20. Chapter 20
The next two days were a blur. Javenia attended church with her parents at St. James’s and accepted callers at the appropriate time, but nothing eased the ache. Her mother and father, bless them, had sat in silence with her all Sunday evening until she couldn’t take it anymore and went to bed.
As she’d always suspected, their opposition had crumbled when they saw how much she loved Algenon, but none of that mattered. She no longer had the will to fight.
On Monday, Cindy reminded her they were to attend the opera with the Duke and Duchess of Bedford. Javenia tried to make her excuses, but her parents would not have it. They insisted she attend.
She did not miss the worried glances between them when she acquiesced with little resistance, but she didn’t care. It took too much effort to care where she went or what she did.
So it was that she found herself seated on the plush seats in His Grace’s box, her sister and parents seated behind her.
Her Grace made a comment on the gathered crowd and she nodded in reply, hoping it was the right answer.
Honestly, she’d not been paying much attention.
Instead, she stared at the stage, or rather past the stage, her gaze unfocused as she waited for the performance to begin.
The door behind her opened and shut, the click of the latch startling her out of her thoughts. The duke rose from his seat.
“Lord Hamdon, Mr. Fairchild, welcome.”
Javenia’s head jerked up, and she swiveled to stare at the back of the box, worried she’d find the man who had ruined Melior. Instead, she found a stranger.
Steadying herself on the back of her chair, she rose so Lord Hamdon could make introductions.
He gestured to the tall, dark-haired man next to him. “Lady Upton, Lord Upton, might I introduce my friend, Mr. Nicholas Fairchild?”
Javenia’s mother dipped her head in acknowledgement, and after the appropriate greetings were given, Lord Hamdon turned to her.
“Mr. Fairchild, this is Miss Harris and her younger sister, Miss Jacinda Harris.”
Cindy fairly fell over herself curtsying to the man.
Javenia didn’t blame her. This Mr. Fairchild made his cousin look like a troll in comparison.
With high cheekbones, a sharp jawline, and a tall athletic build that would make even the most prudish matrons take a second look, he was, in a word, stunning.
When he bowed over Javenia’s hand, however, she found she had exhausted any amount of admiration for him in that one glance.
“Might I take the seat next to you?” Lord Hamdon asked.
Javenia smiled—at least she hoped it was a smile and not the grimace she felt—and gestured to the seat. Lord Hamdon’s friend took up the seat behind them closer to Cindy. Perhaps they’d actually get through the performance in silence if Cindy remained as much in awe of the newcomer as she was now.
The curtain went up, the singers began, and Javenia lost interest. Lord Hamdon made a few whispered remarks. How she answered she could not recall, but eventually he gave up speaking altogether.
Left to her own devices, her gaze wandered. Then stopped. Her pulse beat in her ears, a flicker of anger flaring to life for the first time in days. There, across the gallery, was Miss Weston, face smug, eyes filled with challenge.
Javenia gritted her teeth when she noticed the despicable woman seated close to Algenon. He looked miserable, and she had no doubt she knew why.
She may not be able to have Algenon for herself, but she’d rather die than let that viper ruin him. Her hand slipped inside her pocket, the paper she’d been unable to bring herself to burn crinkling in her grasp.
Miss Weston didn’t know it, but she had just declared war, and Javenia never lost a fight.
The lights dimmed in the opera house as the singers took the stage.
It was the third time Algenon had attended in the two weeks he’d been in London and he now realized he hated opera.
He half watched the night’s performance from Lord Falcross’s box, disgusted at the view of his father’s self-satisfied profile and his stepmother’s weary one.
His father had recovered enough to insist they follow through with their previous engagements, even though Lady Roberts was obviously still not completely herself. Did he think only of himself, or had Lord Falcross insisted upon it?
Algenon still wasn’t certain what other reasons his father could possibly have to entertain Falcross and Rupert, but at least he’d agreed to be more watchful of Phillipa.
The soprano hit a high note and Algenon’s gaze trailed away from the stage. Across the large open center of the building, Javenia sat silently in the Duke of Bedford’s box watching the story play out.
Maybe during intermission he could excuse himself and sneak over to the other side of the theater.
It would be a welcome break after being forced once again into Miss Weston’s company.
Then his gaze fell on another occupant of the duke’s box, this one decidedly masculine with a square jaw and dark blond hair.
Lord Hamdon.
Algenon ran a hand along his trousers, his toes twitching in his shoes. If he were anywhere else, his foot would be tapping with impatience, but his father would notice the restless action.
Why had Lord Hamdon joined the Duke of Bedford in his box? Was he again pursuing Javenia?
Warm fingers settled on his sleeve, slipping down to the bit of skin exposed above his glove. He jerked away, not caring if he upset Miss Weston. She’d been rather forward this evening, and it was getting on his nerves.
It had been his father’s idea to accept an invitation to sit with Lord Falcross, not his.
He’d wanted to make his excuses, but he’d promised Phillipa he’d protect her should Lord Rupert choose to again insert himself in their circle.
If only she could hold through with her end of the bargain and save him from Miss Weston.
