“Yes it would. If it occurred. But men are creatures who know their own minds, and if he were interested he would have made his intentions known by now.”
The thought made me hesitate. I had known him essentially all my life. Now eighteen, I had been considered eligible for nearly two years. Surely that was plenty of time to demonstrate interest.
Yet, with William, one could never tell. He rarely showed his true feelings to anyone. Not to mention the formality of my Season. Perhaps he had merely been waiting until I was officially “out” to declare his intentions, as was the custom.
Thoughts of him calling me a child mingled with memories of his teasing. Of the way he had lain next to me in the snow and stared into my eyes.
Did I affect him the way he affected me?
Did he . . . love me in return?
“Take my advice,” Mama said. “Let William go. Walk your own path and pursue the Duke of Allerton. You will find more happiness with him, I am sure of it.” Mama stood and stroked my hair for a moment. Then she turned and left.
Happiness.
To find happiness was a choice, I knew that—but what did I want to choose? William, with his silly poems, endless teasing, and supernatural ability to make me laugh? Or the Duke of Allerton with his shy smiles, sincere compliments, and handsome face?
With his broad shoulders and temperate disposition, no woman could dread being attached to the duke. Allerton had a title, a substantial fortune, and a marked interest in me if Lady Iris’s observations held true. He was the kind of man I’d always dreamed of marrying. By all accounts, he should’ve been my mysterious suitor, waiting in the wings to sweep me off my feet. It should’ve been his face that I saw.
But it wasn’t. And he did not hold my heart.
Mama wanted a duchess for a daughter, but I found my ambitions to be much simpler. A comfortable home, a few children, and a best friend to share my life with. And I had only one best friend.
Perhaps I should choose the duke. Perhaps we could find happiness together. Perhaps William wasn’t interested and never had been.
Either way, it didn’t matter. Interested or no, I had to know the truth about how William felt about me, once and for all. I had to know before I could make a decision of any kind.
I had to confess.
Chapter 11
The King’s Theatre bustled with activity in and around its arched column doorways. Men in their frippery escorted women draped in silks, feathers, beads, and flowers, promenading in to see the most elaborate performance England had to offer high society. The air was ripe with rose perfume and rumbles of excitement.
I gripped my ivory chiffon dress as William helped me down from the carriage and led me into the mass of bodies. Mrs. Burbank had fallen ill and had been unable to chaperone, so despite the frigid temperatures, William had picked me up in an open carriage in an attempt to maintain some level of propriety.
Once we had shown our passes to the ushers, a waiting man escorted us up a flight of stairs and into our box. After he bowed and left, William said, “The opera is in Italian, and the programs help you better understand what is going on. Shall I fetch some?”
I smiled gratefully before I nodded and sat. William disappeared across the room, where lines of men stood for programs, refreshments, and other conveniences like opera glasses and fans.
I gnawed on my inner cheek as I wrung my hands in my lap, heart skittering too fast to keep a consistent beat. Tonight I would tell William I loved him. Stomach like lead and nerves wound tighter than a clock, I’d bided my time through the whole ride to the opera, opting to wait until the night ended to make my confession—oh, but it was proving to be torture.
My mind couldn’t stop agonizing over minutiae like perfect wording, the right tone inflection, the precise moment, and William’s reaction. Everything else I could at least partially control, but William’s reaction . . . that part, I could only guess at. My guesses varied from declaring his reciprocated feelings, to laughing it away, to kissing me fervently.
Oh yes, the kissing. That outcome I liked to imagine most.
Four other plush chairs sat in Box 19, awaiting the rest of our company. I looked beyond the box, out into where crowds of best-dressed people oozed in through the entrances and endeavored to find their seats in the low light.
Rows upon rows of seats filled the vast room, tapering until they reached an orchestra in front of a curtain-shrouded stage. High above, a circle of ornate plaster encased a painted ceiling of clouds and cherubs. Along the perimeter of the room lined ranks of boxes—three stories high—forming an incomplete oval.
