Chapter 13
Heart of Glass.
Excitement thrummed through Izzy as Lord Beaumarsh guided them to their private box.
She had never been to the theatre before and found the experience both wonderful and overwhelming.
Despite her own a la mode gown, the crush of people, the stunning array of the fashionable and the famous, and the grandeur of the building itself made her feel every bit the country mouse she was.
Though she knew it marked her out as the verriest chit fresh from the schoolroom, she could not help but gawk and stare at everything and everyone, and the performance had yet to begin.
It was all so vast, with an enormous stage and a towering proscenium arch. Huge, glittering chandeliers lit the space, illuminating the audience as thoroughly as they would the players on the stage. People came here to see and be seen, as much as they did to watch a performance.
They took their seats, settling on the lush red velvet cushions as the sound of excited chatter thrummed around them.
Izzy leaned forward, peering over the edge of the box to watch the people below and in the boxes opposite.
Girls carrying baskets wove up and down the aisles, selling oranges and sweetmeats, and ladies plied their fans as the gentlemen and those in the cheaper seats made use of their programs or newspapers.
“What do you think?”
Izzy turned to Clementine, who looked dazzling in a gown of deep red silk, dramatically trimmed with black lace. Izzy had been rather envious, as such theatrical styles were not at all the thing for unmarried ladies. That was until she’d chosen her own gown.
“It’s wonderful.”
Clemmie grinned. “I knew you’d love it. And The School for Scandal is a marvellous play. Very witty and rather risqué too.”
Izzy laughed, looking around her with delight. “I can’t wait.”
“You really do look quite stunning tonight.”
Izzy turned back to her sister at the remark. Clemmie reached over and clasped her hand.
“Mama would be so proud.”
To Izzy’s surprise, her sister’s eyes filled with tears, her voice trembling a little.
Clementine laughed at her horrified expression. “Don’t fret. I shan’t weep all over you. It’s just that you are so beautiful. I wish Papa could see you too.”
Izzy blinked. She had seen herself in the looking glass before she’d come out, and she’d had to admit she looked rather well.
Her gown was a deep pink satin, cut on the bias and trimmed with black satin ribbon.
Though she would have preferred black lace like Clemmie’s, it was beautifully trimmed with white Vandyke lace and had full sleeves, also trimmed with black ribbon and white lace.
She wondered if Boreas would like it, remembering how he had admired her outfit when she had dressed for dinner with Lord Alveston.
She had never considered herself a beauty.
Well, she wore spectacles, for one thing, which gentlemen always seemed to think was akin to spots and a squint.
Besides, she was used to Bea being the beauty of the family.
She had always been the bookish one, the one who dreamed of silly adventures, and she’d never taken much notice of the young men in the village.
They’d always come mooning over Bea, and Izzy hadn’t minded.
Yet, she had noticed the looks as she’d walked through the crowd, the expressions of admiration, and she was not immune to such attention.
Indeed, it was rather gratifying to be admired.
“It’s starting.”
Clemmie clutched at her arm, bringing Izzy back to the present, and proving she was not immune to the excitement of the evening either, despite her looking every inch the fashionable noblewoman.
The heavy curtains opened, and Izzy gasped with delight as they revealed a wonderfully painted scene of a fashionable drawing room.
The cast began, dressed in lavish Georgian splendour, the men all as painted and lace ruffled as their ladies.
To Izzy’s consternation, she found she had to listen hard to hear the actors, as much of the audience carried on chatting and flirting and, sometimes, catcalling the performers.
Still, the actors were marvellous, and she soon became lost in the antics of Lady Teazle and Sir Benjamin Backbite.
The play was wonderful, and merciless in its cleverness.
Izzy found herself smiling at lines that were sometimes too close for comfort.
On stage, goodness was performed, worn like a costume, easily donned and easily thrown aside.
Guiltily she reflected that she was using her sister’s kindness to search for a man who had left her behind because he wished to protect her. Was she being selfish?
She might not have noticed the sudden ripple of interest if it had not coincided with a scene change, and glanced down at the audience, wondering what had everyone in such a flutter. Izzy followed the direction of the looks and murmurs across the theatre to the opposite box.