He ground his teeth together. He couldn’t be upset with her since Father had made her sit at the front of the box in order to be viewed by all in attendance. She didn’t even know what he was being subjected to.
Again Miss Weston’s fingers found their way onto his person. He jerked away from the touch.
“I must ask you to desist, madam,” he hissed. “You have a reputation to protect.”
She let out a little giggle, somehow finding his protest funny. “Are you so much a prude, Mr. Roberts? With your reputation, I’d thought you’d be more adventurous than this.”
His reputation? He almost cursed aloud. The rake-like reputation he’d had to cultivate to dissuade women from taking interest in him?
The reputation he’d practically ruined to avoid marriage long enough to find a way to marry Javenia?
It seemed his sins were coming back to haunt him like a ghost in the night.
“You are mistaken, Miss Weston. London’s rumor mill has led you to believe I am a man of low morals. I am not. So again, please desist from accosting my person.”
Miss Weston’s coy smile faltered before she pushed it back into place. “All your self-righteous standards will not save you from my charms once we are married.”
He glared at her through the dimness. It was the first time she’d ever mentioned in so many words the connection their fathers desired.
They’d danced around the subject for weeks, him refusing to acknowledge any actual discussion and her only showing interest when it suited her fancy.
This evening, it apparently suited her quite a lot. But why?
“I understand,” he whispered, “that our fathers wish for a connection, but I do not, Miss Weston, and I do not think you do either. There are so many more suitable gentlemen at your disposal.”
There. That was as straightforward as he could be while still petting her vanity enough to keep her from counting him an enemy and making a scene.
Her fingers somehow made their way back to his sleeve. “Ah, yes, but not many are half so challenging.”
He swallowed. So that was why she’d agreed. Was she one of those women who found a challenge so tantalizing they’d push past any objections? He pulled his arm away again, but slower this time, not wanting to give her the satisfaction of his scorn.
“Lord Hamdon would be a greater challenge with a far better reward. He will be an earl one day and everyone knows his eye is hard to catch.”
The way the right side of Miss Weston’s lips ticked up with the arch of her perfectly lifted eyebrow soured his stomach. She reminded him of a cat ready to pounce.
“Yes, but who would I compete against? You said yourself that no one has caught his eye of late, except maybe one lady.” She glanced purposely at the duke’s box.
Algenon did the same, only to find Javenia looking right back at them. Realization dawned. None of this was about him at all. It never had been. It was about Miss Weston’s embarrassment in Reading.
After she’d cornered and kissed him, he’d let her know in no uncertain terms how he felt about her forwardness.
His words had been gentle at first but swiftly turned harsh when he realized she was not at all penitent.
Her mouth had hung open and her eyes had flashed with anger at his rebuke, but it was the red in her cheeks that had shown her true feelings.
Had she ever truly been rejected? Probably not, not with a dowry as obscenely large as hers, and most likely not by a man she viewed as beneath her.
Her gaze again settled on him, her smiling lips curling in a way that did not at all appear genuine.
She dropped a hand on his thigh, gripping it hard to keep him from pulling out of her grasp.
Her nails bit into his skin and he wanted to slap her away, but before he could she turned and flashed her strange smile at someone else.
He wanted to throw up. This was all a show to her, and the spectator was none other than the woman he loved most in the world. He didn’t even have to look across the opera house to confirm that Javenia was staring their way.
To Miss Weston, he was not the challenge. Javenia was.
Was this some sort of sick revenge? But why on Javenia? She’d done nothing to Miss Weston.
Algenon reached down and carefully peeled Miss Weston’s hand off his thigh. “That is quite enough,” he growled loud enough for both his father and Lord Falcross to turn and observe them.
Miss Weston’s hand was still in his and he cursed under his breath before flinging it away and standing.
He didn’t care how rude he appeared. It didn’t matter anymore.
Nate had been right. A marriage with Miss Weston would be miserable.
He’d be better off taking his chances with Javenia’s goodwill than allowing himself to be fed to this wolf.
“Excuse me, I am not feeling well.” He gave a curt bow and let himself out of the box, ignoring his father’s hissed objection.
It didn’t matter what his father had said, nothing could induce him to stay in this den of vipers.
All of him wanted to cross the gaping divide between Falcross’s box and the Duke of Bedford’s, but he knew he wouldn’t be welcome.
Not after the scene he’d just made, and not with Lord Hamdon in attendance.
Even under the best of circumstances, he may not have been welcome at all.
He’d hurt Javenia. As much as he wanted to blame his father for all the pain he’d witnessed on her face, it was his inaction that had caused her heartache.
Her eyes had begged him to intervene, to provide protection… and he had.
Just not in the way she’d expected.
He needed to speak with her… alone. John’s dinner wasn’t until Thursday, and he wasn’t certain Javenia would even still come. He could try going by her house again, but since she hadn’t contacted him, he had a suspicion that her parents had simply thrown away his card.
Tomorrow was the Fortescues’ soiree. Did he dare find a time to pull her aside there? He gave a short nod as he marched through the doors and out into the warmer than usual evening air. He would have to take what he could get.