A Cantata of Love (The Code Breakers 4) (14 page)

“Ash wouldn’t forget.” Amelia exited the box right behind Gabby and Gwyneth.

The gentlemen waited for them in the lavishly decorated hallway. The hallway matched the ornate fashion in the red velvet boxes, hung with heavy crimson drapes tied back with gold tassels.

The men had escaped the opera fifteen minutes into the performance with the excuse that they didn’t want the ladies to be exposed to their cigar smoke.

Lord Ashworth handed his wife a glass of champagne from a heavy silver tray held patiently by a waiter.

“I thought you might be thirsty after all your serious attention to the music,” Lord Ashworth said.

“Very humorous, husband of mine,” Gwyneth teased.

Lord Ashworth handed flutes to both Gabby and Amelia. “Did my wife listen to any of the music?”

Gwyneth poked her husband in the side with her elbow. “Not fair. Amelia and I had a lot to tell Gabby, since she is new to society.”

“Are you enjoying the opera?” Lord Weston moved next to Gabby.

What could Gabby say? She could barely listen to the music with Gwyneth and Amelia pointing out notables and gossiping. Amelia liked discussing everyone’s clothing choices, and Gwyneth knew how everyone was related and whether they had speaking relationships or were estranged.

Neither woman was catty. Their only criticisms were reserved for the men who treated their wives harshly. And the ladies’ conversation had given her plenty of time to watch Michael. She snuck peeks at him and his friends, who seemed to be having a grand time. Michael never looked back at her once his friends joined him. She needed to become accustomed to seeing him out in society. Tonight was easy with Michael at a distance and only in the company of men. He was back to his old life, his old ways.

“Yes, I’m finding Giacomelli’s
La Merope
very enjoyable. Do you enjoy opera?” Gabby asked.

Since Lord Brinsley had pressured Lord Weston to join the men in the hallway, neither Gabby nor Lord Weston had heard very much of the music.

“How often did you attend the opera in Paris?” Lord Weston examined Gabby’s face closely.

Avoiding any personal disclosures, Gabby took her time answering, fluttering her fan in front of her face. Lord Weston had shared that his mother was French and he had spent a great deal of time in France as a child. He also persisted in asking questions about Gabby’s past.

“I’m very fond of all music, and I especially enjoy the lush orchestration of French opera.”

The noise in the hallway was getting louder as people gathered outside their boxes. Gwyneth and Lord Ashworth were surrounded by a large group of people, mainly gentlemen. Gabby heard her name mentioned several times. She hoped these weren’t the same gentlemen from the main floor who stared at her throughout the entire first act. It had been quite disconcerting to draw such attention when she was trying to avoid scrutiny. She hadn’t realized it, but the chatting with Gwyneth and Amelia had helped her relax and briefly forget that a kidnapper could be lurking among these men.

She looked toward Lord Ashworth, who had been tasked with protecting her. Laughing with a gentleman, his posture was relaxed, but his eyes were vigilant, scanning the crowd.

Lord Brinsley, with his massive shoulder propped against the wall in relaxed posture, looked down at his fiancée’s face, seemingly unaware of anyone but Amelia. The still manner with which he held himself didn’t fool Gabby. He was ready to react if needed.

Lord Weston had slowly maneuvered their position, turning so that Gabby’s back was away from the crowd and she was separated from her friends.

“I was too young when we used to visit our French relatives. I know very little of French opera,” Lord Weston said.

Gwyneth came from behind and touched Gabby’s arm, causing her to startle. “Pardon me, but there are two gentlemen who wish to make your acquaintance.” Gwyneth whispered to Gabby so that Lord Weston wouldn’t overhear. “The entire male population of London wants to meet you, but these two are actually trustworthy.” She smiled and nodded to a gentleman who stood nearby.

“Mademoiselle Gigot, may I present Lord Fenton.”

A very handsome man with disheveled chestnut-brown hair, as if he had run his fingers through his thick locks, and a wrinkled and loosely tied cravat, took her hand and bowed. “A pleasure, my lady.” His devilish grin told her that he knew his ruffled appearance didn’t lessen his appeal with the ladies.

