The Master of Ceremonies made an announcement. The play was to begin. The musicians packed up and left the dais as the Baroness’s guests took their seats in the long drawing room for the performance ofHamlet. The doors to the adjoining conservatory were thrown open, and a small stage had been set up with rows of chairs arranged around it. After everyone had settled down, a woman entered dressed in a simple white gown with a yellow sash and flowers in her long, loose golden locks. She looked almost ethereal as she took her place on the stage beside the male actor playing Laertes. The audience clapped politely. There were many French here tonight. Henrietta considered herself half-French. She was distressed to learn of the atrocities happening in France, and like her father and her aunt she was concerned for her uncle’s safety.
She leaned forward enraptured as Mademoiselle Garnier became Ophelia. The actress was spellbinding, and her rendition flawless. The candlelight played on her lovely face and bright hair as she used her voice and slender figure to portray the fragile, slightly mad, Ophelia to perfection.
You might have heard a hairpin drop when she sang a sad little song “And will he never come again?”in a heartrendingly sweet voice suffused with emotion. The words died away, but the guests remained silent for a long moment. Then they broke into enthusiastic applause and called for an encore.
“You must come to see the play,” Mademoiselle Garnier called and kissed her hands to them. With a graceful curtsey, she left the stage. She wove her way through the throng, accepting compliments in a charming manner. At the Baroness’s side, she murmured in her ear. Henrietta was astonished when the Baroness led the actress over to where they stood.
“Mademoiselle, an outstanding performance.” Her father bowed over the actress’s hand. If he was surprised to be singled out, he didn’t show it. But then she’d always thought her father an elegant man, and by the expression in Mademoiselle’s eyes, she obviously did too.
“Merci.” Mademoiselle Garnier gazed up at him. “I’d be delighted for you and your daughter to attend the play as my guests, Lord Beaumont.”
Henrietta expected her father to decline Mademoiselle’s offer. When he accepted, she stared at him in surprise. Had he decided to remain longer in London?
“I am delighted.” Mademoiselle Garnier accepted a glass of champagne from a waiter. “Please come backstage after the performance.” She turned to smile at Henrietta. “How fortunate to have such a pretty daughter.”
Henrietta gave a quick bob in response. Her father touched her lightly on the shoulder. “Thank you, Mademoiselle. Hetta is a joy to me.”
The actress’s violet-blue gaze touched briefly on Henrietta before returning to her father. “I look forward to meeting you both again at the theater.”
Baroness La Trobe drew the actress away to meet others waiting patiently for the privilege.
“Wasn’t Mademoiselle Garnier wonderful,” Henrietta said when she and her father were alone. He didn’t answer, staring thoughtfully after the actress. “Papa?”
“Yes, wonderful. In appearance, she reminds me a little of your mother.”
“Was Mama as lovely as Mademoiselle?”
“Your mother’s fine qualities went far beyond beauty. She was a selfless and a highly moral woman.”
“And Mademoiselle Garnier would not be?”
“You are yet to learn the ways of the world, Henrietta. I don’t know Mademoiselle Garnier, so I shall not judge her.” He chucked her lightly under the chin, but his gaze returned to the stage as if seeking Mademoiselle there.
Her father’s behavior surprised her. He was usually unaffected by ladies, even when they tried hard to gain his attention. But he seemed bothered by the actress. She did not have time to reflect on it, however, as the musicians struck up in the ballroom again, and when she entered, a tall dark-haired man appeared at her side. She caught her breath as Mr. Hartley offered her his arm.
“My dance I believe?”
They took to the dance floor for the Roger de Coverley. Henrietta had time to study Mr. Hartley at close quarters as they advanced and retreated, performing the intricate steps. When they held hands for a moment, his gaze found hers. “Why, your eyes are green, Lady Henrietta.”
She flushed, forgetting she’d been secretly noting the smoky blue-gray color of his.
“As you see, Mr. Hartley.” She spun away.
“I am delighted,” he continued smoothly as if they hadn’t been interrupted, “for I thought them blue.”
They met again. “Such an unusual green. And blue is a most common eye color found in England, do you not think?”
“Yours are blue, Mr. Hartley.” Henrietta didn’t feel inclined to admit they were more gray than blue, not like the sky, but shadows over a deep mysterious lake. For some reason, she wanted to get the upper hand with this man.
He grinned. “You noticed.”
“One could hardly fail to. This dance is so long-winded.” Unable to sustain a fiery gaze when his was so pleasantly warm, she fixed on his satin waistcoat, admiring the etched silver buttons.
“Your hair is as fair as a Greek goddess,” he said when the next opportunity arose. “I like the way you wear it tonight, bound up with ribbon.”
“Yours is as black as a raven’s wing. Did you know that in the country, ravens are badly behaved birds?” she asked in a conversational tone. She glanced guiltily around at her aunt. But Aunt Gabrielle was too far away to hear although she watched them closely.
A man dancing in their set coughed.
