Catherine leans back in her chair, shifting in her stiff burgundy gown. Mother keeps nudging her to sit up straight, as if Mr.Dean might look over at any second and be overcome by her posture.
She hardly thinks he’ll be looking at her. The theatre is absolutely stunning. The gold-plated railings around the rounded boxes, the domed ceiling, cream walls, and deep red curtains that frame the stage and separate the boxes from the aisles are all beautiful. The three chandeliers over the stage cast everything in a warm yellow glow, and watching the audience file into the standing room in front of the stage has been quite amusing.
But Mother can focus on nothing other than the Tisends and Mr.Dean in the opposite box on the second level across from them. It’s slowly driving Catherine mad.
Her escort, Mr.Sholle, doesn’t seem to mind her posture, and has been complimenting her repeatedly. He looks dapper in his dark wool waistcoat and cream pantaloons, with dark knee-high boots. His chestnut hair has a lovely little flop to it, and his eyes and cheeks are bright as he talks at her. He keeps nudging into her shoulder like he’s hoping to take her hand if she puts her arm on the armrest. But she doesn’t want to encourage him.
Catherine’s at least looking forward toRomeo and Juliet.She’s hoping it will be a spirited performance. Because while Mr. Sholle has been talking, and Mother has been whispering, Catherine’s been trying not to stare across at Lady Rosalie.
She’s wearing a beautiful yellow gown, her hair wrapped and braided elegantly onto the back of her head, with loose curls falling by her sharp cheekbones. Her diamond necklace and hair ornaments twinkle in the light from the chandeliers.
She’s absolutely entrancing, and Mr.Dean is paying her zero attention, which just boggles the mind. He and Mr.Tisend have been talking for the past half hour, while Lady Rosalie looks perfectly bored.
Having only allowed herself a few seconds of ogling, Catherine goes to look away, but Lady Rosalie’s eyes suddenly find hers. They stare at each other for a long moment, the rest of the room falling away. Then Lady Rosalie tips her head toward Mr.Dean, who is nearly fully turned away from her to talk to her brother, and rolls her eyes.
Catherine has to stop herself from laughing. Lady Rosalie’s lips quirk upward, and then she looks pointedly away at the stage. Catherine gives herself one moment longer, enjoying their little exchange, before forcing herself to turn back to Mr.Sholle.
To Lady Rosalie’s credit, he seemsverytaken with Catherine, which is flattering, but little more. Mr.Sholle is perfectly lovely, and a month ago she might have even been excited by his attention. But his isn’t the attention that’s making her blush.
Worse, Mother is planning her marriage to another man in front of him—it’s hardly fair, and a little sad that he hasn’t noticed. It’s very confusing, and it’s making her tired.
Mr. Sholle, thankfully, is a fan of the Bard and pays careful attention when the play finally starts, so she can relax into her seat and unclench her hands. Her anxiety slowly fades away toalmost nothing. She should accept invitations to the theatre more often.
But midway through the fourth scene of the second act, she glances across the theatre, quite without thinking. Or at least, that’s what she’s telling herself.
Mr.Tisend is watching the stage with rapt attention. Lady Tisend’s equally engrossed. But Mr.Dean—Mr.Dean isfalling asleep.
She can’t help a quick giggle escaping, overly loud in the hush that’s fallen over the room. Mother nudges her and Catherine bites at her lips, giving a guilty shrug. Mr.Sholle hasn’t noticed.
But Lady Rosalie has. She peers curiously across the theatre at Catherine, then glances at the stage, but there’s nothing comical going on. Catherine can’t help but jut her chin in Mr.Dean’s direction. She watches Lady Rosalie look sideways and let out an enormous sigh.
Catherine keeps her lips clamped together. Lady Rosalie looks back at her, exasperated. They keep staring at each other, even though important things are happening on stage.
It feels like the look they exchanged at the pond. Her chest starts to go warm, a flush creeping up her neck as Lady Rosalie’s regard turns from playful to... something decidedly different. It makes Catherine want to squirm in her chair.
She wishes she fully understood the overwhelming space Lady Rosalie takes up in her brain. The way a single look ignites something that tingles from the top of her head down to her toes. She doesn’t feel that for anyone else. Not for the men. Not for the women. What is it about Lady Rosalie that does this to her?
There’s a crash on stage and they both jerk, looking back to watch the third act. Catherine forces herself to keep her eyeson the stage. Forces herself not to wonder if Lady Rosalie is looking at her. She’s flustered enough already.
It’s a great relief when the curtain falls, signaling the start of the interval. She needs a moment to herself.
Mother turns to her, mouth open, and Catherine hurries out, “I need to visit the cloakroom.”
“Of course, dear,” Mother says immediately. “Mr.Sholle and I will escort you.”
Mr.Sholle rises gallantly and the three of them make their slow way around the back of the theatre and over to the women’s cloakroom. Catherine slips inside, leaving Mr.Sholle and her mother talking in the hall, and breathes a sigh of sweet relief.
The cloakroom is sparsely populated, and Catherine heads for the water closets. It’s quiet, if not the best of locations, and when she’s done, she lingers in the outer cloakroom, staring at her still-flushed reflection in the mirrors over the vanity.
Neither Mother nor Mr.Sholle have noticed, but she’s remarkably discomposed. All because Lady Rosalielookedat her?
And like she’s conjured her out of the air, Lady Rosalie sweeps into the cloakroom, brushing her curls from her face, her expression pinched.
They stare at each other. The noise from the hallway and the few other ladies in the cloakroom registers like a dull roar, but Catherine’s not sure she hears it at all. After a long, charged, strange moment, Lady Rosalie walks smoothly over to stand beside Catherine, so they can watch each other in the vanity mirror.
“A good performance,” Lady Rosalie says, and her voice is rough.
“Very,” Catherine agrees, her own voice a bit high. Shesearches for something else to say—something witty, or observant, or—