My mouth opened as I took in the grandiose candlesticks and golden trimmed drapes. I hardly noticed Lady Iris glide into the box until she seated herself beside me.
“Why, good evening, Eliza,” she said.
I bristled at the informal greeting. “Good evening.”
Lady Iris looked exquisite in a light blue dress, adorned with flowers at its bodice and hem. She wore a silk shawl, as well as gloves so long they nearly reached her striped sleeves. She held her chin high, as if she knew she cut a beautiful figure, and didn’t mind the attention.
“No escort tonight?” she asked, clucking her tongue. “What would your mother say?”
“William is off to obtain programs.”
“Ah . . . And I was about to applaud you for being so independent. It would have made you much more interesting, to be sure. I myself have arrived unchaperoned.”
“Could you not find one?”
One of her eyebrows cocked, her eyes hardening ever so slightly. I resisted the urge to smile.
“I assure you,” she said, “I have throngs of admirers at my disposal. I only relish my self-reliance.”
That, I could believe.
Just then, Allerton breezed past our box, and then came back, poking his head in. My, he looked handsome tonight, dressed in a deep crimson tailcoat that accentuated his embroidered waistcoat.
“Here you are,” he said, taking in Lady Iris before his eyes settled and lingered on me. He stepped into the box and bowed to both of us. “Miss Wycliffe, Lady Iris.”
Lady Iris stiffened beside me. Though Lady Iris outranked me, Allerton had addressed me first—something his breeding guaranteed wasn’t a slip of the tongue. My face colored at the unspoken compliment.
After we exchanged pleasantries, he said, “I have not been to the opera in such a long time. I had quite forgotten how the seats were arranged.”
“Yes, here we are,” Lady Iris said. “But it is only moments away, and we are without refreshment!” She waved her hand in the air. “Oh Allerton, do be a dear and fetch us some lemonade. I find I am quite thirsty.”
The duke’s brows shot up, obviously taken aback by her informal address.
Lady Iris seemed to notice she had crossed a line, for she added sweetly, “Please, Your Grace?”
Then surprisingly, he looked to me in question, almost as if one word—one look—from me, and he would refuse. As if he was my escort, and didn’t wish to leave me alone.
I shifted in my seat, uncomfortable with the attention. “Yes, lemonade sounds heavenly.” He inclined his head with a small smile, before scooting back out of the box.
Lady Iris smirked. “For being a duke, he is awfully receptive to commands.”
I turned back to Lady Iris, perturbed. “I never did tell you how unfair it was of you—sending His Grace over at Lady Prima’s tea party in order to win the wager. You cheated.”
She laughed, smoothing her gloved hands. “Oh my dear, he would have sought you out with or without my help. I was only speeding up the process.”
“And how could you know that?”
Her laugh tightened into a wicked smile. “I think you underestimate your allurements. And men are such poor creatures. So easy to read, if you know what to look for.”
There was a brief pause, and then I couldn’t help but mutter, “Not William.”
She shrugged. �
�He is more difficult than most, to be sure, but even William has his tells.”
“What I would give for your astuteness, Lady Iris.”
Her fingertips grazed my shoulder. “But you must call me Iris. We are friends now, if you remember.”
I grimaced inside. With everyone around her, she acted so familiar, so . . . subtly superior. It grated on me. I noticed His Grace standing among the crowd at the refreshment table.
Lady Iris leaned in with a knowing smile, whispering. “How reserved he is—so sincere and full of goodness. There is something very . . . seductive about it, don’t you think?”
“Lady Iris—”
“Just Iris, my dear.”
“You mustn’t say such things about a man. It is indecent.”
“Ah, but I live for the unconventional.”
Then Iris’s eyes slid over to William, who stood in the long line for programs. His head knocked back, exposing his neck while he looked around the room with a blank expression. Even when bereft of a smile, William stood out. His dark blond hair glinted like the sun, his hazel eyes blowing a breeze across everything they touched.
