Chapter 10 #3
The performance concluded to thunderous applause.
Catherine stood with the rest of the audience, clapping mechanically while her mind raced with only one thought: she needed to see him again, needed to watch him leave, needed to catch one more glimpse before the evening ended and the unbearable waiting for Sunday began anew.
"We should wait for the crowd to thin," Anna said beside her, though her eyes were dancing with knowledge. "It will be dreadfully crushed trying to reach our carriage immediately."
"An excellent idea," Catherine agreed, grateful for her friend's understanding.
They made their way to the entrance foyer but lingered near the doors rather than immediately seeking their carriage.
The crowd streamed past them—conversations animated, reviews of the performance exchanged with enthusiasm.
Catherine heard none of it. Her attention was fixed on the theatre doors, waiting.
He appeared perhaps two minutes later.
Alexander moved through the crowd with that same controlled grace she had observed before, people parting instinctively before him. His mother held his arm, speaking to him quietly, while Anthony trailed behind looking thoroughly amused by something.
Catherine's breath caught as Alexander's eyes found hers across the foyer. One moment. Two. Then his mother said something that drew his attention, and the connection broke.
They descended the theatre steps into the cool evening air. The queue of carriages stretched along the street, but Alexander walked past them all toward where the young groom waited with his stallion.
The horse lifted its head immediately upon seeing Alexander, ears pricked forward with unmistakable recognition.
But what caught Catherine's attention was the young groom's behavior.
He was speaking quietly to the horse, one hand stroking its neck in the same steady rhythm Alexander had used earlier.
As Alexander approached, the young man stepped back with obvious reluctance.
"He is a fine animal, Your Grace," the young man said. "A true gentleman despite his spirit."
The horse turned its head toward the young groom and made a low sound—not quite a nicker but something softer. Then it lowered its head and bumped the young man's shoulder gently with its nose in what looked remarkably like a gesture of thanks or farewell.
Catherine saw Alexander's expression soften. He said something to the young groom—too quiet to hear from this distance—and pressed what appeared to be several coins into the young man's hand with a firm clasp to his shoulder.
Then Alexander swung up into the saddle with that same fluid grace that had arrested her attention earlier. He gathered the reins, spoke something to the horse that made its ears swivel toward him, and turned the animal toward the street.
For one moment, silhouetted against the gaslit London night, horse and rider were perfectly still. Then Alexander pressed the stallion into motion, and they disappeared into the darkness.
Catherine stood on the theatre steps, unable to move, the image burned into her memory with the permanence of something that would revisit her dreams for weeks to come.
"Catherine," Anna said gently. "Our carriage is here."
They settled into the Fairfax carriage, the warmth and familiar comfort of the interior a sharp contrast to the cold evening air. As the vehicle began to move, Anna turned to Catherine with an expression of barely contained mischief.
"I would give absolutely anything," Anna said with feeling, "to be on that horse's back right now."
Catherine smiled despite herself. "As would I. Imagine the freedom one would feel."
Anna's expression shifted into something more knowing, more playful. "Freedom is not precisely what I would be thinking about," she said, her voice carrying unmistakable implication.
It took Catherine a moment to understand the suggestion. When she did, heat flooded her face. "Anna! Watch your thoughts."
"I can do whatever I please with my thoughts," Anna replied with perfect innocence. "And since when did you become so concerned with propriety? You have never objected to candid conversation before."
Catherine opened her mouth to respond, then stopped. Why had she reacted that way? The protective instinct had been immediate and unconscious, as though Anna's playful observation had threatened something Catherine had not realized she was guarding.
Jealousy, she realized with uncomfortable clarity. She had been jealous of even Anna's jest about being close to Alexander.
"Do not tell me," Anna continued, watching Catherine's face with shrewd understanding, "that you did not also think about it. Even for a moment."
Catherine was quiet for a long beat. Then, helplessly, she began to laugh. "Of course I did."
Anna joined her laughter, the sound filling the carriage with warmth and the comfortable intimacy of friendship that could acknowledge uncomfortable truths without judgment.
"He is rather magnificent on horseback," Anna observed once their laughter had subsided. "Though I suspect he would be rather magnificent doing almost anything."
"Yes," Catherine agreed quietly, her mind already racing ahead to Sunday, to the library, to whatever would happen when they were finally alone again without hundreds of witnesses and the weight of social expectation pressing down on every word and glance.