Chapter 21
Madeline suspected that Tristan was not thrilled about the opera plan. He had not said where he had gone, and she had pointedly avoided asking.
However, on the carriage ride to the opera house, Tristan mentioned it to her, to her amazement.
“I am surprised that you have no curiosity as to where I have been today,” he remarked.
Madeline eyed him. “I have no interest. I have guessed where you were.”
Inside, her heart was thumping.
What are you thinking? Your mother is right here, sitting and smiling in the corner of the carriage! How dare you reference your mistress after all she said to me about what a good, honorable man you are?
Anger swept through her. He had no right to have such a wonderful mother as Dorothea.
Madeline had no mother. She would have liked one very much.
Mothers could make life in society pass much more smoothly.
Poor Papa had tried his best, but that didn’t stop Madeline from sometimes feeling very estranged from the rest of the world.
Other girls relied on their mamas for everything, and Madeline had often wondered what her life would have been like with two loving parents.
No, that wasn’t fair; not with Papa being as wonderful as he was.
Tristan leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, bringing her abruptly back to the present.
“I thought you might be interested then. Since you have already guessed.”
What was that supposed to mean? Madeline tried not to think of it. She sniffed.
“No, thank you.”
Tristan eyed her for a moment, then grunted, leaning back. “As you like, then.”
The carriage trundled on, and silence descended. Madeline shifted uneasily in her seat. Dorothea seemed entirely content with the silence, staring happily out of the window at the dark landscape flashing by.
It occurred to Madeline, somewhat uneasily, that she had not properly met Tristan’s cousin. Lord James Lovell was a decent sort of man, she was sure, but this was the first gathering that would be just the four of them.
Well, it was bound to happen sooner or later, she thought wryly.
The carriage rolled to a halt outside the opera house, and an attendant hurried out to open the door. The three of them hurried inside, keen to get out of the cold. At the door, another attendant took Madeline’s wrap. She felt rather exposed without it, really.
She was wearing one of the new gowns Tristan had bought her, a deep purple dress studded with pearls and with a low, scooped neckline that just about showed off the tops of her breasts. It was not disgraceful, exactly, but it was certainly a little scandalous.
Surely there were worse things in the world than being scandalous, however. Besides, there was a matching pearl jewelry set to go with the dress.
“You look lovely, darling,” Dorothea cooed, beaming at her. “Oh, and here comes James!”
The tall, puppy-eyed Lord Lovell came trundling down the velvet-carpeted hall toward them, beaming.
“Here you all are, and just in time!” he exclaimed. “Heavens, Madeline, you look ravishing! My compliments, Tristan.”
Tristan gave a low growl in his throat. “Careful, James. I am not in the mood for joking tonight.”
“You never are,” James chuckled. “Come on, ladies, let’s go up to my box. The show will start shortly.”
He offered one arm to Dorothea and one to Madeline. She took his arm somewhat hesitantly, and he escorted them along the hallway, talking and laughing.
James had said the opera would start soon, but apparently his idea of soon was a full half-hour.
Not that Madeline minded, of course. He chattered and laughed and told such amusing stories that she found herself relaxing, and did not worry at all about her exposed shoulders now that her wrap was gone.
The box contained four seats, deep and comfortable, angled neatly toward the curtained stage.
Other identical boxes studded the upper floors of the theater, with a mass of heaving people and chairs clustering below.
Madeline peered over the railings in one rare lull in conversation, watching people move.
They were commoners, of course, people who could only afford the cheapest tickets and did not keep boxes.
That fact did not seem to dim their excitement.
A smile spread over her face as she watched.
A gentleman hustled his wife and a pack of children along, not unlike a hen hustling her chicks.
They all wore their Sunday best, and it was clear that this outing was a special treat.
The smiles on their faces underlined that fact.
She saw more scenes like this—a pair of ladies, clearly friends, walked arm in arm, excitedly talking to each other.
A group of gentlemen had their heads bent together, talking eagerly over something or other.
A drunk-looking man pinched an orange-seller on the behind, and she smoothly turned around and delivered a cracking punch to his jaw, which knocked him out cold.
“What are you looking at?”
She flinched at Tristan’s voice, warm in her ear.
