Chapter 35

Alice found the ton's so-called love for the opera absurd.

For them, an opera was simply nothing more than an avenue to see and be seen. Young misses would flock to its hallowed halls, garbed in their most exquisite finery, displaying a sense of being cultured in their appreciation of the arts, when the main goal was for them to display themselves to prospective suitors, who may or may not actually be dallying with the actual stars of the show—the opera singers.

Sadly, they couldn't truly know the depths of a gentleman's heart just from a few dances and a promenade or two. Alice had been collaborating with a known rake, and it had taken him no more than a fortnight to shatter her heart and cause her to question her desire to go on living.

But armed with the lessons she had learned from her brief encounter with the Duke of Thorns, she managed to salvage most of her pride and dignity, even going so far as to bolster her popularity. Gentlemen now called on her at Brandon Estate, and there was simply no end to the choice of dance partners she now enjoyed.

If her mama had not been so pleased with her recent success, she would have bemoaned the state of Alice's poor dancing slippers.

"I have it on good authority that this particular singer gives a heart-wrenching rendition of Spontini's La Vestale," Lady Brandon told her two daughters with a great smile. "Alice, dear, since you like these stories so much, I think you will enjoy tonight's performance the most."

"Yes, Mama," Alice replied dutifully. She did not have the heart to tell her mama that the opera singer she had just mentioned was also rumored to be the mistress of one of the Wolves. As to which one, she and the rest of the ton could only speculate.

For all she knew, it could be the Duke of Thorns himself, and Alice furiously tamped down the suffocating pain that started to spread through her chest when she thought of it. It would simply not do for her to be moping around like a lovelorn idiot when she was supposedly the one who called off their betrothal.

Lord Brandon chuckled lightly as the carriage came to a stop before the opera house. "Perhaps it is only dear Alice who cares for the plot of La Vestale. Truly, a cultured young lady our Alice is."

There was no attempt on his part to hide the pride in his voice as he looked on at his eldest daughter with a twinkle in his eyes.

Alice managed to smile back.

In the weeks that followed after the end of her betrothal, she had feared that the blow would weaken her father. However, the Marquess seemed to have recovered well to the point where he could even escort his wife and two daughters to the opera and other social events around London.

When they stepped off the carriage, a cool breeze blew past them, and she pulled her cloak tighter over her dress. Ladies and gentlemen in their finery were beginning to make their way up the steps of the opera house, and she even spotted Scarlett, who beamed at her.

They had made it to the door when a passable-looking gentleman greeted her father warmly. However, it was not the man but the ravishing woman who stood beside him who caught Alice's eye.

She was of average height with brilliant golden hair and thickly lashed blue eyes. She wore a deep red dress overlaid with delicate black lace that clung to her seductive curves, and when she moved, the numerous beads sewn into the fabric glittered. When her eyes met Alice's gaze, her red lips curled into a deeper smile as if she knew some secret that Alice herself did not.

"That is the Viscount Pembroke," her mother whispered discreetly to her and Phoebe. "And that is his Viscountess, formerly known as Lady Esther Swinton. A pity that after three years of marriage, they still have not had any good news."

The good news she was referring to would have been the conception of an heir. After all, an unmarried woman's duty was to get married; a married woman's duty was simply to provide her husband with heirs to inherit his titles and fortune.

Looking at the gorgeous woman before her, Alice was certain it was not for lack of trying on their part.

As she watched the Viscount treat his wife with a great deal more gentleness than was customary in the ton, she felt a brief stab of jealousy. Before she had left Colin's room at Fitzroy Hall, she had asked him about the kind of woman he wanted to marry.

Was the Viscountess the kind he would have liked? She could not have been farther apart from Alice. The only similarity they shared was that they were both women, and that was that.

Before she could delve more into her dark thoughts, however, her papa had turned back to usher them into the opera house, and they made their way to their box with just a little more time to spare before the first act started.

Alice sighed as she turned her gaze towards the stage instead. There was no use in thinking about Colin, but she could not help it. It was almost as if he had engraved himself on her heart, and no matter what she did, she just could not be free of him.

