Tall and thin, thinner than I remembered, he chatted and laughed with his evil cousin.
He didn’t like art. Why was he here?
Had he discovered me? Only Tramel knew where I was.
Stiff, still looking like a Roman soldier on patrol, he shifted his stance, his head turning to the entrance doors of the theatre. He had to be looking for me.
Was there an easy way to escape?
He chuckled again with Gladstone.
What could my enemy and my husband think funny?
Was he chuckling about his betrayal of Helena? Or maybe it was a cruel joke to make fun of myforeignness?
Yet, Felton, he’d never laugh about that. I don’t know why they’d be together. Tramel said since the new year my husband kept away from family gatherings. I wished father and son would reconcile. That was another reason to stay away from all of them. I wouldn’t be the thing that deepened the hate between them.
My stomach rumbled.
It was nerves . . . or the remembrance of the cheese and marmalade Felton fed me when we made up. My stomach needed to forget our old patterns.
I’d come for my money. That was all I was here for, and the size of the crowd meant the manager couldn’t deny me.
One easy step then another, I moved backward, inching my way deeper into the crowd. My estranged husband seemed preoccupied and kept looking toward the entry.
Well-dressed in his formal black and white, he must be meeting a lover. Why else would the casual man be in a place he thought frivolous?
Probably one of his sister’s smug friends who took every moment to point out my shortcomings. Actually, no, that was Lady Jane.
Only my father-in-law, the dear duke, stood up for me. I missed him. I hated giving up my only friend.
A woman in white, in a snowy cape with a gown of angel lace, stopped in front of Felton.
A knot tightened in my gut, but it eased when another man came. A short, balding fellow claimed her hand.
It was ridiculous to be jealous, when I had walked out of his life. I had to accept that someone would take my place, someone would share his bed and enjoy all his lovely heat.
Why shouldn’t my jaguarete garner favor?
He’d used my dowry to grow his investments to make himself wealthy. His temperament was kind, his manners unassuming. What Englishwoman wouldn’t want him?
My thoughts became bitter, but I had to remind myself I left. I chose to not contact him, to hide.
Dark hair secured with an onyx ribbon at his neck, Felton fidgeted, still looking at the door. If not a lover, what mission of his friends would bring him here?
Jeremiah Gladstone, evil Gladstone, made the circle of men laugh. If I ran fast and made it past Felton, I could take Papa’s knife and strike.
My eyes stung.
Gladstone killed my sister. He needed to die.
Fingers tightening on the handle, I wanted to stalk the fiend like a jaguarete.
But Felton wasn’t Tramel. He’d not let me injurehisfamily. Mine was expendable.
The doors parted for the audience seating. Gladstone went inside. He’d enjoy the canvases, my landscape that extended two stories high, I’d painted for the scenery—Shakespeare’s Padua along the Italian river. The money I earned would pay rent and allow me to buy provisions for his son.
This success was something an artist from Demerara should savor.
