Chapter Thirteen
Pere studied herself in the mirror once more. It was just the theater, but it felt like more … and that terrified her.
Because she was playing with fire. Hawthorne could play the part, seduce her emotions without even trying, and if he were merely using his charm to befriend her, she’d walk away silently heartbroken, but something whispered to her that it was more.
He was more.
That something had shifted.
And, regardless of the potential heartache, she wanted to know if it was all in her head, or maybe if something had started in his heart.
Henley and Anna would be accompanying her as well, which took some of the tension out of her shoulders as she took the stairs down to the foyer.
The polished mahogany banister gleamed under the chandelier’s glow, casting soft shadows across the marble floor, a quiet elegance that steadied her racing heart.
“Pere, you look lovely!” Anna grasped her hand and gave her a saucy grin.
Her eyes sparkled with mischief, as if she sensed the undercurrent of Pere’s nerves and sought to ease them with her warmth.
“Thank you, and for once, you are ready before my brother?” Pere glanced around the room and arched her brow.
Anna swatted at her playfully. “Miracles happen. Be sure to tease him mercilessly.”
“I cannot wait.” Pere felt a smile widen her features.
Her brother’s predictable tardiness was a familiar jest, a comfort amid the uncertainty Gabriel’s presence stirred.
The sound of someone’s feet quickly descending the stairs caught her attention, and she turned to watch her brother take the last step.
“Finally. I was wondering if perhaps you got lost on your way down or were sending Anna and me to the theater without you.”
“Hilarious,” Henley grumbled to his sister, then quickly tugged his wife’s hand and kissed her cheek sweetly.
His gruff demeanor softened, his love for Anna a beacon that made Pere’s heart ache for something similar.
“How. I don’t understand how you can be such a pain in the neck one moment and so tender and sweet to Anna the next,” Pere grumped as he took Anna’s hand and escorted them to the carriage.
“It’s simple,” Henley said over his shoulder. He helped Anna into the carriage and turned to Pere. “She’s my wife, you … are my sister. And it is my job to harass you.”
“You harass me too,” Anna called from the carriage, earning a giggle from Pere as she stepped into the conveyance and took a seat across from Anna.
Anna’s teasing was a gentle nudge, her way of including Pere in their shared warmth, though it only deepened Pere’s longing for a connection of her own.
“That’s an entirely different sort of situation … isn’t it?” Henley sat beside his wife and deftly ran a finger up her arm and then placed a kiss behind her ear.
The gesture was intimate, unguarded, a reminder of the love Pere yearned for, yet feared to trust with a man like Gabriel.
“Present. Not blind and still quite innocent,” Pere shot back, her sarcasm a shield against the pang of envy in her chest.
“You bloody well better be fully innocent, dear sister.” Henley shot her a look that was all at once suspicious and evaluating.
“My corruption comes from being around the both of you … excessively,” Pere quickly amended, wanting to put all of Henley’s suspicions to bed.
It wouldn’t do to have him overly alert tonight, of all nights, especially when the only man she’d ever kissed was the same man who invited them out to his box. The memory of that kiss, fleeting yet searing, lingered like a forbidden melody, threatening to unravel her composure.
“Very well.” Henley narrowed his eyes once and then turned to Anna. “Lovely,” he whispered the word, and Pere watched a crimson blush heat her friend’s face.
Yes. That was exactly what she wanted. The little words that meant more than thousands, the way Henley looked at Anna as if she were the only woman in the world … Pere wanted to be that for someone, the right someone.
And while she was certainly feeling something for Lord Hawthorne, could she ever be really secure with him?
The whole rake persona that she’d started the season pursuing had lost its polish.
And if she really considered her intentions at the beginning of the season, she was searching for something so strong, an attachment so fierce, that even a rake who could experience a myriad of other women would forsake all of it to have her instead.
That … that was the nameless, unrealized true heart of the matter.
The carriage slowed as they pulled up to the entrance of the grand theater.
Newly remodeled, its white stone structure was illuminated by flickering streetlights.
The facade gleamed like a Grecian temple, its columns soaring against the night sky, while the soft glow of lanterns spilled onto the cobblestones, casting a warm halo over the bustling crowd.
