Chapter 13
Rob stared at the wooden stage below, just beneath his opulent box. One of the best boxes in the whole opera. A box which he might not have next year. He could almost see into the wings but then he turned ever so slightly and witnessed the vast sea of people who came to be seen as well as to see.
Rob blinked and braced his forearms against the low balcony-type wall before them. “The opera was not what I had in mind.”
“Why ever not?” Drake drawled. “Look about you, it is a veritable feast.”
“Of cake,” Rob felt compelled to point out as he took in the sea of festooned ladies and gentlemen. “I’ve no wish to make myself sick.”
“Every single name on that list is here,” Drake replied merrily.
Rob winced. “I thought we were going out to get away from the list.”
“You thought, yes.” Drake leaned back casually against his gilt chair and smiled, much like a jaguar might, if capable of such a thing. “But you seem to have forgotten your circumstances are rather dire. Or will you accept a loan from me?”
Rob leveled his friend with a hard stare. “Point taken. I must wed posthaste.”
Drake eyed his knuckles, callused from hours of boxing. “I could see you through—”
“Can you point them all out to me?” Rob cut in. “You seem to know everyone.”
Drake’s eyes sparked with deviltry. “Well, Lady Harriet is—”
“I know where Lady Harriet is sitting,” Rob gritted through clenched teeth.
“Of course you do,” Drake said unrepentantly. “She’s also staring at you rather pointedly, if you must know.”
“I don’t wish to know, thank you.”
But as Drake began pointing out the locations of the other ladies on his mother’s list, he found that he was struggling to listen at all. For all he wished to do was glance at Harry.
Was she truly watching him?
He closed his eyes. It didn’t matter.
It didn’t matter that her beautiful, pearl-colored gown shimmered with silver embroidery, emphasizing the curves of her body. Or that the diamonds and seed pearls sewn into the bodice, and belt about her ribs, only seemed to emphasize the beautiful swells of her breasts, and the pale line of her slender throat. A throat he wanted to kiss then bite ever so lightly.
“You’re not listening to a word I’m saying.”
Rob stilled, doing all he could to turn his gaze back to Drake. “I am transfixed by the scenic design.”
“Indeed.”
“Oh yes,” Rob said, with forced cheer. “I adore the Magic Flute. Have you seen the brilliant set change at the end of the first act? And when the Queen of the Night—”
Drake rolled his eyes, pouring a glass of champagne from the silver urn tucked beside his chair. “You are fooling no one but yourself, old man.”
“I do like the opera,” he countered with a hint of just too much indignation.
“We all do.” Drake waggled his brows. “It’s Mozart.”
Rob blinked. “You don’t like Mozart.”
“Fine, true,” Drake admitted before he reminded, “but I don’t usually fall into the category of we all, now do I?”
“No,” Rob acceded.
“Beethoven is vastly superior to Mozart,” Drake stated with little emotion. “There’s no argument.”
Given that Drake was an ardent pianist who had long ago given up the harpsichord, Rob did not argue. After all, he could barely carry a tune let alone play a sonata.
“Now, I’d like to know,” Drake said before he paused and drank half a flute of champagne, “do you prefer Mozart or Beethoven?”
Rob sighed. He could not speak eloquently on the subject of music. It was one of his shortcomings as a man of enlightenment. “You know I do not have an opinion—”
“But you must,” Drake protested, a sardine brow arching as he leaned forward then looked over towards Harry discreetly. “Do you wish sugary confection or something deep and profound?”
He ground his teeth. He was doing it so often, he was going to be exceedingly fortunate if he had teeth at all in five years’ time. “I do not appreciate the metaphor.”
“At least you understand it,” Drake said dryly.
“I am not completely without culture,” Rob defended. “Whilst I cannot discuss the opera properly, I adore the play house.”
Drake gave an exaggerated yawn. “The play house is full of loose people.”
“Like yourself.”
“No need to point out the obvious.” A look of pure worship softened Drake’s face for a brief moment. “But the opera is divinity. The opera is—”
“Boring,” Rob cut in before Drake could pontificate on the sublime nature of the opera house. “Give me Shakespeare or Congreve or Wycherley any day.”
“Did someone say Wycherley?”
They both jolted at the sound of a voice they both knew well. The Dowager Duchess of Harley stood in the curtains with her daughter behind her. “Before the opera begins, I wished to come over and welcome you back to London, Drake. It has been far too long.”
“Indeed, it has, Your Grace,” Drake replied, having stood up immediately. His face, usually so unreadable softened. Drake’s own mother had been cold, cruel, and distant. He’d found the only female kindness he’d ever known in Rob and Harley’s mothers.
“Would you bestow your company upon us tonight?” Drake asked with utmost sincerity, something he wasn’t usually given to.
Rob tensed and he started to protest, how he knew not, but before he could, Drake’s foot had artfully shot out and delivered a surreptitious kick to his shin. Any sign of it was gone before he could even wince.
“Are you certain?” the dowager asked. “After all, we have our own box.”
“We insist upon it, if only but for a few moments.” Drake shot him a glance. “Don’t we, Blackstone?”
