* * *
Overnight the thaw which Stella had thought was in the offing became a reality, and London awoke the next morning to the sound of dripping water and the splash of wheels through puddles in the streets. Sleet was falling, adding to the wetness, and the thin covering of ice on the Thames began to break up, flowing slowly downstream once more, only to find its way almost barred by the narrow arches of London Bridge.
The thought that now there wouldn’t be a frost fair after all hardly entered Stella’s head; she was too excited about the visit to the theater, and as darkness at last fell and the time approached when Guy was to arrive at the seminary in his carriage, she almost drove poor Katy to distraction by changing her mind time and time again about which dress to wear. In the end she decided on the white velvet with the wide lace collar and crimson sash. With it she wore a gold locket bequeathed to her by her mother, and she carried a little satin reticule. Her ringlets were held back from her face by a white velvet band, and the outfit was completed by a very pretty cashmere shawl. She waited impatiently by the bedroom window, and Leonie watched her a little curiously. There was something about her excitement which wasn’t entirely due to the outing; there was something else behind it. But what could it be? Leonie hoped with all her heart that the girl had heeded her warning and wasn’t after all planning something which would make Guy angry and thus leave her in a worse position than she already was.
Finishing her own dressing, Leonie sat by the dressing table for Katy to put up her hair. Guy had, as promised, sent some little pink and white flowers, a spray for her hair and a posy to be tied to her wrist. They were rosebuds and lily-of-the-valley, and their scent was exquisite. Katy finished pinning her hair up into a knot at the back of her head, allowing three heavy curls to spill down, and then she picked up the spray of flowers and fixed it carefully to the side of the knot.
At the window Stella gave an excited gasp. “There’s the carriage! He’s arrived at last!” In a renewed flurry of anticipation, she snatched up her reticule and shawl and fled from the room before Katy had had time to tie the posy to Leonie’s wrist. But soon the ribbon was tied, and the plain white shawl draped carefully over her arms. After giving Katy a quick hug, Leonie too left the room.
News of the outing had passed around the school, and it had caused a stir, not because such outings were very rare but because it was known that Miss Hart had not wanted Leonie to go. Consequently there was quite a large group of pupils gathered at the top of the staircase, peering over as Leonie went down.
Guy waited in the vestibule with Stella. He was dressed formally, as gentlemen were expected to be when attending the theater. His black velvet coat was cut very tightly, so that it could never be buttoned to conceal the inching and frills of his shirt, and there was a diamond pin in his lace-edged cravat. He wore a white brocade waistcoat and white knee breeches with costly silver buckles. A
chapeau bras
was tucked beneath his arm, and he was carrying white kid gloves.
As Leonie approached, she thought how very handsome he was. It would be so very easy to fall in love with him….
He sensed that she was there, and turned. His dark glance moved slowly over her and then he smiled and bowed. “Good evening, Miss Conyngham.”
“Good evening, Sir Guy.”
“I trust the flowers were to your liking.”
“Yes, very much so.” She knew that a telltale blush was once again stealing over her face, and she hoped that he could not see it in the light from the chandelier.
He glanced at Stella, who was virtually hopping with impatience by the front door. “I think, Miss Conyngham, that a certain young person will positively burst if we don’t leave immediately.”
She smiled. “I think you may be right.”
He glanced up at the row of faces peering down from the top of the stairs, and as one they gasped and drew hastily back out of sight. “Good-bye, ladies,” he said, and then he offered Leonie his arm and Joseph opened the door for them to go out into the darkness.
Stella preceded them to the waiting carriage. The night felt strangely mild after the recent bitter cold, and the sleet falling audibly, striking wetly on the road and pavement. It wasn’t a pleasant sound, for it augured dirty streets, splashed hems, and soaked shoes. Leonie held her silk skirts clear of the pavement and was glad when Guy had assisted her into the carriage. The upholstery smelled faintly of costmary, and the windows were polished so much that she could see her reflection as clearly in them as if she were looking into a mirror. Beyond her other self, she could just make out the trees in the park. Beneath them the snow was darkened by the continuous dripping of melting snow and frost, and the paths gleamed a little in the light from the streetlamps.
