She laughed again. "I was not fishing for a compliment," she said. "Of course, if you wish to pay me one anyway…" "With a smile on your lips and in your eyes," he said, "and clothed in that particular shade of green, you look like a piece of the springtime, Vanessa." "Oh, well done," she said. "Are you about to add that so does every other lady present?" "Not at all," he said. "No one else does. Only you. And springtime is everyone's favorite season, you know." Her smile faded slightly and for a moment she felt a desperate yearning for she knew not what. "Is it?" she said softly. "Why?" "The renewal of life and energy, I suppose," he said. "The renewal of hope. The promise of a bright future." "Oh." She was not sure she made any sound. Was it a compliment? But of course it was. Had he meant by it all she dreamed he meant? Or had he merely found a deft way of avoiding telling her quite bluntly that no, indeed, she was not as lovely as her three companions?

Their eyes locked and he opened his mouth to speak again. "Oh, I say," Stephen said suddenly, sounding as exuberant as he had looked since the moment of their arrival at the theater, "there is Cousin Constantine." /"Where?" /Katherine and Cecily asked together.

Stephen indicated a box almost directly across from theirs, and Vanessa looked and saw that sure enough, there was Constantine Huxtable with a party of ladies and gentlemen. He had seen them too and was smiling and raising a hand in greeting as he tipped his head side-ways to listen to something the lady next to him was saying. She too was looking across to their box.

Vanessa waved back with her fan hand, smiling brightly. "It is to London he came, then," she said to Elliott. "He is accepted here?" "Although he is illegitimate?" he said. "But of course. He is the son of a former Earl and Countess of Merton and was raised as such. There is no real stigma on his name. It was just that legally he could not enjoy the privileges of the eldest son." "Does he have any money?" she asked. "I mean did he inherit anything?" "His father provided for him," he said. "Not lavishly, but adequately." "That is a relief to know," she said. "I did wonder, especially after we arrived at Warren Hall and effectively turned him out of his home." "Con will always find a way of looking after himself," he said, both his eyes and his voice hardening. "You must not worry about him, Vanessa. Or pay him too much attention." "He /is /our cousin," she said. "A relationship that is best forgotten," he assured her. "And /he /is best ignored." She frowned at him. "But unless you give me a good reason," she said, "you cannot expect me to ignore him just because you hate him. I do not believe there /is /a good reason." He raised his eyebrows, his eyes still cold. But at that very moment a sudden hush descended on the theater. The play was about to begin.

Vanessa's mood had taken a downward turn. She was very much afraid that the evening had been at least partially ruined. Her hand was still on Elliott's arm, and his hand still covered it, but there was no real warmth in either and she wondered if it had been a move designed for the benefit of the audience rather than a spontaneous gesture of affection.

She glanced at Margaret, who was smiling, her attention already fixed upon the stage. She had scarcely stopped smiling since her arrival in London. The expression was like a mask. Vanessa could only imagine what lay behind it. Meg was studiously avoiding all personal conversation.

And then the play began.

And all else was forgotten.

There were only the actors and the action and the play.

Vanessa leaned forward in her seat, unaware of either her surroundings or her companions, unaware of the arm she gripped a little more tightly, unaware that her husband beside her watched her almost as much as he did the performance.

It was only later, when the interval began, that she leaned back in her chair and sighed. "Oh," she said, "have you ever seen anything more wonderful in your life?" It was clear that four of her companions had not. They were all eager to talk, to exchange impressions, their voices bright with enthusiasm. Even Meg's smile looked genuine. "I suppose," Vanessa said, turning to Elliott, who had not joined in the hubbub, "you have seen a thousand performances just like this and have become quite jaded." "One never becomes jaded by good theater," he said. "And is this good?" Katherine asked. "It is," he said. "And I agree with everything that has been said during the past minute. If you wish, we may all step outside the box to stretch our legs before the next act begins." The corridor outside was crowded and noisy as people greeted one another and commented upon the performance.

Elliott introduced his party to a few of his acquaintances, and Vanessa was gratified to note the interest with which everyone greeted Stephen as soon as they knew who he was. Even in such a glittering setting he looked bright and golden and handsome, she thought fondly - and very youthful. More than a few ladies stole second and even third glances at him.

And then Constantine appeared among the throng. He must have circled half about the theater with the express purpose of greeting them. He had on his arm the lady who had been sitting beside him in his box. She was extremely lovely, Vanessa noticed with interest. She had shining blond hair and a figure to rival even Meg's. "Ah, cousins," Constantine said when he was close enough to make himself heard. "Well met." They all exclaimed with delight - except Elliott, of course, who made a stiff halfbow.

Cecily squealed with delight and caught his free arm and clung to it. /"Con!" /she cried. "Is this not /wonderful /? I am /so /happy you are here. You must not forget my come-out ball tomorrow evening. You promised me a set." "I believe, Cece," he said, "it was /I /who begged /you /for a set. I will hold you to your promise to reserve one for me, though. Doubtless you will be swarmed by young cubs when the time comes. And so will my cousin Katherine." He grinned at Kate and even winked. "Lady Lyngate, Miss Huxtable, Miss Katherine Huxtable, Miss Wallace, Merton," Constantine continued, "may I have the pleasure of introducing Mrs. Bromley-Hayes to you? I believe you and the lady have an acquaintance already, Elliott." There was an exchange of bows and curtsies and polite greetings. She was a married lady, then, Vanessa thought. Or perhaps a widow. She and Constantine made an extraordinarily handsome couple. "My congratulations to you, Lord Merton," the lady said, "on your recent inheritance. And to you, Lord and Lady Lyngate, on your recent marriage.

I wish you all the happiness you deserve." She had a low, musical voice. She was smiling at Elliott and wafting a fan languidly before her face. It must be very pleasurable, Vanessa thought, to be that beautiful. "I say," Stephen said, "have you ever seen a more impressive performance than this?" They talked about the play until it was time to return to their respective boxes.

Elliott did not take her hand again, Vanessa noticed. His eyes were like flint, and his jaw was hard set. He drummed his fingers slowly on the velvet armrest of the box. "What were we expected to do?" she asked him softly. "Ignore our own cousin when he was civil enough to come around to greet us?" He turned his eyes on her. "I have not uttered one word of reproach," he told her. "You do not need to," she said, unfurling her fan and cooling her face with it. "You look thoroughly bad-tempered. Whatever would Mrs.

Bromley-Hayes have thought if we had given them the cut direct?" "I would not know," he said. "I am not privy to the lady's thoughts." "Is she a widow?" she asked him. "She is," he said. "But it is quite unexceptionable, you know, for married ladies to be escorted to social events by gentlemen who are not their husbands." "Is it?" she said. "Must I cultivate the acquaintance of some obliging gentleman, then, so that you may be saved the bother of taking me to the museum and Gunter's and the theater and other places?" "Who said it was a bother?" He removed his hand from the armrest and turned to her. He set her hand on his sleeve again and patted it with his own. "Are you trying to provoke me into a quarrel, by any chance?" "I prefer your irritability to your coldness," she said, and smiled at him. "And I have only the two moods, do I?" he asked her. "Poor Vanessa.