Chapter 33 Livy #2
“I’ll be honest with you, Miss Forester.
I don’t believe he is the right match for you.
But I understand. Occasionally, it is necessary to adorn oneself with yet another necklace, for only then can the rightness of the prior piece be discovered.
” She gave Livy a knowing look. A look Livy couldn’t even begin to understand.
“I will have word sent for him to visit during intermission.”
The dowager looked back out at the crush, opera glasses back in place as she scanned the theater. “Now where is that grandson of mine?” she muttered.
“The Duke is here?” Livy had assumed if he was here, he would have been in his own box.
“Oh, no, the Duke is away at Ironcrest.” The dowager spat the last word with such vehemence that Livy leaned away slightly. “I was referring to Roderick.”
Roderick… “I was not aware the Duke had a brother,” Livy said slowly.
“Not in the literal sense. Lord Dunmore is as much my grandson as the Duke is. He should be here. He promised me, and that man does not break his promises.”
Livy thought back to the night she’d stolen into Dunmore House. How she’d uttered a similar sentiment to the man. That sentiment being the entire reason for her nighttime undertaking. And she’d been correct. The only reason he hadn’t kept his word was because he hadn’t been well.
“That he doesn’t,” she murmured.
The dowager snapped her head in Livy’s direction, opera glasses still suspended in mid-air in front of her. “How did you come to know Lord Dunmore?”
Livy froze, unsure of how to explain her association with the man. She didn’t think for a moment the dowager would believe the tale they’d fabricated about him having a distant association with her aunt, given the dowager’s close relationship with him, given the woman thought of him as kin.
“We met at a ball and, much to my delight and surprise, he graciously agreed to show me around the ton.” Livy winced. That wasn’t nearly sufficient.
The gold of the dowager’s opera glasses flashed in the candlelight as the dowager leaned forward on the banister, homing in on something in the lowest section of boxes. “The idiotic man!” she chastised in a hushed voice.
“Pardon, Your Grace?” Livy blinked several times. What in the name of trifle?
The dowager straightened, lowering her opera glasses, and studied Livy. “An odd task for a miscreant like him, escorting an unmarried lady about.”
Livy’s mind turned over, frantically searching for something even remotely credible. Beauty and brains. “He happened to discover my interest in mathematics,” she rushed out. “And knew of others who had similar interests.”
The dowager gave another thoughtful hum just as the curtain rose, signaling the start of the play.
“Let us deliver you back to your aunt. Since this is your first time to the theater, I am sure you actually want to watch the play.” She sent a mischievous smile Livy’s way. “And I need to get word sent to that gentleman of yours.”
“Thank you, Your Grace.” Livy dipped into another curtsy. The dowager strode off as Livy went to find a seat with her aunt.
“Such a dreary play, Macbeth.” Franny fanned herself vigorously between sips of chilled champagne.
“It is, but the actors and actresses are quite talented.” Livy would have preferred a lighter play. The death in Macbeth, the resulting madness, uncomfortably paralleled the happenings in her own life.
“Don’t worry, you both will adore the performance afterward. The pantomimes are hilarious. It will be a much-needed respite from the heaviness of the play.”
“Oh, a pantomime?” Aunt Mellie said excitedly. “It has been some time since I’ve seen one.” She turned to Livy. “You will find it most amusing, Olivia.”
Livy smiled and opened her mouth to respond when her eyes clashed with a gentleman across the box. Misty blue eyes widened. Warren. He disengaged himself from the guests he was currently speaking with and made his way over to her. No pretty brunette on his arm now. His sole focus was on her.
She carefully brushed her gloves over her skirts. “Is my coiffure in order?” she whispered from the corner of her mouth.
Franny’s gaze darted behind Livy before she reached up and gave Livy’s coiffure a small adjustment. “You look lovely, a woman to be shown off,” Franny said warmly.
Livy excused herself and made her way to meet Warren.
“Miss Forester.” He bowed briefly.
“Mr. Thorton,” she murmured while dipping a small curtsy.
He was still as handsome as ever, a sandy-straw blond wave of hair tumbling over his brow, the glint of candlelight flickering over his sharp jaw.
But her heart didn’t skip a beat, her stomach didn’t flutter, and no warmth filled her chest. Had her attack broken her?
Ruined her beyond repair? Beyond feeling?
“I was surprised to see you in London,” he murmured.
That was putting it lightly. He’d run from her like his breeches had caught fire at the Chesterfield Ball. “It had come to my attention,” she said meaningfully, holding his gaze, “that I was in need of new marital prospects.”
He glanced away, looking over the crowd, her barb, though soft, striking home. “Yes, London is the place for that, isn’t it? Are you enjoying the theater?”
Raising her opera glasses to her eyes, she scanned the other boxes, focusing on the lower boxes where the dowager had been looking earlier.
“Yes, more-so due to the talent of the performers than the topic of the play. I feel it would say something about my character if I admitted to enjoying something so full of death. I have enjoyed observing the theatergoers as well, such a large array of people.”