Guy climbed in and sat next to Stella; then the door slammed and the carriage drew away.
* * *
Meanwhile, at the embassy in Harley Street, Nadia Benckendorff was preparing to go to the opera house, Covent Garden, with Rupert. She was late and he had been waiting in the entrance hall for some time now, but she was determined to look her very best; and determined too, if a little belatedly, to make him feel less sure of her. Becoming his mistress had been a mistake, for it had not brought her any nearer her goal and had, if anything, left her feeling more uncertain of him than ever. She had seen little of him for the past few days, and so was determined that tonight would go well.
She wore a sheer white muslin gown which clung revealingly to her figure, and there were rose-colored plumes in her golden hair. Dorothea had already left for Almack’s, and would then be going directly on to a secret address with Lord Palmerston, so Nadia had no compunction whatsoever about borrowing her ruby necklace, since it went perfectly with the neckline of her gown. Dorothea would have been furious if she’d known, but Nadia had no intention of allowing her to find out, and she concealed it from the prying eyes of servants by putting on her fur-lined evening mantle before leaving her room.
She went down to the entrance hall, but the warm smile died on her lips as she saw that Rupert wasn’t alone, that Edward Longhurst was with him. Rupert came quickly toward her, the deep indigo of his evening coat looking almost black in the candlelight. He smiled, but as always she couldn’t tell what he was thinking. As he raised her hand to his lips, she could feel Edward’s mocking eyes upon her. Rupert was still smiling. “I trust you don’t mind Edward tagging along.”
Mind? He
knew
she minded, since he knew she loathed Edward Longhurst! Her anger was tinged with disappointment too, for he merely greeted her, without any particular show of affection. Her face was wooden as she turned toward Edward. “Good evening, milord. How surprised I am to see you. I thought you were in Oxford with your family.”
He bowed, a lace handkerchief held lightly between two fingers. “Family get-togethers are too tedious for me, Miss Benckendorff.”
“I was under the impression that the opera was equally as tedious as far as you were concerned, sir,” she replied a little acidly.
His smooth, clever smile didn’t falter. “Ah, but that is only when I’m not in your sweet company, Miss Benckendorff.”
She said nothing more and a heavy silence descended suddenly over them. Then Rupert cleared his throat, exchanging a brief glance with Edward before offering her his arm. “Shall we go then?”
Nadia had barely taken her place in the carriage when she noticed something crumpled and white on the floor by her feet. When she picked it up, she saw that it was a lady’s handkerchief, prettily edged with lace and embroidered with the initials M.St.J. Renewed anger flushed hotly through her. That creature had been in the carriage today. He had been with her again and he made no attempt whatsoever to hide the fact, even though he knew she was unhappy about the way he was seen so frequently escorting his mother’s protégée.
She couldn’t keep the bitterness from her voice as she thrust the handkerchief into his hand. “Miss St. Julienne’s, I believe.”
He accepted it without a word, which made her more furious than ever. For a moment she thought of getting out of the carriage again, but then the door was closed and the coachman touched the team into action. They drove in silence to Covent Garden.
* * *
Guy’s carriage drew up outside the Theater Royal, Drury Lane, and it was immediately evident that the combination of the thaw and the fact that an unknown actor was playing the leading role had kept the crowds away. As Leonie alighted, she glanced up at the austere lines of the theater, rebuilt barely a year before after the previous building had been destroyed by fire.
There were few people in the vestibule, and the splendid double staircase ascending to the domed Corinthian rotunda was almost deserted. Usually the rotunda itself was an impossible crush before a performance, but tonight it too was almost deserted. They entered Guy’s private box, and Stella immediately sat forward in her chair, gazing excitedly around the auditorium, which was barely a third full.
Guy drew out a chair for Leonie and she sat down. There were ladies in a box opposite, with diamonds in their hair and at their throats, and when she leaned forward a little she saw others, all of them sparkling with jewels. She was suddenly conscious of how unadorned she was with only flowers in her hair.
Beside her, Guy seemed to sense that she was thinking. “They look like St. Mark’s Cathedral in Venice, as fussy and ornate as a reliquary.”