“I’m looking at the people,” Madeline managed. It felt like a thin explanation, but he only nodded, leaning forward to rest his elbow on the railing. He stared down at the crowd for a long time, then nodded again.
“They look as though they are having a good time. Sister Abigail said that she had hoped to come here tonight with some patrons, but I think the excursion was canceled after all.”
Madeline missed a beat, glancing over at him.
“Sister who?”
“I don’t believe that you know her,” Tristan responded, leaning back in his seat. “You look very beautiful tonight, Madeline.”
She glanced at him, open-mouthed. How could he give her such a careless compliment now, when they had shared the moments they had last night, and he had disappeared so suspiciously?
I have to know, Madeline realized, with something like resignation. She opened her mouth to ask him quite bluntly, just where exactly he had gone. The question was huge in her mind, growing larger by the minute.
At that moment, however, the orchestra began with a flourish, and the curtain shot up. Applause broke out over the crowd, making Madeline flinch. She blinked, glancing around at the clapping audience. The show, it seemed, had begun.
Dorothea had told Madeline what the name of the opera was, but Madeline had forgotten it. There was some ballet to begin, with shepherdesses and a single shepherd leaping about gracefully on the stage, making no noise when they landed from their leaps.
Dorothea sat closest to the stage, with James coming next, and then Madeline. Tristan sat at her side. He leaned forward, resting his elbow on the railing. She could sense him beside her, feel the warmth coming from him. He was looking at her; she just knew it, and her skin prickled all over.
The music swept upwards in a glorious finale, the shepherdesses and shepherds danced offstage, and a single woman came striding out onto the stage. Madeline stared, her vision momentarily blurring, and immediately felt foolish.
The woman was, of course, Miss Juliana Bolt.
She wore a long, vibrant robe of bright yellow, and her hair was loose in a bright red torrent. She faced the audience with a broad, knowing smile and spread her arms.
She began to sing, and her voice was glorious. It was something in Italian, and Madeline did not understand most of the words, but the emotion was still there. She leaned forward, swallowing hard.
She’s so beautiful. How could a man ever choose me over her?
“You were with Miss Bolt this morning, weren’t you?” Madeline whispered.
She had thought that her voice was too quiet for him to hear over the music. Indeed, Tristan did not reply immediately. However, he rose to his feet after a moment, snatched up her hand, and tugged her to her feet.
“Let us speak outside,” he said shortly.
Madeline was too amazed to respond. Dorothea’s eyes were glued to the stage, entirely entranced. James glanced their way curiously, but soon turned his attention back to the stage.
Tristan dragged her out of the box and out into the hall. The music faded a little, and at last Madeline tugged her hand out of his.
“What are you doing?” she hissed. “Stop dragging me around, if you please!”
Tristan offered her a tight smile. “We will talk, you and I.”
“Will we?”
“Yes, if you please. Come, let’s find somewhere private.”
She folded her arms. “Here is private, isn’t it?”
Tristan sniffed. “What, where anybody could wander along? I think not. Let’s go in here.”
A little way along the hall, down a quiet doorway and along a narrow corridor that Madeline was not sure was designed for common use, there was a curtained alcove. He swept back the curtain to reveal a pair of seats facing each other.
“What on earth is this room for?” Madeline wondered aloud.
Tristan threw himself into one seat and gestured for her to take the other. She stepped inside, eyeing him warily. After a moment, he reached forward and pulled the curtain closed.
“I was not seeing Miss Juliana Bolt this morning, if you must know,” Tristan snapped. “Did our conversation last night mean nothing? I thought we had agreed on trust.”
Madeline flushed. She convinced herself that in the dark, he could not tell how red she had gone. Or so she hoped, at least.
“It is not of my concern,” she managed lamely.
He snorted. “Of course it is. It is only of your concern. You are my wife. Now, let me tell you, once and for all, that I have not seen Juliana Bolt since before we were married. Do you believe me?”
“I…”
“It is a simple question, Madeline. Yes or no. Do you believe me, or don’t you?”
Madeline bit her lower lip hard. She could not look away.
His gaze was intense, boring into hers. She was vaguely aware of the applause in the background.
One scene had finished, and another was beginning, it seemed.
She wondered briefly how long until intermission, when their absence would be noticed for sure.