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“Just a month away,” Ella said anxiously.
“I can do it. An evening dress for each of you first, then promenade dresses so you can walk in Hyde Park. Ball gowns will take a bit longer. We’ll take your measurements now, and you can all three come for a fitting for the evening gowns in two days. I know modistes generally attend ladies in their houses, but I can’t leave the Emporium. Luckily, we’re just now in between productions, since this is the last fitting for Catherine and Petruchio.”
“I am so grateful!” Ella said, meaning it.
“You’ll be paying me,” Mrs. Quimby reminded her. “Now we’d better send Woodward off before the young fool starts thinking he might win the hand of a viscount’s daughter.”
Fulvia greeted Mrs. Quimby with a bright smile, as her mother introduced Ella to “London’s foremost actor, Mr. Woodward.”
“We will attend the opening of Mr. Woodward’s play at Drury Lane next Wednesday,” Fulvia announced.
“I could do three evening gowns by then,” Mrs. Quimby said.
“How kind of you to offer tickets,” Ella said to Mr. Woodward.
“Oh no,” Fulvia said. “We’ll be in a box, of course.” She held out her hand to the actor. “It’s been a pleasure to meet you.”
He bowed very low and kissed her hand, his eye shining with an emotion that was certainly admiration and perhaps even more.
“We are looking forward to opening night,” the viscountess told him.
“A box?” Ella asked when he had gone. “Whose box, Fulvia? How can we possibly afford a box?”
CHAPTER FIVE
IN WHICH LORD PEREGRINE MEETS AN EXQUISITE WOMAN (NOT ELLA)
THEATER ROYAL AT DRURY LANE
THE OPENING NIGHT OF CATHERINE & PETRUCHIO
“You never go to the theater,” Devin grumbled to Fiennes. “I never go to the theater. Now the opera? That’s different. I’d happily accompany you.”
“Only because you are so fond of opera dancers,” Fiennes said, nodding to his coachman, who pulled away from the curb, heading for the mews behind the theater.
“Are those the matched grays you bought sight unseen?” Devin said. “They’re fine goers, I’ll give you that.”
“Thank you,” Fiennes said.
“Why in hell do you even keep a box?” Devin said, as they joined the throng of people streaming through the open doors of the Theater Royal.
“My father was a great lover of the stage. He invested in the refurbishment of this theater, so we have a life lease, as it were. I let them sell the seats most of the time.”
“And why are we coming tonight?”
“It’s your fault,” Fiennes said, tossing his friend a smile over his shoulder.
“No, it’s not!” Devin said, repulsed. “I refused to accompany my sisters to the play, and they finally talked my father into bringing them tomorrow night. They’ve been chirping on and on about the pretty lead actor. I don’t mind a play with blood and swords, one of the roustabout ones. But this is a comedy. Damn it, Fiennes, I’ll be asleep before the second act.”
“You’re turning into a lumpish old man, and you’re barely thirty!”
“As if you’ll stay awake,” Devin scoffed. “Back at Eton, you told the Master that you slept through King Lear because iambic pentameter has the same cadence as a lullaby.”
“Ah, but tonight will be different.” They were climbing stairs wallpapered in red velvet, heading for the private boxes.
“Why?”
“I will be entertaining my fiancée,” Fiennes said.
