by Sandra Heath
“Thank you, Sir Henry.” Oh, please don’t let him guess how much he was affecting her!
“You should always be clad in such elegant togs, for as I said before, you were fashioned for London, not for the provinces. Such beauty as yours should be displayed to the discerning eyes of gentlemen such as myself, and not to the cloddish glances of inconsequential country squirelings.” There was a continued amusement in his eyes and she did not know if he only teased her or if he meant what he said.
The porter announced that the landau was waiting at the door, and they left the Oxenford, emerging from the warmth of the hotel into the ice-cold February night She sat back on the cool gray velvet seat, glancing out of the small window in the hood. Her borrowed gown felt gossamer light, too flimsy for a winter occasion, but the silver sprigging shone and the satin bows looked frivolous and lighthearted. Renewed excitement swept through her as the carriage drew away from the curb.
Chapter 10
The Italian Opera House, which was also known as the King’s Theater, stood on the corner of the Haymarket and Pall Mall. It was a large, classical building, its base surrounded by an arcade illuminated by beautiful wrought-iron lamps and by the windows of the little shops which formed part of the ground floor. Caroline noticed immediately that this arcade appeared to be the haunt of ladies of dubious character, who openly approached any unattached gentleman alighting from the throng of elegant carriages drawing up outside the opera house.
As Hal’s landau halted at last, Caroline thought fleetingly of her distant home and of Richard Marchand. Selford Village would be so dark and quiet now, the only sound being the moaning of the wind sweeping down over the moor. What would Richard be doing? Would he be seated at his estate ledgers? Or would he be seated comfortably, before the fire reading Captain Flint’s informative treatise on the breeding, training, and management of horses?
She smiled as she gazed out at the glittering scene before her, for no doubt Richard would be poring over Captain Flint again, a pastime he found much more congenial and satisfying than the humdrum of estate ledgers.
But then all thought of Richard Marchand fled from her mind as the carriage door was opened and Hal Seymour’s fingers closed over hers as he handed her down into a night that was loud with the sound of hooves and carriage wheels, of laughter and conversation,
Her first glimpse of the immense auditorium took her breath away, for it was a splendid vista of red and gold. The horseshoe-shaped pit was encircled by tiers of red-curtained boxes, and there was a very large and spectacular chandelier above the gallery, its brilliant light making that part of the opera house very bright indeed.
Everywhere there was the sparkle of jewels and the tremble of ostrich feathers, the subtle shades of dark velvet coats and the flash of military orders upon crimson uniforms. It was a scene never to be forgotten, and as she paused for a moment before taking her seat in the box, she committed every detail to memory, so that for the rest of her life she would be able to recall the breathless excitement of this incredible night.
Looking up toward that area of the auditorium known as the gods, she saw a sea of faces peering down, and she wondered if there would indeed be a disturbance such as there had been the night before. The orchestra was tuning up, the sound almost drowned by the babble of voices, and she leaned forward a little to watch the musicians. Behind them the drop curtain shielding the stage moved a little as someone brushed against it, and she was conscious of a surge of anticipation, for it would not be long now before that curtain rose and the performance began.
Down in the pit, the fashionable young men were on display in their elegant clothes. They lounged gracefully on their seats, affecting to be in the grip of an ennui which was only to be dispelled when an interesting new arrival in one of the boxes required a closer inspection with the aid of their quizzing glasses.
At last Caroline sat down, suddenly realizing that until she did so Hal must remain politely standing. A swift blush warmed her cheeks as she smiled apologetically at him, her borrowed fan wafting busily to and fro before her hot face.
Jennifer, who had obviously attended the opera house on countless previous occasions, was quite uninterested in the magnificence of her surroundings; she was occupied with wondering what had happened to Lord Carstairs, who had yet to join them. Then, barely a minute before the curtain was due to rise, he arrived, explaining that he had been forced to walk due to the crush of carriages. He smiled, bowing lovingly over his bride-to-be’s hand.