A group had entered the box late, and Izzy could not make them all out or understand what the fuss was about.
The lady was certainly glamorous, a stunning creature in a daring gown of black satin that showed an almost indecent amount of cleavage.
Her rich mahogany hair had been artfully styled and adorned with black feathers and glittering diamond combs.
She plied a huge black lace fan, and seemed well aware everyone was watching her.
A man sat beside her, but just out of view, hidden behind the lady’s coiffure and the gently waving fan.
Shadows hid the others in the box, and Izzy turned to Clemmie, who looked to her husband.
“It’s him,” he said cryptically, wagging his eyebrows at his wife. “With Mrs Rutlidge.”
“No!” Clemmie lifted her opera glasses and peered shamelessly across at them.
“Clemmie!” Izzy hissed, rather shocked by this bold display of interest.
Clemmie hushed her. “Oh, everyone does it, love. That’s why they’re here. Besides, don’t you know who that is?”
Izzy tsked irritably. “You know very well that I do not.”
“Tell her, darling,” Clemmie said, waving a hand at her husband.
Beaumarsh grinned at Izzy’s impatience. “That, my dear sister, is the talk of the town. Mr Benedict Midwinter.”
Izzy frowned as the name stirred a memory. “Not our Midwinter? I mean, from Little Valentine? The family that owned Winsham Castle?”
“The very same,” Clemmie replied, not dropping the opera glasses. “I’ve been dying to get a look at him. They say he’s every bit as wicked as his father, though he’s invited everywhere because he’s so very handsome.”
“And rich,” Beaumarsh replied, watching his wife with amusement. “Should I be jealous, love?”
“Don’t be silly. I’m just dying to see what all the fuss is about. Drat Mrs Rutlidge and her enormous—”
“Clemmie, darling!” Beaumarsh reproved, shaking his head and pretending to sound shocked.
Clementine lowered the glasses to stare at her husband. “—fan,” she finished, deadpan.
Izzy laughed but stole the opera glasses while her sister was distracted. “She’s perfectly stunning, but her fan is a dratted nuisance, I agree.” All the same, a shiver of something she could not name ran down her back, her heart fluttering for no apparent reason. “Is she very scandalous?”
“Indeed. A very merry widow,” Beaumarsh replied with amusement.
Izzy looked back at them to discover a look in Clemmie’s eye that promised retribution. “She’s an avaricious tart.”
Too stunned to reply, Izzy looked to her brother-in-law, who pulled a face. “Mrs Rutlidge is notorious for stealing other people’s husbands. Though, to be fair, she only ever borrows them.”
“Yes, well, she thought better of borrowing you, did she not?”
Beaumarsh grinned, his handsome face lit up and likely causing any young woman within fifty feet of him to swoon. “Not that there was ever any cause for concern, my love.”
He took Clemmie’s hand and lifted it to his lips, and the look that passed between them made Izzy blush. She turned away, focusing her attention on the play once more.
Pall Mall, on the way to Carlton House, London, 23rdMarch 1816
Izzy gripped the seats of the carriage, telling herself not to be such a ninny.
She had survived being presented to the queen and had not fallen on her face.
She had been to the theatre, and it had not burned down.
There was no reason to suppose that she would cause a riot at her first ball, even if it was at Carlton House of all places.
Talk about being thrown in at the deep end.
“Are you all right, Izzy? You look rather pale.”
Izzy tore her gaze from the window, not that the scenery was moving much as the crush of carriages made their way inch by torturous inch up the road.
“Fine,” Izzy replied, pasting a smile to her face.
She was very aware what an honour it was to secure invitations to such a dazzling event, especially for her, a little nobody from nowhere.
Yet her sisters were both somebody now, and so the rushing tide that had elevated them to the heady heights of Countess and Marchioness dragged her along with them.
Lord Beaumarsh, handsome, fashionable and witty, was a favourite at court and much in demand, and his presence at such an event was nothing at all out of the ordinary.
For Izzy, it was a baptism of fire.
“You’ll do splendidly.”