Chapter Eight #2
At the top of the stairs, he turned down the left wing and changed the direction of conversation just as sharply. “May I express how exquisite you look tonight? Green suits you.”
“No you may not, but since you’ve already expressed the compliment, I suppose I have no recourse but to thank you.”
“I didn’t think you’d willingly allow me the honor, so I had to be sly about it.”
The man was incorrigible!
“Tristan misses you, by the way,” Mr. Beaumont continued. “He’s been absolutely miserable the last few nights. Of course, he makes me miserable every day, so it’s only fair he have his turn.”
“And how do you know it was me he missed? He could have been missing your mum.”
“True, but once a man meets you, he can’t help but miss you when you are away.”
Oh, good grief. “Didn’t I tell you to stop the charm?”
“I can’t help it. You bring it out so naturally.”
Behind her Theresa snickered, revealing their conversation had not gone unheard. Great. Once Nora was free of Mr. Beaumont, her friends would either tease her or try to convince her to encourage his attentions.
Best to ignore both Theresa and Mr. Beaumont, then no one’s fantasies would be nurtured. Nora firmed her lips and, as they passed through the auditorium door, turned her attention to the stage.
Oh my.
Nora had been in many opera houses during her travels with Mum and Father, but none of them came close to the elegant grandeur before her.
Everywhere she looked, elaborate frescoes of Grecian scenes were offset by marble and gilded paneling.
A proud phoenix surmounted a shield at the key of the proscenium, and Greek temple facades framed the wings with marble statues atop their entablatures.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Mr. Beaumont asked.
“It is.”
He led them to the first row of the balcony and pointed to the black curtains of the furthest wing. “If you get bored with the show, it’s possible you might catch a glimpse of me on that side. I try to stay out of view, but from this angle, you tend to see more than others.”
“I am sure I’ll be too enraptured with the performance to pay you any mind.”
Mr. Beaumont threw a hand over his heart and stumbled backward. “You wound me. Here I hoped you might be more interested in catching a glimpse of me.”
“You do put on quite a show.”
He bowed. “Thank you, m’lady. I’m afraid I must return to my duties, but if you will do me the honor of lingering after the show, I will give you that promised tour and any introductions I can manage.”
Before Nora could deny the request, Flossie answered. “We will wait for you by the cloakroom.”
“Ah, before I forget—” He retrieved a thin book from inside his coat and handed it to Nora. “I thought you might like a copy of the libretto to share with your ma.”
Nora gaped. He must have specially procured it, for it was unusual for an opera house to have librettos on hand.
Patrons were generally expected to come with prior knowledge of the opera’s plot.
His thoughtfulness shouldn’t have astounded her so, but his inclusion of Mum destroyed all ability to categorize him as Don Giovanni.
It could still just be a ploy. You can’t give in to his charms.
But oh, how tempting it was.
Mr. Beaumont bowed. “Enjoy the performance, ladies. I look forward to hearing your opinions afterward.”
She stroked the paper cover as she watched him weave through the stream of attendees flowing into the auditorium.
“Should we take our seats? Or would you like to stare at him a little longer?” Theresa’s tease was accompanied by the snickers of Flossie and Lydia.
Nora slid into the row, hoping to claim the end where fewer Guardians could directly heckle her. Unfortunately, Flossie perceived her plan and bumped Nora against a seat as she cut around, leaving Lydia and Theresa vying for the seat on Nora’s other side. Lydia won.
Lydia snapped open her fan and fluttered it. “My, my, my. If I weren’t so madly in love with Abraham, I think I might become besotted with Mr. Beaumont. What about you, Nora?”
Nora opened the libretto, not willing to look anyone in the face while giving an answer she didn’t believe herself. “The man is a stranger and flirts like a rake.”
“He didn’t flirt with me,” Lydia pointed out. “Or me,” Flossie added.
“He didn’t so much as wink at me. Not tonight or on Tuesday. He can’t be a rake if he only has eyes for one woman.” Theresa ended with a sing-song melody.
“Or he’s so good at being a rake that he knows better than to flirt with said woman’s friends in front of her.” Nora flipped the page, not having the faintest idea what she’d read.
“Why do you have to believe the worst of him?” Lydia plucked the libretto from Nora’s hands.
Nora grabbed it back but didn’t bother to open it again. “Why do you have to believe the best?”
“I believe there are more good men than bad in this world, and the fact that he is interested in one of my best friends proves he’s a man of good taste.”
Theresa leaned across Lydia’s lap. “The fact that he keeps flirting despite you putting him off means he’s determined.”
Lydia’s romance stories must have gone to all the Guardians’ heads but Nora’s. “Or my rebuffing him makes me a tempting conquest.” They should realize those types of characters always ended up as the villain.
“Then provide him a good chase and test his mettle.” Flossie shrugged as though she hadn’t given the most ridiculous suggestion of them all. “If it ends in nothing, then you can say you tried. He has to be better than those dullard accountants your father keeps pushing on you.”
“Better a dullard than a rake,” Nora countered.
“If you really believe that of Mr. Beaumont, we won’t keep pushing, but I think you’re unnerved that he’s seen you and chosen you all on his own. When was the last time a man did that?”
