Chapter 28
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Because Lydia was so miffed by Victor’s reaction, she sought insight. There was only a singular source for this as she did not think Victor would be any more forthcoming if she pressed the issue.
She searched for Lord Harry, thinking that he might be amenable to speaking about his brother.
Lord Harry had been open and gregarious with her so far, and she hoped that he would take her into his confidence.
However, he was impossible to find. Eventually she learned from a servant that Victor had sent Lord Harry away on business.
Was this just a coincidence, or did he anticipate that Lydia might seek answers from Lord Harry?
It only made her feel more keenly that something nefarious was happening, something that she could sense lurking in the shadows, but it had not yet revealed itself, so she did not know the true face of the beast.
“This isn’t what I asked for. I want the maroon one!” Victor thundered at a hapless servant who quaked in his boots. Victor threw the handkerchief at him, and the servant scurried out of the room.
“Are you ready?” Lydia asked cooly. “I don’t wish to be late.”
“We won’t be late,” Victor muttered. “You shall be there for the rise of the curtains. As long as the help learn the difference between maroon and burgundy.” He raised his voice at the last, his words bellowing out like thunder, pursuing the servant.
“I don’t think it’s worth getting upset over a handkerchief.”
“I shall decide what upsets me.” Victor paced back and forth like a panther. Lydia’s heart sank. There was surely only one reason why he should be this tense.
“Is there anything else the matter, Victor? There is no sense rebuking our servants for an innocent mistake. Please tell me if there is anything I can do to help,” she said, opening a door for him again.
Victor stopped pacing and adjusted his collars.
“There is nothing the matter, other than being in London. I am keen to return to Brighton. I apologize if my frustration is getting the best of me.”
These words seemed as hollow as their marriage, but if he could not be honest with her now, then there seemed no hope for them. The servant returned at great haste, and this time he brought the correct handkerchief.
Lydia wore a plum-colored dress with long gloves that reached her biceps. Her hair was arranged in a fashionable style, and it had taken the maids quite a long time to achieve perfection, but she was ready in time to leave for the theatre.
They were shown to a private box that was hosted by another noble couple.
They nodded politely to Victor and Lydia.
Their names were Bartholemew and Tilda. He was an earl and had an uppity manner about him.
He was short in stature, but to make himself seem taller, he arched his back and held his head high as it would go.
He was forced to look down his nose at people, but because he wasn’t tall, his eyes flicked upwards which gave him a very strange countenance.
His stature was only emphasized by his willowy wife, who stood at least a head taller than him, placing her hands on his shoulders. They had snooty voices and could not hide the dismay in their eyes when they saw who would be sharing their box.
“I wasn’t expecting you, Your Grace. I believed the Duke of Stonewood was joining us,” Bartholemew said.
“My brother-in-law decided to gift us the tickets instead since it is our last night in London before we return to Brighton. I hope that shall not be a problem,” Victor said, a biting edge to his words. Bartholemew licked his lips and ran a hand across his slick hair.
“No… no of course not. I was just hoping to speak with him about some business, that’s all.
Enjoy the show,” he said, backing away. Tilda remained silent, but her narrow eyes were like two blades as she followed her husband.
She leaned down, and they shared whispers.
Lydia couldn’t hear what they said, but she suspected she knew the topic of their conversation.
“I’d wager they are talking about us. Did you see the way they looked at us?” she said, her voice hot with emotion. Victor’s mood had pushed her to her limit already, so there was not much room for her emotion to grow.
“Let them talk. They might be rankled now, but what will they possibly be able to tell their friends? That we were polite and ordinary? We will leave them with nothing to complain about,” Victor assured.
Lydia pressed her lips together although she did look over her shoulder and cast a savage glance towards Tilda.
Thankfully, the play soon started, and Lydia was distracted by everything.
The actor playing Romeo was handsome, and he had a powerful voice that reached the far end of the theatre, but even his presence was diminished when Juliet Fane waltzed onto the stage.
There was something compelling about her.
The way she moved captured Lydia’s attention, and her voice carried such emotion that it was impossible to not feel anything for her.
While it was clear that others were reciting lines, Juliet seemed to live her character.
Perhaps her performance was helped by the fact that she shared a name with the heroine, but Lydia felt as though Juliet Fane could have been Juliet Capulet.
It was as though the character on the page was a living, breathing young woman.
The only thing that gave Lydia pause was how Victor noticeably tensed when Juliet made her entrance.
He didn’t relax until she exited the stage.
And when Lydia shifted her glance towards Victor, she noticed that his attention was fixed on the leading lady as well.
Envy burned in her heart, for there had to be some link between them.
“She is wonderful, isn’t she?” Lydia whispered.
“I suppose she is as good as anyone else,” Victor replied.
This diminished response only made her more resentful.
There was a puzzle here, a mystery, and she intended to solve it while she was in London.
If she returned to Brighton, then Victor would continue to stonewall her, and she might never know the truth.
When the play reached its climax, Lydia was reduced to tears.
The performance was so powerful that it even distracted Lydia from the anxieties that plagued her mind.
Juliet was so convincing and immersive that Lydia almost believed she had died.
Lydia’s heart was swayed by emotion, and she was one of the first to rise to her feet and applaud heartily when the show concluded.
The sound was a cacophony as appreciation thundered around the theatre with only Victor offering a reluctant clap.
Lydia’s palms stung by the time the players bowed and left the stage.
The biggest round of applause was reserved for Juliet Fane, and everyone in that theatre must have known that they had witnessed something special that evening.
It was the kind of performance that only those with a true mastery of the craft could have managed, but now that the play was over, Lydia’s mind returned to the conundrum sitting before her.
“That was a fine play. We should return to the house and avoid the throng of people who are going to leave. There are still a few arrangements I need to make before we return to Brighton.”
“I would like to see Juliet Fane and offer my regards. Her performance was noteworthy, and I would like to congratulate her in person,” Lydia said, using the same tone she had used when she declared that she wanted to see the play in the first place.
This time, Victor was not swayed so easily.
“That would be improper,” he said, offering no reason why this should be the case.
“I think it’s entirely proper. Where better to congratulate an actress than in the very same theatre where she has performed?” Lydia asked.
“You cannot see her,” Victor said, this time more firmly.
She could hear the strength thrumming in his words, and his eyes possessed a stern glare that might have been enough to make her turn away if she was younger and more na?ve.
But she was not his true wife, and he could not order her around like this.
Before she could offer a retort, Bartholemew and Tilda returned. This time Bartholemew seemed to be of a more genteel mindset.
“Your Grace, I hope that you enjoyed the show. I wondered if you might want to discuss some business yourself. There is obviously a… predicament, but to show, ah, your ability to rise above it might end up being good for you. Now, given this, the percentages will have to be in my favor,” Bartholemew said, and then Tilda leaned down to whisper something in his ear.
Bartholemew spoke as though he had just been struck by inspiration.
Victor glared at him, and Lydia knew this would not end up with the result that Bartholemew wanted, but the distraction was timely. She quickly excused herself and darted away.
“Lydia,” Victor called after her, but she knew he would not race away.
Even though he did not wish to speak to Bartholemew, his manners would not allow him to leave the conversation rudely.
It meant that Lydia had some time to slip away and see Juliet Fane before Victor managed to extricate himself.
Lydia slipped between a throng of people and navigated her way through twisting corridors.
She found a servant and asked where she could find Juliet Fane to offer congratulations.
The servant directed her to a dressing room that seemed too small for such a magnificent star.
Lydia knocked on the door and entered, only to find Juliet weeping.