Chapter 17 #3
The theater wasn’t as large as the Metropolitan in New York, but it was still grand and elegant.
There were a couple dozen private boxes distributed on two tiers of the house.
Lady Mandeville was in the hallway outside one of them, waiting for us.
She wore a sparkling tiara and was draped with expensive-looking diamonds.
“There you are,” she said as she greeted us, offering the duke a curtsey. “Welcome, Your Grace.” She then kissed Aunt Maude and me on the cheeks. “Do come in and make yourselves comfortable.”
Severton pulled aside a red curtain and allowed me to enter first.
There were six chairs within, three in front and three in the back. I walked to the front row, and the duke followed me as Aunt Maude and Lady Mandeville stayed near the door, speaking in low tones.
Across the way, in another box, I noticed a familiar woman with blond hair.
It was Lily Parker. She was seated with an older gentleman to her left as her mother and two older ladies sat behind her.
When she caught my eye, she smiled and I returned the smile.
We had seen each other at several events, though we had little time to get to know one another.
I’d heard that her father had made a fortune selling shovels and pick axes during the California Gold Rush.
After his death, her mother had remarried a man with two daughters, not much younger than Lily.
Now, she and her mother had come to London with the same goal as everyone else.
To marry into the aristocracy to gain social prominence in New York.
Was the man beside her an aristocrat? He was speaking to Lily and took her attention away.
In another box was Annabelle Wellington. She was sitting with a gentleman closer to her age. She seemed quite smitten with him and was not scanning the theater like I was. Instead, she leaned close to him, whispered into his ear, and then they both laughed.
Perhaps she had forgotten about Alec.
Even though I could not have Alec, something inside of me felt relieved that Annabelle would not have him either.
Severton seemed sullen and was probably wishing he was anywhere else but the theater, so I decided to make the best of things and break the silence.
“Do you attend the opera often, Your Grace?”
“I have never been to the opera.” He was sitting close to me, his presence dominating in every way. His height, his breadth, his title, his mood—it was all intimidating. “And please, when we’re alone, call me Severton—or Ames.”
I had almost forgotten his first name.
“And may I call you Clara?” he asked, his gaze now on me.
“Of course.” I swallowed the nerves that suddenly bubbled up. Things had just become very personal. I wanted to change the subject. “What do you do for entertainment in Ravenscar?”
“We hunt.”
“Oh? Do you host hunting parties?”
“No. Just my brothers and I.”
“Are your brothers married?”
“No.”
“And what else do you do to occupy your time?” I smiled at him. “Besides read maps.”
“I’m quite busy overseeing the property and managing the tenant farmers.”
“What do you do for pleasure? Is there no other form of entertainment in Ravenscar?”
“I read a lot of books. The library at Pickering Castle is unmatched in all of England.”
The thought of a library was tempting. I pictured the library at Aunt Maude’s home in New York, and memories of Alec surfaced. Why did almost everything turn my thoughts back to him?
“Are there instruments?” I asked, determined not to think about Alec. “A piano, perhaps?”
Something lit up in his gaze—excitement? “Do you play?”
“I do not play, but I like to sing.”
“I would like to hear you sometime.”
People had begun to gather in their boxes and in the chairs on the house floor. They were turning our way, continuing to talk as they craned their necks to see us.
“I do believe London will have us engaged by morning, Your Gra—”
“Ames.” He did not look at the others but kept his focus on me. “And let them. I’d rather it be done as soon as possible.”
It almost sounded like a proposal, so I chose to ignore the comment, not ready to discuss such an important topic.
“And what about you?” he asked. “What sort of entertainment would you desire, besides singing?”
“I enjoy books, as well,” I said. “But I wouldn’t mind entertaining—”
He scoffed. “Pickering Castle is no place for guests.”
“No guests? Why not?”
“People do not like staying at the castle,” he said, probably hoping to clarify, but it only made me more curious.
“Why?”
“It’s an old, drafty monstrosity of a house. Outdated, and—” He paused. “The locals claim it’s haunted.”
“Is it?”
For the first time, he turned his gaze away from me, his face becoming like stone. “With memories of the past, perhaps.”
I wanted to ask him about the scandal that Lady Mandeville had whispered about, but I wasn’t sure how to broach the topic. Were those the difficult memories he was thinking about?
“Why do they think it’s haunted?” I asked instead.
“Because someone was murdered there.”
I blinked several times, waiting for him to elaborate, but he did not, and the music began to play.