Chapter Twenty-Four

Briggs

The opera is just how I remembered it. Crowded. Stuffy. Loud. So loud. The people in this blasted box are loud. The singing is loud. How can anyone enjoy this? How is this a relaxing evening out?

Beside me, Sabrina sits silently, watching the performance, while her mother plays cards with a few of her friends from London. When one of them asked who I was, Sabrina attached herself to my arm and then introduced me as Briggs Goswick. Told them that I insisted she join me at the opera, and how could she refuse? She then looked at me like I was some silly little lovestruck boy in need of her pity.

That’s fine. Exaggeration is fine, I tell myself. I’ve wanted this all summer, to win over the girl who will rescue Mistlethrush, maintain stability for my tenants, preserve my family name. The name my father has dragged through the mud with his gambling and his affair. This is fine. This is a sacrifice I’m capable of making.

If I just stare at the stage, I can ignore the card game they’re playing behind me. I can pretend that when Miss Dixon said she loved the opera, she meant the singing, the story, the performance, the art of opera. And not just being seen and socializing while an opera plays in the background.

I can pretend all of those things until my eyes wander across the theater and find Blythe in Lord Colchester’s box. My mouth grows dry at the sight of her in an emerald green dress, the way she props her arms on the balustrade, her entire body anticipating what will come next, as she watches everything on the stage in front of her. Her mouth is turned up in a perpetual smile. Colchester leans toward her, pointing, and she nods, then whispers something in his ear.

She’s enjoying herself, I realize, in Lord Colchester’s company. The evening isn’t a chore for her, as it is for me. I’m watching from across the theater as she falls in love with a decent and worthy gentleman, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.

There’s nothing I should do.

I grip the arms of my chair, then sit up straighter. I must admit to myself in this moment that I’ve always wanted Blythe Rowley’s attention, ever since I was a little boy, and I have twisted and bent over backward to obtain it in a variety of ways, none of them particularly successful. But I have never wanted it as much as I do this very moment.

To share with her whatever it is that moves her.

And somehow, I think she must be able to read my thoughts, even from such a distance, because her gaze trails away from the soprano on the stage and meets mine with a steady equanimity. I almost forget how to breathe as we stare across the theater at one another for longer than feels natural.

I’ve known enough girls. What they feel like, what they taste like, and for brief moments of stolen time in dark rooms, they made me feel like I was the only thing that mattered to them. But this. This is the most intimate thing I’ve ever done with a woman. I pull at the cravat at my neck, my throat too dry and this balcony too close. It’s like standing naked in the middle of the stage, her gaze is so raw and discerning. An ache lurks in my chest, expanding with every breath. She’s always seen me clearly, and I’ve always tried to hide myself.

But now? There’s no hiding from her now. No hiding from myself.

I try to shake off this trance, turning to Sabrina beside me. “A-Are you enjoying yourself?”

She smiles, nodding.

“Are you comfortable?”

Again, a smile and a nod.

“Good.” And I’m fairly certain that this is the extent of conversation I can expect from my company. I turn my attention to the balcony across the theater, but Blythe is once again engaged in something whispered with Colchester.

“Mr. Goswick,” comes Sabrina’s mother. She’s taken the opposite seat beside me. “Mr. Goswick, I have the most wonderful news.”

“What’s that?” I ask, still staring at Blythe. I finally turn to address my company.

“Lady Clifford.” Mrs. Parker turns and points to the woman sitting at the card table she’s just abandoned. “She’s having a ball tomorrow night, and we’re all invited. Even your brother.”

Sabrina immediately brightens, gripping my arm. “Now we don’t have to go back to Mistlethrush.”

I frown at her. “Excuse me?”

“No offense, Mr. Goswick,” Sabrina says, leaning forward and offering me an apologetic expression. “But Mistlethrush is limited in entertainment options. It’s only a step above Brompton when it comes to things to do.”

It isn’t lost on me that when Sabrina finally chooses to speak, it’s to be disagreeable. “I’ll think about it,” I reply.

Leaning forward, Sabrina’s mother continues, “We don’t have time to think about it. Lady Clifford will expect us. I’ve already told her what an honor it is to even be offered an invitation.”

“Please, Mr. Goswick?” Sabrina begs.

I squint at her. “Despite its lack of entertainment, Mistlethrush holds a great amount of responsibility for me. I have tenants to attend to.”

Quietly, Sabrina sits back again, propping her chin on her hand. “I suppose that’s to be expected now that you’re a responsible landowner,” she mumbles under her breath.

She sits in silence beside me for the rest of the opera.

Outside the theater, I wait patiently for Miss Dixon and her mother to finish bidding their friends goodbye. The infamous Lady Clifford, a tall, older woman of impeccable taste, has already departed, but not without telling me that she hopes to see our party tomorrow evening. Which caused Miss Dixon and her mother to supply me with hopeful expressions.

The thought of spending another night in London in Sabrina’s company is far too much for me to fathom right now, and that fact by itself is causing me to panic. I need Sabrina if I’m to save Mistlethrush. I thought it would be easy enough to marry her, and maybe it would have been. Maybe it would have been fine if it weren’t for—

“Mr. Goswick.”

Blythe Rowley.

I take a deep, fortifying breath and turn to face her. “Hello,” I say quietly.

“We saw you in Uncle Henry’s box, and we had to say hello, of course,” she continues. In the dim lamplight of the street, I can just make out the color of her deep green dress, at least what shows of it from under her pelisse.

“Yes, hello.” I already said that. Get it together, Goswick.

“It was a splendid performance, wasn’t it?” Lord Colchester asks, coming to stand behind her. He places a hand on the middle of her back.

“Indeed,” I reply tightly. “Splendid.”

“Are you in town for a while?” she asks. “Or are you headed back to Mistlethrush tomorrow?”

Lord Colchester steps away from our conversation, greeting Miss Dixon and her mother, and then discusses the opera. I wish him luck, considering neither lady paid any attention to what was happening on stage.

“I have business I should attend to at home,” I say.

Blythe inches closer. “I wish you would stay. There’s a ball being held at Lady Clifford’s, and I feel like it could be the perfect place to find investors.” Her eyes meet mine as she says, “And I’d feel so much braver if you were there.”

Damn it all to hell. If I agree to go to Lady Clifford’s, not only will I have no viable excuse to give my tenants as to why I’ve been delayed, but I’ll have to witness every soul-sucking act of courtship that passes between Blythe and Lord Colchester. But I can’t tell her no. Not when she looks at me like that.

“Of course,” I murmur, looking at my feet. “I’ll try to help you any way I can.”

“I knew I could count on you.” Relief washes over her, and she sighs, gripping my arm in gratitude.

“Always,” I reply as Lord Colchester appears again. “For as long as I can.”