Chapter 6
Muriel could have swooned with excitement as the coach rumbled down the streets near Covent Garden, leading her to one of the most famous theaters in the entire city.
Muriel had been there just last night with the Briarwood family. She had not thought anything could get any better after that sparkling night. She’d been mistaken! It seemed now that every moment of her life was better than the last.
She nearly trembled with excitement.
Though her insides felt as if the sun would always shine, the weather outside did not match.
Rain slashed down on the coach, splashing against the windows.
A steely gray curtain of water blocked her view of the outside world, which was frankly a bit annoying because she had never been to the theater during the daylight hours.
Why would she come during the day? Her daytime hours had always been filled with luncheons, calling on other families, reading, studying, milliner visits, and lessons with her dancing master.
Theaters were not generally open to the public at such times and certainly not to unmarried young ladies.
The theater, she assumed, would be relatively quiet, but the dowager duchess had invited her to come and meet her sister, Estella. She’d brooked no argument and Muriel’s mother had given her approval.
Afterward, she would retire to Heron House and the library to continue her studies before the ball this evening.
And Perseus had been firm too. He was going to show her the workings of a theater.
Her mother had approved.
How could she not with a chaperone as wonderful as the Dowager Duchess of Westleigh? And Muriel was as excited to be invited into the theater as she was to have Perseus give her such a tour.
Never in all of her life could she have imagined that something like this would take place. She had assumed that she would have to be on the outskirts of the inner world of the theater, that the most she would ever be able to truly do was read and research about that world.
She could glean gems from the playbills, the books, the letters, the plays themselves, and any of the documents surrounding them. But she could never ever actually be a part of it.
She had not imagined that she would be able to go into the heart of it all as she was about to, not when she was merely the youngest daughter of a knight.
But here she was in a luxurious coach lined with pale blue silk.
The Westleigh coat of arms was ablaze on the green lacquered walls of the outside.
She had seen that ducal herald as she had been whisked down from the narrow steps of her small townhouse with an umbrella over her head, used by an attentive footman dressed in ornate livery to guide her into the coach.
Now, she sat alone on the cushioned bench, in a coach that most families could never afford.
Her gloved hands were tight in her lap as she wondered what excitement was about to befall her. She felt as if she were a child upon Christmas morning or a young lady about to have her debut, though she’d never longed for a debut.
Her heart beat wildly, not with fear but with anticipation, and she knew who she had to thank.
Oh yes, the dowager duchess and Duchess Mercy had been most kind in allowing her to visit their library. But it was Mr. Perseus Briarwood who had made all of this possible.
She was deeply grateful for his friendship now. The way he had seen what she wanted and what excited her had intrigued him.
She was incredibly grateful for his curiosity about her. For he had immediately gone about getting what she longed for. Things she’d never even dared to admit to herself and had certainly never said aloud.
Every young lady should have someone like that in their life, shouldn’t they?
The coach rattled along the cobbles, turned the corner, and then stopped before the stage door of the massive theater.
She pulled her cloak tighter about her, tucked the hood up over her curls, and gazed out at the steamed glass window.
She couldn’t make anyone or anything out very well, but suddenly the door swung open into the pouring rain. An umbrella popped up and she put her hand out, expecting the quite capable footman from before. Instead, she locked eyes with the man of her dreams.
Yes, her dreams.
Her breath caught in her throat. Oh, not dreams in the sense of so many novels and operas.
She had dreamt of Perseus Briarwood last night. He, in her mind, had been Orlando in the play, the young love interest, and she had been Rosalind, for a few moments anyway.
How wonderful it had been to be the bold Lady Rosalind, who could school her lover with a witty tongue and bold displays in boy’s clothes.
Alas, she was not the bold Lady Rosalind. She could not go about in boy’s clothes or disguise.
She was a young lady who hid behind books, keeping herself from doing anything truly noteworthy.
But now, their gazes held.
His wide, wild eyes were the most beautiful things she had ever seen, framed with those dark lashes. And then, he held out his gloved hand to her. She slipped her fingers into his and smiled.