“Of course,” he ground out, wishing it was not the custom to visit opera boxes for a few moments before, during, and after an opera.
If it had only begun, he could at least pretend to be transfixed by the events upon the stage which could really be quite remarkable. Live animals, flying sets, and costumes which would set the most prudish into fits were but a few things one could enjoy on a night at the opera. But, of course, most spent the evening looking not at the stage but at the other members of the audience, their quizzing glasses ready for the smallest hint of gossip.
“Are you enjoying your first Season, Lady Harriet?” Drake asked with surprising patience, for he was not known for his gregariousness.
“I am,” Harriet replied brightly. “Thank you, Your Grace. Though I must admit, I am rather eager to leave it behind.”
“Indeed?” Drake cocked his head to the side. “Do you not value your moment in the sun?”
“I do not hope this is my moment in the sun, for what else shall I have to look forward to then if this is it?”
“I am glad that you are conscious of that,” Drake said with surprising solemnness and respect. “So many young ladies seem to live for it and then it’s all culminated in their marriage. You will marry, of course.”
Rob did not like the line of this discussion. He had no desire to discuss or overhear Harriet’s plans for matrimony.
Harriet nodded, her beautiful curls dancing against her ivory neck. “I am eager to marry, but only because—”
Rob cleared his throat, desperate to change the conversation. “Did you hear about the king’s horse at—”
“Shh.” Drake waved at him. “Lady Harriet is about to tell me why she’s eager for marriage. As most know, I am not. The whole affair, while necessary, seems an appalling business.”
The dowager duchess folded her fan and tsked. “You say the most shocking things, Your Grace.”
“Did that shock you?” Drake gave the dowager duchess an unrepentant but kind smile. “I must be very careful then with my words lest I say something far worse.”
“You are deliberately trying to make me blush,” Lady Harriet said. “You shan’t succeed. I grew up with my brother and the Duke of Blackstone over there. And I even recall seeing you about our house over the last years,” she teased.
“Ah.” Drake sighed dramatically. “We have accustomed you to the foolishness of men.”
“I do not think your sex foolish,” Harriet countered, “but I do find them to be free.”
“And you envy that freedom?” Drake asked.
“How could I not?” Harriet challenged, grinning.
Rob suddenly said, recalling their dance not long ago, “Lady Harriet believes that marriage shall give her freedom.”
Drake swung his gaze from Harry to Rob. “I don’t follow.”
Harriet laughed patiently. “Well, a married woman, with the right husband, can do a great many things that an unmarried woman cannot.”
“The trick is picking the right one?” Drake queried, his whole facade growing more wary and less playful.
“Exactly,” she said as though she had made a triumphant point.
Drake’s eyes narrowed and he said quietly, “You shall have to be very careful then.”
“I have my wits about me, Your Grace,” Harriet replied, her brow furrowing.
“I’m glad to hear it, Lady Harriet.” Drake leaned back and took a drink from his flute. “For you shall need them.”
Rob couldn’t agree more, and he hoped to God Harriet listened.
“How were the state of the roads?” she asked suddenly, as if eager to turn the conversation away from herself.
Rob tensed.
“The roads?” Drake echoed.
“Yes,” she said, eyes widening. “When you entered London, how were the roads? We have all heard the worst tales and mother and I were accosted by a highwayman just the other night.”
“You do not seem harmed,” Drake observed, though he looked appropriately sympathetic.
“We were not,” the dowager duchess said. “We were most fortunate. We kept our wits and a very strange fellow came to our aid. It seems he may be a highwayman, too. He wore a mask in all events and spoke like a gentleman.”
“Did he?” Drake asked slowly.
“Yes, he was most gallant. Don’t you think so, Your Grace?” Harriet asked, locking her gaze on Rob.
“Very gallant,” Rob echoed. And with that, thankfully, the orchestra began to play the overture.
“I think we best head back to our box,” the dowager duchess said. “But we hope you both shall call upon us soon. You two always brought such happiness to my house whenever you visited.”
Rob longed to kick himself. He hadn’t been as pleasant as he should have been given how close they had all been. But things changed.
He and Drake stood and bowed as the ladies departed.
Drake leveled with him a hard stare. “Very gallant, eh?”
“I’m sure he was,” Rob replied doing his damnedest to look innocent and disinterested.
Drake studied him. “Just how have you been earning enough blunt to keep afloat lately?”
“A very fine banker in the city,” Rob said quickly.
“You’ll have to introduce me.”
“Shh. The music has begun.” Rob gave Drake a sanctimonious stare, hoping to appeal to the other man’s love of music to shut him up. “Are we here to gossip or watch the opera.”
“Don’t be absurd. We’re here to find your future wife.”
And with that, Rob shook his head. “I think, in truth, I need a breath of air to fortify myself if that is the case.”
He strode out through the curtains. As he entered the dark corridor, he could not recall the faces that Drake had pointed out this night. The ladies who were his potential saviors.
No, he could only recall Harry and her cheeky, sparkling gaze as she’d teased him for all to see. For once, it had felt as if they had been carefree again and he wondered. . . would that be what it was like to be married to her? Free?
It was a thought he daren’t contemplate. Dare he?