28. Chapter 28
twenty-eight
T he album had been lying open on the low table in the drawing room when Jenny found it.
A pot of glue and a brush set next to it.
The items were put there almost like an enticement meant to lure her in.
She glanced around but the house was silent and felt vacant.
This entire scene seemed like something she wasn’t meant to see, which made it all the more provocative.
Smiling to herself, she tiptoed into the room and sat on the sofa for a better view.
The album was open about halfway through to pages that were plain black cardstock.
With another glance to make certain no one was coming, she gently lifted the corner of a page and flipped backward in the book.
Those pages were covered in newsprint cut from various Parisienne newspapers.
Her spoken French was good but she wasn’t the best at reading it because she only ever perused fashion magazines and librettos in the language, but it was easy to see that the clippings were all reviews for her opera.
She flipped through the scrapbook all the way to the front, which featured the program with a charming drawing of the little duke and duchess and her name near the top.
Well, her title rather than her name. Lady David Felding.
She’d been disappointed to see it, especially considering that she’d expressed her preference to Delcroix and Winpenny, though she had not been very surprised they had ignored her.
Thankfully, most of the reviews referred to her title and then her name, Jenny Dove.
She hadn’t read the reviews aside from the few after their debut performance that had been passed around backstage.
She had heard that some were critical but most were overwhelmingly positive.
As she flipped back through, she noted only the good ones had been pasted into the book.
She was smiling by the time she flipped to the end.
Kit is the only one she could imagine with the motivation to make this.
He’d been so supportive and had made certain to drag Alfred and David to all six of the shows to date.
But they’d left yesterday, which had been her day off, and would miss the final week of performances.
Had Kit created it, he wouldn’t have left it out like this.
That only left Mme Tremblay as the likely culprit.
She’d been so nice and welcoming since Jenny had moved in.
She’d made sure to fill Jenny’s rooms with orange blossoms every day and even had a new coat made for her.
Well, David had likely paid for it, but she was sure the woman had selected it.
Jenny had never had a lady’s maid before and it wasn’t the housekeeper’s responsibility to fulfill that role.
In fact, many a housekeeper would have balked, but she’d done so anyway.
Given the woman’s generosity, Jenny could conceive of this being her doing.
She put the book back exactly as she found it and resolved to act surprised when it was eventually presented to her.
She was still smiling as she left the room and barely avoided colliding into David.
He looked as handsome as usual in a walking suit and his hair styled to perfection with the exception of that one strand that usually managed to fall over his brow.
His eyes were bright blue and his cheeks flushed as if he’d been hurrying, which is why they had almost run into each other.
His lips were parted and she relived their kiss as she had done every day since opening night.
“Pardon me,” he said with a smile, taking her in .
She had slept late as was her habit since the opera had started.
Her nights usually ran late since she was starving by the end and had to partake of light refreshment.
Her excitement was usually still high, too, so she didn’t get to bed until the small hours of the morning.
She’d only just dressed in one of her new day gowns before heading to the theater.
It was a soft green color with tiny gold leaves embroidered across the bodice.
Mme Tremblay or the modiste certainly had excellent taste in clothing.
“I knew you’d wear that well.” His gaze swept over her in obvious appreciation. “Green is a lovely color for you.”
“You saw the gowns Mme Tremblay left for me?” In hindsight, it was obvious he must have. He’d been the one to pay the modiste’s invoice.
A tentative grin hovered around his lips. “I chose it for you.”
“Chose it?”
His eyes lit up with pride. “The modiste presented me with some fabrics and as soon as I saw that one, I knew it would suit you.”
“You chose my clothes? My new wardrobe?” She pointed in the general direction of her room which housed her clothes.
“Of course. Who else?”
“I assumed Mme Tremblay had acquired them.”
He still had that almost smile as he shook his head. “She’s very good at her job, but she’s no lady’s maid.”
Then that likely meant he’d also made certain her room was stocked with flowers.
He’s the one who knew her favorite scent was orange blossom.
She’d never thought of him as particularly thoughtful.
During the entire Season when he’d been pursuing her for his bed, he’d never once done anything remotely as thoughtful. She didn’t quite know how to take it.
“The flowers were you? ”
He nodded.
“Thank you,” she said, suddenly self-conscious about the gifts. “There’s really no need for a new wardrobe.” She’d been meaning to get to it herself now that she had funds, but only after the final performance, when she had more time.
He shrugged. “A future duchess should look well put together.”
Ah, that was his angle. He didn’t want her to embarrass him. It was all part of their agreement, not from his newfound affection for her. She relaxed. “About that…I told the producers that I wanted Jenny Dove printed in the program, but they disregarded my wishes. I’m sorry.”
He frowned. “I can talk to them.”
“Like you talked to Mme Lamaire?” Luci had told her that when she returned to the boarding house after the night she had spent here that not only had she not been chastised for her absence, but her roommate had been moved to other accommodations, leaving Luci to enjoy the bedroom alone.
“Did you not want me to talk to her? She reneged on her part of your agreement.”
He was very serious about agreements being followed to the letter. “Thank you for that. I meant to thank you sooner, but—”
“But you’ve been busy with your performances. I understand. We’ve barely had any time alone together between our families. You don’t need to thank me at all.”
He was right. Kit and Alfred had monopolized much of their time and her own family invited themselves over frequently. She liked having them all around, though. “Still. Thank you. Luci appreciated your assistance.”
Something crinkled against his chest. That’s when she noticed he held a fresh batch of newspapers.
She’d been too taken with him to see them earlier.
He followed her gaze downward and seemed a little disconcerted when he met her eyes again.
“Today’s newspapers,” he said as if that explained anything.
“The scrapbook is yours?” She stepped back to indicate the object lying on the table.
“Yes…” He hesitated as if he didn’t want to answer. But there was no way out of this. It was plainly his and he’d clearly been on his way to finish. “I thought you might like an album with all of your reviews to look back on when the opera closes next week.”
“You did this?” she repeated needlessly. Her feet were drawn farther into the room, lured back to the book.
He gave a single inclination of his head and followed her, placing the fresh newspapers on the table.
Then he picked up the book reverently, like it was the most precious family bible.
“There were so many. I only had space for the best ones. Though they were all very good.” His eyes shone with pride.
She had to look away from the very sight of him.
Like the sun, it hurt too much to stare directly at all that glowing approval.
She didn’t know how to react to the fact that he’d made that book for her.
It wasn’t the action of a rogue, but she couldn’t put any other label on him.
It was too dangerous. Panic swelled within her chest, squeezing her lungs.
“We’ve done well,” she said. “I’m proud of our little production. There’s even been some talk of having another run in the new year.”
“Another run?”
“There are still logistics to figure out but they’ve asked if I’ll return for another round if they can secure the funding.”
“That’s fantastic, Jenny.”
“I know that…” She swallowed thickly because suddenly there was a lump in her throat. “I know that next year might be a bit earlier th an we’d planned, but I wondered if you would want to begin divorce proceedings then?”
“Divorce proceedings?” He couldn’t have looked more stunned if she’d admitted to flying a broomstick to the moon. The scrapbook landed on the table with a dull thud.
“We never spoke about when we might start moving things along, and I confess I haven’t the faintest idea what might be involved with such an endeavor, but it makes sense to start sooner rather than later.
You’ll be in London. I’ll be here. It might be more awkward to stay married, what with your various pursuits… ”
“My various pursuits?”
She felt her cheeks flush. “And my…my…”
“Your what?” They both knew what she’d meant by pursuits. “Do you want to see other men?”