Chapter 10

Bernadette sat upright, her back straight and stiff, the padded seat in the private box soft and comfortable. She gazed over at the stage and the immense chandelier that hung from the center of the ceiling. She focused everywhere, in fact, except where she wanted to look, and that was at the man sitting beside her.

He's actually quite handsome.

She felt her cheeks flush at the thought and was grateful that it was dark enough in the theater box for nobody to notice. The gas-lamps were mostly situated on the walls below them, casting light onto the stage, and the box was in mysterious, grayish shadow.

She risked casting her glance sideways at Lord Blackburne again. He had a chiseled nose, a beautiful chin—neither too receding nor jutting out too much—and a well-molded mouth, sensitive and refined. Staring at the stage in repose, his gaze unfocused as if he was thinking, his face had a truly beautiful quality. He stared down into the "pit" where the cheap seats were, and Bernadette caught her breath at the softness of the look on his face.

He truly is beautiful.

She tried not to grin, feeling deliciously wicked at the thought. It was the first time in her life she'd really thought about a man that way. Usually, she felt too intimidated and awkward around men for such thoughts to be possible. Silent in the theater box beside him, she could let herself study him and feel the sweet, exciting feeling that had raced through her from the moment he took her hand.

She thought back to that moment. As he helped her into the coach, he'd stared into her eyes, his striking blue ones lit by the coachman's lamp. She had felt her heart leap, and her cheeks had burned with heat. His fingers on her hand had felt as though they burned, too, her nerves recalling the feeling of them the entire coach-ride.

"They'll dim the lights soon."

"Sorry?" Bernadette blinked. She'd heard the words but had been so distracted that it was a moment or two before she understood them. "Oh. Yes."

Lord Blackburne gazed at her in the darkened box. Bernadette lowered her eyes, blushing hotly. He must think her a complete fool. All of Mama's criticism flooded her mind.

You have no conversations. You are uninteresting.

"It won't be dark, mind you" he added after a moment. "Or we'll see nothing of what's on the stage."

Bernadette chuckled, grinning warmly because he'd said something else to her.

"No. It won't." She tilted her head, considerately. "What do you think it's like?" she asked him softly. "Being an actor, I mean?" It was something she'd often wondered herself—not that respectable ladies would act—but it had to be strange.

He shuddered visibly. "Horrible," he said at once.

She giggled, surprised at the swift answer.

"I suppose so," she agreed, more slowly. "I would die of fright up there in front of so many people."

He nodded briskly. "Indeed. Me too." He paused, looking down at the stage. "Do you think we can see the stage well enough here?" he asked.

"I can see well," she commented lightly. It was only as he nodded and grunted in agreement that she noticed that he'd changed the subject. She wondered why.

He's a viscount, and he seemed very confident when I first met him at the ball, she thought with a little smile. He'd seemed arrogant that day, barely looking at her. He would surely be at ease in any discussion. He boldly stared down the Ton , even when the entire hallway of people stared when she'd slipped on the stairs. She frowned, thinking. Lord Blackburne had caught her, pulling her back so she could balance. Did he think her a blundering fool? If he did, he hadn't shown it. He was polite and kind. Would he be so nice to a timid, uninteresting creature? It seemed as though he didn't see her that way and she couldn't understand it. He seemed to want to talk with her. She leaned back and she racked her brains trying to think of something to say.

"What do you think of Shakespeare's plays?" she asked him swiftly.

He blinked, as if he was surprised to be spoken to.

"I have always enjoyed Hamlet." He answered slowly, carefully, as though he was also nervous about speaking to her.

"I am partial to Hamlet too," she confided, pleased to be talking. "I'm glad it's showing tonight."

"Me, too." He smiled, a sudden, bright expression that transformed his face. When he smiled, he was stunning. He frowned, and she thought for a moment that she'd offended him, but he gestured down at the audience below.

"The play's about to start," he commented.

"Oh. Yes." She whispered back. The curtains were lifting and, in spite of herself, she found herself gripping the seat with excitement. The curtain rose slowly, and the actors appeared.

The beginning of the play was eerie and dramatic—Horatio, on the battlements, being visited by Hamlet's father's ghost, who insisted that he'd been killed in cold blood. Bernadette gazed down, watching the actors, lost in the action of the story.

Beside her, she heard Lord Blackburne draw in a sharp breath. She turned, gazing at him. He was focused on the stage, an expression of sadness on his face. She felt her heart stop for a moment. She knew nothing about him. No stories, no sorrows, no aspirations that might explain that expression on his face. He was a total stranger.

She felt an ache inside. She was a stranger to him, too. And with Judy sitting watching them, even though her presence was discreet, it felt hard to get to know him.

She glanced down at the stage again. The scene had shifted to Hamlet greeting his mother and treacherous uncle at the palace. She watched it distractedly, trying to ignore the derogatory comments from the pit directed at Hamlet's uncle. The audience was always rowdy, and it was difficult to concentrate due to their disparaging of actors or characters they found not to their liking.

