He was dressed in a handsome evening coat and when he bowed, my pulse sped. In moments like this, I still couldn’t believe I was Keira O’Day, from Five Points. What duke in his right mind would want me, if he knew? It was all a façade, gold gilding covering the unpleasant truth beneath the surface. But wasn’t the entire aristocracy a sort of gilding? A thin veneer of people who only represented a small portion of society. Perhaps I fit in perfectly.
The duke straightened, his mask of indifference returning to his face as he offered me his arm. “Are you ready to leave for the opera?”
I nodded, accepting his arm, and soon found myself in his carriage with an opera cape covering my gown, sitting next to Aunt Maude as Severton sat across from us.
It was dark in his carriage, and despite Aunt Maude’s best attempts to make conversation, the duke was silent. As we passed the gaslit lamps, and light entered from time to time, I caught him stealing glances at me, the scar on his face highlighted in the shadows.
A shiver ran up my back at the thought of driving away in this carriage, alone, as his wife. Could I possibly get to know him well enough to be comfortable with that idea? And what about after the wedding, when I was expected to be his wife in every sense of the word? What then?
I didn’t want to think about the intimate details of a marriage. Every time I thought about kissing him, memories of the stolen moment on Christmas Day with Alec filled my mind.
Warmth crept up my neck, and I had to look away from the duke.
Her Majesty’s Theatre was not far from Buckingham Gate, and it didn’t take long to get there. The street was clogged with other expensive carriages, and we had to wait our turn to leave the conveyance and enter the beautiful six-story building.
When the door finally opened, and I stepped out, Severton offered me his elbow as Aunt Maude followed.
It didn’t take long for people to start noticing us, and the whispers began.
The theater wasn’t as large as the Metropolitan in New York, but it was still grand and elegant. There were a couple dozen private boxes distributed on two tiers of the house. Lady Mandeville was in the hallway outside one of them, waiting for us. She wore a sparkling tiara and was draped with expensive-looking diamonds.
“There you are,” she said as she greeted us, offering the duke a curtsey. “Welcome, Your Grace.” She then kissed Aunt Maude and me on the cheeks. “Do come in and make yourselves comfortable.”
Severton pulled aside a red curtain and allowed me to enter first.
There were six chairs within, three in front and three in the back. I walked to the front row, and the duke followed me as Aunt Maude and Lady Mandeville stayed near the door, speaking in low tones.
Across the way, in another box, I noticed a familiar woman with blond hair. It was Lily Parker. She was seated with an older gentleman to her left as her mother and two older ladies sat behind her. When she caught my eye, she smiled and Ireturned the smile. We had seen each other at several events, though we had little time to get to know one another. I’d heard that her father had made a fortune selling shovels and pick axes during the California Gold Rush. After his death, her mother had remarried a man with two daughters, not much younger than Lily. Now, she and her mother had come to London with the same goal as everyone else. To marry into the aristocracy to gain social prominence in New York.
Was the man beside her an aristocrat? He was speaking to Lily and took her attention away.
In another box was Annabelle Wellington. She was sitting with a gentleman closer to her age. She seemed quite smitten with him and was not scanning the theater like I was. Instead, she leaned close to him, whispered into his ear, and then they both laughed.
Perhaps she had forgotten about Alec.
Even though I could not have Alec, something inside of me felt relieved that Annabelle would not have him either.
Severton seemed sullen and was probably wishing he was anywhere else but the theater, so I decided to make the best of things and break the silence.
“Do you attend the opera often, Your Grace?”
“I have never been to the opera.” He was sitting close to me, his presence dominating in every way. His height, his breadth, his title, his mood—it was all intimidating. “And please, when we’re alone, call me Severton—or Ames.”
I had almost forgotten his first name.
“And may I call you Clara?” he asked, his gaze now on me.
“Of course.” I swallowed the nerves that suddenly bubbled up. Things had just become very personal. I wanted to change the subject. “What do you do for entertainment in Ravenscar?”
“We hunt.”
“Oh? Do you host hunting parties?”
“No. Just my brothers and I.”
“Are your brothers married?”
“No.”
