Chapter 4

To Thomas' relief, they arrived at the theatre before the show even began. This was not a theatre that Thomas frequented, but then, he very seldom visited the theatre at all. Performances were a distraction from work, and because he was a lord, it was not as if he could simply attend one.

There were a number of other little and time-consuming pieces involved in going to a performance. He had to ensure that he dressed well, that the driver was prepared, that he was patient enough to respond politely to the ton women vying for his attention, and that he did not seem as though he were doing anything disreputable.

Making a public appearance was such a tiring prospect that Thomas often felt as if he were acting himself, playing the role of a gentleman rather than really being one.

"Hm," Samuel shifted in his seat.

"What?"

"I think the candles towards the stage were trimmed too low."

Thomas glanced at the stage, where the candles did look a little precariously trimmed. He hoped the occupants of those seats—a whole garden of colourfully dressed and laughing young ladies—did not find themselves scalded with dripping candle wax later into the performance.

Fortunately, he and Thomas had no reason to worry. Thomas had a private box at this particular theatre, and it was apparent that someone had taken a great deal of care in ensuring that he would not have to suffer from hot wax.

"Unfortunate," Thomas said.

"Indeed."

On stage, the curtain moved, indicating that something was happening, but the actors had not yet emerged. "Who is your actress playing?" Thomas asked.

"Hermia, I believe."

"Really?"

Thomas had imagined that she would be playing the fairy queen Titania. Samuel had a certain taste for women, and he tended to favour those who were very beautiful and bold, brazen even. It was difficult to imagine a woman like that playing Hermia, who was fairly forgettable among Shakespearean heroines. Even Thomas, who liked A Midsummer Night's Dream, would have a difficult time naming anything particularly compelling about her.

"Yes, really," Samuel said, sounding impatient. "She will be the most beautiful Hermia ever to grace the stage."

Thomas laughed. "Strange how every woman whom you find desirable is always the most beautiful to ever."

"I have exquisite taste," Samuel replied. "That is all."

"Insatiable taste, you mean."

"The two are not mutually exclusive, are they?"

Thomas shook his head. Despite his hesitance to join Samuel, Thomas found himself feeling rather content. It was difficult to say if it was the brandy or the company, but this evening was better than the one he had planned. A flicker of movement caught his attention, and Thomas glanced towards the wings.

A young lady seated herself there. Thomas' heart caught in his throat as he gazed at her. She was a slight woman, her willow-like figure emphasized by her fine, white gown. Her hair was clearly brown, but the flickering firelight cast some of it in a rich, red colour. Thomas sat too far away to determine her eye colour, but her eyes were wide and lovely, set in a pale and delicate face. The young lady shifted forward and opened a book in her lap. In her right hand, she raised a pencil and twirled it idly between her fingers. Perhaps she intended to sketch the performance.

"I wonder where her chaperone is," Thomas mused.

"Who?" Samuel asked.

Thomas inclined his head towards the young lady. "Her."

"Nearby, I am sure," Samuel said dismissively.

A peal of laughter sounded from stage and Samuel drew in a sharp breath of air, his anticipation palpable. The play had begun, but Thomas found his eyes fixed still on the young woman as she began writing in her book, making quick, fervent strokes across the paper.

***

It was the most scandalous rendition of A Midsummer Night's Dream that Thomas had ever seen in his life. Samuel's favoured actress, Loralie, made for a passionate Hermia; he could understand why Thomas liked the woman. She was loud and beautiful, and she seemed to have cast a spell over the entire crowd. Even if Hermia, the character, did not remain fixed in the memories of her audience, that actress certainly would.

Despite the actress' charms, however, Thomas found himself ensnared by another young lady. The woman in the wings spent the entirety of the performance writing in her book. No escort ever appeared either. It seemed to be simply her, alone at the theatre.

While most of the audience talked throughout the performance, she was silent and alone, watching the play with such concentration that her brow furrowed. By the time the performance ended, Thomas found himself still staring after the lovely woman and wondering who she was and why she was there.

"I am going to meet the actress," Samuel said. "Do you want to come?"