She caught Phoebe giving her a worried look, and she smiled back.

All the world is but a stage. And as actors, we all have our parts to play.

How unfortunate that their roles were only ever meant to interact briefly before they must part ways. Alice was certain that the opera of her life had been written as an absolute tragedy.

* * *

It was after the second act of the opera that Alice truly had a chance to interact with the Viscountess Pembroke. She had sought some privacy to refresh herself and was enjoying the quiet of the empty room when someone walked in.

"Oh! I am so sorry! I did not know that anyone was here!"

The Viscountess Pembroke looked quite apologetic, and a slight flush tinged her fair features.

Alice responded with a polite smile. "It is perfectly fine, Lady Pembroke. I was just about to leave."

Lady Pembroke flashed her a smile that did not quite reach her blue eyes. "I am sorry about your failed betrothal, Lady Alice."

Alice bristled when she heard that. It was hardly an appropriate topic to discuss, considering that both of them did not share the prerequisite closeness for such a conversation.

The Viscountess did not sound as sorry as she claimed either.

"But truly," she continued, "it is not like one can expect anything else from the Duke of Thorns. He has gained a reputation for a reason, you know?"

Her lips curled into a cold smile as she watched Alice with great interest.

"I am not sure what you are talking about, Lady Pembroke," Alice managed with a polite if aloof smile. "We were only briefly betrothed."

The Viscountess did not seem to pay much attention to her deflection as she waved her hand rather dismissively.

"I am sure you do, Lady Alice," she said with a saccharine smile. "You know how he is. He will charm you, whisper such romantic poetry in your ear, kiss you gently…" she trailed off, a trace of bitterness in her tone. "And before you know it, you are in his bed."

Alice felt cold all over when she realized that this woman, this Viscountess Pembroke, had been in Colin's bed. She had shared with him the very same things that Alice had only ever shared with Colin.

However, unlike Alice, he had taken the time to charm and seduce Lady Pembroke. He had hardly bothered with Alice herself.

As she stood there, unable to move, she vaguely heard the announcement for the third act to begin.

"I am so dreadfully sorry, my dear," Lady Pembroke simpered. "I must be off—my husband is waiting for me."

Alice nodded woodenly at the woman as she sashayed out of the room, her red, red lips curled into a smile that could render lesser men witless.

Alone, Alice hugged herself as she sank to the floor, breathing heavily. Images of that passionate night at Fitzroy Hall flashed in her mind, tearing through wounds that had yet to heal before they were opened once more.

At that time, she had thought that he was just like her, that he had been consumed with so much passion, such love, that he could hardly control himself, and they just tore off their clothes. Recalling the tattered nightclothes that she had stuffed into the very bottom of her valise, he had not even bothered to dispense with her clothes.

But what did she expect, really? She had all but thrown herself at him without a hint of shame. Had proudly worn her heart on her sleeve like the absolute idiot that she was.

He had even mistaken her for a harlot on their first meeting because what sort of gently bred young lady would sneak into a man's estate? Even if she had the intention of borrowing his book, it had to be that book that no self-respecting young lady would ever admit to knowing about.

She should have known better than to attempt to tame a Wolf. It would never have ended well.

Instead, she had worn her badge of stupidity proudly.

She had meant nothing to him. Absolutely nothing.

And that was because she had thrown away all of her dignity to fling herself at him. He had not even thought her worthy of reciting a few lines of poetry out of courtesy.

To think that he even had the audacity to tell her that he was doing it for her own good. That breaking her heart was the right thing to do.

That he was not worthy of her.

Damn him!If he thought he was not worthy of me, should he not have tried harder to win me over?

No, he knew exactly what he was doing to her, and he used that to his great advantage.

She released a shuddering gasp, her fingers sinking into the skin of her upper arms. Fury tore through her like a beast that had been released from its cage, a fierce iciness that froze her heart and destroyed what little affection she had clung to.

She would never forgive Colin Fitzroy, the Duke of Blackthorn.

But more than that, she would never forgive herself for allowing him to do what he did to her.