“I shall come by tomorrow,” he promised, honored she’d invited him to see the shop’s second floor before anyone else.
“Where are your glasses?” she asked suddenly, leaning forward, taking him off guard as her mantle parted and her shapely bosom nearly defied the confines of her satin décolletage.
And at that moment, he did feel more like a wolf than he ever had.
“Pardon?” he asked foolishly, then her question penetrated his distracted brain. “Oh, right. My spectacles. I only need them for reading. Not for seeing you” —thank God!— “or for listening to music.” They both chuckled. “And with any luck, it will be a few years before I need a hearing horn.”
“But for reading tonight’s program,” she pointed out.
“Yes, then out my specs shall come.” He patted his pocket, but it felt empty. He reached inside. Nothing. Then he tried the other pocket, also empty. Opening his coat, he slid his fingers into his interior pocket to no avail.
“I never forget them,” he vowed. “Until tonight.” He wasn’t going to tell Charlotte in front of her maid how the anticipation of seeing her had caused him to rush out his front door without his glasses, a singular occurrence.
“Never mind,” she said. “I shall read anything you wish. Besides, I can better see your blue eyes without them.”
He paused. Her flirtatious remark sent a shard of excitement through him. Moreover, she’d noticed his eye color.How wonderful!She’d even offered to be his eyes, proving him right about her sweet nature.
St. James’s Hall, designed by the same architect who’d styled the interior of the Crystal Palace, was packed. The popular young pianist and singer George Henschel was the main performer whom everyone was there to hear, along with the prestigious Philharmonic Society orchestra.
Even with such a performance ahead of them, it was hard not to be equally impressed with the Florentine beauty of the concert hall, imitating a Moorish palace in which two thousand Londoners could enjoy music. Three galleries lined the room, all with a wonderful view of the domed stage and its organ. The tall windows, each in its own massive pointed bay, and the soaring ceiling gave one the impression of being in a cathedral.
“We are certainly not at the Oxford Music Hall tonight,” Delia quipped, which Charles plainly overheard. He doubted Charlotte had ever been to such a place as that or any of the other tawdry music halls. The worst was probably in Islington where men more often brought their mistresses instead of their wives or sweethearts. The audience often joined in the performance, loudly singing along with whatever was happening on the stage while drinking the worst grog. He’d been to a few as a student and vowed, after a particularly unpleasant vulgar display of comic songs, grotesque dancing, and ridiculous tumbling never to go again.
A music hall was definitely not his preference for amusement.
At St. James’s Hall, one of his favorite venues, Charles liked the gallery that faced the stage directly, and had obtained seats in its front row. He was grateful that Delia had agreed to let him sit beside Charlotte and even chose the seat on her far side. At least they could spend the evening side by side.
With his former lady-love right behind them!
Miss Virginia Stadden, the sharp-tongued baronet’s sister, gave him her frostiest stare as he ushered first the maid and then Charlotte into the row before taking his seat.
What an idiot on at least two counts!He should never have brought Charlotte to the same place he used to frequent with Virginia, and if he were going to commit such a stupidity, then he ought to have at least chosen a different part of the two-thousand seat hall.
Shaking his head at his own folly, Charles would have to attribute it to not having escorted that many women around London, and thus, he usually never had to worry about one meeting another — or that other looking annoyed. Waverly probably knew every way from Sunday how to avoid one’s previous paramours. And as expected, almost immediately, he felt a tap on his right shoulder, causing him to turn in the opposite direction from Charlotte.
“How nice to see you again, Lord Jeffcoat?” Her icy tone was like the hissing of a snake.
“And you, Miss Stadden. Quite the coincidence,” he added.
“Is it?” she asked, her voice rising. “Did you think I wouldn’t come here any longer? Was I supposed to hide myself away from all of Mayfair’s society because the elusive Jeffcoat no longer wished to be seen with me?”
“Um....” He felt Charlotte stir with interest beside him. He really didn’t want her involved in an ugly scene. And sadly, he knew it was going to deteriorate rather quickly. For his part, he thought their parting had been easily accomplished, but in retrospective recollection, Virginia hadn’t wanted their association to end. And now, their first meeting was extremely public.
Was it his imagination or had it grown quiet around him as every nosey-poke listened in?
Turning farther in his seat, so his back was facing Charlotte entirely, he hoped to make Virginia see the futility of going at each other. His eyes flickered over her to her companion —Dear God!It was her mother, a bear of a woman who had thought for certain her daughter was going to become a viscountess. Her expression was as withering as her daughter’s.
The lights dimmed in the hall. Charles sighed. “If you wish to speak to me privately at some other time, then I will be amenable to such.”
Virginia raised her voice. “Are you trying to arrange an assignation with me while you are escorting another woman?”
And thus began the unfortunate scene, obviously more interesting to those around him than Mr. Henschel and the Philharmonic could ever hope to be.
“Please, Miss Stadden, this is not the time.”
“And now he’sbeggingme,” she proclaimed with glee.
Meanwhile, her mother looked as if she might hit him with her opera glasses.
