Page 24 of A Secret Infatuation
Tell anyone aloud.
But when I never have to blush
From kisses of a loving heart,
When nothing ever will us part?—
And hope already swells my chest
With untold sweet desire,
How happy shall I be then!
It was as if the words were written to express her own heart, her story, and Sophia was lost imagining herself in it. It was only in the third scene that she figured out that Fidelio was actually a woman—the wife in question—which made Marzellina’s infatuation ridiculous. The disguise was thorough, and she had thought the singer to simply be a male tenor with a particularly high voice. The surprise was so great, she covered her lips with her fingers to hide her laugh and received the lesson from it. Perhaps she should not allow her own emotions to be so consuming.
Robert leaned in close to whisper, “What have you found amusing?” She only shook her head in reply.
But when she felt Mr. Harwood’s eyes on her, she was compelled to lean in and whisper, “Fidelio is Leonore.” He nodded, and she felt his slight shake from laughter. Marie turned inquisitive eyes in their direction, a smile on her face, but she did not attempt to inquire into what they were saying.
It seemed to Sophia, not for the first time, that not all operagoers attended the opera to listen to the music, for the audible discussions around her produced a continual rumble. She did not know how the singers could bear this—to sing before an audience who did not appreciate all they poured into their performance. The box seats were lit, their occupants providing as much interest as what was happening on the stage. When the final notes of Act One were sung, the cylinder was removed from the chandeliers, and the theater became light again.
“A nuisance that the opera is sung in German,” Robert said, getting to his feet.
“And yet, the words were translated for you right in your libretto,” Mr. Harwood retorted with a teasing smile. “You are too particular.”
Lord Chawleigh invited Mrs. Heathrow to take champagne, and they exited into the corridor, where the sounds of people milling spilled into the box.
“Would you like some champagne, Lady Sophia?”
She looked at Robert, and then ahead as she thought about it. It would require mingling with crowds and perhaps being surprised by meeting someone she would be required to talk to. She might not know what to say. And yet, it would not be comfortable to stay in the box with Robert either.
Robert. It was a shame that the man she loved was a mere Mr. Harwood to her, for she had been given no right to address him in more intimate terms and did not dare to do so, even in her head. All the while, the man she had known since childhood and referred to mentally by his Christian name was one she could never love.
“Well, Sophia?” Robert had a strange look on his face.
She blushed, knowing she had taken an unseemly amount of time to answer. “I think I would like to stay here.”
“Of course,” he replied, resuming his seat. It felt like he was saying, of course you would. She knew he was frustrated with her, for he would rather drink champagne, stretch his legs, and meet people. Didn’t he see how wrong she was for him?
“Mr. Harwood, if you don’t object, I would very much like to have some refreshment. Sophia, you don’t mind, do you?” Marie asked her with a look of concern. She was a true friend and worried about leaving her in Robert’s company alone, but naturally she, too, would desire to move about and see people.
Mr. Harwood’s glance in her direction was quick before he turned to Marie with a smile. “An excellent idea. Let us go.”
Felix walked beside Miss Mowbray plagued by a sense of dissatisfaction. He did not like to leave Lady Sophia behind with Robert; she had the appearance of a small animal trapped by a predator. But what could he do? He was here to escort Miss Mowbray, and his obligation was to see to her comfort.
“The soprano is as wonderful as everyone has said,” she observed, as they wove around the operagoers to where the champagne was being served.
“Madame Catalani? Yes, she has a rare talent.” It took everything in him to pay her the attention she was due, but his mind was still in the box with Lady Sophia. Was Robert taking undue advantage of their time alone? Was he pressing her to return his feelings—was he proposing? Certainly, he was a better match for Lady Sophia on paper. Even if his status as the son of a baron was not on par with the daughter of an earl, he was heir to a title and the Chawleighs’ wealth was not to be scoffed at. And there was no other heir but him.
He forced his attention back to Miss Mowbray. “Let me fetch a glass for you. If you’ll wait right here, I think you will not be troubled by the crowds.”
“Thank you, Mr. Harwood.” She gave him an unaffected smile. It was a shame he could not give her his heart, for she was a perfectly agreeable woman. But one could not control such things.
As he waited for the person in front of him to be served, he thought back to the day in the park with Lady Sophia as he had often done since. He remembered guiding her around the muddy patch and facing her as he shielded her under the oak, although he could do little against the drops that fell from above. The small space between them buzzed, and it felt like they were inhabiting an island of their own, despite her maid and the eventual presence of Miss Edwards. He supposed it was then his heart was lost to her. He no longer wanted to pretend that his feelings were disinterested. But his father’s words, and his own sense, dictated that he had no right to pursue her.
When it was his turn, he held up two fingers, and the servant handed him two glasses. “Here you are, sir.” He paid and forced his mind back to his companion.
“Your champagne, Miss Mowbray,” he said with a dip of his head. He would not be a cad and make her feel she was uninteresting just because his heart was elsewhere. That was not her fault. “I was surprised not to see your father tonight. I know how much he loves the opera.” He chuckled, adding, “And any party and entertainment one might propose to him.”
