They took their seats at the table, the conversation mostly on David’s upcoming wedding. From the number of times her father glanced in her direction, Adeline sensed something was amiss. When she remembered that he had paid witness to her sleeping in the library the night before, she wondered if he had plans to admonish her.
Surely he didn’t know about the kiss she had shared with the sultan’s son. About their talk of marriage. About a possible life in Constantinople.
If Ertugrul hadn’t pulled her into his arms that morning in front of the statue of Aphrodite and kissed her quite thoroughly, all before he said good morning and escorted her to breakfast, she might have spent the day thinking it had all been a dream.
Prepared for a scolding, she stayed silent for the coach ride to Rose’s townhouse. When David stepped out to escort Rose to the coach, Adeline was sure her father was going to say something to her. Instead, he seemed especially quiet, murmuring something to her mother about that day’s session of Parliament.
The mood inside the coach changed considerably once David assisted his betrothed into the coach, though. Rose took a seat next to Adeline, and the two spent the entire trip to Drury Lane talking about wedding plans and the townhouse.
Ertugrul wasn’t mentioned at all.
Dressed in new shoes and a formal suit of clothes appropriate for the theatre or a ball, Ertugrul stepped down from a Hansom cab and thanked the driver.
He stood before the Royal Theatre and regarded the one-sheet that advertised that night’s production:The Bohemian Girl, an opera by Michael William Balfe.
“Ticket, sir?”
Ertugrul blinked. “Uh, I am to meet my party in the Morganfield box,” he stated. “The Viscount and Viscountess Bostwick.”
Annoyed he wouldn’t be making a sale, the man waved him into the lobby. Ertugrul surveyed the room, stunned to discover dozens of couples dressed in their finest clothes while others streamed in wearing garb they might have worn whilst doing their daily chores. The majority seemed dressed much like those he had seen on his shopping spree earlier that day.
His first stop had been at a shop featuring papers and parchments of all sizes, inks, pens, and fine charcoal pencils. The shopkeeper rolled up the parchment sheets and slid them into a pasteboard tube along with his other selections.
His second stop had been atEwen and Ewen. A young woman with a withered arm had greeted him. When he asked to see betrothal rings made by Alexander Tennison, she brightened. “He’s my husband,” she had said proudly. “Might you have a gemstone in mind?” she asked as she led him to a display case with over twenty rings set in black velvet.
“All of them?”
Mrs. Tennison had blinked and then tittered as she removed the tray from the display case and set it before him. “Sapphires, diamonds, rubies…”
“Rubies,” he said when his gaze stopped on a ring featuring a large round red stone surrounded by diamonds and gold filigree. The gold band featured tiny engraved leaves.
Pulling the ring from the tray, Mrs. Tennison held it out for him to examine. “The gem is the color of a red rose,” she commented. “And it’s flawless.”
“How will I know if it fits?” he asked, examining the detailed workmanship.
“We can resize it if necessary,” she replied. “Will you need a wedding band as well?” She pulled a thin gold band from the velvet and held it up. “This has the same leaves engraved in it, if you’d like something to match.”
“I would,” he had agreed. A few minutes later, he had left the jewelry shop and had the cab return him to Bostwick House, where he had drawn up the initial plans for a palace.
When Elkins had asked if he required help to dress for that evening, he had decided he wanted to wear more European style formal clothes. “If I don’t return before seven o’clock, please tell her ladyship I will meet them at the theatre.”
Elkins dared a glance at a nearby clock even as the sehzade was telling him of his plans. Ertugrul realized now that he should have taken the butler’s arched brows to mean his plan was optimistic at best.
The cab had delivered him to a shop in New Bond Street and then waited while he was fitted by a tailor. He hadn’t expected the visit to the men’s clothing shop to take so long.
Jeffrey Garth, his hair a distinguished gray and his manner rather serious, had held up a number of waistcoats, usually shaking his head before holding up another.
When Ertugrul reminded the tailor he needed the clothes for that night’s performance at the Royal Theatre, Garth had him dressed and last-minute alterations done within the hour. He arranged for his other clothes to be delivered to Bostwick House
Noting the late hour, Ertugrul had the Hansom cab take him directly to the theatre.