She frowned as she spotted a box with women wearing scantily clad dresses, revealing much more than would be deemed proper. The fabric was very sheer. “I am shocked by the dress of some of the ladies here,” she added.
Warren cleared his throat, and she glanced at him, noticing his cheekbones had darkened with a blush. She tilted her head at him in question.
“They are not all ladies.”
She looked back at the box in question and noticed one of the women had settled herself on a man’s lap. “Oh dear!” A hand flew to cover her mouth. Eyes wide, she looked back at Warren.
He chuckled, his expression landing somewhere between amusement and embarrassment.
“I had no idea men came here with such women,” she said in a hushed voice.
She’d thought that was for places like The Devil’s Eye.
But out in the open at the theater? She glanced curiously back at the box, surveying the inhabitants.
And then froze. A pair of unmistakable broad shoulders and a head of jet-black hair stood with one such woman pressed up against his side.
The man turned.
Livy’s stomach filled with lead. The woman leaned up against Lord Dunmore, crushing her breasts to him as they exchanged smiles and whispered words.
He leaned down, saying something in her ear, eliciting laughter from the woman.
The lead went up in flames. Her fist clenched on her opera glasses as the woman trailed her fingers over Lord Dunmore.
Get off! You… you… strumpet!
A servant approached Lord Dunmore. He nodded, murmured something to the woman at his side—who appeared extremely put out, Livy noted with a satisfied little smile—before he strode out of the box. Livy lowered her glasses and took a calming breath.
“—more discreet about those types of things.”
What was Warren saying? Drat, she had no idea what they’d been talking about. She needed a distraction. “Are any of the boys in town?”
A smile spread across Warren’s face. “I just had word from Quinton that he’ll be in town in the next day or so.”
“Oh, I do hope I run into him!” The thought of seeing Quinton’s familiar face offered a small, much-needed reprieve from all she’d endured the past week, a small light in a bleak void.
“I’m sure he’ll be thrilled by that. As am I that our paths crossed tonight.” Warren glanced around the box and then discreetly reached out and squeezed her hand. She recoiled at the contact, and he frowned, his misty blue eyes clouding with confusion.
She quickly covered her unease with a smile. “I am as well. That our paths have crossed.” And you didn’t immediately turn tail and run. She bit the inside of her cheek. Was that bitterness she was feeling?
“Have you…made any new acquaintances while here in London?” he asked, his voice carefully neutral.
She blinked. That almost seemed as if he was…prying.
“As a matter of fact, I have. I attended a lovely dinner party hosted by Lady Rutledge.” She indicated with her opera glasses to where Franny stood conversing animatedly with Aunt Mellie. “It was a splendid time.” For a short while.
She shivered, and her fingers tightened around the stem of her champagne glass. Distract. Focus on the positives of that night. “Speaking with renowned figures in mathematics and the sciences was utterly fascinating.”
He chuckled. “I’m sure it felt like listening to a foreign language for you. But it’s unbelievably charming that you still enjoyed the conversation. I am sure they appreciated your beautiful smile.”
Her chin jerked back slightly, and she stared at him, speechless.
How unbelievably patronizing. It wasn’t the first time he’d made a comment like that.
She shouldn’t be surprised and didn’t know why she was.
She knew he hadn’t any idea she had a brain.
She’d made sure of it. Because this was what he believed.
Something cold and sad settled in her stomach.
“It wasn’t,” she said quietly.
His brows pinched. “Pardon?”
She held his gaze. She was so tired of pretending. And she’d met so many people here who liked that side of her. London had been all about taking risks. What was one more? “It wasn’t like listening to a foreign language.”
His mouth opened, but no words surfaced, and his frown deepened.
“I’ve always had an aptitude for mathematics. I enjoy it. Is it really that surprising? Given who my father is…”
He stared at her like he was seeing her for the first time. “But you’ve never shown any inkling… We’ve known each other for five years. And never…”
She glanced at the floor, rolling her lips together. No, he wouldn’t have. She’d learned early on the views he’d held. “As your earlier comment made painfully clear, I learned quickly your opinion of women with intelligence. So, I hid it.” She met his gaze. “I wanted to be the woman you wanted.”
“I…” He shook his head slowly, mouth opening and closing. He glanced away, his forehead etched with lines.
“It looks like intermission is just about at its end,” Livy said softly.
They both glanced to where the curtain was being drawn back. “We should return to our own boxes—or seats,” he said awkwardly and dipped a quick bow.
Livy frowned at his retreating figure, words on the tip of her tongue to correct him.
She snapped her mouth shut and almost dropped her opera glasses as realization dawned.
He didn’t just think she wouldn’t be invited to attend the theater in the Duke of Ironcrest’s box…
He didn’t think she would have been invited to anyone’s box.
She took a sip of her champagne and grimaced. The bubbly liquid had gone flat. Flat. Now that was a word that resonated with her.