Charles, Lord Carstairs, was of medium height and rather slender. His hair was dark, his complexion pale, and his eyes were soft and brown. He dressed fashionably and yet without that effortless elegance which was Hal’s stamp. There was something very appealing and romantic about him and Caroline could well understand how he had won the heart of his vivacious future wife.
He exchanged a friendly greeting with Hal, who then introduced him to Caroline. He smiled warmly as he bowed over her hand and she realized that he knew all about the notorious Lexham will and that he agreed with Jennifer that it was a long overdue lesson for Dominic. As he took his seat next to Jennifer, there was some cheering from the gods, and Caroline turned her full attention upon the brightly lit stage.
Il Ratto di Proserpina was obviously an established favorite, for the audience sang its opening melody, but as the opera progressed, the noise gradually ceased. Caroline enjoyed every moment, for the company gave a creditable performance, and when the final notes were played, there was lengthy and appreciative applause.
It was during the intermission that she first became aware that she was attracting many glances, and that the cause of the interest lay in the presence in the pit of a group of gentlemen who had dined earlier at the Oxenford and who had heard Gaspard Duvall mention her name.
These gentlemen pointed out the intriguing Miss Lexham to their friends, who then spread the interesting information to others, and so on, until the whole auditorium seemed to be aware of her identity. This was bad enough, but then things were made suddenly much worse by the arrival in an opposite box of the new Earl of Lexham himself. He too soon perceived that he was the object of much unwelcome whispering, and when he realized why, his handsome face became cold and angry, his eyes flashing when he looked across at Caroline.
She lowered her eyes, toying with the tassels of her fan, and Hal leaned a little closer to her. “You do not seem to appreciate your newfound glory, Miss Lexham.”
“It is hardly glory, sir, especially when in spite of my cousin’s unpleasant nature, I find myself in sympathy with him.”
Hal looked at her. “I do believe you mean what you say, and that is very much to your credit, but your sympathy is sadly misplaced.”
“He has every right to resent me, for after all, who am I to interfere in his life?”
“You are the new owner of Lexham House, that is who you are, and you must not forget that.”
She smiled a little. “But I am afraid that I will have to forget it, Sir Henry, and soon.”
The second half of the concert began, the curtain rising for The Haunted Tower, which against Caroline’s expectation, proved to be a comedy. She forgot about Dominic for a while as she laughed at the performance, but she was suddenly very rudely reminded of her aristocratic cousin when one of the players, a Mr. Braham, stepped forward to sing a ballad entitled “Come tell me where the maid is found.” Immediately there was an exceedingly loud and raucous shout from the gods. “She’s in the box opposite my lord of Lexham! The one togged in pink!”
This was greeted with a burst of laughter from the audience, and she saw Dominic rise furiously to his feet.
The voice was merciless. “Can’t you see her, my lord earl?”
Caroline felt quite dreadful, the flush returning to her cheeks as she kept her glance lowered. Hal leaned close again, putting his hand reassuringly over hers, but it did little to make her feel better, for the audience was quite set upon bringing the performance to a halt now.
On the stage, the unfortunate Mr. Braham endeavored to continue, but even his splendid voice was drowned by the mirth that followed Dominic’s precipitate departure from his box. The atmosphere of the evening was ruined for the company of singers, but undeterred. Mr. Braham drew himself up for another song, having decided to move on, but his choice proved even more unhappy.
“Slow broke the light,” he began, but he got no further, for at that moment another member of the company knocked over a tall candelabrum, which fell with a clatter. The humor of this coincidence was too much for the audience, which dissolved into delighted laughter. This uproarious mirth was the signal for the unruly elements in the gods to begin pelting the stage with a barrage of orange peel, apple cores, and nutshells. The performance came to an abrupt halt, the curtain beginning to fall, only to become stuck with barely a yard to go, so that only the performers’ feet could be seen.
