Their eyes met across the breakfast table, and for a moment, the rest of the world seemed to fade away. Until Rosalie cleared her throat pointedly.
“Should I leave you two alone? Because the way you’re looking at each other is making me rather uncomfortable.”
“Finish your breakfast,” Hugo said without taking his eyes off Sybil. “And then you can tell us about this letter that’s had you smiling all morning.”
“It’s from Lord Pemberton,” Rosalie said, her cheeks turning pink. “He’s asked if I’d like to attend the opera with his family next week. With proper chaperones of course.”
Hugo’s expression shifted, the softness disappearing behind ducal authority. “The opera.”
“Yes, Papa. You know, that place where people sing loudly in Italian while wearing ridiculous costumes? Perfectly respectable entertainment.”
“I’m familiar with opera, thank you. I’m less familiar with this young man’s intentions toward my daughter.”
And here we go.
“His intentions seem to be asking me to cultural events with his mother present,” Rosalie replied with admirable patience. “Unless you suspect Mozart’sMarriage of Figaroof being particularly scandalous?”
“I suspect young men of being particularly optimistic about what constitutes adequate supervision.”
Sybil decided to intervene before this escalated into another battle of wills. “What did you tell him, Rosalie?”
“That I’d need to discuss it with Papa, naturally. Though I was hoping for a more reasonable response than immediately assuming the worst of everyone involved.”
“I don’t assume the worst,” Hugo protested. “I simply prepare for likely outcomes.”
“Such as?”
“Such as a young man using a dark opera box and emotional music to attempt liberties with my daughter.”
Good heavens, the man has an imagination.
“Hugo,” Sybil said gently, “Lord Pemberton is the son of a marquess. I hardly think he’s planning to compromise Rosalie duringthe Marriage of Figaro.”
“You don’t know young men like I do.”
“I was young once myself, you know. And I survived multiple opera performances without being ravished in a box seat.”
Rosalie snorted with laughter which she quickly covered with her napkin. “Did you just say ‘ravished’ at the breakfast table?”
“I did, and I’m not taking it back. Your father is being ridiculous.”
Hugo’s eyes narrowed. “Ridiculous?”
“Completely ridiculous. Lord Pemberton is a perfectly respectable young man from a good family who’s shown nothing but proper behavior toward your daughter. And you’re acting like he’s some sort of libertine planning elaborate seductions.”
Though given how thoroughly you’ve seduced me without even trying, perhaps you have some insight into the male mind.
“Fine,” Hugo said after a long moment. “She can attend. With conditions.”
“What conditions?” Rosalie asked warily.
“You’ll sit in a box where you’re clearly visible to the rest of the theater. You’ll remain with Lord and Lady Pemberton at all times. And you’ll be home by midnight.”
“Papa, the opera won’t even start until eight?—”
“Midnight,” Hugo repeated firmly. “Those are my terms.”
Rosalie looked at Sybil pleadingly. “Can you talk sense into him?”