“I daresay the same cannot be said of William,” Iris observed. “Not a drop of sincerity in the man. Though there is something about him that magnetizes everyone to him.”
I knew what she meant. And I felt the pull of him, perhaps stronger than anyone.
“Even you?” I asked.
Her chin lifted. “I hold affection for no man. Though if I were to choose someone, I think I would pick Allerton. His quiet nature would suit my tastes, I should think, and I wouldn’t mind if he adored me completely.”
Distaste coiled inside my gut. “You speak of men as if they are things.”
Her voice took on a bland quality. “Well they are, my dear. Deliciously handsome things, and a means to an end.” Her face screwed. “Men are deemed to be the smarter sex—to be the wiser ones who should rule the home, the country, and the world—but it is not so. Men are simple. And I have found that, with the right words and a kiss here and there, they will do exactly as you tell them.” Her gaze returned to mine. “Just like things.”
It felt so wrong—so cynical—to view the world like that, in terms of power. I thought back to how she had sent the duke on an errand, and wondered briefly if that was the sole reason why she had done it. To prove that she could.
Lady Iris tilted her head in William’s direction. “I remember when he did that to me, you know.”
A woman neared William and lingered, flashing a coy smile. He seemed happy to oblige, grinning at her and kissing her gloved hand.
“How thrilling it was!” Iris continued as I tore my eyes away. “For he is not as simple as most—and if there is one thing William knows how to do, it is to flirt. Heaven knows most of us are helpless in his presence. Yes, he looked at me like that all the time. Or at least, before he and I . . .” Her eyes settled on me in a look that was supposed to seem innocent, but had the opposite effect. “Oh, that is right. You lost the wager and still do not know the story. Ah well.”
“Could you not tell me anyway? After all, we are friends now . . .”
She threw her head back and laughed. “How entertaining you are, Miss Wycliffe. And a quick learner, too! I am pleased to see you are making progress, but I think you have chosen the wrong specimen to practice on. As you have stated yourself, I am quite astute—and as I have stated, I divulge nothing for free.”
There was a moment of silence, before she suddenly said, “Tell you what. I will make you another wager. If you win, I shall tell you all there is to know concerning William and I. And if you lose . . . you must confess your feelings to William this very night.”
My lips parted. “Confess?” I said in a small voice, hands twitching in my lap. “I have nothing to—”
“Please, save your denial. Men are not the only creatures that are easy to read.”
I swallowed nervously, hating the way my face reddened and betrayed me further. “And what have you to gain by my confession?”
“Nothing, my dear, beyond the knowledge that I am helping a friend face her feelings. And the entertainment I shall derive from such an intimate moment being made public.” My nostrils flared, but without waiting for me to accept she said, “I will wager that William will attempt to hold your hand, sometime during the performance.”
As if William had reached for it right then, my hand shook. “Lady Iris, whatever it is you have imagined between William and I—”
“I have imagined nothing. I base my wager on what I have observed from both you and him.”
“Then you are mistaken. William would never do such a thing.” My eyes strayed to him, now second in line, then swung back. “He would never.” Not with me.
Lady Iris lifted one shoulder with an unconcerned smile. “Then you have nothing to lose.”
That gave me pause. The last time I hadn’t believed her predictions, I had lost the wager. Whether or not I believed her, she was sharper than I gave her credit for. I should heed what she said; take her observations for what they were worth.
Still, hold my hand? William had never attempted something so intimate.
Then again . . . even if I lost, the price was confessing—which I had already made up my mind to do tonight. Lady Iris would actually be helping me in that case, ensuring I followed through. With either outcome, I had something to gain.
“Do we have an accord?” Lady Iris repeated.
“I agree to your terms.”
Lady Iris smiled again, nodding once in approval. Just then, Allerton returned with our lemonade, with Lady Prima on his arm. While he passed the crystal to us, Lady Prima prattled.