Lord Blackburne blinked again, his face twitching in a way she thought meant discomfort. He, evidently, didn't like the yelling and the noise either. She felt a twist of sympathy for him. She also wished they'd let them watch the play in peace.

The audience fell blessedly silent again—except for whispers and comments too soft to hear properly—and the first interval arrived. The noise in the theater increased dramatically as the lights were turned higher again, then the swell of speech settled. Bernadette turned to Lord Blackburne.

"How did you enjoy it?" she asked nervously. She had to talk loudly to be heard over the din in the theater around them.

"Sorry?" he blinked. "Oh. The play? I enjoyed it." He had to shout, too, and she grinned despite herself at the amusing situation. He grinned back.

She stopped thinking altogether, lost in the blue, intense gaze. His smile lit his eyes and even with the lights bright again, she barely noticed his scar. The rest of his face was so handsome when he smiled that it didn't cross her mind to focus on it.

"It's quite noisy," she commented, giggling.

"A bit!" He yelled back.

She chuckled out loud.

"I liked the play, too," she commented, distracted as he smiled at her. "I thought Hamlet showed some excellent acting. Very convincing."

"Me, too," he agreed. "And Ophelia. She's excellent as well."

"She is," Bernadette commented.

"Poor girl. First warned against him, then forced to court Hamlet by her ambitious father." He tilted his head and Bernadette wondered for a moment why he was fixing her with such an intent stare. She cleared her throat.

"But she wished to," she said quickly. That was her understanding of the play. "It wasn't just her father who wanted her to. I think that's quite clear, later on."

"You think so?" He sounded dubious.

She nodded briskly. "Absolutely! Despite how it began, real love grew between those two. That's what made it such a tragedy." She held his gaze; quite sure that she was right. She'd read almost all of Shakespeare's plays, and Hamlet more than once since it was one of her favorite ones.

"You think so?" he asked again.

"Yes. I'm quite convinced. Read it again. You will find yourself sharing my opinion."

He grinned. "I shall."

Bernadette smiled back, blushing. It was strange. She usually felt scared to say a single word to anyone, especially men, but with Lord Blackburne, talking was easy and interesting. He was bright and informed and talking to him felt good and uncomplicated. It came naturally, like breathing in. She leaned back, relaxing slightly.

"Look. The curtains are lifting. The play's starting again."

"It is," Bernadette murmured. She leaned back in her seat, gazing down. The red velvet curtains were indeed lifting, showing a scene of a throne-room.

The actors appeared, and Bernadette watched for a few minutes, her gaze drifting sideways, unavoidably, to Lord Blackburne. He was watching Hamlet on stage, conversing with his treacherous uncle. He looked so sad.

She glanced sideways. Judy was gazing down at the stage, her attention fixed on the play. Bernadette wanted to smile. Perhaps Judy had never had the time or spare money to go to the theater. She was a wonderful audience, but, Bernadette thought with her lips lifting at the corners, a terrible chaperone.

The play became more tense with each act, the scene approaching where Hamlet would trick his usurping uncle to confess the murder. The graveyard scene came in the next act as well, and that one was always eerie. She glanced sideways. Lord Blackburne was grim and cold, but oddly reassuring. Sitting through the scary scenes beside him would make them slightly more bearable.

The play progressed, and it was only as the audience applauded wildly and then, slowly but loudly, began to move towards the big doors, the play concluded, that they had a real chance to talk again.

"What was your opinion?" She asked. "Did you think it was well done?"

Lord Blackburne turned to her dreamily as if he'd just woken up. "Yes. I did."

"I thought Queen Gertrude was formidable," Bernadette commented.

"Yes." He smiled. "Like my grandmama."

Bernadette giggled. "Very like." Knowing that he found his grandmother formidable helped. She didn't feel alone. They were both pushed into this. He was as trapped by his family as she was by hers. They were both suffering, but somehow, in the theater, it didn't feel like suffering.

"You met her?" he frowned. "My grandmother, that is."

"She came to the house a few hours ago," Bernadette confessed. "To call on us."

Lord Blackburne frowned, then inclined his head. "I imagine she would. She's very proper."

Bernadette giggled. "She seems to be." Proper, certainly. Intimidating and commanding were more the words she'd wanted to say, but proper as well.

He smiled and Bernadette felt her heart flood with warmth. It felt so good and so comfortable to be talking with him. He was rather likable. Brooding, quiet, but oddly likeable. She grinned to herself.

What would my friends think? That makes no sense, she told herself with a small smile. Brooding and quiet, but likable?

"I suppose, if we want to have any chance of getting home before midnight, we ought to try to get out of those doors," he commented, bringing her attention back to the moment.

She nodded and stood up. He stood back for her and she dropped a brief curtsey, cheeks glowing, and went through the door ahead of him. Judy followed them down the hallway. Bernadette walked with her back straight and her cheeks flushed. Lord Blackburne was strange, but he was strange in a nice sort of way.

They walked down into the foyer. At the entrance, Lord Blackburne stopped as though he'd been stunned, and Bernadette craned her neck to see what had halted him so forcibly: it was a woman.