“He did not.”
What the magician had done was pull a fair amount of lint from his hat, and the rabbit had hopped across the stage as if looking for his lost warren. Judging by the thunderous expression on the magician’s face, this, too, had been the fault of the assistant.
How had such a thoroughly untalented woman found her way onto the stage? The Five Graces might not have been the height of sophistication, but it was known for both its variety of performers and the quality of thoseperformers.
He snorted.
It was her beauty, of course.
Rory slung back the remainder of his beer and burped into his hand. “Want another?”
“Funny you should ask,” said Archie, holding up his empty mug.
While Rory was gone, another two quick acts followed the magician. A scruffy, little dog who could perform all manner of tricks, including dancing on his hind legs, and a mime, who had the crowd transfixed by his inability to climb out of an invisible box.
Rory had just returned when thecompèreannounced the next act. “It is my pleasure to introduce an opera singer making her stage debut tonight.”
Beside Archie, Rory groaned. “There are any number of drawing rooms in Mayfair where I could listen to a young lady caterwaul her way through Mozart, if that’s what I wanted.”
“A most beauteous young lady come all the way to our shores from enchanting Italy,” continued thecompére, with a dramatic swish of his cape. “La Contessa!”
Into the quiet following thecompére’s announcement stepped a woman, halting and unsure. She was dressed like a ghost from the last century with her tall white powdered wig, beauty mark placed on a high cheekbone, and wide pannier skirt. The costume was utterly ridiculous, which made it perfect for the Five Graces.
What wasn’t perfect?
Archie recognized the woman as the magician’s assistant.
Rory sat forward. “Now what do we have here?”
“She’s a stunner,” said Archie. Might as well get the obvious out of the way.
“Think she’s a real contessa?”
“Doubtful,” said Archie, dry.
Italian, he could allow with her luminous brown eyes and olive complexion.
But a contessa?
Not a chance.
Contessas didn’t sing for this crowd.
Rory shrugged. “Who would care anyway?”
An undeniable fact.
Hands clasped so tightly her knuckles shone white, she cleared her throat, thereby silencing half the crowd. She waited thirty seconds more, subtly shifting from foot to foot, clearly hoping the other half would follow the lead of their fellows. They didn’t.
Archie felt his hands clenching in his lap as he grew unaccountably angry. This was nothing short of a crime. To drag this woman on stage and offer her up as ridicule for the entertainment of the public…
She cleared her throat and opened her mouth, and a sound poured forth, filling the air, as voice after voice fell away and all that was left was hers, the entirety of the room suddenly enraptured by her. Archie couldn’t believe his ears, for what he was hearing was a pure high mezzosoprano without flaw—nothing less than the voice of an angel. It left him no choice but to sit back in his seat and let her voice flow over him, sink into him, and fill his soul with nourishment he hadn’t been aware he’d been craving all his life until this very moment.
She stepped forward, her voice strengthening in confidence. No longer was she a hapless magician’s assistant, but a woman in control—of herself, of this room. Her gaze roved across the crowd as she sang Handel’s “Lascia ch’io pianga” aria. It was delicate and mournful and pure magnificence. Then her gaze landed on his, and the breath froze in Archie’s chest.
Eyes locked, the world simply fell away—only him and her, as if he could feel each individual cell of blood flowing through his veins.
Her gaze shifted, and the connection broke, like that.