“There you are, Iris. I say, did you see Lord Morley in Box 16 over there? He’s with Lord Stanton’s daughter. Scandalous! Why just last week she—I really shouldn’t tell you as I’m not one to gossip, but you ought to know her character so you may avoid her in the future. Just last week she left Gullivan’s Boutique with not one, but two Scotsman on her heels. In broad daylight! Quite an airheaded girl, if ever I saw one. Good fashion sense, but airheaded all the same.” Lady Prima’s eyes travelled to me. “Miss Wycliffe, what a pleasure! I did not know you enjoyed the opera.”
“I confess I have never been, but I do plan to enjoy it.”
Lady Prima shot Allerton and Iris knowing smiles. “The opera, or . . . the occupants?” She waggled her eyebrows and pointed to the opera glass sitting in my lap, next to my lemonade. “I see you have come prepared.” She fished her own opera glass out from some unseen pocket. “So have I. Rest assured, Miss Wycliffe. I shall rally to your cause, and we shall have several more prospects before the night is through.”
Pink splashed my cheeks.
“Something tells me none of them shall measure up to the man she is hoping for.” Lady Iris’s offhanded comment didn’t garner as much notice as I thought it would. It was a reminder of our wager—of my impending confession, if I lost—meant for my ears only.
“Miss Wycliffe, you aren’t going to drink that, are you? I wouldn’t ask except I am rather parched.” Lady Prima ogled my lemonade with hungry eyes.
“No, not at all.” I passed her the cup. She downed the contents in two swallows, emitting a satisfied sigh afterwards.
“Much better. Now the only thing I am in need of is—oh there you are, Bentley! Now I am complete.”
At last, William had returned. Around the room candles fizzled out and the rumble of the theater died, signaling that the opera was about to start. William had had enough foresight to obtain enough programs for the whole group, and once he finished passing them around, he plunked into the chair next to me.
“What kept you?” I asked.
“Dashed lines,” he said under his breath.
“Ooh!” Lady Prima squealed as the curtain to the stage pulled apart. “I can hardly wait. They say Miss Thoreau is in this one, and last time I saw her it was absolutely—”
The people in the adjacen
t boxes sent shushes our way. I smiled at the flummoxed look on Lady Prima’s face, but she hushed, and for that I was grateful.
A couple stood center stage in elaborate 16th century costumes, singing to each other as the opening scene unfolded. I was so fascinated, I didn’t feel William lean over until he was whispering in my ear.
“Did I tell you that you look lovely tonight?”
My eyes flicked over to him. I had taken special care with my appearance tonight—from the pearls woven through my hair, to the delicate silk slippers embroidered with butterflies. We were toward the back of the box, so I wasn’t worried about any of our party overhearing our quiet conversation. But I was worried that the whole theater could hear the blood rushing to my face.
I will wager you that he will attempt to hold your hand.
With the look on his face, it wasn’t so unbelievable anymore. It is a mask, Eliza. Just a mask. Another lesson in flirting.
“No, you did not.”
He stared at me a moment longer, a quiet smile upon his lips. “Then I shan’t. Wouldn’t want you to get a big head.” He tapped my nose in a gesture so like Peter, I had to keep from wincing. Peter was a brother. William could never be. “You are growing up, ‘Liza.”
My stomach twisted painfully.
He had just turned back to the performance when I called his attention back, by whispering, “Though there was a time when I was just the scrawny girl following you and Peter on adventures, that time has passed. I am not so little anymore.” The soprano’s voice scaled higher and higher, but I didn’t look away and neither did he. “I am not growing up, William. I am already grown.”
I looked back to the stage, forcing myself to concentrate on the townspeople singing a medley with the young girl. And not on William’s gaze, boring into the side of my face. Studying. For a long while.
A hot blush clawed its way up my neck. How wrong Iris was! To reach for my hand? William was incapable of initiating such a romantic, intimate gesture. At least with me—someone who he deemed too young, naïve, and sisterly. The idea hadn’t even entered his head.
A Lord of Many Masks (Wycliffe Family Book 2) Page 10