She might have pointed out that this was something else— along with her bad taste in men— that she'd inherited from her mother, but she could not be bothered to open her lips for anything more than a listless sigh.
The next evening they went to the theatre to hear Jenny Lind perform. Monsieur Reynaux had somehow cadged an invitation to use the box of an elderly dowager duchess who was indisposed. Despite this lucky chance, Lady Charlotte complained that she would much rather have attended the evening of Mrs. Lind's debut earlier that month, since the Royal family had been present at the theatre then.
"Who cares now?" she muttered to her daughter. "Nobody of any account will be there tonight. People only want to be seen at the opening of a performance in the presence of royalty, and after that it's old news. Nothing keeps its sheen very long these days, and this Jenny Lind person was merely a curiosity. I daresay we will have the place to ourselves."
But she was wrong. The theatre was crowded and hot. Mrs. Lind's popularity had not waned after the first few nights of performances, and the "Swedish Nightingale" remained a great attraction.
"Look, mama," Raven clutched her mother's arm in the crush of bodies merging in the foyer of the theatre. "There is Damon!"
"Why on earth would I care that one of your father's bastards is present? I have no interest in that boy."
She sighed, her fingers slipping from her mother's rigid arm. "Of course. I was just taken by surprise to see him here."
Damon had seen her wave, but he knew well enough to stay away from her mother. He looked over, smiled and nodded, but made no move toward them.
"He's grown tall, I see," her mother muttered. "The very image of your despicable father."
Raven nodded, but made no reply. True Deverell's bastards were, naturally, a difficult subject to discuss with her mother. Damon was one of three illegitimate sons. Their father had never distinguished between his children born in or out of wedlock, and that had caused almost as much scandal as the divorce.
"I suppose he has benefitted from a fine university education," Lady Charlotte snapped. "Your father was always generous with his money when it came to his by-blows."
"He is very generous to all of us, mama."
"Except me."
"If you do not mind, I would like to speak with Damon."
"I do mind. It is sixpence each time the box-keeper opens the door for us. You'll come and take your seat now with Monsieur Reynaux and I. Besides, these corridors are filled with unsavory characters selling ginger beer and bottles of stout."
Of course, no expense usually troubled her mother at all, but a mere sixpence could not be spent in this case. So Raven followed her mother, annoyed but having no choice at present. At least the company of Monsieur Reynaux and some champagne would keep Lady Charlotte entertained in the interval, while she slipped away to visit her half-brother.
They entered the box and Raven looked out over the velvet-edged balcony, pondering how much excitement she might cause by leaping from it and landing in somebody's lap below. That might make the season a little less humdrum this year. A few years ago, for a good wager, she would have done it, but in her current mood even that would not have raised her spirits. Besides, she thought dourly, there was not a solitary handsome face among the rows. No lap worth landing upon in the whole of London. They had all deserted her tonight.
As she stood there, contemplating the audience below, a sound caught her attention. A familiar man's voice. She looked around, her gaze scanning the nearby boxes.
And then her pulse jigged sideways.
Hale. In the next box. Seated with a woman. A moderately attractive woman with unfortunate taste in fashion.
Raven dropped heavily to her seat and flicked open her fan with such an angry snap that her mother looked at her. "What ails you, child?"
"I'm not a child." She glared at the stage curtain and fanned herself rapidly. "I'm just...it doesn't matter."
"You are surely not angry because I refused to let you speak with your father's bastard."
No, but she was infuriated by supposedly-proper gentlemen who said they were going into the country when they absolutely were not. Arrogant men who liked to wield their power and put a stop to her fun, by threatening her and telling tales to her mama. A meddler in the lives of other people.
He had accused her of being "a practiced and accomplished flirt" and an "impossible, pampered chit of a girl."
Apparently no one had told him that he was a curmudgeonly old bugger, she thought angrily. Well, the next time she had the opportunity she'd be prepared.
She was quite certain now that her restlessness these past few days— her feeling of discontent with everything and everybody— was Hale's fault.
For the life of her she didn't know why his insults had bothered her so. He was nobody in her opinion, however fine and above reproach he might think himself. In the entire course of her life she had never—
"There's Hale! For pity's sake, he's still in London!" Her mother peered through a small brass set of opera glasses.
Raven cringed in her seat and slowed her fan to what she hoped was a nonchalant pace. "Really? Where?"
"Over in the next box. With the Bosworths and that plain, widowed daughter of theirs. Oh, what is her name?"
"I'm sure I do not know," she managed through gritted teeth. "Nor can I summon even the faintest glimmer of curiosity to know."
"Why, I believe it's Lady Jane Newcombe. Her husband was knighted for services in the war against Bonaparte. He was much older than her, of course, and she's been a widow some years now. Dreadful, mawkish creature. Has a very shifty manner about her. What on earth does she have on her head?"
"I took it to be a dead pigeon." Raven stared ahead, her lips barely moving behind her fan. "Perhaps it’s one Hale shot for her. He strikes me as the sort that has to kill anything wild that dares venture into his line of sight."
"But when I invited Hale to tea, he told us he was returning to his estate." Her mother lowered the opera glasses. "Well, that is odd!"