Henley alighted and aided Anna and herself to the solid cobblestones.
Pere’s gaze scanned the scene before her.
Women in feathers and fur held the arms of their husbands in top hats and gold-topped canes.
The horses blew out impatient snorts as the clip-clop of hooves hitting cobble echoed in a hundred different ways.
The air was alive with the hum of anticipation, the scent of lavender and musk mingling with the crisp night breeze.
Pere closed her eyes for a moment, then quickened her steps to catch up with her family.
The wide doors were fully open, accommodating the influx of gentry.
Twin wide staircases rose up from either side of the polished stone floor, drawing the eye up to the vivid white plaster covering the ceiling with gold paint highlighting the depths of the Grecian reliefs.
The foyer sparkled under a massive chandelier, its crystals refracting light into a thousand prisms, while the murmur of voices and the rustle of silk gowns filled the space with a heady energy.
“Have you seen it since the renovations from the fire?” Henley asked as he turned to his sister.
Pere shook her head, too distracted by the beauty to speak.
“It’s such a lovely place. My parents have a box; I have many a memory of falling asleep in the velvet chairs,” Anna said lightly, smiling.
Her voice was warm, nostalgic, a gentle reminder of her ability to find joy in the smallest moments.
“The box will be this direction.” Henley nodded toward the staircase on the left and waited for Anna and Pere to precede him on the stairs, following close behind. “Hawthorne will likely be waiting for us; we’re not late—”
“And who was the last to be ready?” Pere glanced back to her brother, teasing.
Her grin was impish, a spark of her usual wit that felt like a shield against the flutter in her chest at the thought of seeing Gabriel.
Henley shot her an irritated glare. “What I was saying was that he is likely already here.”
As Pere followed Henley down the hall, she kept getting glances of the theater through the open doors of other box seats.
The stage was prominent in the middle, framed by an ornate proscenium arch with scrolls and laurel wreaths, all overlaid in gold paint.
The auditorium stretched before her, a sea of velvet seats and gilded balustrades, the air thick with the scent of beeswax and anticipation as the orchestra tuned below.
She wanted to stop and walk to the end of one of the open boxes and take in the sight.
Before her father’s passing, they’d gone as a family to a rendition of The Marriage of Figaro, but that was before the fire and reconstruction.
And she’d been too young to truly appreciate it.
Now, however, she was able to fully take in the glory of it all.
“Pere,” Henley’s voice called to her, and she tore her gaze from the open door and closed the distance to where her brother waited, gesturing to an open door leading to the box they were apparently the guests of that evening.
As she stepped through the door behind her brother, her attention was captured by the size of the room, the sounds of the orchestra warming up in dissonant tones, and the flickering lights of the new gas lamps at the stage.
The box was an intimate haven, its crimson velvet curtains framing a view of the stage, the chairs plush and inviting, the air warmed by the soft glow of a single candelabrum.
“Lady Peregrine.”
Pere tore her gaze away once more and turned toward the voice that she belatedly recognized belonged to Lord Hawthorne.
Blinking, she quickly composed herself and gave a polite curtsey. “My lord, thank you for inviting us to your box.”
“The pleasure is mine.” His eyes studied hers, a question just below the surface. “It’s quite lovely, is it not?” Hawthorne asked, nodding to the open view from the box.
“It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen,” she answered with more honesty than necessary.
But the beauty of it was distracting her from filtering her words.
“I take it you haven’t been to the theater in a while, then,” he asked, but there was no accusation, just curiosity.
Pere glanced back toward him, her heart reacting to the low tone of his voice, the way his eyes searched hers.
He wasn’t standing overly close, but she swore she could feel the heat of his presence warming the air around her, drawing her in.
His gaze was a tangible weight, stirring a flutter in her chest that she both craved and feared. How was such a thing even possible?
He arched a brow, grinning softly.
A moment later, she remembered he’d asked a question.
Taking a breath, she answered, albeit quite belatedly. “My parents did not attend often, and I’ve not seen it with the renovations.”
“And you approve?” he asked, his tone kind and low, as if keeping their conversation just between the two of them.
Pere glanced to where Henley and Anna took their seats and were chatting over a program.