Caroline had been staring openmouthed at all the mayhem, but the sight of those feet scuttling around behind the curtain was so funny that she too began to laugh, her earlier mortification disappearing completely. Tears streamed down her cheeks as the curtain gave a shudder and then collapsed completely, trapping the hapless Mr. Braham, who struggled valiantly beneath it, arms waving feebly under the considerable weight.
Jennifer and Lord Carstairs were helpless with laughter, Jennifer holding her aching sides. Hal rose to his feet, trying to hide his own mirth. “Eh bien, mes enfants,” he said. “I think it time we removed ourselves from his unseemly melee.”
Still laughing, they emerged at last from the opera house, and were soon being conveyed back to the Oxenford. There, Jennifer and Lord Carstairs elected to enjoy one of the suppers for which Gaspard Duvall was becoming famous, but Caroline was too excited to even begin to think of eating. She smiled a little apologetically. “I fear I would not be able to do justice to a supper, Miss Seymour, and so will retire to my bed instead.”
“Oh, what a shame,” replied Jennifer disappointedly. “But maybe there will be another time.”
“I do hope so. Thank you all so much for this evening. I truly enjoyed it.”
Jennifer smiled. “As we enjoyed your company, Miss Lexham, Perhaps you and I could spend tomorrow morning together?”
“Tomorrow morning I am to go to Lexham House with Mr. Jordan.”
“Perhaps the afternoon instead?”
Caroline smiled. “That would be most agreeable and I shall look forward to it. Good night, Miss Seymour. Lord Carstairs.” She was about to say her farewell to Hal too when he smiled at her and offered her his arm once more.
“I will escort you to your apartment, Miss Lexham.”
“There is no need, Sir Henry,” she began, but he would not hear of anything else.
Jennifer was anxious to go into the dining room. “Shall we order for you, Hal?”
“No, not tonight, Jennifer, for I shall not be able to join you.”
A swift anxiety came into his sister’s eyes. “Why?”
He hesitated. “I have to see someone.”
There was no mistaking Jennifer’s alarm. “Hal?”
He drew her hand gently to his lips. “There is no need for you to worry, my dearest, I promise you,”
Her fingers closed over his. “You do promise it, don’t you?”
He smiled. “Yes.”
Caroline watched this little exchange in surprise, remembering Jennifer’s reference earlier to the danger in which Hal involved himself and remembering too the rumors of which Mr. Jordan had spoken. The realization that Hal was not joining them because he had an appointment to see someone had caused Jennifer too much anxiety, and Caroline could only wonder if perhaps there was some truth in Mr. Jordan’s rumors after all; perhaps Hal Seymour was involved in matters of the gravest national importance.
She and Hal left Jennifer and Lord Carstairs then, and Hal walked with her to the door of her apartment, but he did not leave her immediately.
“Miss Lexham, you spoke earlier of having to soon forget your inheritance.”
“Yes.”
“My advice to you is that you consider very carefully indeed before coming to any decision.”
“That is also Mr. Jordan’s advice, Sir Henry, but even though I would dearly like to keep the house, I really don’t think there is any way in which I may do so. My uncle’s conditions are really intended to prevent me from any permanent enjoyment of my inheritance.”
“Thwart his intentions and you would be a very wealthy woman.”
“I know.”
“And so you will instead merely return to Selford, and the dull, frustrating existence you have just escaped from?”
She looked away. “Yes.”
He put his hand to her chin and turned her face toward him again. “Will such a life suit you ever again?”
“It will have to, Sir Henry.”
He smiled a little wryly. “Selford will never satisfy you again, Caro Lexham, for you have tasted London now. I watched you when first you looked out on the streets of this city, and I watched you tonight at the opera house. I told you earlier that you were fashioned for London, and never have I said anything truer. You came home today, which I believe you realize only too well.”
She lowered her eyes, very conscious of how close he was and how warm his fingers were against her skin. “And if you are right,” she said at last, “what good will it do me to acknowledge my happiness here? I may be fashioned for London, but fate intends me to live my days in Selford.”