Not to meet the actress. His eyes snapped to the young lady in the wings, who had closed her book with a soft, rueful sort of smile. She turned away and disappeared from view.

"Yes, I want to come with you."

The young lady might also go behind the stage. She did not seem to be the usual guest, after all. She had her own place in the theatre and seemed as though she was comfortable with the theatre. He imagined that she visited often.

Samuel led the way to behind the stage. Thomas followed, his heart racing. He knew vaguely that his immediate attraction to this young lady was a little unusual, but there was something about her—perhaps, the rapt and devoted way she watched the performance—that spoke to him. His heartbeat quickened. He just wanted to meet her and learn what she had been doing.

They walked down a long corridor, Thomas silently willing his friend to move a little more quickly, and at last, they emerged behind the stage. It was a flurry of activity and sound as actors and actresses abandoned their costumes. The atmosphere's cheer abated a little, and Thomas knew why.

He and Samuel had been discovered, and nothing changed the commoner's behaviour like realizing there was a lord in his midst. Thomas' eyes swept over the crowd, searching for any sign of the young lady from the wings. He found none.

At last, a throat cleared. The actress Loralie, still dressed in Hermia's red gown, offered them a practiced curtsey. "My Lords," she said. "What a pleasure to have both of you behind the stage. I hope seeing it does not diminish the magic on the stage."

"Nothing could diminish your magic," Samuel said in that same voice any time he spoke to a beautiful woman. "You are talented beyond compare. Loralie, I believe your name is? I saw you play Juliet in another production, and you were as wonderful then as you were tonight."

"How kind of you to say," Loralie replied. "I did, indeed, play Juliet. I am told that my Ophelia was my best performance, however."

Thomas resumed his task of trying to find the young lady from the wings, but she was still not there. Perhaps she had left another way. He did not know how this theatre was constructed, for he rarely came to this specific place.

"And this is Lord Bedford."

The sound of Thomas' name pulled him from his thoughts. "Indeed," he said, forcing a smile.

The actress returned one in kind. "It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lord Bedford."

"Likewise. Might I ask you a question?"

Samuel looked vaguely bemused, but Thomas wanted to learn about the young lady in the wings. These pleasantries were nothing but empty words being traded because that was how lords were supposed to speak. They were a distraction from what he really wanted. Some part of him knew that it was strange for him to fixate so strongly on this young woman, but something about her seemed to draw him in. He was like a hero, being lured to his doom by a beautiful siren.

"Of course, my Lord," Loralie replied.

If she noticed his brusqueness, she said nothing of it.

"Who was the young lady watching in the wings?" Thomas asked.

Loralie stared at him. Her beautiful face seemed to harden somehow; she suddenly became unreadable. An instant later, she was smiling and soft again. The change was so sudden and short that Thomas began to doubt that it had happened at all.

"The young lady?" she asked. "I am afraid I do not know who you mean."

Thomas raised an eyebrow. "She is young and lovely. I noticed her watching the play with rapt attention, and she wrote or sketched throughout the performance. Surely, you must have noticed her. I am sure that you would have a clear view of her from the stage."

He gestured to where the lady would have sat, but Loralie only shook her head. "Aside from the private boxes, there—there is no guest who sits in the wings like that. Perhaps some young lady was lost during the performance or was unsure where she ought to be seated."

"You would have seen her, though," Thomas insisted. "Whether she was meant to be there is irrelevant."

Loralie furrowed her brow as if thinking. After a few moments of contemplation, she shook her head. "I wish that I could answer your question, my Lord, but I saw no one."

"But I saw her," Thomas insisted. "I do not understand how you could not."

Loralie shrugged. "I am truly sorry, My Lord. I agree that it sounds unlikely, but I did not see her."

"Perhaps she did not notice because she was invested in her performance," said Samuel.

Not helpful! Thomas thought.

"Indeed," Loralie said. "I have been known to lose myself in my craft. But if there were a lady there, I can assure you that she does not attend this theatre often. I do not imagine that I could have failed to notice a lady who frequently sat in the wings."

