To Love the Brooding Baron

TWENTY-THREE

TWENTY-THREE

Arabella could do very little to contain her excitement. Jumping into Henry’s arms had perhaps stepped beyond propriety’s bounds, but that had been the last thing on her mind. It was also the last thing on her mind as she dragged her mother down the front steps and into the carriage before anyone could say anything.

Seeing a performance at Sadler’s Wells Theatre had been a dream of hers ever since her father had described a naval battle there with replicas of ships armed with cannons and fired by children dressed up as naval shipmen. Arabella had been captivated by his retelling and determined to one day witness the show beside her father.

“When you are older,” he’d said over and over. Now she was older, but she would have to see it without him.

Against her will, a heavy lump formed in her throat. Her eager footsteps slowed. She didn’t want to feel this way every time she thought about her father. It seemed cruel to his memory to always feel the loss instead of remembering the good.

Everyone can master a grief but he that has it. Shakespeare. Much Ado About Nothing. The words were becoming more poignant to her as time without her father continued to pass.

Unbidden, her eyes moved to Henry, who sat opposite her, apparently staring out the window. But after a few moments, she found him stealing a glance at her. She softly smiled, catching his gaze.

His eyes smiled back though the rest of him sat rigid, portraying his usual stoic countenance. But Arabella didn’t see it that way anymore. Not after that searing kiss. Now, she knew he wore his control like a mask. A role he’d created over time and circumstance to protect himself from his past.

Only with that kiss, he’d let her in. And she had no intention of turning back.

“We have arrived,” her mother whispered to her, startling Arabella from her thoughts.

Henry and Mr. Bradbury climbed out of the carriage. She was next to follow, but her feet remained unmoving on the carriage floor.

“Arabella?” her mother said, confused.

With her eyes fixed on the open door, Arabella spoke, “I cannot decide if it feels wrong to go in without him.”

Her mother’s arms wrapped around her shoulders, pulling her into an embrace. “Many things feel wrong without him,” she whispered into Arabella’s temple as she slowly rubbed her hand up and down Arabella’s arm. “But he wanted you to experience this, and he would be overjoyed to know you did so with ...” Her words trailed off, but her meaning was clear.

Somewhere outside the carriage door stood Henry. The man she was falling in love with.

“Lady Bixbee is not going to be happy you are matchmaking behind her back,” Arabella said, grateful her mother had been so understanding after Arabella confessed about kissing Henry.

Her mother patted her leg. “You leave Lady Bixbee to me.”

“Gladly.”

“Now, shall we go in?”

Arabella nodded, her excitement returning.

“Good,” her mother said with a slow smile. “Because I, for one, am looking forward to your brother’s reaction when he discovers where we have been.”

A burst of laughter escaped Arabella’s lips.

She always assumed she’d received her spirit from her father, but now she was beginning to believe it could’ve come from her mother.

“Is everything all right in there?” Mr. Bradbury called out before sticking his head into the carriage. “Oh, good, you are both smiling,” he said with relief. “Might I suggest you continue your little tête-à-tête inside the theater? The crowd is growing disorderly, and if you do not want Northcott to take them on single-handedly, then we had best get to our box where we shall be safe. Relatively speaking.”

“I do not think that will be necessary, Mr. Bradbury,” her mother said with slight exasperation.

“Tell that to him,” Bradbury scoffed, pointing a thumb toward Henry, whose attention was fixed on the bustling crowd. “The man is about one scuffle away from going all Mother Goose and charging at anyone who gets close.”

“Mother Goose?” Arabella asked as she gathered her skirts and reached for Mr. Bradbury’s hand to assist her. “I thought you always teased him with ‘Beasty’?”

“I did, but it no longer fits. Trust me; he’s a goose.” Bradbury winked.

Arabella shook her head and laughed. “I have no idea what that means.”

“One day you will,” he replied while helping her to step down. “Now, can you manage to stay out of trouble while I help your mother?”

Arabella shot him an annoyed glare before moving toward Henry.

“Quite a crush of people,” she said, stopping at his side and placing a hand on his arm.

He startled, the muscles under her fingers drawing taut as his eyes snapped to hers.