How could she stop herself? Her life was now becoming as exciting as any play. She didn’t know what to think or do about it, but as he guided her down, rain kissing her cheeks, she rushed with him towards the theater entrance, both of them laughing.
Yes, she had no idea where this path was going, but she had to take it.
“We mustn’t melt,” he cried as he held the umbrella aloft and tried to keep her from the worst puddles.
“I didn’t know the English could melt in the rain,” she returned.
Another laugh boomed from him. “Well said. We’re made of quite stern stuff, aren’t we?”
“Most certainly,” she said. “We English endure. A bit of rain? Ha! I shall not yield. Nor melt.”
He winked. That delicious wink of his that did the most fascinating things to her insides.
“English to the core and all that,” he affirmed. “That’s us.”
He guided her inside, shut the door behind them, and shook the umbrella, leaving it against the wall.
Her cloak was drenched and she shook the drops from it, but then she lifted her gaze and took in her surroundings.
In the shadows, he stood, mysterious, seductive. It was the lighting and the hushed nature of the space. Her skin tingled, not with the cold but with the atmosphere of being here alone with him.
She sucked in a soft breath.
It was dark. Not too dark, but quiet, almost reverent. She tilted her head back, her bonnet obscuring some of her view. There were ropes everywhere, boxes, and all sorts of little knickknacks here and there that she couldn’t identify.
He led her farther down the hall.
“Grandmama is already with her sister in her dressing room,” he informed, his voice reverberating off the rafters. “They’re waiting for you to have tea.”
She followed him, eager, excited. In her reticule, her notebook was burning with questions for the two actresses.
Almost fifty years ago, the dowager duchess had ruled the London theater scene. She’d been the most coveted actress alive. And once she’d caught her duke, her sister had claimed the prize of the most lauded.
None had ever truly pried it from her, despite her aging years.
And Muriel longed to know how she had captivated London for so many years.
And of course, she longed to know the stories of the many plays that had taken place here, the stories of the actors, and even the aristocrats who had come back behind the curtain to bask in their glow.
Muriel stopped for a moment as she caught sight of something shimmering though an open doorway.
He turned back towards her. “Does that catch your interest?” he asked.
“It does,” she whispered, her belly doing the strangest things.
“That is where they keep the costumes for this show,” he said.
“Truly,” she breathed, and she thought of the beautiful doublet that the actress who was playing Rosalind had worn.
“Do you wish to see it?” he asked gently. “My grandaunt and my grandmother will no doubt be delighted to gossip with each other for a few moments more. They are the best of friends. They won’t mind if you take a look.”
“Truly?” she asked, gripping her reticule, amazed he would agree to such a thing.
“Truly,” he affirmed.
She frowned. “How do you know?”
He arched a brow. “Oh, I’ve been raised in this theater, and around those two ladies, since before I could put two words together.”
“What an image,” she said. “I cannot imagine you so small or without words.”
“Oh, but I was, and I darted about the backstage here, wandering through the actors and helpers, sometimes holding my aunt’s hand right before she went on stage.”
He lifted his hands and gestured outward.
“This is the second home of the Briarwoods, if you must know. Oh yes, we have our houses, our estates, but this is like the home of our spirit, this theater. We always come here and we always go backstage at some point. Every last one of us. We crave to see what is behind the curtain. It is who we are.”
“Indeed?” she breathed. Most people never wanted to know what was behind the curtain. They wished to only see the trick. But she longed to know how the magic happened.
“Indeed,” he said.
Perseus gestured for her to slip inside the large room arranged with rack after rack of the most fantastical clothing.
She let out a gasp as she spied the beautiful jade-green velvet doublet embroidered with gold. “Imagine getting to wear something like that every night,” she whispered, wishing she could reach out and touch it.
“Ladies today wear quite remarkable clothing.”
“Yes,” she agreed, “they do, but this is different. This is a costume. This is fantasy. It’s imagination. It’s fantastical.”
“Would you like to try it on?” he asked.
She jerked back and shook her head. “It’s not mine,” she said swiftly.