She smiled a little self-consciously. “Maybe they do, Sir Guy, but nevertheless I wish that I was like them.”
“You have no need of such aids, Miss Conyngham, you’re very beautiful just as you are.”
“And you, sir, are a master of the art of flattery.”
“I never indulge in flattery, Miss Conyngham, for it is a singularly unrewarding pastime. If one flatters a woman and thus succeeds with her, she must be a shallow creature and not worth the winning. You, on the other hand, would never respond to empty flattery, which would make any such attempt on my part quite futile. So you see, when I pay you a compliment, you may rely upon its being said in all honesty.”
At last the performance commenced, and at first it seemed as if it were merely an average production, as the unenthusiastic applause of the thin audience showed, but the moment Mr. Kean made his first appearance, an almost electrifying change swept tangibly through the house. He was a small, unimpressive figure, barely five feet, five inches tall, and his head looked far too large for his little body. He was a very strange Shylock, especially as he had dispensed with the traditional red wig and beard and wore black instead, and a surprised stir passed through the audience. But then he gazed from the stage with his burning eyes and spoke his first lines, and the entire audience knew instinctively that they were in the presence of a great actor. Leonie found she was holding her breath, and Stella was spellbound, her lips parted slightly, transfixed by the shuffling figure on the stage. Guy was motionless, at first with astonishment, then with admiration.
Absolute silence gripped the house, but then Kean’s brilliance drew involuntary bursts of applause, and by the end of the first act he had so asserted his dominance over them all that the dropping of the curtain brought forth a wild enthusiasm which was all the more astonishing since the audience was so very thin. A seething excitement and babble of conversation broke out, and Stella turned at last to Leonie and Guy. “I think,” she said in a trembling voice, “that Mr. Kean is the most wonderful actor there’s ever been.”
Leonie nodded, a little shaken by the sheer intensity of the man’s acting. “I think you may be right,” she said. She glanced at Guy. “What do you think, Sir Guy?”
“He’s certainly a genius,” he replied simply, “and this won’t by any means be the last we see of him.” He leaned forward. “I see that word’s getting out already.”
Leonie looked down too, and saw several gentlemen leaving their places to hurry out of the theater.
Guy sat back again. “Before the performance is over, the house will be full, you mark my words.”
Stella looked at him again, her smile sweet and her eyes as large and innocuous as could be. “What a shame Imogen isn’t here to see it,” she said.
* * *
At the opera house, the performance was very poor indeed, and the audience as thin as at the Theater Royal. The house was shuffling and dissatisfied, and already there had been a number of catcalls.
Nadia’s fan moved slowly to and fro and she sighed. She doubted if she’d ever endured a more boring or irritating evening, boring because of the quality of the production, and irritating because Edward Longhurst was seated on one side of her. Dear
God
, how she despised him! Why had he had to come tonight, when she’d especially wanted to spend the evening alone with Rupert?
Gradually she became aware of a stir in the nearby boxes. People began to talk excitedly, even though the performance was still in progress, and then they began to leave their places. What was happening? She turned inquiringly to Rupert, and Edward got up to see what was going on. He returned to tell them that everyone was going over to Drury Lane to see the brilliant new actor playing Shylock.
Rupert glanced at the stage, where the cast had now been so disturbed by the noise from the audience that they’d missed several cues. “I vote we toddle over and see this new fellow, for to be sure, anything is preferable to this shambles.” He got up and held his hand out to Nadia, thus not giving her any choice in the matter.
At the Theater Royal, the second act had been considerably delayed by the turmoil in the audience. More and more people kept arriving and now most of the boxes were occupied and there were many standing at the back of the house. What had been a painfully thin house had now become a great crush.
Nadia, Rupert, and Edward took their places in Rupert’s private box, and Nadia’s mood was now more sour than ever. Her hem was wet and her satin slippers soaked through, and to make matters worse, they had come face to face in the rotunda with Lady Cowper, who had immediately noticed that she was wearing Dorothea’s necklace. Emily was more than a little piqued at the way Dorothea had snapped up Lord Palmerston, and was therefore bound to mention the matter of the necklace to her, since she knew that Dorothea would never have consented to its being borrowed and would therefore be absolutely furious when told.