Goodness, Mr. Bradbury hadn’t been exaggerating. Henry was on edge.

Sadler’s Wells Theatre was known for its more uncouth crowd due to its rural location and the fact that it only ran during the summer months when London’s more fashionable occupants left for the country. But they’d come more prepared than most with two additional groomsmen, which was more than the single escort the theater provided for its higher-paying patrons.

“The path is smooth that leadeth on to danger,” she said to try to reassure him.

“Venus and Adonis,” Lord Northcott replied. “And that does not make me feel any easier.”

Arabella recognized a few people she’d met during the Season, but they were far outnumbered in the shoulder-to-shoulder crowd of working-class people who bumped and pushed at each other as they moved toward the theater.

Henry placed his hand over hers. The pressure conveyed that he’d no intention of letting her out of his sight, but when she met his eyes, she thought she saw a flash of enjoyment.

“Shall we go in?” she asked, placing her other hand on his. She was enjoying the feel of his touch too.

He nodded and glanced over her shoulder just as her mother and Mr. Bradbury came to stand beside them.

The two groomsmen led the way, making space in the slow-moving crowd.

Her eyes, however, couldn’t move fast enough as she took it all in. The river, which ran somewhat parallel to the theater, was her most pressing interest. She stretched up on the tips of her toes, leaning heavily on Henry’s arm as she craned her neck to try to follow the river until it disappeared behind the theater.

“What are you doing?” Henry asked, his tone neither annoyed nor teasing. He kept up their steady pace, his eyes darting between her and navigating the crowd.

“I was trying to see the river,” she replied, giving one last effort to stretch up on her toes before they reached the covered walkway that would take them through to the entrance.

“The river?” he asked, bemused.

Arabella laughed. “Well, not only the river. I was hoping to see a glimpse of the Archimedes screw. They say it takes twelve men working half a day but that it can pull water directly from the river and into the theater’s stage. I was hoping to see how such a feat could be accomplished.”

He smiled and shook his head. “You and your inquisitive mind.” He was teasing her.

“You should not smile while you say that, or I shall begin to believe that is one of the many things you like about me.”

He did not answer, but his heated gaze dipped toward her mouth, turning her cheeks into flames.

The moment, however, was cut short by another shoving match that erupted next to them.

Henry moved faster than she could blink, shielding her in his arms while also maneuvering them away.

There was much yelling, and she could feel the pressure of the crowd as it pushed into him. Arabella’s heart picked up its pace, and she looked for her mother, who was being similarly protected by Mr. Bradbury. The two groomsmen worked even harder to clear enough room around them as they neared the front doors.

As soon as they stepped through the theater doors, Arabella was overwhelmed by the dampness in the air and a musty smell that was decidedly river water—a far better smell than the Thames—but still heavy enough upon her senses that she found it easier to breathe in short puffs through her mouth.

“Your lungs will soon become accustomed to the dampness,” Henry leaned down to whisper.

Her heart warmed at how attuned he was to her.

“Thank you,” she said, picking up her skirts as they followed a thinning crowd up a large staircase, while the majority of the patrons broke off to sit in the pit.

They, along with the wealthier patrons, stopped halfway up, and took their seats in the private boxes. The poorest souls continued upward toward the highest gallery seats. They would have to strain their eyes to see the stage.

Entering their box, Henry escorted Arabella to the row of chairs placed at the front. Her mother and Mr. Bradbury were close behind, while the two groomsmen remained as sentinels at the curtain-covered doorway.

Henry directed her and her mother to take the two middle seats while he took his seat to Arabella’s right and Mr. Bradbury took the seat next to her mother.

Leaning forward to the edge of her seat, Arabella looked to the stage. She couldn’t believe the size of the water tank; it covered almost the entire length and width of the stage. A wooden walkway ran along both sides and the front of the tank. It reminded her of a giant brewing vat, which sounded silly, considering people would eventually get inside it.

“What do you think?” her mother asked, gently guiding her back into her seat.

“I cannot quite believe it,” Arabella said, unable to hold back her smile. “It is almost exactly as father had said. Look!” She pointed toward the very back of the stage. “There truly is a waterfall, just as he said. How can it be possible?”

