about town. If one were on the lookout for a proper wife—one who would be accepted in Society, yet be at home on a country estate—Bath provided good contacts. And the niece of a childless widow of means offered twice the interest.
On the other side of the box from Susan, Venetia wondered what to make of the quiet, elegant figure of Sir Henry. Suddenly she sat a trifle straighter, her eye catching sight of a man on the far side of the theater. “Tell me, Sir Henry, who is that gentleman with the dark red hair, the one settling in the third box from the front across from us?"
Turning his gaze from the pretty lady at his side, he studied the man in question a moment. “I believe that is the new Earl of Millsham. One thing to be said regarding riding, is that it so frequently provides Society with new faces. I confess I know little enough about the man. Have you heard anything?"
"Not a word,” replied Venetia, ignoring all that had been revealed in her hearing. She madly fluttered her fan, causing her companion to wonder what the lady would do when it became oppressively warm.
In the next box forward, Clare exchanged a guarded look with Richard. “Do you see what I see?” At his faint nod, she continued, “What do you suppose brings him to Bath?"
"Somehow I doubt it is the waters,” Richard replied a trifle grimly.
"We said nothing about a baby to him. There could be no connection between William and the missing countess that he could know. Could there?” Her voice barely reached him, she feared, for he leaned over to catch her words. His nearness made it difficult for her to think clearly. But then, she had not quite recovered from that shattering kiss of yesterday.
"I scarcely think so. I imagine we shall find out later if that is the case.” He watched the other man who sat alone in his box, disdaining the interest of those to either side of him. Then Richard turned to Clare again. “At any rate, you have received no cuts since we arrived."
"But we came early so as to settle Lady Kingsmill before the crush. Poor dear, she finds it shockingly difficult to move about at the best of times.” Clare glanced at the lady in question, who was complacently nibbling at a selection of comfits provided by Lord Welby.
"Indeed,” Richard said so reprovingly that Clare found it necessary to cover her mouth with her gloved hand to stifle a giggle.
The audience hushed as the curtains parted. The opening scene was well done. Clare found her attention totally captured to the exclusion of the displeasing man who reposed in the box directly across from them.
When the first intermission came, they were all, with the exception of Lady Kingsmill and Lord Welby, ready to stroll about the small area to the front of the theater.
Clare recognized a few of the faces in the crush of people anxious to get a breath of fresh air and exchange views of the performance with their friends.
"I vow this is worse than Drury Lane,” Venetia said with a sniff.
Hesitantly smiling in the direction of one of the ladies she had seen at the concert at the Octagon, Clare was distressed when that good lady looked straight through her, quite as though Clare did not exist.
"I perceive we have our work cut out for us,” Richard murmured just loud enough for Clare to hear.
Glad that the gentleman did not see fit to take to his heels from such a scandalous lady, Clare gave him a grateful look. “I do not know what is to be done. And to think that all my life I have been a model of propriety. I do believe this is one instance where charity has been rewarded by malicious spite.''
Her neighbor, a Mrs. Robottom, Clare had learned, sailed past her with her nose quite elevated. All in all, it was a humiliating experience to be snubbed, ignored as though she didn't exist, and given a decidedly cold shoulder by all but those in her party. With one exception.
"Miss Fairchild, Talbot. Fancy finding you here.” The smooth voice of the new Earl of
On the other side of the box from Susan, Venetia wondered what to make of the quiet, elegant figure of Sir Henry. Suddenly she sat a trifle straighter, her eye catching sight of a man on the far side of the theater. “Tell me, Sir Henry, who is that gentleman with the dark red hair, the one settling in the third box from the front across from us?"
Turning his gaze from the pretty lady at his side, he studied the man in question a moment. “I believe that is the new Earl of Millsham. One thing to be said regarding riding, is that it so frequently provides Society with new faces. I confess I know little enough about the man. Have you heard anything?"
"Not a word,” replied Venetia, ignoring all that had been revealed in her hearing. She madly fluttered her fan, causing her companion to wonder what the lady would do when it became oppressively warm.
In the next box forward, Clare exchanged a guarded look with Richard. “Do you see what I see?” At his faint nod, she continued, “What do you suppose brings him to Bath?"
"Somehow I doubt it is the waters,” Richard replied a trifle grimly.
"We said nothing about a baby to him. There could be no connection between William and the missing countess that he could know. Could there?” Her voice barely reached him, she feared, for he leaned over to catch her words. His nearness made it difficult for her to think clearly. But then, she had not quite recovered from that shattering kiss of yesterday.
"I scarcely think so. I imagine we shall find out later if that is the case.” He watched the other man who sat alone in his box, disdaining the interest of those to either side of him. Then Richard turned to Clare again. “At any rate, you have received no cuts since we arrived."
"But we came early so as to settle Lady Kingsmill before the crush. Poor dear, she finds it shockingly difficult to move about at the best of times.” Clare glanced at the lady in question, who was complacently nibbling at a selection of comfits provided by Lord Welby.
"Indeed,” Richard said so reprovingly that Clare found it necessary to cover her mouth with her gloved hand to stifle a giggle.
The audience hushed as the curtains parted. The opening scene was well done. Clare found her attention totally captured to the exclusion of the displeasing man who reposed in the box directly across from them.
When the first intermission came, they were all, with the exception of Lady Kingsmill and Lord Welby, ready to stroll about the small area to the front of the theater.
Clare recognized a few of the faces in the crush of people anxious to get a breath of fresh air and exchange views of the performance with their friends.
"I vow this is worse than Drury Lane,” Venetia said with a sniff.
Hesitantly smiling in the direction of one of the ladies she had seen at the concert at the Octagon, Clare was distressed when that good lady looked straight through her, quite as though Clare did not exist.
"I perceive we have our work cut out for us,” Richard murmured just loud enough for Clare to hear.
Glad that the gentleman did not see fit to take to his heels from such a scandalous lady, Clare gave him a grateful look. “I do not know what is to be done. And to think that all my life I have been a model of propriety. I do believe this is one instance where charity has been rewarded by malicious spite.''
Her neighbor, a Mrs. Robottom, Clare had learned, sailed past her with her nose quite elevated. All in all, it was a humiliating experience to be snubbed, ignored as though she didn't exist, and given a decidedly cold shoulder by all but those in her party. With one exception.
"Miss Fairchild, Talbot. Fancy finding you here.” The smooth voice of the new Earl of
Similar Books
