Page 17 of The Meaning of Love
Still smiling, he saluted her. Once she’d crossed the threshold, he turned and went quickly down the steps and heard the door close behind him.
As soon as he’d climbed up, retaken the reins, and started the horses trotting again, Kieran, proving his hearing was acute, asked, “Are we going out again, then, guvnor?”
“Not the bays, so not you, either.”
From the corner of his eye, he saw Kieran’s puzzled frown. “I’ve been commanded to accompany Lady North and Miss North to the theater.” Wryly, he added, “I’ve been given to understand that such duties are the lot of an affianced gentleman.”
Kieran’s nonverbal response suggested he was unimpressed.
Julian rather agreed.
Chapter 3
At the front of the North box in the Theatre Royal, Julian sat beside Melissa and, as the performance commenced, pretended to be unaware of the lingering stares and the rabid interest displayed by a good portion of the crowd. Some in the boxes were even hanging over the front walls, the better to observe him and Melissa.
Even though the curtain had risen, the whispering and staring continued.
From the gloom beside him, Melissa murmured, “I hope we’re nothing more than a seven-day wonder—pray God, the fevered attention wanes soon.”
“Amen.” After a second, he added, “And hopefully much sooner than in seven days.”
The sound she made suggested he was dreaming.
The farce on the stage wasn’t particularly engaging, but then they’d come more to be seen than to see. After a few minutes enduring the increasingly tepid performance, keeping his eyes on the stage, he murmured, “Your experience of the ton is greater than mine. Do engagements such as ours always garner such attention?”
She shifted but, like him, kept her gaze trained forward. “Yes and no. Yes in the sense the ton are quick to notice and pass judgment, and no in the sense that the attention is usually far less intense.” She paused, then went on, “It’s not really our engagement per se that’s fueling the avid interest—our proposed union is hardly strange or in any way abnormal. It’s the ‘romantic perfect match’ that’s responsible for much of it—the ton’s utterly captivated by the idea.”
“The concept rather than the reality?”
She dipped her head. “Indeed.”
A moment later, she softly snorted and, in an undertone, stated, “That’s ridiculous—no woman would react in that way.”
Having thought much the same of the labored plot being enacted before them, he replied, “As far as I can tell, none of these characters’ dialogue or actions bears any resemblance to reality.”
They continued exchanging sotto voce comments as the short farce, the prelude to the main drama, rolled on. The farce’s plot, or lack thereof, offered plenty of fodder, and their comments and quips confirmed that they both possessed sharp eyes for the ludicrous as well as similarly dry senses of humor.
The instant the farce ended and the curtains swished closed, Melissa turned to Julian. “Brace yourself—the intermission is going to try our tempers.”
He arched his brows, but merely uncrossed his long legs, rose, and drew back her chair. She and he stood side by side, their backs to the front of the box, and did their best to greet and suitably respond to all those who squeezed into the limited space to offer their felicitations.
Most of the visitors were also hopeful of slipping in a question or two and learning more, but their numbers defeated them; each group barely had time to shake hands or press fingers and deliver their congratulations before the next group were there, pressing forward and all but shuffling the earlier group aside.
Melissa’s mother and aunts, Margaret and Catherine, did their best to manage the incoming stream, but the situation quickly devolved to something resembling a rabid reception line.
At one point, Julian dipped his head and murmured by her ear, “They’re like mechanical dolls on a revolving belt—one comes up, speaks, then turns away, and the next shifts into place.”
She threw him a speaking glance. Mechanical dolls. After that, she was hard put to keep a straight face, especially once he started to predict—correctly—what words would come out of the next group’s mouths.
At last the theater’s bells rang, and as her mother steered the last visitor to the door, Melissa could finally lower her guard. She glanced at Julian. “Thanks to your commentary, that was less of an ordeal than it might have been.”
He lightly shrugged and reset her chair for her. “I’ve lived through countless similar civic events—the only way to relieve the boredom is by recognizing the inherent ridiculousness of the exercise.”
She laughed softly and sat.
After seeing her mother and her aunts to their chairs, set in a row behind his and hers, he reclaimed the chair beside her.
The lights started to dim. Idly glancing at the crowd in the pit, Melissa noticed a man staring their way; his pale face, turned upward, had caught the fading light and her eye. He had curly dark hair and wore a dark coat, and as the seconds ticked by, he continued staring.
