Chapter Eleven #2
Could she really do this? Could she walk in there with her head held high and pretend she didn’t notice the whispers and the stares? And this was just the beginning. There would be more evenings like this. But surely they would get easier?
That didn’t really help, so then she reminded herself that this night would be something she could tell her sisters about. They would love to hear about the theatre and the play she had seen. She could tell them in great detail when she saw them, which she very much hoped would be soon.
They were still sitting in the coach, waiting in silence to reach the theatre steps as each vehicle stopped and unloaded its occupants and then made room for the next one.
When Rory finally spoke, his voice startled her.
“What is the matter?” he asked. “You look very glum, Grace. Are you having second thoughts? We could always tell the driver to turn around and—”
“No, no, not about the theatre.” She forced herself to smile. She wasn’t about to tell him the truth and remind him of the stain against her name, so she said, “I was thinking about my sisters. I miss them.”
“You’ll see them again, dinna worry,” he said with the sort of confidence she was sure he had no business feeling.
That confidence irritated her. How could he be so sure of himself and his decisions?
As far as she could tell, he did not let anything rattle him.
But then she remembered when he had sent her from his bed in high dudgeon and tried not to smile.
There were some things that did rattle him.
And that memory reminded her that she could not rely on him, not really.
Rory was not going to be by her side forever; he had already made that perfectly clear.
At some point she was going to have to manage as best she could on her own.
“I think we are nearly there,” Rory said with obvious relief. “We could have walked faster.”
Grace followed his gaze to the large building with its glow of lights and the people in their finery climbing the stairs to the front doors. She tried not to think about what was awaiting her.
Rory spoke again, leaning closer in a confidential manner. “The only play I’ve ever been to was at Bonnyrigg. My sister set up a stage in the great hall and we all had to read the parts she gave us.”
“What was it like?” she managed to say.
He grinned, his blue eyes lighting up. “It was a shambles, and some of my lines were verra questionable, but I’ve never heard my father laugh so hard.”
“It sounds like you had fun,” Grace said a little wistfully. She had never had the joy of anything like that, and Ormsby—the only father she had ever known—had never laughed with the pleasure of seeing the girls enjoying themselves. Life in her childhood home just wasn’t like Rory’s.
By now the footman had opened the coach door, and they stepped down into the cool, clear evening. Rory swiftly took her arm and led her up the stairs. Grace was very aware of the whispers and ogles and tried not to cringe. It was going to be just as bad as she had feared.
As they passed, she heard one woman say, “Is that the Ormsby girl?” and then a titter as her companion replied, “Well, the earl says she was never his daughter, so who knows whose girl she is?”
Rory was ignorant of the drama and looked around in genuine enjoyment as they reached the foyer. Everything sparkled beneath the chandelier and the wide staircase rose before them, taking those wealthy enough to have a private box to their seats.
“Didn’t you say you went to the theatre with—” he began and then seemed to think better of it. She was glad of that. The last thing she wanted to talk about tonight was Bolton Buckingham.
They ascended the staircase, the carpet soft beneath their shoes, and Grace told herself that at least she was dressed fashionably and looked the part of an earl’s daughter and Lord Rory MacKenzie’s wife.
They were shown to the countess’s box. She kept one for the London Season, although she claimed she rarely needed it these days.
But she had been happy for the two of them to make use of it.
“This evening is special,” she had said, as they were leaving. “It is your first outing as a married couple.”
Now, as they were seated in the box that overlooked the stage and the audience below, Grace felt giddy.
Whoever was in the box next to them was staring toward them, and then there were the inevitable whispers and mocking laughter.
Could she really sit here and pretend it wasn’t happening?
At any moment she might jump up and run away.
When Rory spoke close to her ear, she started.
“Ignore them,” he said. “They do not matter.”
“But they do. I need to make my scandal go away.”
“You will, but not by letting them see they have the power to hurt you.”
He was right, of course he was right. She attempted to sit up straighter, stiffening her backbone. Yes, she was feeling anxious and as if she were the center of all eyes, but that did not mean everyone else had to know.
“Smile,” Rory said, his warm breath causing goosebumps to rise on her skin. “Who cares what they think?”
Grace forced herself to smile as she turned to him. His blue eyes were bright in the dim light, and she realized he was enjoying himself. Gossips didn’t scare him—he was probably used to them. She told herself she needed to be more like Rory.
“I am going to enjoy myself,” she said, because that was the best solution. “And not care what anyone says.”
He grinned in approval and then lifted her hand to his lips.
Her heart gave a jump at the sensation, even knowing it was all for show, but he continued to hold her hand in his as the curtain began to rise, and Grace left it there.