“Does it?” he murmured, searching her gray eyes.
“Yes, Sir Henry, it does.”
For a moment longer he continued to look at her, then he lowered his hand. She sensed a subtle change in him, a withdrawal which was as tangible as it was inexplicable.
“Perhaps you are right,” he said then, taking out his fob watch and flicking it open. “I fear I must leave you now, Miss Lexham, but no doubt we will encounter each other again before you depart. Good night.” He inclined his head in a way that could only be described as cool, and then he left her.
Her eyes filled with tears. “Good night, Sir Henry,” she whispered after him. Why had he changed? Had she said something wrong? If she had, she did not know in what way she was guilty, which made his abrupt withdrawal all the more hurtful. And yet what did she expect of him? He was kind and courteous toward her when the occasion demanded it; he had treated her most cordially and with consideration. He conducted himself in a perfectly gentlemanly way toward a woman who meant nothing to him, but who had been thrust into his company.
She watched him walk away, and a tear wended its slow way down her cheek. She meant nothing to him, but he meant everything to her, for tonight she knew that she had fallen in love with him.
Chapter 11
Sleep proved elusive that night, for she had too much on her mind and there seemed to be so many different sounds to disturb the silence of her bedchamber. Outside there was a constant rattle of carriages passing along Piccadilly, while inside there were the noises of the hotel itself, from the distant clatter of plates in the basement kitchens to the soft, hurrying footsteps of a pageboy conveying a late order to a nearby apartment. She heard a group of noisy, rather tipsy gentlemen returning from a successful night at a gaming club, and she heard a woman’s low, teasing laugh as she spurned the hopeful advances of the gallant who had escorted her to her door.
Caroline lay there, gazing up at the shadowy patterns on the canopy of the bed, and it seemed that sleep would never come, but come it did, for she was awoken at dawn by the low humming of the bootblack as he collected the footwear left outside the door of a gentleman who was temporarily without the services of his valet.
For a moment she forgot where she was, but then she remembered everything and sat up, shivering a little as she slipped from the bed and her bare feet touched the cold floor. Her breath stood out in a silvery cloud as she went to the window, flinging back the heavy curtains and unfastening the shutters.
Outside everything was frozen. The eastern sky was a pale primrose and a low mist clung beneath the trees of Green Park. There were lamps burning in the windows of a nearby house, and wisps of smoke rose from its chimneys. She knew that the Oxenford possessed gardens at the rear, and on impulse she decided to walk in them while everything was deserted and quiet.
She donned her gray woolen gown and mantle, pulling a face as she looked at her reflection in the cheval glass this morning. She was herself again; gone was the fine London lady of the previous evening. She had done her best with her travel-worn clothes when putting them away, but somehow they still looked in dire need of laundering.
She had not dared to call upon the services of the Oxenford, first because she did not possess an abundance of money with which to reward such labors, and second because she shrank from sending such lowly garments to servants accustomed to handling the clothes of the wealthy. She could well imagine the disdain with which her poor mantle would have been received, and so she had endeavored to do what she could herself, but it had been to little effect. With a resigned smile, she twisted her hair up into a tidy knot, put on her bonnet, and tied the ribbons firmly beneath her chin.
She encountered no one as she slipped down through the hotel, and she soon found her way out into the gardens, where the bitter cold caught her breath. The mist had frozen the trees, which loomed frosty and white in the dawn light. As she strolled along a path, she noticed the snowdrops on the lawn, and beneath a hedge the waxy blooms of the last of the Christmas roses.
Beyond the confines of the garden, London was beginning to stir. She heard a milkmaid calling in the mews lane, and a boy selling freshly made toffee began to shout his wares at the top of his lungs. In the distance a church bell began to ring, followed by another and then another until the air seemed to vibrate with the noise. Never before had she heard so many, for she was used to the gentler tones of Selford church’s solitary toll.