Chapter 11

Julian approached the newly remodeled stone portico of Haymarket Theater with its impressive Grecian-style entablature and pediment supported by six towering Corinthian columns, and checked his pocket watch again.

Half-past eight.

The night's entertainment started at seven, which meant he was late. That wasn't a crime at the theater, of course, as patrons came and went at will over the course of an evening. And, really, he hadn't even planned on attending tonight's performance.

Then the first note had arrived at his door at four o'clock this afternoon. A request. Would he mind very much having company in his reserved box at the Haymarket Theater this evening? Julian had dashed off a quick reply in the vein of the more, the merrier and forgot about it—until the second request arrived.

Then the third…and the fourth…and the fifth.

By the time a footman had presented him with the eighth note, his curiosity was fully up.

Why was a bevy of lords flocking to the Haymarket Theater tonight and requesting the use of his box when he knew more than a few of them had boxes of their own?

As he hadn't anything else on tonight—well, nothing that couldn't be endured another night—here he was, unable to resist finding out.

Of the five doors facing him, he entered the one farthest to the left, bypassing the opulently lit, mirrored vestibule, and made for the private staircase that led directly to second- and third-level boxes. He pulled back the curtain to his box and found the space filled to overflowing with lords, most standing, as there were only four seats for eight…nine gentlemen. Heads turned, and greetings were freely given. Julian gave the stage a quick glance and thought the play might be Romeo and Juliet, if he had his Shakespeare correct, eliciting a curious furrow of his brow. That particular play wasn't one gentlemen gravitated toward, in the general sense.

Except the gentlemen weren't watching the play, which was below and to their left. Instead, gazes—some direct, others furtive—were pointed in the opposite direction, to the right. Julian followed, and the beat of his heart gave a wobbly stutter-step in his chest.

A lady…light red-gold tendrils falling in artful waves down the elegant column of her neck…

Tessa.

The woman he hadn't been able to exorcise from his mind since she'd uttered those parting words.

Not yet.

Words both tease and promise.

After three days, however, perhaps more tease than promise, as he'd heard naught from her.

And here she was in the theater box beside his.

Her head angled just enough to present her profile limned in the soft light of the stage.

Julian's eyebrows dug into his forehead.

The lady was Tessa—and she wasn't. Rather, a discomfiting close approximation.

Observations about this Tessa followed in quick pursuit. She was a very animated Tessa and open—and younger, too. Not that Tessa was old—far from it, as she couldn't have more than five and twenty years on her—but this young lady was possessed of an altogether different demeanor from the Tessa he was coming to know.

Then his gaze shifted to the young lady's conversational partner, another young lady of similar looks, and he remembered. The sisters he'd encountered only in passing at the Derby. Now, Julian understood the requests for the use of his private box. Word that the younger sisters of the Duke of Acaster would be attending the Haymarket Theater tonight in Mr. Michael Lancaster's private box must've spread like wildfire through the clubs today.

Next, he found Mrs. Eloise Fairfax speaking behind her hand to Lancaster, a barrister who had made quite the name for himself in Lincoln's Inn and who many in society suspected of harboring political ambitions. Courting one of the ton's most popular ladies and taking her to wife would be a beneficial step in that direction.

The instant before his gaze shifted yet another increment, tension filled Julian. His body knew who he would find to Mrs. Fairfax's right before his mind could register her.

Tessa.

Seeing her in a society setting illustrated how unique a woman she was, as she'd dressed ever as she always did—a man's white linen shirt, lavender watered silk waistcoat, and pristine snow-white cravat. A feeling strummed through him…a feeling of protectiveness. He wouldn't stand for a mocking or cross word about her preference for this mode of dress. Like everything with Tessa, she would have her well-thought-out reasons.

Her head turned a fraction, and she went still, as if she were in deep concentration. Her gaze shifted, and silver-blue eyes met his. Time slipped out of its forward march and stilled.

It wasn't so much what he did see in her eyes that froze him in place—but rather what he didn't.

Surprise.

She'd known Mr. Lancaster's box was beside the Marquess of Ormonde's.

And while she'd had no way of knowing for certain he would attend the theater tonight, she'd known the possibility existed.

And here he was—possibility come to life.

"Ormonde," came a voice behind him.

A black shard of ice sluiced through Julian, even as he turned with a warm smile on his mouth. A young lord stood at his side, blushing furiously, uncertainty shining in his eyes. Julian wracked his mind for the man's name…"Wrexford," he spoke in amiable greeting.

The earl cleared his throat, as if unable to believe he had the full attention of the Marquess of Ormonde. Julian was accustomed to his effect, truth told. "Do you know if the duchess will be attending tonight?"

"The duchess?" Unexpected, that question. "Which one?"

Wrexford's splotchy, radish-red blush crawled to the tips of his ears. "Acaster."

