So that evening while Gage searched the closes and wynds of Old Town for a criminal, I found myself in a box on the second tier of the recently renovated Theatre Royal watching Thomas Arne’s ballad opera Love in a Village. No one was more surprised than I to discover that I was actually enjoying myself.
Rather than crowding his box with friends and notables, Philip had invited only a single colleague, the Viscount Strathblane, and his wife. I had dined with Lord and Lady Strathblane more than once at my sister’s home, and so felt comfortable in their presence. They had always been remarkably affable, and though polite, not overly talkative, which allowed me to relax and enjoy the performance rather than be forced to socialize.
I had never seen Love in a Village, though I was aware of its popularity seventy-some years before. The music was lovely and lyrical, and the soprano who portrayed the heroine, Rosetta, quite impressive. I also found myself sympathizing with her. To escape marriage to a man she’d never met and whom she feared would make her miserable, she instead chose to run away and accept a position as a chambermaid at a nearby manor.
I admired her courage, and that made me curse my own folly. My father had supported Sir Anthony’s suit, but he hadn’t forced me to marry him. I’d done that on my own. There was an important distinction.
So lost was I in the romance developing between Rosetta and Thomas, another runaway who’d become a gardener in the same household, that I failed to notice how often Alana shifted in her chair. When I turned to her as the lights came up during the second intermission and saw how pale and uncomfortable she looked, I reached for her hand.
She smiled sadly. “No worries, dearest. This happens from time to time. I simply need to rest.”
I glanced up at Philip as he came to stand over us. His eyes were shadowed with worry, but by his resigned expression and calm demeanor, I inferred this had happened before. Poor Alana. I knew she hated to be cooped up, but apparently even tonight’s minimal excitement had been too much for her.
“I’ve sent for the carriage,” Philip told her. “But I think we should wait until the end of intermission when the lights go back down. There will be less talk, and fewer people to navigate around. Will you be well enough until then?”
Alana inhaled deeply. “Yes. Of course.”
I began to gather up my things, but my sister pressed a hand to my arm to stop me.
“Oh, no. Kiera, you should stay. You were enjoying the play so much.”
“I’m sure I can see it at another time,” I protested, but Alana spoke right over me.
“Philip, you could send the carriage back for Kiera, couldn’t you?”
“Of course. It’s only a few minutes’ ride between here and the town house.” He leaned down to press a hand gently to my shoulder. “Stay. There’s no reason for you to rush off as well. I’ll see Alana home and get her settled.”
“Well . . .”
“Strathblane,” Philip raised his voice to address his friend, ignoring me as well. “Would you see Lady Darby safely to my carriage after the performance?”
“Certainly,” he replied, offering me a smile. “No trouble at all.”
His wife, a mother herself, had leaned over to commiserate with my sister on her aches and pains and nausea.
“Then it’s settled,” Philip declared. Seeing how pleased he looked to have worked this out for me, it felt churlish of me not to simply thank him and accept.
So at the beginning of the third act, Alana slipped out of our theater box with Philip’s arm supporting her, and I settled in to watch the remainder of the opera. Early on I had figured out that Rosetta and Thomas were each other’s intended spouses, whom they’d each run away from, but that did not spoil my enjoyment of the ending when they discovered this for themselves.
I followed the Strathblanes out of the box and down the central staircase crowded with other audience members. From time to time either Strathbane or his wife would stop to speak with someone, so our progress was slow, but I didn’t mind, taking the time to observe everyone around me. Most of the ladies were wearing gowns with those newly fashionable puffed sleeves I so abhorred, with varying degrees of success. One blond girl with ringlets looked quite lovely, while the excess fabric only appeared to widen the figure of the girl next to her. Contrasting fabric might have helped, for the poor young lady was simply drowning in lavender.
“A rather unfortunate choice, I agree,” a familiar nasal male voice said beside me. Mr. Stuart lowered his quizzing glass and smiled, bowing shortly from the waist in greeting. “Lady Darby, I did not know you were in Edinburgh.”
“I arrived only a few short days ago. Have you been in town long yourself?”
“Only since I left Lord and Lady Rutherford. Such sad business what happened with that caretaker,” he added with a shake of his head. “Did they ever find his murderer?”
“I’m afraid not. Though they did recover the body that was stolen.”