m actually grateful supper took so little time.”
An idea struck her. “Would you like to meet them? The cast, and the director?”
“We can do that?”
“It’s my theater,” she reminded him with a laugh.
They waited for the crowds to exit, then Alison led him down the back stairs to the rear of the stage. “That was almost a disaster,” she heard Doyle saying in his gruff voice. “If they can’t—Allie!” He turned his back on the stage manager and approached her with his arms outstret
ched.
She embraced him. “I told you not to call me that.”
“Which is why I do it whenever I can. Hello, who’s this? Friend of yours, or a friend of yours?” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.
Alison laughed and shook her head. “Just a friend, Doyle, and you’re embarrassing him. This is, um, Tony…Sutherland,” she said. At the last minute it occurred to her she probably should have consulted North before inventing an identity for him, but her instinct told her he’d enjoy himself more if no one knew his royal identity.
North glanced at her in surprise, but played along. “I loved the show, Mister Doyle,” he said, shaking the man’s hand. “I have to confess I’d never seen a play before, but her ladyship insisted.”
“Glad you came, are you? Always enjoy creating a new theater aficionado. Allie, I’ve got to see to things, but Jerald is here and if you wouldn’t mind…?”
Alison groaned. “Doyle, you owe me a favor.”
“You can subtract it from the two you owe me. Seriously, you’re saving my life.”
Alison sighed and turned to North. “I suppose you get to meet the playwright. Try not to be too overwhelmed by him.”
Before North could ask her to explain herself, she again took his arm and led him around to a short hallway that terminated in a largish room with brick walls painted thickly with white paint, noisy with people talking and laughing. A pair of ratty sofas whose brocade was threadbare in places were occupied by several actors still in costume, including the rear half of the donkey. Two women tossed three lopsided balls back and forth in a complicated pattern. “This is the green room,” Alison told North.
“It’s not green,” he pointed out.
“I know. It’s just where the actors gather offstage. I don’t know why it’s called that. Eve, that was a lovely performance,” she told a woman with a shapely bust and a pert nose, who nodded at Alison but reserved most of her attention for North. North returned her look with a slow once-over of appreciation that annoyed Alison until she realized his interest in Eve meant he wasn’t leering at her.
Servant of the Crown (The Crown of Tremontane Book 1) Page 5
