Pere shook her head, too distracted by the beauty to speak.
“It’s such a lovely place.My parents have a box; I have many a memory of falling asleep in the velvet chairs,” Anna said lightly, smiling.
Her voice was warm, nostalgic, a gentle reminder of her ability to find joy in the smallest moments.
“The box will be this direction.”Henley nodded toward the staircase on the left and waited for Anna and Pere to precede him on the stairs, following close behind.“Hawthorne will likely be waiting for us; we’re not late—”
“And who was the last to be ready?”Pere glanced back to her brother, teasing.
Her grin was impish, a spark of her usual wit that felt like a shield against the flutter in her chest at the thought of seeing Gabriel.
Henley shot her an irritated glare.“What I was saying was that he is likely already here.”
As Pere followed Henley down the hall, she kept getting glances of the theater through the open doors of other box seats.The stage was prominent in the middle, framed by an ornate proscenium arch with scrolls and laurel wreaths, all overlaid in gold paint.The auditorium stretched before her, a sea of velvet seats and gilded balustrades, the air thick with the scent of beeswax and anticipation as the orchestra tuned below.She wanted to stop and walk to the end of one of the open boxes and take in the sight.Before her father’s passing, they’d gone as a family to a rendition ofThe Marriage of Figaro, but that was before the fire and reconstruction.And she’d been too young to truly appreciate it.Now, however, she was able to fully take in the glory of it all.
“Pere,” Henley’s voice called to her, and she tore her gaze from the open door and closed the distance to where her brother waited, gesturing to an open door leading to the box they were apparently the guests of that evening.As she stepped through the door behind her brother, her attention was captured by the size of the room, the sounds of the orchestra warming up in dissonant tones, and the flickering lights of the new gas lamps at the stage.The box was an intimate haven, its crimson velvet curtains framing a view of the stage, the chairs plush and inviting, the air warmed by the soft glow of a single candelabrum.
“Lady Peregrine.”
Pere tore her gaze away once more and turned toward the voice that she belatedly recognized belonged to Lord Hawthorne.
Blinking, she quickly composed herself and gave a polite curtsey.“My lord, thank you for inviting us to your box.”
“The pleasure is mine.”His eyes studied hers, a question just below the surface.“It’s quite lovely, is it not?”Hawthorne asked, nodding to the open view from the box.
“It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen,” she answered with more honesty than necessary.
But the beauty of it was distracting her from filtering her words.
“I take it you haven’t been to the theater in a while, then,” he asked, but there was no accusation, just curiosity.
Pere glanced back toward him, her heart reacting to the low tone of his voice, the way his eyes searched hers.He wasn’t standing overly close, but she swore she could feel the heat of his presence warming the air around her, drawing her in.His gaze was a tangible weight, stirring a flutter in her chest that she both craved and feared.How was such a thing even possible?
He arched a brow, grinning softly.
A moment later, she remembered he’d asked a question.
Taking a breath, she answered, albeit quite belatedly.“My parents did not attend often, and I’ve not seen it with the renovations.”
“And you approve?”he asked, his tone kind and low, as if keeping their conversation just between the two of them.
Pere glanced to where Henley and Anna took their seats and were chatting over a program.
“Yes, very much so,” Pere replied, turning back to Lord Hawthorne.“Though I have little to compare it to.”
“You don’t need to compare something with another in order to enjoy it, Lady Peregrine.One’s experience is enough to determine approval,” he replied, then offered her his hand.“Allow me to seat you?”
Pere nodded and tried to ignore the way her heart stuttered when she touched his hand.
He led her to the very front seat of the box.“Here, you will have the best view.”
Pere took a seat and immediately leaned forward, her gaze taking in the rows upon rows of chairs below, the milling about humanity, and the soft scent of perfume and snuff.The auditorium buzzed with life, the ton’s murmurs blending with the discordant notes of the orchestra, a prelude to the drama that awaited both on stage and in her heart.
Lord Hawthorne took the seat beside her.“If I may?”he asked, his expression carefully guarded.
“My lord, this is your box; I wouldn’t deign to tell you where you can or cannot sit,” she teased, arching a brow.“But if you have concerns about your proximity, I have none.But you must promise not to interrupt, or I will then be tempted to swat at you, and that will not be ladylike, I promise you,” Pere said, unable to restrain herself.
Her words were sharp, a playful challenge, but the warmth in her tone betrayed the thrill of his nearness.