Thomas clenched his jaw, frustration warming his blood. He had no reason to doubt what Loralie said. Thomas was sure that she knew everyone who frequently came to the theatre, but the young woman had seemed so devoted to the performance! Surely, she watched plays often if she was so invested in them! And she had not brought an escort with her! Thomas had never encountered a young lady who attended plays without an escort. Young ladies never went to any place without being accompanied! She was a mystery.

Thomas became aware of both Samuel and Loralie staring at him. "Apologies," he said. "Did you say something?"

"I asked if you were well," Samuel replied. "You did not hear me?"

Thomas shook his head. "No, I—I believe that I should return to my townhouse. I am not feeling well."

"Ah," Samuel replied. "I will accompany you."

Thomas glanced at Loralie, who was the very reason they had come to the theatre. "That is unnecessary, Samuel. I am sure that I can manage."

"No, I insist," Samuel replied, giving Loralie a rakish smile. "Until next time, Loralie. I look forward to seeing your next performance."

"Indeed," Loralie replied, curtseying again. "Have safe travels home, My Lords."

Samuel replied in the affirmative. The actress was quick to leave in a whirl of red skirts. Thomas ran a hand through his hair as he watched her depart. How could she have not noticed that young lady? Regardless of how passionate Loralie claimed to be, Thomas simply did not understand how she could not notice someone who was seated right within her line of sight. He might have thought that Loralie was lying, except that she had no reason to be dishonest with him.

"What feels unwell?" Samuel asked. "Shall I send for a physician?"

They walked behind the stage, returning the way they had entered. Thomas sighed. "I–no, you do not need to call a physician. In truth, I am just frustrated. I do not understand how that actress failed to notice that lady in the wings. How could anyone not notice her?"

"That?" Samuel asked, sounding baffled. "We are leaving because Loralie did not see the woman that you did."

"When you say it like that, you make me sound ridiculous."

"You are ridiculous," Samuel retorted. "Why does it matter that she did not notice? Do you expect Loralie to notice every guest at every show?"

"Because I wanted to meet that lady!" Thomas exclaimed.

"Why?"

"Because she was interesting! Did you notice how intensely she watched the play?" Thomas asked. "She seemed as though she were feeling it all so acutely, with her very soul! And then, she just kept writing. I do not know if she was writing or drawing, but she seemed ..."

Thomas was beginning to feel a little ridiculous, too. The more he tried to explain what he felt, the more absurd it all sounded. He spoke like a man who was obsessed with a complete stranger. Samuel's doubting expression did not help. Thomas felt suddenly rather foolish, both for his strong desire to know who the young lady was and for his reaction to being denied that answer.

"Those are rather strong feelings for someone whom you saw across a theatre," Samuel said at last. "I know people you have known for your entire life who have not inspired such passion from you."

"I know," Thomas conceded, "but I feel them nonetheless."

"But why?"

Thomas groaned and shook his head. There was no explanation, but he supposed that he owed Samuel one. He would offer his best guess. "I--I suppose it is simply the situation that I have found myself involved in. Knowing that I must wed this unknown woman for my father has made me want to find someone more interesting. Anyone more interesting."

Samuel shook his head. "I do not understand you sometimes."

"I know."

They left the theatre, and Thomas inhaled the heavy, damp London air. The streets were loud with the laughter and conversations of patrons leaving the theatre. Those sounds were accompanied by the hoof-beats of horses and carriage wheels clattering along the uneven street.

There was something wonderfully steadying about it. The city was alive and familiar, and Thomas felt a soft swell of relief. As much as he loved Ireland, this was his home. He never noticed a long absence more than when he returned after one.

"Well," Samuel said. "There is still hope, though. Is there not? You have not yet met Lady Victoria. Perhaps she will be as interesting as the lady you saw tonight."

"Perhaps," Thomas said.

He doubted that very much. No lady of the ton would ever behave like that woman, sneaking into a theatre without an escort. He also doubted that any of those ladies would care enough to make observations about a play, much less to gaze so intensely at a performance. The ladies he knew were fairly irreverent about the theatre.

They arrived late and spent most of the performance gossiping about fashion and affairs. When Thomas thought about marrying such a woman, his stomach churned. His father was a well-respected man who Thomas had always admired, but he had made a grave mistake when he agreed to that stipulation in his will.