"I enjoy it also. It is infinitely preferable to the English translations staged at Covent Garden."
"I have no experience of opera at Covent Garden, but I have heard it is lacking."
"Sadly."
"There, done!" declared Lady Meriton.
Cecilia Waddley and Sir James turned toward Lady Meriton. That lady proudly held up her completed silhouette. It was not solely of Branstoke. The dark red paper featured Cecilia as well. Lady Meriton had captured them close together, moments before Sir James wiped the sugar from her chin. The poses relayed a magnetism between the two figures without recourse to expressions. Cut of vibrant red paper, it was a hauntingly intimate picture.
Cecilia's heart beat faster. Proud of her cutting, Jessamine detected none of the undercurrents she did. Cecilia stole a look at Branstoke.
Branstoke caught her eye. A smile flickered on his lips. He raised an eyebrow in amused inquiry, his brown eyes dancing.
Cecilia groaned softly and flopped back against her pillows, closing her eyes. Now she knew she was in trouble.
Chapter 3
"Bravo!" Randolph shouted. He clapped wildly and rose from his seat as the opera company took their bows. He tossed his head to flick back a shock of dark blond hair from his brow and yelled his approval again, a broad grin lighting his handsome, dissipated features.
Cecilia looked askance at her elder brother. She wondered acidly if perhaps he shouldn't be on the stage below. Randolph's enthusiasm was markedly at odds with the behavior he displayed during the performance. His interest in the proceedings on stage had been erratic. He sat slumped in his chair for most of the opera, an expression of boredom on his face. Only on three occasions that she recalled did he take any interest in the entertainment. That was when the stage was crowded with chorus members. Shrewdly, Cecilia thought he must have acher amieamongst the cast. Otherwise, his only reasons for attending theNonsensical Screechings, as he called opera sung in Italian, would be to view society and strut about to be seen in return. He would most likely not be in a box either, preferring the pit and the company of other dandies. She believed she recognized one or two of his friends in that milling throng of sartorial elegance mixed with lesser lights.
She was a trifle surprised that none of his friends visited their box during the interval. How was she to proceed with her investigations if Randolph's cronies never came around? Had she played her part too well in the past? It might do well to decrease the frequency of attacks of illness in favor of excessive silliness. After all, the goal she set herself when she adopted the sickly mien was to become someone people took for granted and talked around, almost as if she didn't exist. Like people do around children. It would not suit her purposes to be avoided by others.
Randolph abruptly broke off clapping and swung around to gather his greatcoat and curly brimmed beaver hat from an empty chair. "No sense you bestirring yourself, sister dear. Press of people leaving. Bound to make you feverish or fidgety, or something. I'll just pop on down to watch for John with the carriage. I'll return to get you," he said heartily, though he curiously avoided Cecilia's questioning gaze. He backed out of the box without waiting to hear her response.
Cecilia compressed her lips in exasperation; then, the humor of her brother's behavior forced her to smile and shake her head in wonderment. Ruefully, she decided she'd wager her best diamond earrings that Randolph went in search of whatever barque of frailty in the chorus was the current recipient of his ardent regard.
No matter. Randolph made the offer to attend the opera. She did not ask him to serve as her escort. Over the past six months since she'd entered society, she'd only occasionally availed herself of Randolph's company. She little dreamed that any of his crowd could aid her in the investigation, let alone be involved; therefore, she did not waste her time cultivating their acquaintance. She would use this invitation as open permission to expect Randolph to dance attendance on her, thereby introduce her to his friends. They would not avoid his company forever! Poor Randolph, he was about to find her exceedingly demanding.
A shout from below drew her attention to the pit. Several elegantly dressed gentlemen still strolled about that area, ogling the orange girls and the other bits of muslin that invested in the price of a ticket in hopes of greater evening returns. The shout came from a nattily attired young man who was looking up at the boxes. Seeing he'd drawn Cecilia's attention, he grinned cheekily and pantomimed an invitation to join him.
Cecilia frowned and shook her head, looking determinedly away. Her gaze traveled around the horseshoe tiers of boxes, most of which were now empty. Halfway around the horseshoe and one level up, her gaze stopped. Branstoke sat in that box. And he was staring at her! She knew he was, though, as always, his eyes appeared nearly closed. What had she done to warrant his attention? A flare of unreasoning anger burned through her. Perhaps if she knew, she thought caustically, she'd be more successful in drawing Randolph and his friends to her side.
His gaze didn't waver. Under his steady, unnerving regard, vivid red swept up her neck. Quickly she raised her handkerchief to her lips and began coughing, mentally damning her unwanted reaction and ducking her head down to hide the tell-tale color.
A slight smile curved Branstoke's thin lips as he observed Mrs. Waddley's antics. He wondered where that boor of a brother of hers had gone to. He saw Randolph with her during the performance. Now he was gone, leaving her haplessly open to unwelcome attention from young bucks on the prowl. From his limited experience of Mrs. Waddley, he'd wager she thought herself equal to any situation. The woman was confident in her charade, and he owned she did it skillfully. Nonetheless that brand of confidence was ripe for a fall. He couldn't help question the rationale for her behavior. There was some mystery there, something other than discomfort in society. She struck him as a determined woman. He wondered at the focus of that determination.
"I cannot help noticing the direction of your attention. Have you met Mrs. Waddley?" a soft voice asked him, humor underlying the words.
Branstoke turned to his hostess, nodding slowly. "A most interesting woman. Do you know her, Lady St. Ryne?"
"I've only met her briefly. Unfortunately, at the time she was suffering from, I believe, palpitations of her heart. Or so she said."
Her husband, the Viscount St. Ryne, laughed. "When I was introduced, she was recovering from a severe headache, one that left her weak and fretful, she said. She is the most tiresome woman I have ever had the misfortune to meet. And when my mother was in the throes of matchmaking, I met many. Mrs. Waddley is a complete ninnyhammer," he said dismissively.
Branstoke's lips twisted wryly. "So you think so. Interesting."
Lady St, Ryne laughed. "Our friend is enigmatic again, my love."
Her husband smirked. "This time, we'll find the astute Sir James Branstoke has made an error if he sees aught behind her behavior other than the woman is a dashed flibbertigibbet." He turned to pick up his wife's cloak from the back of the box.
"I must confess, sir, that though we do not know Mrs. Waddley well, we do know a gentleman who is far better acquainted," the Viscountess St. Ryne said as her husband settled her cloak about her shoulders.
Branstoke raised an eyebrow, encouraging his hostess to continue as he drew a gold enameled snuffbox from his waistcoat pocket and opened it with a dexterous flick of his thumb.
She fastened the cloak at her collar. "The son of our clergyman at Larchside is employed by Waddley Spice and Tea. He is a manager there. A very personable young man. He's done well there and seems quite happy in his position. From what I've heard of Waddley Spice and Tea, I dare say Mr. Waddley must have been an extraordinary gentleman. Not at all the merchant to demand his pound of flesh."
"Really," murmured Branstoke, taking a pinch of snuff.
