Devil in Spring

“Oh, I don’t blame Gabriel for having had a mistress,” Pandora whispered. “I don’t like it, of course, but I can hardly complain about anyone else’s faults when I have so many of my own. Gabriel told me about Mrs. Black before we married, and promised to end the relationship, and obviously he has. She doesn’t seem to have taken it well, however.” She paused. “I don’t think he broke the news to her the right way.”

Helen’s lips quirked. “I don’t think there’s any way to end an affair happily, no matter how well-chosen the words are.”

“The question is, why would her husband tolerate her behavior? She was trying to make a scene right in front of him, and he did nothing about it.”

Helen glanced at their surroundings to make certain the box was quite empty, and held up her program on the pretext of reading about the next act. “Rhys told me just before intermission,” she said in an undertone, “that Ambassador Black was a Lieutenant General in the Union Army, during the American Civil War. It’s rumored that he sustained injuries in battle that make it difficult for him to . . .” Blushing, Helen gave a little shrug.

“To do what?”

“Perform his husbandly duties,” Helen whispered, turning even redder. “Mrs. Black is his second wife—he was a widower when they met—and obviously she’s still a young woman. That’s why he chooses to look the other way when she strays.”

Pandora sighed shortly. “Now I almost feel sorry for her.” With a wry grin, she added, “But she still can’t have my husband.”

At the conclusion of the performance, Pandora and Gabriel made their way slowly past the swarming hallways, foyers, and box-lobbies to the colonnaded entrance hall. Helen and Winterborne were a few yards ahead of them, but they were difficult to see amid the close-packed crowd. The play had been heavily attended, and the press of bodies was so close that Pandora began to feel anxious.

“We’re almost through it,” Gabriel murmured, keeping a protective arm around her.

As they emerged from the theater, the crowding was even worse. People jostled and milled in the portico area, clustering among the six Corinthian columns that extended to the edge of the pavement. A long row of private carriages and hansom cabs had massed along the thoroughfare, trapping some vehicles in place. Making matters worse, the gathering of theatergoers had attracted pickpockets, confidence tricksters, muggers, and beggars from nearby alleys and streets. A lone uniformed policeman could be seen trying to bring order to the scene, with little apparent success.

“Both your driver and mine are hemmed in,” Winterborne came to tell Gabriel, having pushed his way through the gathering. He gestured toward the southern end of Haymarket. “They’ve stopped over there. They’ll have to wait for some of the street traffic to depart before there’s room to move.”

“We can walk to the carriages,” Gabriel said.

Winterborne gave him a glance of wry amusement. “I wouldn’t advise it. A flock of cyprians has just crossed over from Pall Mall, and we’d have to go through the lot of them.”

“Do you mean prostitutes, Mr. Winterborne?” Pandora asked, forgetting to modulate her voice.

A few people in the crowd turned to look at her with raised brows.

Gabriel grinned for the first time all evening, and pulled Pandora’s head against his chest. “Yes, he means prostitutes,” he murmured, and kissed her ear gently.

“Why are they called cyprians?” Pandora asked. “Cypress is an island in Greece, and I’m sure they don’t all come from there.”

“I’ll explain later.”

“Pandora,” Helen exclaimed, “I want to introduce you to some of my friends from the Ladies’ Book Club, including Mrs. Thomas, its founder. They’re in the group standing near the last column.”

Pandora looked up at Gabriel. “Do you mind if I go with Helen for a moment?”

“I’d rather you stayed with me.”

“It’s just over there,” she protested. “We’re going to have to wait for the carriage regardless.”

Reluctantly Gabriel let go of her. “Stay where I can keep an eye on you.”

“I will.” Pandora gave him a warning glance. “Don’t talk to Grecian women.”

He smiled and watched as she made her way through the crowd with Helen.

“Mrs. Thomas is working to establish reading rooms around London for the poor,” Helen told Pandora. “She’s incredibly generous, and fascinating. You’ll adore each other.”

“Can anyone join the book club?”

“Anyone who’s not a man.”

“Perfect, I qualify,” Pandora exclaimed.

They stopped at the edge of a small group of women, and Helen waited for an opportune moment to break into the conversation.

Standing behind her, Pandora pulled her soft white gauze wrap farther over her shoulders and fingered the double strand of pearls around her neck.

Without warning, a smooth voice spoke next to her ear—a woman’s voice with an American accent. “You’re nothing but a skinny, awkward child, just as he described. He’s visited me since the wedding, you know. He and I have laughed together over your juvenile infatuation with him. You bore him senseless.”

Pandora turned and found herself confronted by Mrs. Nola Black. The woman was breathtaking, her features creamy-skinned and flawless, her eyes deep and dark under brows so perfectly groomed and delineated, they looked like thin strips of velvet. Although Mrs. Black was approximately the same height as Pandora, her figure was a remarkable hourglass shape, with a waist so small one could have buckled a cat’s collar around it.