Page 42 of Love Unraveled
She tried to focus on the actors. It distracted her during the sillier moments, but the moralist, Damper, demonstrated such disdain for the intelligence of women it got under her skin. Whenever he spoke at length, she looked around the theater at the huge chandeliers, the ornate sconces, the heavy drapery, anything dull enough to quell the passion burning for the man beside her.
By act III, Sophia had gathered her wits. It helped she and Gaston were no longer physically connected. When the actor, Mr. Young, walked onstage and revealed himself as a Frenchman, the other actor posited he might be a spy. Sophia smiled. At last, the play was getting interesting.
Oh, my beloved country! Degraded as thou art, still art thou mine, and with my latest breath will I assert thee! Sir, I was shipwrecked on your coast, and the small remains of a princely fortune, which I had preserved from revolutionary destruction, was buried in the waters.
Sophia would cheer for the Frenchman’s speech, for everything she did, she did for the country she’d used to know. But the revolution and lost fortunes struck a little too close to home. When the man declared he was there to seek a lost daughter, her heart rate picked up. The scene shifted, and the dialogue numbed her once again. But when the Frenchman was revealed to be Count Villars, she once again became more alert, waiting for the reveal to the daughter, who must be Miss Bolton, the actress playing Rosine.
The sounds of a harp drifted softly in the background, and Rosine entered the stage. While the audience tittered when Rosine was asked about the doleful ditty she was twanging, Sophia shifted forward on her seat, waiting to hear what the lost daughter had to say.
A plaintive native melody—’twas written by my father; and while I sing it memory recalls those happy hours when my beloved parents listened to the strain, and fills my heart with so sweet a melancholy that joy itself might envy.
Sophia found herself on the verge of tears. Not only had Sophia’s mother had a beautiful voice, she’d also played the harp, and the magical sound of the one in the play swept Sophia with melancholy. Gaston clasped her hand and gave it a squeeze. She could not look at him for fear she would see her memories in his eyes, but she gratefully held on.
The play returned to more frivolous dialogue, but she could not relax. She wanted to yell at them to move quickly to the reuniting of the father and daughter, for if it was a comedy, surely there was a happy ending?
Finally, in act V, a scene opened with Count Villars alone onstage. It was barren except for a chair and a bench. Sophia’s tension mounted, certain this was the moment. When the harp sounded again and, offstage, Rosine sang a wistful song, she gripped Gaston’s hand tightly.
Count Villars heard Rosine, his face pained with longing before he began shouting.
Those words, that voice—it is—it is my child! Rosine, thy father calls!
Rosine shrieked in response, and Sophia bit her lip to stop from screaming too. Tears burned her eyes as Rosine flew onto the stage and rushed into her father’s arms.
My child!
My father!
Stand off, and let me gaze on thee, image of thy mother!
Sophia could take no more. She, who rarely cried, was about to make a fool of herself and weep like a small child. “Gaston,” she whispered and knew by the look on his face he understood. He assisted her to her feet, and she heard the low mumble of his voice as she strode through the box and into the anteroom. She waved away a footman as Gaston stepped beside her, and signaled the footman to return, giving him direction to get her carriage.
She began to shake, and Gaston put his arm around her waist and guided her to a set of nearby stairs. She was glad not to have to use the grand staircase, where too many people could be lingering. Gaston rubbed her arm as they waited, but her trembling did not subside. She wanted to weep. She wanted to run screaming through the streets. She wanted to strike Gaston for exhuming the past, and she wanted him to hold her and make it all go away.
Was there to be no escape from her memories anymore?
Chapter Thirty-Two
Alas! I do not know anymore how to flee like before;
I feel my soul is joined to yours.
—Marceline Desbordes-Valmore, “Evening”
Gaston knew exactlywhere Sophie’s mind had gone, but he was shocked at how severe her reaction had been. Sophie was always larger than life in everything she did, and he was well aware her emotions were no different. But he’d not seen her lose control except once. A day etched in their lives, never to be erased.
Raimondo jumped from the carriage. While he scowled at Gaston, he was pure solicitousness with Sophie. He grumbled quietly in her ear as he assisted her into the carriage. While Gaston could not hear their words, he did not miss the squeeze she gave Raimondo’s arm. It seemed she was able to calm the animal, as Raimondo looked to Gaston with more concern than anger.
Gaston crawled onto the seat beside her, and Raimondo closed the door. “Sophie?” He was uncertain what to say, how to comfort her.
“Not now.” She laid her head against his arm, and he readjusted so her cheek pressed against his chest and his arm now held her firmly in place as the carriage careered its way through the streets. With no stops along the way, it was not long before they were back at her townhome.
Raimondo opened the door and assisted Sophie out, still holding her arm as Gaston alighted.
“I told your friends the carriage would return for them,” Gaston said, directing that information at Raimondo as well as Sophie.
Sophie’s eyes glazed, and she nodded, holding out her hand. Gaston did not hesitate. He took it in his and wrapped his free arm around her waist, guiding her up the stairs without a glance at Raimondo. He was confident the man would inform her coachman.
A footman opened the door, and Harris came hurriedly from belowstairs. Their arrival was unexpectedly early. Harris quickly assessed the mood and stepped aside, nodding his good evening instead of speaking. Gaston held Sophie, and they climbed together to the first level. She paused and took a deep breath, freed her hand, and pushed his arm from her waist.