"I daresay it was the first excuse he could think of," she managed on a tight breath. "We ought to be accustomed to slights, mama. His is nothing new."
You are an impossible, spoiled chit of a girl. I very much doubt you and I could ever be friends, Miss Deverell.
Monsieur Reynaux now became aware of her mother's agitation and looked over at the other box. "That is the Earl of Southerton? A very fine gentleman, so I hear. You 'ave a connection with 'im, n'est-ce pas?"
"Oh, yes." Lady Charlotte replied in one of her loud whispers, "Dear, dear, Hale! He is such a friend. Lent us his carriage only a few days ago and whenever we are at the same ball he refuses to dance with anybody but Raven."
"Un grand honneur!"
"Of course, she is too young and foolish to appreciate it. Thinks she can put her nose in the air and get better than him."
Hale now glanced their way and probably heard every word uttered between her mother and Reynaux.
"Ah, these young girls, eh?" Reynaux looked over at Raven and leered. "They need...chatiment...what is the word?...discipline."
"It is quite impossible to manage her when she listens to her scoundrel father and he puts ideas in her head. She thinks that because he survived by never once bending to any rule, she can do the same."
The Frenchman laughed hard, exhaling a gale of tobacco. Raven winced, turning her head away, flapping her fan faster.
"Young girls are like baton de saule...the sticks of willow," he assured her mother. "Strong, yet supple. Always they can be made to bend."
"I would not advise you to try it," Raven replied swiftly. "I can guarantee your soft parts will bend with greater alacrity than mine."
"Raven, you will dispense with that tone at once and apologize to Monsieur Reynaux!"
"Ah, it is only the high spirits, madam. All young girls should have them, for it makes the entrainement so much more satisfaisant."
Suddenly Raven wished— with a
powerful intensity— that she was in Cornwall with her father and far away from this theatre. She could be riding with him across the sands, enjoying the fresh sea air. That was it! Tomorrow she would send him a letter and suggest that she visit. Her mother would protest, of course, because she expected Raven to spend the busy social season in town with her every year, but she must simply be made to understand.
If her mother didn't want to see her sulking "dark" face looking all "foreign", then she'd let her go. In any case, summer was almost full upon them and then all the upper classes would flee the stench of London to enjoy their country estates. The season would be over then until next spring.
Monsieur Reynaux marveled, "The Earl does not go out much in public, so I 'ave 'eard, but tonight I 'ave sight of 'im at last, mon dieu."
As if the gentleman seated in the next box was a rare beast, near extinction.
Her mother leaned over to whisper angrily, "This is your fault, Raven. Had you smiled and been charming on our carriage ride, Hale would have accepted the invitation to tea."
Now her temper boiled over. "Then I'm glad I didn't smile at him. He wouldn't appreciate one of my smiles anyway. They're not perfect enough. And ... I despise tea!"
The last three words were exhaled in a loud rush that set her mother back in her seat just as the house lights were lowered and the performance began.
Raven swallowed hard, keeping her gaze upon the stage, her fan now gently fluttering under her chin. Although she did not turn her head, she knew, without a doubt, that Hale was watching her. Once again she'd secured his notice, when it was the last thing she wanted.
Or thought she wanted.
* * * *
Her shoulders were bare tonight. A simple string of pearls circled her throat and small mother-of-pearl moons hung from her ears— he saw them because they gleamed each time she moved. Her dark hair was piled up high, held in place somehow. He was too far away to ascertain the method used to keep that heavy weight off her shoulders, but he rather missed the long, curling tail he'd encountered at the Winstanleys' ball, felt disappointed not to see it. Rapidly and greedily he drank in the sight of her, as if she was a rain shower and he a parched landscape.
No, he corrected his thoughts sharply. Raven Deverell was not a rain shower; she was a monsoon.
That gown revealed too much skin, he thought irritably. He imagined he saw her breathing a little fast and heavy. Perhaps she was too warm.
He felt the same.
Suddenly he caught the glimmer of two eyes watching him above her fan. They were more brilliant than the stage lights below.
She blinked, lowered her fan and looked away again. He thought he caught a smirk of victory. Ah, he should have looked away first and not given her the opportunity. Now she thought she had the upper hand. Impertinent little madam.
As if he would ever be tempted to misbehave with a young, flighty woman like her! A woman who, so he'd learned through his discreet inquiries, was a skilled card player and made wagers with lust-addled young men, probably seducing them out of a small fortune at every opportunity. Just the way True Deverell began.
"Like father, like daughter," he'd heard.
Hastily he looked down at the stage and set his hands over his knees to be sure they were still. Taking a deep breath and clearing his throat, he tried to pay greater attention to the performance on stage.
With a solitary wink from the back of a horse she had sought to enchant him. Apparently now she meant to drive him mad and turn him into another of her creatures. That must be her intent. Why else would he not have sight of her for days and then suddenly be rewarded with a glimpse? Very clever.
But she would not claim victory over Hale. He was certainly no pickled, insecure fool like Matthew Bourne, ready to abandon his reputation and sanity for a woman. Or for a naughty girl masquerading in a woman's body.
