On the way, as luck would have it, they encountered the Duke with Lady Rivenhall and Miss Lydia Parsons by his side. LadyRivenhall recognized her with a sharply unamused half-smile and a nod, but Miss Parsons broke into a bright smile of recognition.
“Lady Thalia,” she said, forgetting about propriety as she reached out to clasp Thalia’s hand. “How fortunate we are to see you again.”
Thalia glanced at the Duke, whose face was coldly remote. Hewasso very handsome, and she blamed her noticing because of how Anna had mentioned his good looks before.
“Marrow,” Simon said, beaming, and Thalia knew immediately she would not be able to brush past them without at least a brief conversation. “I did not know you were a fan of the opera.”
She could have sworn his gaze slid to her face, then away again. “I am not, ordinarily.”
“Well, you could’ve fooled me, being here like this,” Simon said.
Thalia smiled at Lydia. “Have you been to the opera before, Miss Parsons?”
“No, this is my first time! Don’t you think that it’s shockingly exciting?”
“Yes, I can recall how exciting it felt the first time I attended a performance,” Thalia said. “I love the theater. It’s one of my favorite places to be. Does His Grace have a box?”
“Oh, did you not know?” Lydia giggled. “Yes, he does. My first time at an opera, and I will be in a box.”
Before Thalia could respond, Elliot walked up to them, dressed very finely in a burgundy waistcoat, a box of snuff in his hands.
“My dears,” he said to Thalia and Anna. “Mozart’s Don Giovanni tonight! Are we not in for a treat?”
Thalia’s smile broadened. “Have you seen it before?”
“Of course! Do you think me a philistine?” He noticed the Duke, finally, and did a slight double-take.
The next glance he sent Thalia was condemning, although it was hardly as though she had any chance to avoid him when she had encountered him on the stairs.
“Then tell me,” she said, restoring his attention to her. “Do you consider Giovanni a tragic figure rather than a libertine?”
Elliot considered the question. “There is no doubting he is a libertine, certainly, but he is compelling. Listen to ‘fin ch’han dal vino.’ No mere villain sings with such brilliance.”
“Brilliance?” Thalia laughed. “He is a man burning the world down for sport.”
“And yet compelling despite it all. We come to the stage to watch him—let us be honest with ourselves. He is universally derided, and yet we still all come to watch him make mischief.”
“Perhaps we come to see justice,” a deep voice interrupted, and Thalia glanced up to find the Duke standing beside her, evidently having listened to their entire conversation thus far. “There is a particular satisfaction that comes from condemnation when it is justified. Mozart knew that. When Giovanni refused to repent, do you recall the dissonance in the orchestra? Mozart gives him damnation by harmony before he gives him damnation in the most literal form.”
Thalia blinked, though she was surprised he could reach such a conclusion. Not that she believed him incapable, precisely, but that he knew the opera so well to have remembered the orchestral score…
Well, she had not expected it.
“You think that people come to see Giovanni descend into hell?” she asked archly. “Is that where you derive your pleasure?”
“A villain aptly punished? Yes, that is certainly pleasing. Do you not think the same?”
She had always thought the Commendatore, the supernatural figure who at the end of the opera summoned demons to collect Giovanni and send him into hell, was an unrealistic figure. If life worked like that, there could be no villains; there would alwaysbe a Commendatore knocking at the door and demanding repentance or damnation.
“It is the resolution we all hope for,” she said slowly, “and yet I find it somewhat convenient.”
“Are you getting technical again?” Anna asked, hanging on to Thalia’s arm. “Come, we must go to our box, or we will miss the opening. Mr. Calloway, please do join us.”
Elliot beamed, evidently pleased to have been invited, and the Duke’s jaw clenched.
Thalia had to fight a smug smile. Thwarting the Duke, somehow, made her feel powerful, even though she had done nothing.
“Come, Miss Parsons,” he said to his young charge, who had been speaking with Simon. “Lady Rivenhall. We too should find our box.”