“Many inquisitive minds,” her mother replied with a smile and a wink before turning to talk to Mr. Bradbury.

Arabella felt Henry’s eyes on her long before she turned to look at him. He did nothing more than stare, as if memorizing her and this moment for a cherished memory.

Soft music filled the circular theater, and Arabella’s nerves jumped with anticipation as the crowd hushed and the music built into an attention-grabbing crescendo.

The play was introduced as a forbidden lovers’ tale, and Arabella was completely transfixed. From the music that made her want to move with the performers to the acting that made her gasp and openly laugh, she couldn’t look away.

When she finally glanced at Henry, guilt-ridden for ignoring him, she found him once again watching her as if he were content to do so for the final two acts.

“You are missing the performance,” she whispered, leaning closer to tease him.

“I assure you, I am not,” he whispered with a soft smile that had her entire body overheating with the force of her blush.

Checking that her mother was occupied with the performance, Arabella stealthily slid closer to Henry and playfully knocked his boot with her own.

He didn’t react. She kicked him again. This time, he adjusted in his seat to lean closer to her and tapped her foot in response. His attention moved to the play, though she swore a corner of his lip twitched.

Arabella intended to retaliate but was stopped by the lovers running out onto the boards. Hand in hand, they were smiling and laughing as they approached a small rowboat tied at a small dock.

They got into the boat and pushed off. The hero broke out in song, naming the many wonderful things about loving a beautiful woman. The scene was so cheery, so tranquil, Arabella doubted it would last for long. Tragedy would strike soon.

As she predicted, a man sat up in the back of the boat. His face was painted white, and his lips and cheeks painted a bright red. He smiled with a sinister grin, bobbed his eyes to the crowd, and raised a quiet finger to his lips as the lovers stared into one another’s eyes.

“That is ‘the clown,’” Henry whispered.

“Joseph Grimaldi?” Arabella asked with a hushed reverence. The man was well-known for his comedic high jinks and performances at Covent Garden and Drury Lane.

Henry smiled and nodded, and they turned back to see what his mischievous character would do next.

A dark figure appeared from out of the shadows on the left side of the stage. Arabella recognized him as the suitor whom the hero had previously dumped into the water. He followed the lovers along the shoreline, ducking behind tree after tree. When he got close enough, he signaled to the clown, who nodded in return. Inch by inch, Grimaldi made his way toward the center of the boat where the hero rowed with his back to him.

“’E’s behind you!” a man with a heavy Cockney accent yelled from somewhere in the pit. The rest of the crowd burst into laughter as the clown scowled at the interruption.

The hero and the heroine remained unaffected by the crowd’s interaction, and soon the clown began his quest again.

Kneeling behind the hero, the clown waited until the heroine reached a high point in the song. Then he reached out, tucked his hands beneath the hero’s arms, and flipped him out of the boat. There was a large splash, and the theater roared with laughter.

The heroine uttered an ear-splitting scream, horror written all over her face.

“I’ll save ye!” another Cockney man yelled from the pit. He stood from his seat, threw off his worn brown jacket, and ran to the stage. He climbed onto the boards and dove into the tank.

The crowd erupted into a mixture of applause and laughter as the spectator-turned-actor popped out of the water in a soggy, sputtering fit. “As cold as pompous Prinny!” he yelled out, before he swam away from the woman and dragged himself over the rim of the stage.

Arabella’s sides ached and tears fell from the corners of her eyes as she laughed. One would never witness such a sight at Covent Garden or Drury Lane. She could think of many overly proper ladies from the ton who would swoon at the mere idea.

“Here,” Henry whispered, handing her his handkerchief. His breath was warm on her skin, and chills of anticipation pricked her cheeks at the sudden memory of his warm lips.

She dabbed her eyes with the cloth, but instead of handing it back, held it hostage in her hand.

He raised a brow to her.

“A token,” she said with a mischievous smile. “To remember possibly the most memorable day yet.”

“And my token?” he whispered, a teasing smile on his lips.

Arabella’s heart stuttered, and she knew immediately what she would like to give him.