Someone to Love (Westcott #1)(49)

She giggled and Anna laughed.

“But I really would not know what to do with one, Bertha,” she said. “I would be quite tongue-tied.”

Though a duke was not of much lesser rank than a prince, was he? She had not seen the Duke of Netherby since that afternoon when he had taught her to waltz—though it was her dancing master who took the credit. She had still not decided whether he attracted or repelled her, and that was strange. Surely the two were polar opposites. But she did know that the waltz was the most divine dance ever created.

“You must be ever so frightened, Miss Snow,” Bertha had told her as she gathered up the brush and comb and curling iron. “You are going to be seen by all the nobs. But you are one of them now, aren’t you? Well, hold your head up high and remember what you used to tell us in school—that you are as good as anyone.”

“It is gratifying,” Anna had said, “to know that at least one of my pupils was listening.”

Cousin Alexander arrived with his mother soon after dinner to convey them to the theater in his carriage. He could very well be the prince of any fairy tale, Anna thought, especially in his black-and-white evening finery. And he was the perfect gentleman. He complimented both her and his sister upon their appearance and handed them all into his carriage with solicitous care before taking his place beside Elizabeth with their backs to the horses.

“You must be nervous,” he told Anna, smiling kindly at her. “But you have no need to be. You look elegant, and you will be surrounded by family.”

“Of course you are nervous, Anastasia,” Cousin Althea said, patting her hand. “It would be strange if you were not. I daresay some people will be at the theater tonight specifically because they have got wind of the fact that you will be there. Your story has caused a great sensation.”

“And if she was not nervous before climbing into the carriage, Mama,” Elizabeth said, “she is doubtless shaking in her slippers by now. Ignore us, Anna. I am very glad the play is to be a comedy. There is enough tragedy and turbulence in real life.”

Was she nervous? Anna asked herself. It was all very well to tell herself that she was as good as anyone. It was another to step into a theater filled with people who were apparently anticipating a sight of her as much as they were looking forward to watching the play. How silly, really.

There was a huge throng of people and carriages about the theater, but precedence was important in London, Anna remembered as a lane opened to allow the carriage of the Earl of Riverdale through, and miraculously a space cleared for it before the doors. The Duke of Netherby was waiting there with Aunt Louise, but it was Cousin Alexander who handed his mother and Anna down onto the pavement before taking Anna’s hand firmly through his arm and patting it reassuringly. He offered his other arm to his mother. The duke helped Elizabeth alight and escorted her and Aunt Louise inside to the crowded foyer and upstairs to his box.

He was dressed in a dark green tailed evening coat with gray knee breeches and embroidered silver waistcoat with very white linen and stockings and an elaborately tied neckcloth. His jewelry was all silver and diamonds, and his hair waved golden about his head. He was all grace and elegance and hauteur, and a path opened before him just as one had outside before the earl’s carriage.

He had once kissed her. No, he had not. He had comforted her. And he had once waltzed with her, and she had felt as though they were dancing upon the floor of heaven.

Stepping into his private box was breathtaking, to say the least. It was like an intimately enclosed space that was missing one wall. Or perhaps it was like walking onstage, for it was close to the stage and almost on a level with it, as Anna was almost instantly aware, and visible from every part of the theater, from the boxes arranged in a horseshoe on their own level to the tiers above it to the floor below.

There were crowds of people already in attendance. The noise of conversation was almost deafening, but surely she did not imagine the extra buzz followed by a marked decrease in sound and then a renewed surge of conversation. And all heads appeared to be turned their way. Anna knew because she was looking. She might have looked down and pretended there was nothing beyond the safety of the box, but if she did not look out from the start, she might never find the courage to do so, and that would be mildly absurd when she had come to watch a play. But of course there were a duke and duchess in this box too, as well as an earl and a baron and baroness—Lord and Lady Molenor, Uncle Thomas and Aunt Mildred, were awaiting them there. All these people were not necessarily looking at her.

There were two other gentlemen in the box. Aunt Louise introduced them to Anna as Colonel Morgan, a particular friend of her late husband, and Mr. Abelard, a neighbor and friend of Cousin Alexander. They both bowed to Anna while she inclined her head and told them she was pleased to make their acquaintance.

“Everyone, it would appear, is looking at you, Lady Anastasia,” the colonel told her, his eyes twinkling from beneath bushy gray eyebrows. “And may I be permitted to tell you how elegant you look?”

“Thank you,” she said.

Cousin Alexander seated her close to the outer edge of the box next to the velvet balcony rail and took the chair beside hers. He engaged her in conversation while everyone else took their places. He was obviously doing his best to set her at her ease. And what about him? This must be an ordeal for him too since he had just been elevated to the ranks of the aristocracy and did not spend much time in London. Anna smiled back at him and returned his conversational overtures.