She and Eliza would get on swimmingly.
Rounds of raucous applause drew his thoughts back to the musical. Mark joined the audience on their feet, clapping his hands and calling out his praises to the cast and crew. Miss Ada Reeve, the star ofFloradora, emerged from behind the curtain to take her bow. Flower petals rained down upon her head. Bouquets were heaped into her arms.
From her position at the railings overlooking the stage, Eliza whistled and cheered for the woman. Grinning, Miss Reeve turned her bright eyes up to their private box and waved at Eliza! Her acknowledgment was the perfect ending to a wonderful evening, which he and Eliza would never forget.
Theatergoers began to file from their seats. Mark, Eliza, Ann, and Sidney descended the stairs alongside the other balcony patrons. Skirt hems swept the steps and elegantly gloved hands caressed the banisters and newel posts. Gentlemen laughed and ladies chattered. Attendants worked the crowd, offering last-minute purchases of perfume, champagne, and other souvenirs.
The queue for the cloakroom seemed to stretch for miles, but somehow the foursome retrieved their coats and hats. Mark helped Eliza into the heavily beaded velvet cloak, letting his hands linger over her shoulders for a moment longer than was proper. He’d spoiled himself by holding her hand through the play, and now he was loath to turn her loose.
They stepped through the double doors and emerged onto the pavements. A drizzle fell, dappling the leather hoods of the carriages and the harnessed backs of the horses that waited at the kerb.
A first rush of patrons dashed out into the rain to claim the hansoms and hackney cabs. Others climbed into their personal carriages until throngs of traffic crowded Shaftesbury Avenue. Those who’d been fortunate enough to make their escape left the remaining theatergoers stranded.
Most hadn’t thought to bring an umbrella. Mark and Eliza huddled with the other unfortunates beneath the awnings of the Lyric Theatre. Ann and Sidney spied their conveyance at the street corner and wisely decided to make a run for it.
“We can give you a lift if you like,” his sister offered.
“No, thank you, Ann,” he answered. “Eliza and I will wait for the landau.”
Eliza nodded happily. “I don’t mind a spot of weather, and I reckon you’re eager to return home to baby Geoff. We’d only slow you down.”
The two couples bid one another goodnight, and then Ann and Sidney disappeared—laughing—into the crowd.
Eliza tucked her arm through his, explaining conspiratorially, “They ought to enjoy the last of their outing without us tagging along.”
“Do you mean to tell me that all alongwewere the third wheel?” His sister had been married for ages now. She and Sidney were well past the need for romance.
Eliza grinned. “They love each other.”
“Yes, they do.” He’d gone to great lengths to see them happily settled and adequately provided for. After years of waiting for the right man to come along, Ann had made a good match. Her love for Sidney made their sacrifice all the sweeter when she’d finally left Green Street.
He was happy for his sister. Happy to play the third wheel, all things considered. “Let the lovebirds have their fun, I suppose.”
Mark was perfectly content to stand on the street with Eliza, watching the traffic clatter past. Conversation swirled around them as shoulders pressed and jostled. Raindrops dribbled down the awning to patter on the paving stones. Theirs was a merry bunch of stragglers, nevertheless.
A second wave of patrons exited The Lyric.
“Oh, Sir Mark!” A lady’s voice called above the din. “Miss Summersby, too!”
He and Eliza pivoted to find Miss Prevost, wrapped in a sable-and-brocade opera cloak, breaking through the masses. She waved a gloved hand as she greeted them, and the heads of a dozen other pedestrians swiveled at the sight of her.
“Good evening, Hilda.” Mark touched the brim of his tall hat. “How did you fancyFloradora?”
“Lovely as ever. It’s my third viewing, you know. I simply cannot get enough of Miss Ada Reeve—I saw her wave to you, Miss Summersby. How delightful!” She fussed with the strand of pearls looped around her wrist. The bracelet’s gold clasp glinted in the glow of the electric lamps overhead.
He wondered aloud where escorts were, for she ought not to be left unattended.
“Mama and the duchess would never stand in the rain, Sir Mark! Why, I doubt that Her Grace has ever once gotten her feet wet.” She laughed. “The elements wouldn’t dare to inconvenience that old dragon. She wouldn’t allow it! No, indeed, Mama and the duchess are waiting in the refreshment room, but I’ve decided to go my own way.”
She winked at Eliza, sharing some secret, girlish joke between them.
“Forgive me for being so bold, Sir Mark,” said Hilda Prevost, “but isn’t Miss Summersby the young woman you spoke of that night at Lord Revelstoke’s dinner party? I remember warning you that she oughtn’t to mix the two spheres of her life—the wicked lawlessness of Seven Dials and the stifling dullness of Mayfair—just as I cannot comfortably commingle my aspirations as an artist with my duties as the debutante daughter of a London banker.”
He nodded. “I recall your wise words.”
Miss Prevost laughed outrageously. “Oh, no, you mustn’t listen to me, Sir Mark! I haven’t the foggiest idea what I’m saying half the time. I only spoke for the benefit of Papa and the other directors. Those white-whiskered gentlemen wouldn’t appreciate a rebel in their midst.”
Eliza lifted her pretty face to his in the lamplight. “You talked about me at your Bank dinner?”