“And Lord Chalmers,” Gwyneth said before turning back to her husband who had taken her arm.

Lord Chalmers bowed only his head, since the crowd around them had grown, preventing him bending his immense size. The massive gentleman had been in the box with Michael. These men were Michael’s friends.

Lord Felton nodded. “Weston.”

Lord Weston tilted his head. “Felton. Chalmers. Surprising to find you two at the opera. You came to hear Madame Abney?”

By the strong smell of whiskey and their jovial manner during the performance, Gabby doubted either was interested in music. Most likely they shared Michael’s interest in Yvettes and Mimis, the usual reason men of their caliber came to the opera.

Lord Felton leaned on his onyx-head cane. “We came to celebrate with our good friend Kendal, who has been out of the country.”

“And he came to see Madame Abney.” Chalmers winked at Weston.

Gabby fanned her face, hiding her jealousy at hearing about Michael’s interest in the very attractive and very dramatic diva.

“That sounds more like Kendal.” Weston laughed, but neither man joined him. “Couldn’t imagine any of you attending the opera to enjoy the beauty of music.”

Before Lord Weston’s patronizing conversation, Gabby had been enjoying his company.

Felton gazed at Gabby. “Weston, you’re right. I hadn’t realized how much beauty could be found at the opera.”

Lord Felton was a very attractive man, but his flatteries had no effect on her. She was partial to dimpled smiles.

A gong sounded in the hallway.

Lord Chalmers leaned down and directed his conversation to Gabby. “Will you be attending Lady Burney’s party after the opera?”

“Not tonight. I’ll be retiring after the performance.”

Lord Felton placed his hand over his heart. “I’m heartbroken. Until we meet again, fair lady.”

Chalmers chuckled. “Fenton and I will look forward to our next meeting, my lady.”

The gong sounded again, warning the patrons to promptly return to their seats.

Lord Weston clasped her elbow. For a brief moment, Gabby was jostled closer to him when the throng of people surrounded her.

Lord Weston kept a tight grip on her elbow while he directed her into the box, trying to negotiate around all the gentlemen who wanted to meet her.

Oblivious to the bumping, Lord Weston asked, “Were you able to hear Madame Abney sing in Paris? She reportedly was a favored choice of Josephine de Beauharnais.”

Gabby felt like the air was trapped in her lungs, as if she were confined under water. This reference to Napoleon’s wife. Did Lord Weston know who she was? Gabby had been enjoying the evening despite the public attention. But now fear flitted across her skin causing her to shiver despite the hot, crowded space.

She swallowed and tried to answer in a normal voice. “Tonight is the first time I’ve heard Madame Abney sing. She is a very talented and very dramatic singer.”

Gwyneth smiled at Gabby when they entered the box and patted the chair next to her.

Gabby sat, focusing careful attention to spreading her gown around her feet in order to hide her apprehension.

Lord Ashworth leaned down and whispered to his wife, “You’re more beautiful and definitely more dramatic than any opera singer.”

Lady Gwyneth giggled. “Me? Dramatic? To whom have you been talking?”

Lord Ashworth gave his wife a tender, possessive look that made Gabby look away. She was beginning to like these people. They were good people and very generous in welcoming her, a stranger who was dangerous to know.

Chapter Seventeen

Gabby hurried into her bedroom after the long evening, relieved to finally be free of the demands of polite society. She was a strange combustion of unfamiliar emotions after dinner and the opera. Not being able to speak to Michael, Lord Weston pressing his attentions on her, and the forced gaiety was too much. She had spent hours in the convent longing for the society of witty conversation, beautiful gowns, and handsome gentlemen, but tonight’s experience left only a hollow feeling.

“Mademoiselle, you look tired. The evening was too much?” Melie, her maid, spoke in rapid French. The daughter of a French baron, Melie was left a penniless orphan after the Terror. The young woman had escaped France and now survived by sewing for Elodie’s modiste shop.