Julian had only met the duchess on a handful of occasions, which made him by no means the woman's keeper. "Why would she be here?"

Wrexford licked his lips and plowed on. "Those"—he gave an unsubtle jut of the chin—"are the new duke's sisters."

"Right." Julian was experiencing difficulty summoning the energy to give a toss about this conversation.

"And that"—another unsubtle jut of the chin—"is the duchess's favorite cousin."

Julian nodded—he'd known as much about Mrs. Fairfax—but now, and more importantly, he understood the point of this conversation. Wrexford was harboring a tendre for the Duchess of Acaster.

Julian almost felt badly for the man. It wasn't her elevated status as the widow of a duke that made the match unlikely. The duchess was one of the most beautiful ladies in society, and Wrexford…well, the affable earl hadn't much to recommend him beyond his average looks, average intelligence, and future title of marquess.

Beyond the box, the theater's lights brightened, signaling the end of the act. Now permitted to speak freely, the young lords populating Julian's box vied for the attention of the Ladies Saskia and Viveca, who didn't appear to notice all the hubbub they were causing as they bent their heads close together, intent on their own conversation.

As for Tessa…

Aside from that one locking of the eyes, she was keeping her gaze steadfastly away from him, though she must've felt the heat of his boring into her.

"Lord Ormonde," came a soft feminine voice.

Julian turned to find Mrs. Fairfax's luminous brown eyes staring up at him, serene smile in place. He gave a slight bow. "Mrs. Fairfax."

"Are you enjoying the play?"

Julian didn't know Mrs. Fairfax beyond passing acquaintance, so he couldn't be sure if that was a knowing twinkle in her eyes.

If it was…what precisely did she know about him?

"It's…" He searched his mind for something to say about the play. "It's most well executed."

A safe enough statement that shouldn't land him in any difficulties.

"Are you acquainted with Mr. Lancaster?" she asked.

The barrister gave Julian a nod by way of greeting, his shrewd gaze assessing before shifting its angle and softening upon Mrs. Fairfax. The man was openly besotted.

"And perhaps you met the Ladies Saskia and Viveca at the Derby?" she continued.

The strained smiles the ladies directed at Julian denoted clear annoyance at having their conversation interrupted. He saw the family resemblance extended beyond looks and into personality.

"Are you enjoying the play?" he asked, as was polite and expected, when all he wanted was to shift the entirety of his attention onto their sister, who continued her assiduous avoidance of his gaze.

It was the blonder of the two younger sisters who answered. Lady Saskia, he believed. "In all honesty, we are not enjoying the play."

That startled a laugh from him. "Oh? And why is that?"

A look passed between the sisters before the younger said, "The play has been Bowdlerized."

Julian felt his brow gather, even as he snuck a glance toward Tessa, who appeared in no way confused by her sister's words. "Bowdlerized?" he asked.

"There are these siblings," began Lady Saskia.

"Thomas and Harriet Bowdler," provided Lady Viveca.

"And they claim to love the works of Shakespeare," continued Lady Saskia.

"But…," said Lady Viveca, ominous.

"But?" asked Julian, feeling it his duty to ask.

"But they decided Shakespeare's indelicacy of expression?—"

"Their words," Lady Viveca cut across her sister.

"—needed softening," continued Lady Saskia. "So, they created The Family Shakespeare."

"Ah," said Julian. He'd heard of it, but had paid little mind, in truth.

"They've removed all the offensive and indelicate parts of the Bard's work, while keeping the plots intact."

"Surely, you'll have noticed all exclamations of God! and Jesu! were replaced with Heavens!"

"Erm…" Julian hadn't, but he was more than willing to take their word for it, for the ladies' eyes glowed with the light of young crusaders, and he'd long deemed it the wise course to let such women have their way.

And these two crusaders weren't finished.

"Just now on the stage," said Lady Viveca, outrage in every syllable, "Mercutio was to have said, the bawdy hand of the dial is now upon the prick of noon, but instead said?—"

"The hand of the dial is now upon the point of noon," finished Lady Saskia.

Julian didn't see the change made all that much difference, but knew enough to keep his mouth shut.

"Well, we can't have any talk of pricks," scoffed Lady Viveca. "Even though half the population has one!"

A few stunned beats of silence followed.

Julian cleared his throat and said, "Right."

More fraught silence, then it was Mrs. Fairfax to the conversational rescue with her easy smile. "And Lord Ormonde, I believe you're already acquainted with Lady Tessa?" She asked the question as if the round of introductions had proceeded uninterrupted by talk of pricks.

And Julian was grateful—truly—for it navigated the conversation away from talk of pricks and lent him the excuse he needed to direct his full, undivided attention where it wanted to be.

He bowed. "Lady Tessa."