“We weren’t expecting you yet, sir.” She tried to catch a glimpse of herself in the mirror across the room. No doubt she looked a fright.
If she did, he didn’t seem to notice. “I fear there’s been a change of plans, ladies,” Edwin said distractedly.
Mama bolted upright. “Nothing has happened to Warren or Niall, has it?”
Edwin looked startled. “No, no, nothing like that.”
“Warren has scarcely been gone a week, Mama,” Clarissa said. “He’s probably still on the ship to Portugal. He certainly couldn’t have met with Niall yet.” Though she dreaded what he might learn when he did—that she was the cause of Niall’s exile. It was a constant source of shame and guilt for her.
But Niall would never reveal it. He’d kept her secret from Mama and her cousin all these years; why should he betray it now?
“Oh. Yes, you’re right.” Mama sank back in her seat. “So what is this ‘change of plans,’ Edwin?”
“I entirely forgot that I’m obligated to attend the opening of a new enterprise tonight. I won’t be able to stay for dinner. You’re welcome to go with me, but if you prefer not to, I’ll understand. It’s rather sudden, I know.”
He said it almost as if he hoped they wouldn’t go. No doubt he was tiring of fulfilling his promise to Warren now that Count Durand’s interest in her seemed to have waned.
Fine. She hadn’t wanted to dine with him, anyway. She was looking forward to a lovely evening alone with Mama. Truly, she was.
“What is the opening for?” Mama asked.
“I’m sure it’s nothing that would interest us, Mama.” Clarissa glided over to the window with studied nonchalance. “It’s probably a lecture hall or an exhibit of machines or something equally dull.”
“Actually, my Lady Spitfire,” he drawled, “it’s the reopening of the Olympic Theatre.”
She froze, then whirled on him. “Madame Vestris’s Olympic Theatre?”
“You know about it?”
“Are you mad? Everyone knows about it! If not for the fact that Mama and I were sequestered in the country for months, I would have bought tickets to Olympic Revels as soon as they went on sale.” She narrowed her gaze on him. “There’ve been none to be had for love or money these past few weeks. So how did you get them?”
He shrugged. “I’m an investor. I have three tickets, actually, but with Keane and Yvette in America—”
“You’re an investor.” She couldn’t keep the incredulity from her voice. “In the Olympic Theatre.”
“You needn’t look so shocked. When Madame Vestris approached me, I agreed to put some money on her venture if she’d agree to hire a couple of the more promising lads from Preston Charity School for posts in her business office.”
“You know Madame Vestris?” she breathed. “The most celebrated opera singer, dancer, and actress in London?”
With a sudden gleam in his eyes, he waved three tickets in the air. “I could introduce you.”
She gaped at them, then snapped her mouth shut. “Give me twenty minutes to get ready.” Picking up her skirts, she hurried for the door. “We’re most certainly going with you.”
“Twenty minutes?” Edwin snorted. “I ought to make a wager on that. I’d win handily.”
She paused to stick her tongue out at him, then rushed into the hall.
“But Clarissa,” Mama called from behind her, “what about dinner?”
“Tonight we shall live on music!” Clarissa cried with a dramatic wave of her arm.
“Music isn’t very filling, my dear!” Mama cried.
But Clarissa was already rushing up the stairs, calling for her maid. Madame Vestris! The town had been buzzing for the past month about the actress’s venture—how she’d renovated the theater in its entirety, how she meant to provide spectacular entertainments. The famous contralto and another actress were partners in it, and no one could wait to see what they had in store.
Clarissa had nearly cried when she’d realized she couldn’t get tickets. And Edwin had meant to go without them? She would punish him for that, just see if she didn’t. She had the perfect gown for it, too. If he did notice her bosoms, as he’d said at the ball, then she would certainly make him notice them tonight. And choke on his disapproval of her attire, as well.
When, an hour and a half later, she and Mama descended the stairs in full regalia, complete with satin opera cloaks, she caught Edwin glancing at his pocket watch.
“Don’t blame me if we’re late,” she told him with a side glance at her mother. “I wasn’t the one who insisted upon eating dinner while dressing.” And it had taken Clarissa’s maid a good half hour to get her coiffeur, a confection of feathers and curls and ribbons, done properly.
“I’m an old woman,” her mother said with a sniff. “I get peckish.”
“You are not that old, Mama.”