When was the last time a man had chosen her because he thought the quiet, unassuming woman an easy target?
Two years ago, when she’d ended Mr. Teegler’s hopes of children.
But for a man to see her and still choose to pursue her?
Never. Most men saw her purposely cold and aloof manner and avoided her, even without knowing madness tainted her blood.
If Mr. Beaumont, who knew of Mum, was so intent on pursuing her, he must have an ulterior motive, right?
The orchestra began warming up, ending all conversation between the Guardians as they confiscated her libretto and took turns reading the summary page of Olivette in preparation for the performance.
Nora didn’t bother trying. Her mind was too scattered, and her eyes wandered far too often to the spot where Mr. Beaumont had indicated he worked behind the curtains.
As much as she wanted to hold to the image of him as Don Giovanni, an honest look at what she’d seen of his character just didn’t match.
Yes, he exasperated her with that habit of charming her or talking until her head ached, but he had never taken liberties with her.
In fact, he’d gone out of his way to avoid any perception of it.
And his love and care for his mum was telling.
Of the eight hundred patients at Longview, only a handful had visitors each week, and even fewer of those were regular.
But Mr. Beaumont made time to visit his mum during his only break between rehearsal and show.
It had to make for an exhausting day. Yet only twice had he not come during the hours he’d indicated were his break.
Did that mean he was different from the others?
A man she should allow the chance to pursue her?
Like Flossie said, she didn’t have to make it easy on him.
The grand curtain wavered in the corner, and Nora caught a glimpse of him as the manager of the opera house entered the stage to welcome the audience.
Mr. Beaumont’s head tilted up like he sought her out, but the curtain shifted too quickly for her to be certain.
It was nice to be wanted by him, and Flossie was right.
There was more to like about him than the dullards Father chose.
He was generous, kind, protective, knew how to make her feel special, and to top it off, he was connected to the opera.
She could speak freely about her love of music and not be rebuked or made to feel foolish for it.
What could it hurt to allow him his chase?
She was a fast runner, and she’d not be caught by any man who didn’t prove himself worthy.
By the time the performers took to the stage, Nora had settled into her decision.
Annoyingly, her gaze continued to wander to the black curtain. This simply would not do. She was finally getting her chance to be in the audience, and her attention was divided.
She closed her eyes and focused on the orchestra’s music.
It was melodious and graceful, full of spirit and running over with vivacity.
The strength of the orchestra never overpowered the voices of those on the stage, but the notes soothed and drew her in.
Once calm in mind and body, she turned a critical ear toward the singing, listening, as Mum had taught her, for clarity, articulation, and intonation.
The multiple voices competed with one another, not quite unpleasant but obviously in need of some tuning.
Then another male voice joined in, loud and commanding, and her whole body tensed.
There was nothing wrong with the singing, but that voice .
. . When he shifted to speaking, Nora struggled to breathe.
It wasn’t familiar . . . and yet, it was.
It tortured the edge of her memory, demanding placement.
Nora opened her eyes and found the source standing in the center of the stage.
She’d expected some sort of recognition, but theatrical paint disguised anything visually familiar about him.
All she could discern was he was balding, thin, and clean-shaven.
But something about him made her want to run.
Even though her feet did not sprint, her heart decided to become an Olympian.
Flossie leaned over. “Are you all right?”
Nora sucked in a breath and willed her body to fall into submission.
This was merely a fit of nerves like those she’d had as a child.
She forced the breath out slowly and began the exercise she’d developed all those years ago when she’d begun sleeping alone in her room after the kidnapping.
Like she did when singing, she focused on relaxing every muscle from the top down, breathing purposefully, and repeating truths to herself.
She drew a deep breath and held it. You are safe.
No one is here to hurt you. She blew the breath out slowly and evenly, paying attention to the way the muscles in her neck and shoulders relaxed.
You are not alone. Deep, slow breath. Flossie is next to you on your left.
Lydia is on your right. Another slow release, this time focusing on the muscles in her back.
You are surrounded by sweet, glorious music.
Listen to it. She breathed deep, listening to the orchestra and picking out each section.
Strings. Woodwinds. Brass. Percussion. Sweet music that had long been denied her.
Finally, her heart rate slowed. You are in a fine satin dress that you feel beautiful in.
She rubbed the material between her fingers and released another slow breath.
Her body wasn’t completely relaxed, but she felt in control again.
She offered Flossie a weak smile. “I’m sorry. I’m fine now, just a moment of overwhelm. The last time I was in an opera house didn’t go well.”
“Why not?”
The Guardians knew of her kidnapping as a child, just not many of the details surrounding it and how it tied to her past. Having to explain why she was taken from a greenroom would have required explaining her family’s connection to the opera.
“Let’s just say I didn’t leave of my own accord.”
“Do you mean—”
Someone shushed them, and Flossie squeezed her hand with a promise they’d talk later before returning her attention to the performance.
Nora did her best to follow Flossie’s example, but every time her gaze fell back on that man, unease laced her chest like a too-tight corset.
The opera was supposed to be the place she felt happiest. Why was that not the case now?