He pictured her again as she was thirteen years ago, that tattered green ribbon in her hair, trailing through the crowd when he ran after her to retrieve his watch.
Will yew marry me. Yea or nay?
He glanced her way again and caught another teasing glimmer before her wafting fan hid those inquisitive eyes once more.
Raven Deverell may have changed on the outside, he mused, but she was still the same bold, impudent creature within. And he who had once chased her ought to know better by now.
Chapter Eleven
At the interval she excused herself by muttering about the need for cooler air, and slipped out into the corridor. Immediately she saw Hale exiting his own box at the same time, pulling on his greatcoat as if leaving the theatre already. Tonight he wore evening clothes, richly-made, but out-dated. Did he not have a valet to help him, she wondered.
Of course, even if he had one, he would not listen to their advice. He seemed to be of the opinion that he knew everything.
While she expected the man to walk by without acknowledgment, he saw her and slowed his pace. A small voice inside her head then urged Raven to run off, but she decided to stay and speak. She would be mature and somber, without a hint of that smile he had so disdained at the Winstanleys' ball. Let the aggravating fellow criticize her again and be damned. She'd never been afraid of a man in her life, and she would not begin now.
"Back from the country already, your lordship? My mother will be surprised."
He bowed. "Miss Deverell. Good evening to you." His gaze travelled over her hair as if he searched for something. "I changed my plans. I have not yet been home."
Raven was shocked to see a bruise under his right eye and a small cut. Not the sort of injury one generally observed on a gentleman's face. On her own brothers, perhaps— they were often in one scrape or another.
But on Hale, the Earl of Southerton? Most odd.
"My mother was very disappointed when you turned down her offer of tea. She's bound to ask you again, now that she has seen you and knows you stayed in London. So it's my turn to give you fair warning to keep your distance."
He squinted. "Ah."
"And I give you that warning, even though I had earlier decided you could look after yourself where my mother is concerned, and I would wash my hands of it, since you began the acquaintance with her of your own free will." She frowned, closing her fan with a snap. Until she had him there before her again she hadn't realized how much brewed inside, ready to bubble over. Her corset had a hard time holding it all in when he was around. "I know you only offered a ride in your carriage to interfere in my life, but you need not have troubled yourself. Had I known of Matty's impending engagement I would not have caused him any trouble. Whatever you might think of me, I am not so very wicked. Sometimes, sir, one should not believe everything one hears. A great many tales are exaggerated. But you are a man who sits high above us all, seldom comes down among us, and passes judgment without ever bothering to find out the facts of the case."
He drew back slightly and gingerly touched the mark under his eye. "Miss Deverell, I—"
"Are you leaving already, half way through the performance?" It burst out of her in a breathless rush, cutting across his sentence. "You ought to stay for the end." It was days since she'd seen him. Oh, why did that thought come to her like the cruel strike of a whip? What did she care where he went or with whom?
He paused a moment, looking perplexed at the hat in his hands. "Er...yes. I, fear, I cannot stay. Business calls me away."
"That is unfortunate for the lady with you." Perhaps he was always coming and going, she thought. A busy man with no time for entertainment. He had looked rather bored when she spied him in that box.
"Lady Newcombe will understand."
But despite his supposed haste to leave, he made no move now— except to roll the brim of his hat between his fingers.
"Since you are departing, sir, and I may not see you again, I shall come directly to the point."
"There's more?" he muttered.
"Did you pay off my mother's debt to the owner of the landau?"
His gaz
e devoured her hotly.
"Well?" she demanded. "Did you meddle in her affairs too?"
"I do not like to see a lady in distress," he admitted finally.
Raven shook her head. "You must realize that my brother could have done that for her, if he thought it necessary. But he and I are attempting to make our mother manage her money better. A few days of minor discomfort, surviving without a carriage, would do her more benefit than strange men paying her bills. She must be made to see that there are consequences to her improvident spending."
His puzzled gaze focused on her lips and became very intense. "You think about consequences?"
Of course he thought she— a pampered chit of a girl— did not. "I am always attentive to the consequences of my actions."
Apparently deep in thought, he studied her hair again, while his fingers worked continually at the brim of his hat, turning it back and forth.
Raven sighed. "So please do not view my mother as a damsel in distress. If you involve yourself in her troubles you will soon find that rather than ameliorate hers, you have only succeeded in increasing your own."
The hat was finally still. "Does the same warning apply in the case of her daughter?"
"Me? I am never in distress."
"You seem to be now." He solemnly pointed with one finger. "Your face is quite pink with anger and the fire in your eyes suggests vexation. I believe, young lady, you are one foot stomp away from high dudgeon."
"Well, I daresay you know the signs, since you and your pompous manner must be the cause of it for a great many women."
"I quite fail to see how I have earned so much of your anger."
She stared at him in disbelief.
He added, "I caught you in a prank that could have caused you bodily harm."
"And without knowing me at all, you assumed the right to reprimand me."
"I assumed the right to warn you against a liaison that could do neither you, nor Bourne— whom I do know only too well— any possible good." He sighed and looked down at his hat. "The delivery of that warning was, perhaps—"
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