Someone to Love (Westcott #1)(50)

The duke was amusing Elizabeth. She was laughing at something he had said. Mr. Abelard, seated beside Cousin Althea, had his head bent toward hers as she talked.

And then, finally, the play began and the noise of conversation and laughter died to near silence. Anna gave her whole attention to the stage and within minutes was both engrossed and enchanted. She laughed and clapped her hands and lost all awareness of her surroundings. She was with the characters upon the stage, living the comedy with them.

“Oh,” she said when the intermission brought her back to herself with a jolt, “how absolutely wonderful it all is. Have you ever seen anything so exciting in all your life?” She turned to smile at Cousin Alexander, who was smiling back at her.

“Probably not,” he said. “It is particularly well-done. We may wait here for the second half to begin. There is no need to leave the box.”

All about the theater, Anna could see, people were getting to their feet and disappearing into the corridor behind their boxes. The noise level had become almost deafening again. Elizabeth was leaving with her mother and Mr. Abelard.

“We will remain here, Anastasia,” Aunt Louise said, raising her voice. “Your appearance here tonight is sufficient exposure for a start. If anyone should call here to pay his respects, all you need do is murmur the barest of civilities.”

“You really need not feel intimidated, Anastasia,” Uncle Thomas added. “Only the very highest sticklers will venture to knock upon the door of Avery’s box, and we will engage them in conversation. All you need do is smile.”

The duke himself was on his feet, though he had not followed Elizabeth into the corridor. He was taking snuff from a diamond-encrusted silver case and gazing about at the other boxes, a look of boredom on his face. The snuff dispensed with, he returned the case to a pocket and strolled closer to Anna.

“Anna,” he said, “after sitting for so long I feel the urge to stretch my legs. Accompany me, if you will.”

“Avery,” the duchess said reproachfully, “we decided in advance that it would be altogether wiser on this first occasion—”

“Anna?” He raised his eyebrows.

“Oh, thank you,” she said, realizing suddenly how long she had been sitting. She got to her feet and he escorted her out into the corridor, where crowds milled about, hailing one another, conversing with one another, sipping drinks, and—turning to look at Anna and the Duke of Netherby. He nodded languidly at a few people, raised his jeweled quizzing glass almost but not quite to his eye, and that magic path opened again so that they could stroll unimpeded.

“It must have taken you a lifetime to perfect the art of being a duke,” she said.

“Anna.” He sounded almost pained. “If there is an art I have perfected, it is the art of being me.”

She laughed, and he turned his head to look at her.

“You do realize, I suppose,” he said, “that you are learning a similar art? By tomorrow half the female portion of the ton will be expressing shock at the simplicity of your appearance, and the other half will be suddenly dissatisfied with the fussiness of their own appearance and begin shedding frills and flounces and ribbons and bows and ringlets until London is wading knee-deep in them.”

“How—”

“—absurd, yes, indeed,” he said. “And your behavior, Anna. Laughter and applause in the middle of a scene? And no private conversation with those sharing your box when the action onstage grew tedious? Laughing again now, out here?”

“The play did not grow tedious,” she protested. “Besides, it would be impolite to the actors and to one’s fellow audience members to talk aloud during the performance.”

“You have much to learn,” he said with a sigh.

But she knew he did not mean what he said. He had not talked during the performance. She would have noticed.

“I daresay,” she said, “I am a hopeless case.”

“Ah,” he said, raising one finger to bring a waiter hurrying toward them with a tray of glasses. “I would rather say the opposite.”

“I am a hopeful case?” She laughed.

He took two glasses of wine and handed her one as a tall, handsome gentleman with shirt points of such a stiffness and height that he could barely turn his head stepped up to them.

“Ah, Netherby,” he said. “Well met, old chap. I have not set eyes upon you since that evening at White’s when I had some sort of seizure. I must thank you for summoning help so promptly. My physician informed me that you probably saved my life. I was confined to my bed for a week as a precaution, but I have made a full recovery, you will be pleased to know.”

The duke’s quizzing glass was in his free hand, and he was holding it to his eye.

“Ecstatic,” he said, his voice so cold that it almost dripped ice.

Anna looked at him in surprise.

“Perhaps,” the gentleman said, turning his attention to Anna, “you would do me the honor of presenting me to your companion, Netherby?”

“And perhaps,” the Duke of Netherby replied, “I would not.”

The gentleman looked as astonished as Anna felt. He quickly recovered himself, however.

“Ah, I understand, old chap,” he said. “The lady is not quite ready for a full public unveiling, is she? Perhaps another time.” He swept Anna a deep bow and moved away.