Page 41 of Love Unraveled
The moment passed, and they talked pleasantries until the carriage once again stopped.
“Walford. Catherine.” Lord Thornwood greeted each of them, assisting them into the carriage. They all snugged together, saying their hellos to one another and falling into easy conversation as the carriage careened through the streets.
Wedged against the far side of the carriage, with the ladies sitting between him and the men, Gaston had little to contribute. They talked of the Walfords’ new baby and of nurseries, planning a shopping expedition for the following week. He studied Sophie. She was not simply animated; she was happy. Her ease with these people was not faked. She genuinely enjoyed their company. Why did she hide her roots? His role in her life?
The carriage jolted to a stop. The seductress now gone, Sophie clapped like the small girl he’d once known. “We’re here.”
It made Gaston smile to see her so full of light and joy. The doors on both sides of the carriage were opened, and he slid off his seat and exited, then assisted Sophie. She looked around the busy street before grinning at him. “Joie de vivre, no?”
It was hard to argue. It was early evening, when day greeted night, and the mix was intoxicating. Bow Street was alive with carriages and vendors. Orange sellers and Punch and Judy toy makers called out their wares while well-dressed crowds buzzed as they gathered beneath the portico and lined up along the building, waiting for entrance.
Gaston had lived in the shadows for too many years, neither part of one place nor another. He had spent most of his time in the ports of France, smuggling information in and out, and had become more comfortable on a ship than in a carriage. But his early years came back at the scene before him, and Sophie’s joy for this life rushed through his veins.
“Oui,c’est magnifique,” he said. Sophie laughed and hooked her arm in his, leading him forward, the others already strolling toward the large, pillared entrance.
“I adore the theater,” she said as they mounted the steps and waited with the crowd.
“You always have enjoyed a good performance.”
Sophie scowled at him, and he raised a hand. He had not meant anything by his words, yet she took offense.
“Sophie, that is not what I—”
“Sophia,” she said and turned her attention forward as the crowd moved.
“Sophia,” he said, not wanting to lose the amiable mood they had been sharing. “I meant only as a child, you’d enjoyed such things tremendously.”
“Sì,” she said, returning her attention to him. “I did. You did too, no?”
“Very much,” he agreed, relieved she had returned to her earlier disposition.
They climbed the grand staircase, and Lady Walford paused and turned around.
“If we have more events like these, my body will soon forget it had a child. Who would have thought I’d get more exercise in the city than in the country?”
“And when your body forgets you had a child, in will sneak another one,” Sophie said jokingly, and Lady Walford turned around and beamed at her husband.
Lord Thornwood had secured their tickets that morning. He handed them over to a money taker, and they proceeded through a saloon to their private box. The Theatre Royal was a newer building, the previous one having burned to the ground a few years before, and no coin had been spared in its design. At a quick glance around the space, Gaston estimated it would accommodate a few thousand, and if the crowds pushing through onto the floor below were any indication, he was going to find out if his estimate was close.
“And what are we seeing this evening?” Lady Walford asked, shrugging apologetically at Lady Woodfield’s surprised look. “I’m so busy with Daniel I’ve not read the papers.”
“Of course,” Lady Woodfield said. “I sometimes forget what life with a newborn is like.”
“Your pack of wild boys has erased the memory,” Sophie said, and the ladies all laughed.
As they discussed the evening program, Gaston, again, could not help but notice the familiar ease among Sophie’s friends. He both envied their camaraderie and was grateful she had built a life here. He was weary of being a nomad. Could he find a life here too? With Sophie?
“It is a comedy.Education.Five acts,” Sophie said, settling back against her seat as a few stray notes floated from the orchestra pit.
Gaston relaxed back too. He casually set his hand within reach and was rewarded with the warmth of hers in it. A comedy. Good. For they’d both had enough tragedy to last a lifetime.
Chapter Thirty-One
I hear rushing of muskets, and bright’ning of swords; and visages, redd’ning with war.
—William Blake, “The French Revolution”
Sophia had difficultyconcentrating on the play. She was entirely aware she had ignited Gaston’s desire. Unfortunately, she’d also managed to light her own, and his thumb gently circling the palm of her hand was doing nothing to dampen it. Memories of holding hands, of kissing, of making love swirled in her mind, and it was difficult to concentrate.
