He did not know what to say. Was she flirting? Her tone was sincere. He shifted and stared at the curtains of the stage.
The earl was fond ofHamlet, yet he could not concentrate on the production, despite Mr. Irving’s laudable performance. He found himself watching Jane. She was mesmerized with the drama, while he was mesmerized with her.
She laughed. She clapped. Sheohhedandahhed.She cried, she wept. She giggled, she shrieked. He could not take his eyes off of her. And he was glad he had brought her, even if it had not been for the right reason.
“Isn’t it wonderful?” Jane cried as they made their way to the lobby for refreshments during the intermission.
“Quite,” he said dryly.
“Have you been paying any attention to the play?” she demanded.
“Of course.” He actually smiled at her.
She smiled back, knowing it was untrue, and then they both laughed.
Amazed, Jane saw two dimples appear in the earl’s cheeks. Her heart turned over. Impulsively she reached for his hand and squeezed it. He jerked his palm away. She flushed.
Then she saw he was gazing at someone, and she looked too. He was regarding an older, elegant auburn-haired woman, expensively dressed and heavily jeweled. The woman was staring at them, then she raised a gloved hand to whisper to her companion. Her eyes never left them. It was obvious she was talking about them and that her words were unkind.
Jane moved closer, protectively, to the earl.
“Would you like some lemonade?” he asked stiffly.
“No, I’m fine.” She hoped they could stand in this corner and be left alone for the entire intermission.
“You must be thirsty.” His gaze was direct.
“I am not.”
“I am.” He took her elbow. Jane felt the dread. They moved into the crowd.
A path cleared before them. Everyone was staring and gasping and whispering. “Look, look, it’s he! Dragmore!” “… Lord of Darkness. Who is she?” “… Weston’s granddaughter…. Illegitimate” “… He killed his wife.”
The earl’s shoulders were squared, his face an expressionless mask. Jane fought tears. These people were cruel. She hated London. She hated them. She wanted to go home.
“They were in the park today, I saw them,” someone said loudly. “He was kissing her, he was. Right in public!”
Jane halted, furious, and saw that the speaker was the rider who had stopped after she had fallen off her horse. He hastily looked away. The earl dragged her forward. “Ignore them,” he said, but his face had that sunburned look.
“I hate them! Let’s go home!”
“The performance is not over.” He paused in front of the refreshment stand. The man he was standing behind in the queue turned slightly. It was Lindley.
Jane could have sworn his eyes were sympathetic.
The two men stared, then nodded stiffly. Lindley moved aside, but paused to bow before Jane and kiss her hand. “Hullo, Jane,” he said softly.
With her eyes, she begged him for compassion for the earl. “Hello.”
“Jonathon,” a woman said in a whining voice.
Lindley smiled slightly and left. Jane turned to find the earl there, handing her a lemonade. His face was dark and he was drinking brandy. “Please let’s go home.”
“No,” he said, and they went back inside.
21
The performance was long since over. The Earl of Raversford stood closeted with his sister, the Countess of Braddock, in her drawing room. They were fighting.