Amelia had sent Melie to be Gabby’s maid—a sympathetic gesture that touched Gabby deeply. Amelia had understood how alone Gabby felt in in a new country, in an English household. Having a French maid who had also lived through the terrible time helped Gabby’s homesickness.

“It was a wonderful evening.” It wasn’t a total lie. Gabby had enjoyed hearing Madame Abney sing. The prima donna had a commanding control of her voice and understood the nuances of the music. “But you are correct, I am tired.”

Melie assisted Gabby out of her pelisse. With the satin and lace pelisse draped over her arm, Melie took the garment to be hung. Speaking aloud in French, Melie admired the fine workmanship of Gabby’s clothing.

Gabby sat down in front of the intricately carved lady’s vanity to remove the reticule from her wrist. She opened the delicate blue satin bag for her rose petal lip pomade. Expecting to find extra hairpins and her handkerchief, she felt a slip of paper. She opened the string purse wider and removed the folded sheet.

She unfolded the mysterious note. In bold French script, the words burned through her brain.
Your life is in danger. Trust no one. The English are lying to you.

Her heart pounded sharp blows inside her chest, making it difficult for her to breathe.

Returning to the bedroom, Melie asked, “What were the other ladies’ gowns like? As beautiful as yours? I wonder how many were wearing Elodie’s creations.”

Gabby startled with Melie’s sudden appearance. Her hands shook and she struggled to quickly place the note back into the reticule.

She couldn’t think. Her speeding heart resonated in her ears. Her whole world shifted. Desperate to be alone, she wanted to dismiss Melie and examine the note more carefully.

Gabby stood slowly, her knees shaky. To not cause any suspicion, she needed to endure the painstaking nighttime ritual of undressing. Suppressing the need to hurry the earnest maid, Gabby stood still while her mind raced like the furious prestissimo tempo. The long row of pearl buttons in the back of her evening gown would take forever to unbutton.

Gabby already knew she was in danger, but who would send such an ominous warning and for what purpose? A letter in French, a cautioning against trusting the English—the writer must be French. Or was that the deduction the writer intended?

Afraid of harming the fine stitching around each button hole, Melie carefully slipped her finger underneath the fabric before she unfastened each button.

Constrained and frustrated by this newest threat, Gabby fidgeted. What had the French been advising her against? And what had the English lied to her about?

“I won’t be too much longer, mademoiselle. Only two more buttons.”

Of course, Melie wouldn’t miss Gabby’s agitation. And Gabby had felt she was doing a convincing job of standing still. Finally, exhaling a loud sigh, Gabby stepped out of her dress.

“I’ll wear my chemise for now. My robe, please.”

“Yes, mademoiselle.”

Wrapped in her new silk robe, Gabby sat on the tiny lady’s chair covered in midnight blue satin, perfectly matching the blue damask drapes and bedclothes. After seeing the color of Gabby’s eyes, Gwyneth had been adamant that she stay in the blue room. Gwyneth and Amelia were kind and ingenious women. Gabby couldn’t believe her new friends were lying to her and for what reason or benefit. But which English could the letter be referring to?

Melie began the process of undoing the hairstyle she had earlier spent hours creating. Slowly the maid removed the pins and then the bandeau, then she reached for the hairbrush.

Gabby’s impatience combusted. “It won’t be necessary, Melie. I’ll brush my hair myself.” Gabby tried to sound blasé, but the beating panic made her desperate. She would never be free, never escape Napoleon and his manipulations.

“But mademoiselle, I must brush your locks.”

Melie was new as a lady’s maid and took her position very seriously. “I’ve a headache, Melie. I’d like to be alone now.”

Melie’s cheeks flushed with color. “Yes, my lady.”

She didn’t want to hurt the young woman’s fragile feelings, but Gabby truly couldn’t withstand any more consideration and concern.

Gabby softened her voice and smiled at Melie. “A lady should brush her hair each night, but there are nights when I am too tired to care about the beauty ritual. It will be our little secret.”

“Your hair is shiny and thick, mademoiselle. You needn’t worry if you skip some nights.” Melie’s sunny, heart-shaped face shone back at Gabby in the mirror.