He almost smiled back, but scores of eyes were boring into him from all directions, near and far, and if he did not look back into those eyes soon, he would not do it at all, and some infernal gossip writer would take note of the fact and discern his discomfort and interpret it as shame.
He would not enjoy that – chiefly because he did not /feel/ ashamed. Never had and never would.
He had had the forethought to arm himself with a quizzing glass before leaving the house – a fashion accessory he did not normally affect.
Indeed, Smith had had to go searching around in numerous drawers before finding one. He lifted it to his eye now and looked slowly about the theater – up at the tiered boxes, down to the pit, which was occupied almost exclusively by gentlemen, one or two of whom waved cheerfully up at him.
A few people looked boldly back at him from the boxes. Far more, though, turned away and pretended to be quite unaware of his very existence. "You ought to be warned," Miss Huxtable said at just the moment when the warning became unnecessary, "that Mrs. Pennethorne is seated in a box almost directly opposite and above us. Elliott has identified the gentleman beside her as Mr. Pennethorne and the gentleman directly behind her as Mr. Turner, her brother." Laura's husband, no less.
They were all looking back at him, Duncan saw as he lowered his glass and made a slight inclination of the head in their direction. Good God, no wonder there had been such a buzz when he stepped into Moreland's box. Caroline had not changed in any noticeable way in five years. She was looking as sweetly pretty and delicate as ever. Norman was surely larger in girth, but he looked as prosy a bore as he had ever looked.
And he still liked to risk the health of his eyeballs with the height and sharpness of the points of his starched shirt collar. Randolph Turner was looking as if someone had drained all the blood from his handsome blond head.
Was he wondering, perhaps, if the /ton/ would expect him to slap a glove in Lord Sheringford's face and proceed to put a bullet between his eyes from twenty paces on some chilly dawn heath? /That/ would be enough to send all his blood pooling in his feet.
None of the three of them acknowledged his nod.
Then the buzz of conversation changed subtly. The play was about to begin. "One might almost believe, Miss Huxtable," Duncan said, dropping his quizzing glass on its black ribbon and taking her hand to set on his shirt cuff, then holding it there with his other hand, "that you had orchestrated the whole thing. It is a marvelous piece of theater in itself, is it not?" She laughed. "That would have been very clever of me," she said. "Do you admire Mr. Goldsmith's plays?" "I shall answer the question after viewing the performance," he said.
But he could not concentrate upon it. He was very aware of the warmth of her hand, the slim length of her fingers, the perfect oval of her short-cut nails. And he was aware that she was a woman of great physical attractions, and that he was definitely attracted – physically, that was.
Bedding her would be no hardship at all, if they ever married.
He was aware of her family sitting very close and watching in silence – though whether it was him or the play that they watched, he did not know since they were all behind him.
And he was fully aware that those who were in attendance tonight would have far more interesting things to discuss tomorrow than the caliber of the performance that was proceeding on the stage. /Would/ Randolph Turner finally defend his honor and challenge him to a duel now that he had dared show his face in London?
Even though duels were /illegal/?
Sound swelled as the first act came to an end and the intermission began. "Is the performance better than you expected, Meg?" the duchess asked, leaning forward in her chair. "She believes, Lord Sheringford, that she prefers to /read/ plays rather than watch them performed." "It is because we grew up in the country," Lady Montford explained, "where there were far more opportunities to read than to watch a performance." "The characters on stage almost never look quite as I imagined them," Miss Huxtable said. "And the dialogue is never quite as sprightly. On the whole I prefer to bring my imagination to bear upon literature rather than my eyes and ears." "But this is an unusually fine performance," Merton said. "Tell me, Meg," Monty said, winking at Duncan. "Would you rather read a musical score than listen to a symphony?" "That is a different matter altogether," she told him with a smile. "Not really," Moreland said. "A play is written to be seen and heard, not read, Margaret." "But I would say," Duncan said, "that anything that is written in any form for the purpose of entertaining an audience may be enjoyed in any manner each individual finds most entertaining." "Oh, what a very diplomatic answer," Lady Montford said, clapping her hands. "I must remember that the next time you decide to tease Meg about her preferences, Jasper." "Shall we go for a stroll outside the box?" he suggested, getting to his feet and offering an arm to his wife. "Would anyone care to join us?" He looked deliberately at Duncan.
Merton and Moreland and his duchess were already on their feet. "We will remain here," Miss Huxtable said, and a few moments later they were alone together in the box. "You are showing a small degree of mercy on me, are you, Miss Huxtable?" Duncan asked. "Or on yourself? Do you enjoy the notoriety you have courted by inviting me here this evening?" "It is a notoriety I brought upon myself the moment I gave in to temptation and introduced you to Crispin Dew as my betrothed," she said. "Though the word /notoriety/ suggests the existence of some wrongdoing.
I have done nothing wrong – except to tell that lie." "Which," he said, "will soon turn out not to be a lie after all." "/Will/?" she said. "You are very confident, my lord." "What will happen to you," he asked her, "if you do not marry me?" She was the sort of woman, he thought, who could wear any color and look as if that was the color she ought always to wear. Tonight it was a netted silver tunic over turquoise silk. She was the sort of woman who would look beautiful even when her dark hair began to turn gray.
She shrugged and fanned her face slowly. "Nothing whatsoever will change," she said. "The gossip will soon die down for lack of fuel to feed it, and I shall go home to Warren Hall, where I am always happy and where I can always keep myself busily occupied." "And as time goes on?" he said. "Will your life always remain the same?
How old is Merton?" "Twenty-two," she said. "In five or six years' time, then," he said, "if not sooner, he will undoubtedly turn his mind toward marriage and the begetting of heirs.
What will happen to your life at Warren Hall then?" "It is a large house," she said. "There will still be room for me." He gazed deeply into her eyes and said nothing. "I will find /something/ to do," she said. "With your brother's children, no doubt," he said. "Yes," she agreed. "That will be pleasant." "Would it not be more pleasant," he asked, "if they were your own?" She fanned her face a little more briskly. "We are talking about what I will do if I do not marry /you/," she said. "Perhaps I will marry someone else." "Who?" he asked her. "Major Dew?" She folded her fan, laid it very carefully across her lap, and looked down at it. "No," she said. "The time for that was ten years or more ago. What I felt for him then cannot be recaptured now, and I could not settle for less." "And yet," he said, "if you marry me, you will be settling for considerably less, will you not? You have never loved me, and I have never loved you." She looked up at him, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "Lord Sheringford," she said, "you are supposed to be /wooing/ me. Do you expect to succeed if you tell me so baldly that you do not love me?" "I suspect I would stand far less chance of success," he said, "if I were to sit here pouring ardent platitudes into your ear and sighing piteously like a lover who fears that his love will be scorned and his heart trampled underfoot." "I believe you would," she admitted, laughing.